#long replies are always okay

[crossbackpoke-check]

blessed be (lorscher bienensegen) | telling the bees (wiþ ymbe)

"Bees" [remixed, abridged], Claudia Emerson // "Letter to Someone Living Fifty Years from Now" [remixed. abridged], Matthew Olzmann // "Letter to my Great, Great Grandchild" [remixed, abridged], J.P. Grasser | Len Redkole, Nina Weiss, Brian Babineau, Christian Peterson, Mitchell Leff, Dave Isaac, Megan DeRuchie

[kelpermoosee]

I LOVE SEEING YOUR CAPTAIN SHIP POSTING ON MY DASH !!! Its so so cute thank you for the delicious content ❤️❤️

Me and the guy who just (accidentally…???) killed my entire troop of Pikmin 😢

[tohruies]

idk if this is allowed but today i’m imagining yaoco putting cute heart stickers on each other’s lab safety glasses…. 🥺

today i will answer this darling ask you sent me on december 11th 2024… I AM SO SORRY T /// T

mrs takamiiii! my bweanie — this is so cute 🥺 i think about this a lot actually after you mentioned this to me heh!! 🙈💗 there would probably be occasional sticker sales at the academy to promote different initiatives that he might be so kind as to accompany me to, which means i get us matching stickers like these to put on our lab gear in between all the hearts already on them!!! ᕙ(`▽´)ᕗ

we try to keep our relationship hush hush but i do think everyone seeing our matching stickers is a very subtle + unintentional soft launch AIKEKSHJ (⁄ ⁄>⁄ω⁄<⁄ ⁄) perhaps there would be more immunology / medical related stickers on his gear since it’s reminiscent of what i study, vs me keeping more mechatronics / automata engineering stickers on my gear because that’s his field of research waaahh… :3

[meownotgood]

do you think my fics are too long. asking for a friend

[thiscrimsonsoul]

Finding Light in the Darkness || closed with pretty-isnt-pretty-enough

{ @pretty-isnt-pretty-enough, cont'd from here. }

Wanda actually managed a small, awkward smile - the first she'd made in a long time - as Sheva asked her question at the same time she asked hers. Her eyes were drawn to the glint of the Star of David pendant around Sheva's neck and... for a brief moment, Wanda felt such a wave of relief wash over her. So she wasn't the only Jew here after all. Just knowing that provided her with an immeasurable amount of comfort.

"Yeah, I... I didn't either," Wanda admitted. "Everyone here seems to celebrate Christmas. Religiously or... just... for the gift-giving side of it..." She hadn't meant it to be an attack on anyone in particular, but it did seem like the Avengers leaned into the capitalism side of things a little hard. Having come from a disadvantaged and war-torn community, Wanda and capitalism didn't really get along that much.

"Your um... Your necklace is really beautiful," she said, pointing to the Star. "I had one myself when I was very young, but the chain broke and I didn't realize until it was lost." That had been while she and Pietro had been living on the street. He'd stolen a ring for her, a silver one of a bird claw, to cheer her up some time later. She at least still had and wore that ring, even if she'd lost the Star of David she'd gotten from her parents.

"Well, you're doing better than I am," Wanda said, still feeling so awkward as she ran her fingers through her long hair. "I don't have a menorah or candles. I was going to see if I could find candles and just... stand them up on a shelf." Not the same thing, but it was something, at least. "But yes, I know where they keep the olive oil in the common kitchen. I can show you."

That got her thinking, though. She hadn't cooked or baked a single thing this year. Wanda didn't have much of an appetite lately. This was her first Hanukkah without Pietro, and it hurt badly. Cooking and baking had always been something she enjoyed, but half the fun of it was watching Pietro consume the result so happily each time. Without him, Wanda hadn't thought there was much of a point. But if there was someone else here who celebrated... "Are you going to cook something?" she asked, feeling a little embarrassed that just that simple question should cause her eyes to flood with tears.

"I usually cook and bake all sorts of things... but um..." she said, her voice starting to tremble, "I don't have my brother here... to eat it... anymore... so..." The wave of sadness hit her so unexpectedly that all she could do was cover her face until it passed. It was still so raw, losing Pietro, and feeling left out of the holidays wasn't making it any easier to deal with. Realizing that Sheva shared her beliefs, it was hard for Wanda not to just latch right onto her.

"I'm sorry..." she said, quickly wiping her tears and trying to reel in her emotion once again. The last thing she wanted was to scare Sheva away with her negativity. "I lost my twin brother recently, and this is my first Hanukka without him," she explained. "But if you... want... Do you want... some help... with what you're making?" she asked shyly. It would be nice to share that with someone again, she thought.

[notanotherinfjblog]

Texting habits per judging function

No one asked, but here are some observations I've made in my personal life.

*Note that this probably differs by age, gender, and culture (for instance, I have been told by several Americans that I use an insane amount of emojis, whereas it's not considered weird at all here in Germany).

FJ:

Generally very good at texting, will respond to absolutely every point you make. If you send them a long voice message, they can be found taking notes while listening so that they will not forget to answer any point you made.

Have a very hard time leaving someone on read and if they do, either something happened and they forgot, or they simply don't like you very much. If they open the message, they answer. If they don't have time to answer you right now, they simply will not open the message yet.

If the text conversation is done (i.e. you wrote something like "bye, see you tomorrow!" that does not require another response), they will still at the very least send you an emoji back for no reason other than letting you know that "Yes! I read your message! I'm not ignoring you! I love you!" (Literally every FJ I have ever known does this. Every single one, including myself.)

They will adapt to your style of texting. If you are the kind of person that likes to send a bunch of heart emojis to friends and the FJ friend is not, they will still pepper in a heart here and there. If you generally don't use emojis, they will use them only occasionally. If you reply in wallpaper long messages, so will they. If you break up your messages into several texts one after the other, so will they.

FPs:

Also generally quite good at texting and can actually appear a lot warmer in writing than in person (there have been several instances where I received really lovely messages from FPs who I used to think hated my guts whenever we met in person).

Prepare for emojis. Seriously.

You can have infinitely long text conversations with them. If you are willing to commit, the conversation between the two of you will never end. With NFPs, the conversations usually end up spiralling into nonsense scenarios, while SFPs keep telling you about their day and keep answering you about your day every day.

TPs:

(my texting experience with TPs is unfortunately very limited, so feel free to fill in my blanks)

Fe is very noticeable in the extroverts, i.e. they tend to go the FJ route described above, but in a more nonchalant and more relaxed way. Like with FJs, the focus of the conversation is on you and their dynamic with you.

The introverts (i.e. my dad, i.e. my only point of reference) are bad at texting and prefer to call, so almost all text conversations go something like this: TP: "Hi, I tried to call you, but you didn't pick up. I hope everything is alright with you?" You: "Yes, sorry. Everything's good here, how about you, everything okay?" --- end of conversation ---

TJs:

Generally bad at texting. Also don't really like it and see no point in it, so they usually prefer calling or talking in person.

Will appear colder in writing than in person, especially the STJs. Their answers will be straight to the point. No beating around the bush and no needless extension of a conversation in form of jokes/questions/anecdotes for a bonding experience. If they want to tell you something, they will tell you in person.

Have absolutely zero problem leaving people on read and usually don't mean anything by it.

STJs rarely use emojis, NTJs do but not excessively

If their answer requires them to type anything more than two sentences, they will send you a voice message instead. (Literally every single TJ I know does this, except my INTJ brother who is a complete maniac and calls instead.)

[losergames]

how did you find the move from choicescript to twine?? I've been working on a project in choicescript but not really sure I want to host it there anymore

hello! thank you for the ask,

preface, i think both tools are great for what they were built for. i had a good time with choicescript and it was a good introduction to what variables can be used for and structuring an if game. if you don't care about UI/ appearance, then choicescript makes sense.

i will be real and say, the move to twine was difficult personally lmao because i had no experience with html, css, or javascript prior to the move -- but that shouldn't put you off. my personal approach to it was that it's a learning opportunity.

be prepared to be 'not good'. learning something new can be a really frustrating and discouraging process. things won't work the first time round, they never do, but keep reminding yourself that this is a process and the progress, and your understanding, will come with time! the best quality a dev can have is patience, especially in the if circle.

if you go into twine thinking about your long form game/project and try to port things immediately into a template, i think it will really mess with you. make something tiny first, like a tutorial game, and when you're ready move up to the long form stuff.

you don't have to do it my way, but the best way for me to learn was to just get hands on with twine templates other developers have made. get a feel for the twine programme, language, layout, interface etc etc. i will tell you right now the second day i started learning twine/ sugarcube i got stuck on how to //open// an imported file haha. learning is hard and it sucks but now i've built my own interface for my own game!

all this being said, you don't even HAVE to build an interface for your game -- it comes with a default UI that you can start using straight away. so, if you don't care about the ui/ aesthetics, twine can still be an option.

i do want to touch on publishing, because that is a huge aspect of if. twine is a free open source tool and choicescript is not. if you get to the point where you finish a game and can publish with cog/ hosted games, then just be aware that you do not //own// your own writing because it is in the choicescript language. you will only own the IP.

i was stubborn about choicescript for a very long time, i still think it has better accessibility //because// the interface is basic and the appeal of going through a publishing house is very understandable. they have a huge reach and an established audience so there's no doubt of your game having eyes on it.

twine has an advantage being open source because no one owns it. plus, it encourages self-publishing and i think that's a great thing to aspire to as a writer! i love chop shop even more now because i built and own the whole thing. technically, twine games don't even need to be on itch.io because they're just html files, so they can be hosted anywhere that supports html. if i had a website for example i could just embed it into a page.

obviously, i am going to have a lot of bias towards twine since i made the move myself haha. i'm not trying to put my own feelings into this because COG as a company was a whole other reason why i moved and that won't be discussed on this blog.

you don't have to move to twine if you don't want to publish through COG, i'm pretty sure choicescript games can be hosted on itch.io.

edit: from @/hpowellsmith in the replies: you can have a contract with Hosted Games to monetise a ChoiceScript game on itch or elsewhere online where you pay them a smaller percentage of revenue than if you're published through Hosted Games

i think if you're happy with choicescript and COG/ hosted games then go for it and, if not, there are other options out there!! it doesn't have to be twine but it's probably one of the better tools for interactive games and has a wealth of help guides/ tutorials.

sorry this was so LONG, but thanks for reading if you got this far anyways :^)

[riwrite]

from @deiscension. [ guard ] for your muse to step between my muse and danger + reverse (equivalent of a pomeranian trying to guard a doberman)

before he can do anything, a whirl of white and teal robes obscures he xuan's line of sight, buffeted around the wearer's figure by a strong wind summoned by the wave of a fan. her movements are practiced, elegant even, and she seems every bit the force of nature her domain suggests in the face of danger — though that danger wasn't a threat to the one she protects.

he has no love for his fellow undead. they're something to consume, to feed to the abyss under his sunken skin and grow his power, and they're an annoyance when they can't be that. they say he is a king, but his hollow manor, in which he has naught but bones and ash for company, tells a far different story than the bustle of ghost city. and that suits him just fine — hua cheng can fill the void in him by lording himself above the fools that live there, but he xuan knows better than to pretend he's anything more than empty.

so, when shi qingxuan dissipates the opposing ghost before it can reach out to so much as touch the perceived earth master, he xuan feels nothing. a prick of irritation, maybe, if he reaches far enough, that he didn't get the satisfaction of ridding them of the nuisance himself. or perhaps it's more that shi qingxuan bothered to step between him and the unruly ghost in the first place when he could have destroyed it with hardly a finger lifted ( not that he would have done it that way with her watching. he has a mask to keep up, and he can't display power unbefitting of an elemental master. which is often to his disdain — he hates that ridiculous shovel and it seems that inasmuch as it can feel, the feeling is mutual ).

the more he thinks about it, the more that irritation bubbles up from within the cold depths of whatever's left of his emotions. why does she always insist on this ? keeping him safe ? he's the last person to need her protection. she is the vulnerable one, always baring her wrists and her neck and all the softest parts of herself with no idea that he has teeth capable of tearing her apart. and she risks it, and for what ? for an empty old thing with plans to destroy her ? for the miserable wretch who was forced to swallow her doomed fate ?

for a best friend to whom she is oblivious — he chokes on her brilliance and she can't even see it. ( that brilliance should have been his. would he wear it as well as she does ? maybe it's the allure of it that keeps him by her side. )

   " i had it, " he says darkly, a threat getting lost somewhere. " that was reckless and stupid. what would you have done if it hurt you ? "

[synobun]

I listened to "Curico" and "If I Lead" by Kiltro in 2022 apparently. It left enough of an impression for me to remember the band name, but not anything about the vibe.

This seems... hm... hm... like it has potential? Not this exact song (maybe), but the general sound. I'll add it to my auditions list and see if it grows on me. I suspect not, but perhaps my efforts will lead to me liking this kind of music more in the future.

[oh-cramity-its-amity]

One thing to know about you: What’s your favorite video game? :)

hey okay ahhh. it took me a bit to get back to this cause i genuinely had to think about it- jst because while yeah i DO play a lot of games, i have a habit of not finishing them??? its a whole thing BUT.

its down between two for me- and yeah its hunter-core of me to say this, but BUT BUT- TLoZ twilight princess really really has stuck with me.

as it being my first zelda game/introduction to the series i got it used on whim and literally have over 100 hours in a save file (look- you CAN clear it in shorter time but i just was really into it-) and its a game ive actually replayed two or three times in full??? its just such a good zelda game (people will talk shit about the wii version but gamecube prices/the hd port to wii u istg- i WILL settle for motion controls- actually they didnt bother me too???). i just like the entire gritty feeling of the world and how realistic it looks. its mature while also the standard linear progression to pre botw zelda. botw is good- but its one of those games i said earlier about not finishing haha. twilight princess is just THAT. like it hooked me. same with the entire soundtrack and just- mannnn i cant even explain it! skyward sword is good too- but i just hold tp closer from the zelda games ive played (which arent many but i really think theyre cool as someone who only had a knowledge of solely nintendo=mari> for years, branching out on their other ips was a cool experience).

and the other one would be the 2018 insomniac spider-man game. when i played it FAR after its release (like in 2022 lmao) i just couldnt put it down. like everything from the combat to how fluid the web-slinging feels- it all just flowed so naturally to where it engrossed me as a whole. i fully wasted an entire weekend to beat the entire mf game. THATS how into it i was 💀😭.

oh and the ending of the story literally made me almost cry. AUGH. im not gonna spoil it but damn </3. i really would like to get a ps5 eventually to play though the sequel. miles morals eventually too- ik that ones pretty short so it shouldnt be that long. uhhh- im not even like a superhero person either- like im not diehard into the marvel universe but i just really heard such things about it over the years and it delivered for me.

i could probably say honorable mentions with neo: the world ends with you or doom 3. its a whole thing. i mainly play anime games (not alllllll the time but a lot of my ps4 library consists of anime games.)

I KNOW im rambling but in conclusion, twilight princess and 2018 spider-man (NOT the remaster on ps5. the og ps4 version. its just better. trust me.)

[bookishmuggleborn]

hello?🧍🏻‍♀️

[pyrrhiccomedy]

The last time we were on a long flight, my wife and I invented a game we call "Little Guy."

You start a game of Little Guy by saying, "I'm gonna hand you a little guy." The little guy is some kind of baby animal you are imagining. "Oh," she might say in response, "Okay," and hold out her hands for it. I will then mime handing her the animal. This provides some clues as to the little guy's size, weight, and general ungainliness.

She then gets to ask questions about what kind of little guy this is, BUT NO QUESTIONS ABOUT HIS ACTUAL APPEARANCE OR SPECIES ARE ALLOWED. Qualitative questions, or questions about his behavior, are the only ones permitted. She can ask "Is he soft?" or "Does he seem nervous about being held?" or "If I put him in the bathtub, does he seem okay with that?" or "Would he like a lil grape?" or "Is he the sort of little fellow who would wear a vest in a children's book?" but not "Does he have fur," "Is he a reptile," "Is he from Asia," etc. Some questions are in a grey area so you have to follow your heart, but the point is not to identify the animal as fast as possible: the point is to guess the animal purely based on vibes + how he would act if he were in your living room right now.

And I'm not limited to yes or no answers! If she asks, "Would it feel appropriate to see this little guy in a propeller hat?" I can reply, "Oh no, he has a gravity to him. A bowler hat would be a more appropriate hat." Or if she asks, "Does this little guy have protagonist energy?" I can say something like, "he probably wouldn't be the main character in a children's cartoon. He'd probably be the main character's ditzy best friend who's always eating sandwiches, or something."

We're big Twenty Questions to kill time in a waiting room people, but Little Guy is more about the journey than the destination. It's got a different kind of sauce that's nice if "killing time" and "lowering anxiety" need to happen hand in hand.

[tiny-task]

Tiny task #20:

Make progress.

Just a tiny, small, barely noticeable progress is progress. You can do it.

Write one sentence. Read one paragraph. Wash a single glass. Wash your face.

Small progress is progress. Anything you do is something. And I'm proud of you for it. Even if today's progress was trying, even if today's progress was to fail. You did it, you tried and there is nothing harder than that. You deserve to hear it's good enough, it's amazing, it's appreciated and it's recognized. Good job💗

[crossbackpoke-check]

Substance, Shadow, and Spirit [remixed, abridged] by Tao Yuanming

[kurooh]

☆ US AFTER POUNDTOWN ! — JJK

⊹₊˚. what aftercare looks like with gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento, fushiguro toji, & kamo choso.

warnings: 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, intimacy, cleanup, fluff, no graphic smut, pillowtalk, showering, brief discussions of pregnancy and kids. i needed to write this okay

GOJO SATORU.

silky pink ribbons slide off of satoru’s wrists, curling into themselves once they hit the bedsheets. he can’t help but watch you, more wide-eyed and teary than he should be, as you take each wrist between your fingers and rub gently. his skin is flushed where he’d been securely tied to the headboard, and it doesn’t hurt in the least, especially when compared to fights he’s been at the center of.

you hum, thumb kindly sweeping over his pulse point. “you okay, ‘toru? i know that went on a little longer than usual.”

you watch as he blinks, diamond eyes glassy with traces of euphoria. he’s still coming down, he realizes, when your words bounce around his brain after you speak them, echoing endlessly in the space.

“i’m okay, sweetheart,” satoru replies, feeling something in his chest begin to melt when you settle beside him on the bed. the air still smells faintly of sex, though the scent rides away on the breeze filtering in through an open window. it is almost completely dark in the bedroom, to make the strain on his eyes a little easier after a long day—he closes them, automatically wrapping a strong arm around you.

“there’s a new restaurant a few blocks down,” you begin, fingers reverently stroking over the curve of his side, “many of the reviews mention the dessert and sweet treats. it’s supposed to be good.”

fully nude, satoru curls against you, taking note of how easily you fit in beside him. like you were always meant to be here, something whispers in the back of his head. “heh, sounds like you’ve already vetted ‘em. i’ll take a day off next week and we can go.”

“you’re always so busy,” you tease, pulling him closer as though he might just slip away when you fall asleep. as you breathe, satoru feels the swell and sink of your back beneath his palm, and he considers maybe not going to work tomorrow. as if he could take days off on a whim—he might be the strongest in the jujutsu world, but he can’t even make his own choices. then, more quietly, you murmur, “i hope you aren’t overworking yourself too much, satoru.”

when he replies “‘m not,” reflexively, your body momentarily goes rigid, as if he wasn’t meant to hear you. before you can look up and refute him, satoru tugs you closer, making sure to sit his chin atop your shoulder. “really, angel, i’m okay. i can totally handle it.”

he totally can’t, even if he won’t admit it to himself. but satoru doesn’t want you to worry, get caught up with his issues during your day to day—this is simply what comes with the weight of ‘the strongest’ as his title. you huff like you don’t entirely believe him, although you don’t pull away.

“if i don’t pry any further, do you promise to sleep more than three hours tonight? and in this bed, not at work.”

you’re not even asking that much of him. if satoru can wipe out hundreds of curses in less than five minutes, he can definitely try to sleep until sunrise. at home. when there’s work to do. right?

he bites his lip, protesting weakly, “i don’t need to sleep, though, baby. i’ve also gotta get in early to deal with the first years.”

the coolness of sheets in an empty bed flashes through your head, and you decide to push, though there’s a tinge of selfishness behind it all. “please? you still need to rest and let your technique cool down.”

it’s not that difficult to convince satoru to stay after all, especially when he’s feeding off your body heat and you his. the bed does feel more comfortable than his office chair, and just as he comes to this realization, a headache has the nerve to come on, only persuading him further. slowly, like he’s submerging himself in a pool, his body begins to succumb to the comfort of the queen bed, the softness of your skin, the sweet smell of your body wash.

“fineeee. but only because you asked so nicely, angel.”

GETO SUGURU.

“i’ll get the water started for you, honey.”

so he does, turning on the faucet and letting the water heat up as it rushes through the pipes, then out of the shower head in a warm spray. from your seat on the toilet, you can’t help but feel a lovesick, fuzzy warmth building in your chest.

muscle ripples in suguru’s back as he carefully takes down his hair, undoing the band to allow the dark tresses to fall past his shoulders. his hair is impeccably taken care of—he lavishes it in only the best shampoos and conditioners every few days, his side of the shower almost overtaking your own. it’s made up of hair products and a few scented bars of soap, the way a shower should look. (not barren and home to a single bottle of two in one, two dove bars, and a dull razor, like satoru’s.)

when the glass door slides shut and suguru steps into the spray, you hear him exhale with relief. the toilet flushes and you stand, joining him in the shower.

“i’ll wash your hair,” you say, as if it’s second nature. though it seems simple on the surface, he’s allowing you to touch one of the most intimate parts of him—his scalp has only known his own hands, and yours, on the occasion that you help him wash it. “shampoo, please.”

suguru laughs, angling the shower head down so you don’t get too wet. shampoo is squirted into your extended, expectant palm and the ritual begins.

“are we taking more showers after sex specifically so i can wash your hair, suguru?”

there has been an increase in the amount of showers after sex. he’ll make a mess of you on the couch, drink some water afterward, and carry you to the bathroom like a princess to her chariot. you can’t quite place your finger on when, but you’d started washing his hair at some point during your baths.

“the curses really have been . . taking a toll on my arms,” he says cheekily, settling on that excuse just to hear you laugh, “perhaps i’ve been having difficulty reaching back and dealing with my hair.”

suguru’s got quite the mane, which anyone could surmise just from looking at him. but as wet hair slides through your fingers, you can see why he likes your help so much. you’re gentle with him, making sure to never yank on anything as you make your way through his hair. even the light sensation of your nails raking along his scalp relaxes him deeply, and all the tension in his shoulders bleeds out and washes down the drain, along with the suds.

“yeah, okay. if i mess up one of my arms, you’re outta luck.”

“we could take epsom baths together, so then you’d have no excuse.”

it’s endearing, the way he’s able to come up with a solution so quickly. you laugh again, light and airy in the thick steam, and suguru decides he never wants to leave this place.

“wash my back while the shampoo sits, sugu?” you ask, switching places with him to get your back thoroughly doused with water. white suds slip down his temples and he pushes back his hair from where it’s piled on top of his head, looking like a child’s sloppy sand castle on the beach.

“want me to pick the body wash this time?”

“that’s a trick question,” you say, eyes sparkling when you look at him, “you’re just going to choose peppermint vanilla like always.”

suguru already has the bottle in his grasp and is squeezing the wash out into his palm, but he still manages to look affronted. “no, i wouldn’t.”

you turn around, stepping out of the spray to playfully wiggle your ass at him. “i can barely smell it anymore, that’s how much you’ve worn it out.”

“it’s your smell,” he shrugs, shoulders rolling with the motion, “it’s your signature soap scent. you can always cover it up with perfume tomorrow anyway, it’s not that strong.”

“is that why you’re always sniffing me at night?”

you can hear him breathing you in when you’re cuddling at night? embarrassing! still, his eyes crinkle at the corners. “it’s comforting, so sue me.”

you sigh in relief when his hands coast over your skin, palms firmly pressing the soap into your back to both wash you and make the scent stick. a comfortable quiet settles between you, and he continues to lave your back with the wash, fingertips tracing the dents and lines of muscle.

it’s domestic, and entirely him.

he pauses, sputtering and gracelessly coughing on the water. “i’m sorry.”

you turn, helping him rinse the bubbles away from his face. “what’s wrong, sugu?”

“not to ruin the moment, but, well, i got soap in both my eyes.”

NANAMI KENTO.

“i can’t believe you made me breakfast, ken.”

kento returns to the bedroom with one of those lap trays made for eating at the couch, carrying a plate of fluffy waffles garnished with a colorful array of sweet berries. there’s even a full cup of syrup on the side to pour to your heart’s content.

he’s pulled on his boxers, the ones that are tight around his ass, and an apron with kiss the cook in calligraphic script embroidered across the front of it. a smile plays on his lips, the kind he wears when he’s biting back an ear-to-ear grin, and he takes a seat beside you. your excitement is something he thinks he’ll never get tired of. with a creak, the bed dips under the newly added weight, and you carefully slot the tray over your lap.

“how’d you know i was craving something sweet?”

“sweetheart, i know you,” kento shakes his head, laughing around the words. “go ahead and try them, i added something new.”

red blooms around the bite marks littered across his collarbone and around his chest, only becoming visible with his occasional shifts beside you. kento watches you eat with a distinct softness in his eyes, his heart swelling in his chest as your face lights up with every bite.

light and sweet as can be, the waffles burst with flavor, although a small tweak has been made to the recipe. maybe kento’s added finely chopped coconut or a few extra spoonfuls of sugar?

“you’re staring,” you point out, cheeks growing warm. his gaze is obviously lovesick, and strong enough to make you feel the littlest bit shy—a hand comes up to rub at the back of his neck, and he looks away with a short chuckle. “we can share, ken.”

“that’s okay, honey. i had some while i was making them earlier. so, how do they taste? have you figured out the extra ingredient yet?”

“i’ve got no idea,” you reply after a large bite, setting the fork back on the tray before gently nudging it away. kento’s forearms flex as he lifts it, placing it on the bedside table for later.

he unties the apron and scoops you into his arms, pulling your giggling form close to his chest. “i decided to add more buttermilk.”

a warm kiss is pressed to the space beneath your ear. through your back, you can feel his heartbeat syncing up with your own—relaxed and content in the presence of one another.

“thank you for this morning,” kento whispers, adding, “was i too rough with you, angel?”

“perfect, ken. you almost put me back to sleep, though.”

you share a laugh with him, curling up in his warmth. kento’s fingers trace mindless, ticklish doodles into your side as he begins to slip further into a state of drowsiness. “i don’t like to make excuses, but i find it difficult to hold myself back with you.”

the admission isn’t inherently sexual, not in the way it’s said so delicately. kento is right, he does have difficulty holding back, but only because he’s so known. you’re essentially on the same wavelength, finishing his sentences for him before even he’s able to conjure up the word he’s looking for; you understand him wholly, in the kind of way that transcends the surface and physicality of it all. unspoken feelings make no difference—kento’s open like a book for only your eyes to pore over.

even now, in this embrace, it’s nearly impossible to tell where one body begins and the other ends.

“all mine?”

“all yours, ken. pinkie promise.”

“pinkie promise?” he sighs without exasperation, letting you loop your pinkie with his own. if this wasn’t something he was doing with you, kento would be the first to ask something like isn’t this a bit childish? but this isn’t like making an agreement with gojo; this is a promise he wholeheartedly intends to fulfill. after all, what would he be if he wasn’t yours?

“pinkie promise.”

FUSHIGURO TOJI.

“on your stomach.”

you turn back to throw him an incredulous look, eyebrows drawing together in surprise. “more? toji, i thought you—”

he scoffs, rolling his eyes and motioning toward the couch cushions. “yes, ya heard me. on your stomach, doll. don’t make me ask again.”

“don’t make me ask again,” you mimic him, flopping forward onto your belly as requested. it’s odd that toji’s even vying for more when he’s the one who tapped out first, panting so hard he could barely form a sentence of explanation beyond a few muttered words.

instead of positioning himself at your ass, toji remains sitting beside you, though he turns to press his hands into your upper back. faint as can be, the scent of lavender curls in the air as the worship begins—toji’s suddenly a professional at effleurage, palms circling upward near your shoulder blades.

slow and firm, his hands seem to iron out any aches that may have taken root there. lotion spans almost the entirety of your upper back, serving as both moisturizer and lubrication for the easy glide of skin against skin.

“really, toji?” you ask, lips curling up in amusement, “you wanted to give me a back massage?”

you completely expect him to retort something sassy and annoying, maybe even call you a damn brat or start torture tickling you. instead, toji’s voice rumbles low and meaningful from his chest. “had ya laid out on your back for a while, and on the couch, no less. jus’ wanted to make sure you’d be able to sleep comfortably tonight.”

toji’s answer does something that it never has before. it shuts you up, and at the same time, makes heat rush to your cheeks. embarrassment and a particular fondness, of all things, stir in your chest at his thoughtfulness. you haven’t messed around on the couch in many months, and yet he still remembers the small, almost unnoticeable hunch of your back after getting up last time.

he laughs at you, feeling proud to have finally ‘won’ all the bantering.

“didn’t expect that, huh?” toji pauses, fingertips lightly dragging down the planes of your back. before he even speaks, you can already hear the smirk in his voice. “anyway, i wish ya could see how pretty you look right now.”

“you can’t even see my face, toji.”

a huff escapes him, and he makes sure to dig his fingers in, just so he can hear you squeal in both laughter and pain. “just can’t take a compliment, huh? you’re such a brat, swear to god.”

“your brat,” you remind him cheerfully, feeling his hands slide to the middle of your back. “as much as i’m enjoying this, i wouldn’t mind taking care of you, baby.”

he snorts. you’re calling him baby like he isn’t 6’3 and nearly 200 pounds of muscle—but there’s something endearing about the idea of being taken care of too. toji actually . . . wouldn’t mind it.

“oh yeah? and what do ya plan to do to me?”

you hum thoughtfully, turning your head around to fix him with a playful look. “i’d turn on one of the movies i’ve been telling you we need to watch and then scratch your back so you wouldn’t get up in the middle of it.”

“this better not be about—”

before he can begin trashing on your favorite movie, the one he hasn’t watched yet, you bulldoze right over him. “as the movie starts, i’d be whispering sweet nothings into your ear.”

“wouldn’t that just make me bend ya over? kinda defeats the purpose of aftercare, doll.”

“the key word is sweet, toji,” even with your clarification, he still looks a little lost, making the same confused face he does when shiu cracks a sly joke at his expense in front of you. “sit down and i’ll show you what i’m talking about.”

the comforting pressure on your back lets up, and for a split second, you almost wish you hadn’t suggested to demonstrate. toji sits down, remote looking dwarfed in his closed palm, and smirks expectantly, like there’s something funny to say. “i was just thinking. what if all the aftercare turns me into a spoiled brat?”

you scoff as he turns on the tv, settling on your knees behind him. “we can’t both be spoiled brats, toji.”

KAMO CHOSO.

“did i hurt you?” is the first thing to come out out of choso’s mouth when you finally return to yourself, a few crystalline tears starting to dry on your cheeks. you hadn’t quite noticed them during the pandemonium, too wrapped up in the overwhelming sensations of sex to focus on something so unimportant. but now, there’s a warm stinging that you trace to your neck—where he’d been biting and sucking the most in the moments before orgasm.

“‘s okay, cho. i’m okay, just tired now,” you laugh breathlessly, watching the worry drain out of his face, “i’ve gotta get up and wipe off, or i’ll end up getting pregnant.”

choso’s eyes are shining. “our kids would be so pretty, all ‘cause of you.”

you sit up on your elbows, a knowing smile tugging at your lips. this is the same look you give him every time he mentions it, and not wanting to nag you too much, he remembers himself. “okay, i know. have to wait more than five years first, i got it,” with the mildest degree of resignation making its way through his huffed words, choso slips off of the bed and pads toward the bathroom.

shortly after, he returns with a damp washcloth and settles on his knees between your thighs. even in the low light, his movements are perpetually delicate and skillful, a direct result of his understanding of your body, built through touch. with the way he’s comfortably wiping cum off your inner thighs, it’s hard to believe that choso had once been so awkward he’d stalked off mid-sex to let out a few tears of embarrassment.

“it’s not too hot, is it?” he checks in, more worried than he should be. it isn’t difficult to imagine him as a father, gasping as your child toddles around recklessly, jumping off of the couch and into his awaiting arms. he’s the type to always come to the rescue, no matter what.

“no, it’s just right,” you murmur, feeling the sweep of the lukewarm washcloth at the top of your thigh. “no need to be so concerned, choso. i trust you, baby.”

pink blooms in the apples of his cheeks at your words, just as it always does whenever you pay him an innocent compliment. he takes comfort in your relaxed sigh, folding the washcloth into itself and setting it on the bedside table before sliding himself up to lay his head on your chest. “you need to stop indulging me so much,” he groans when your fingers slip into his hair, combing gently though the dark strands, “keep up the ‘put a baby in me’ and i might actually do it.”

choso feels his entire face burn once he repeats a line that’s supposed to be yours, a shudder rippling through his body when a memory from earlier flashes behind his eyes.

“i know, cho,” you hum, nails lightly raking against his scalp in your odyssey through his hair. it’s painfully intimate, and impossibly soothing for him—he could say just about anything to you, even confess something deep and dark without the usual constraints of your daily routine. this is just you and him, simple and naked.

then you giggle, “but i also know how crazy it makes you.”

it does make him more wild than it should, the idea of getting you pregnant and then the concept of raising the baby itself. choso pauses meaningfully before he answers you, letting his eyes close. “maybe something’s fundamentally wrong with me.”

a gooey hybrid of affection and sadness races through your veins upon hearing his words. it’s hard to say something—even anything at all—when you know just a little about his struggle being half-human, half-curse. choso is constantly feeling guilty about taking the easier path in life as a human, wondering if someone like him could possibly deserve something greater than himself to love and care for.

it’s quiet now, save for the steady hum of the fan and sweep of your fingers through his hair, loose and languid. “sorry,” choso exhales softly, tilting his face to the side, “i didn’t mean to become so negative.”

“there isn’t a thing wrong with you, choso. i know you’re wanting a family of your own, and i don’t disagree with that in the slightest. i see a future with you, but there’s no shame in taking it slow, is there? we aren’t even engaged yet, baby.”

“engaged?” he echoes quizzically, voice low.

“it’s when two people agree to get married in the future after a proposal with a ring,” it’s hard not to smile at the thought of the two people being you and him, even though choso’s baring his soul to you right now, raw and all himself. he hugs you tighter, arms straining as if he’s trying to prevent you from slipping away. “don’t worry, cho. we both still have a lot to learn.”

[cowgiri]

content warnings: maintenance man!toji, stuck in dryer trope, public sex, dubcon, creampie, slight breeding, unprotected sex, oral (f!recieving)

this wasn't how your sunday was supposed to go. you'd just wanted your favorite dress—the one that always disappeared into the dryer's depths. one overextended reach, one slippery sock on wet tile, and suddenly you were folded like origami into the machine.

somehow, your hips got wedged at the perfect (or rather, horrific) angle, leaving you folded in half, ass in the air, legs dangling out but unable to get enough leverage to pull yourself free. you flailed, face burning as your shirt rode up, the cold metal pressing against your bare stomach.

three attempts to wriggle free only wedged you tighter. the position left your crop top rucked up to your ribs, your shorts riding up dangerously high.

at least you were able to wriggle one hand out to grab your phone from your pocket. the number for maintenance has never looked so tempting. because you knew exactly who would answer.

the door creaked open exactly seventeen minutes later.

"maintenance."

that voice. like gravel and honey. your stomach swooped. silence. long, agonizing silence.

then, a low whistle. "ain't this a sight."

“well,” toji said. you could hear the amusement in his tone. “this a new kink? or just bad luck?”

“it’s… not what it looks like,” you stammered.

"now this," toji mused, boots scuffing against concrete as he approached, "is a first."

"it's not—i didn't—"

"uh huh." a calloused finger traced your exposed hipbone. "dryer eat your clothes, sweetheart? or just hungry for something else?"

he smelled stupidly good for a guy who supposedly spent his days fixing garbage disposals. his palm landed warm and heavy on your ass. you jolted, the metal vibrating with your movement.

"easy," he chuckled, fingers slipping beneath elastic. "wouldn't want you getting... stuck-er."

the tear of fabric was obscenely loud. cool air hit bare skin as your shorts gave way.

"toji—"

“fuck,” he muttered.

“already dripping for me?” his voice was dark. “is that why you called? wanted me to find you like this?”

"maybe," you quickly replied, your body still tense.

“relax, sweetheart,” he murmured. his fingers tightened on you and you shivered. “gonna get you out.”

except, he didn’t.

“i’ve always wondered,” he muttered, his voice dropping into a low growl as he roughly gripped the flesh of your ass, “how that pretty little cunt would look, all used and stretched.”

“please,” you gasped, his fingers fondling your puffy pearl. “just get me out.”

“i will,” he mused. “but maybe i want a taste first. is that okay, sweetheart?”

his fingers were still working your clit, sending sparks up your spine. “just a taste. i’ll stop if you don’t like it. i’m sure you’ll like it though.”

his free hand smacked your ass, hard. you gasped, but the sound was swallowed up by the clatter of his belt being undone.

“should i?” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “no, i shouldn’t.”

the metal rattled as he gripped your hips, tugging you back even further, and his mouth pressed to you. you let out a strangled sob as sucked on your swollen clit. it was too much, too intense.

he hummed, the sound vibrating through you, and pulled away, licking his lips.

“fucking delicious,” he purred.

“look at you,” he said. “all spread open. so fucking perfect.”

“please,” you moaned. “it’s not… i didn’t—”

you felt the head of his cock press against you and tensed.

“relax,” he murmured, “i’ll take care of you.” he delivered a sharp slap to your ass and you whimpered. he was hot and heavy, pushing you further into the cold steel.

your breath hitched as he slid into you, your body clenching down.

"fuck." he bit through his teeth. "tighter than i dreamed."

you panted, overwhelmed by the stretch. “wait—”

“just a little more,” he said, pulling back to press in even further. “just… fuck, you feel perfect.”

he was big, too big. you gasped as he bottomed out, the dryer rattling violently as he pulled all the way out and slammed back in.

“so good,” he grunted. “just knew you’d be so good.”

you could only hold on as he pounded into you, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. your body jolted with every thrust, the metal rattling and creaking ominously. but he didn't slow, just kept fucking into you with powerful, relentless thrusts.

“gonna cum,” he warned, one hand sliding around to find your clit. you were too overwhelmed to do anything but take it as he rubbed tight, fast circles. “gonna fill you up—”

you came with a cry, clenching down around him as he slammed deep one final time, his cock pulsing inside you as let out a low groan.

the only sound was your panting and the hum of the machine. you felt his cock slip from you, followed by a sense of emptiness. his hands gripped on your hips sightly, before pulling you out, your legs like jello against the hard concrete floor.

“there,” he said smugly. “all fixed.”

"receipt's in the office," he said as he delivered a final pat to your dripping cunt. "be sure to... rate my service and leave a good tip, sweetheart."

note: i love me a good toji crack fic, the way i giggled so hard while writing this. it was supposed to be really short but i got carried away >.<