#midnights event

[neiptune]

Can I please request it was war, it wasn't fair x Eren for your event? Thank you very much!!

eren yeager x it was war, it wasn't fair

You hear him snort again while casually entering the kitchen for the nth time just to leave without getting anything, not even a glass of water. Eyes glued to your laptop screen and very much unimpressed, you keep your cool while replying to the endless emails filling your inbox, agile fingers traveling across the keyboard smoothly.

You're able to send two more replies before he enters the room again and basically throws himself at you, his whole body weight pressing on your back with his arms tied loosely around your neck. You don't even flinch, already focused on the next email.

“Oh my god, can you drop this?” Eren's groan comes out muffled as he has his face nestled in the crook of your neck, “I have apologized like a thousand times!”

“Please get off, you're heavy”

He perks up because the end of the silent treatment is always a step forward and he's willing to take any progress that comes his way at this point.

“So am I forgiven?” he catiously inquires, although your fingers still working on that infernal keyboard should be clear indicators of the answer he's about to get.

“No” the dry reply is enough to make him roll his eyes as he straightens up, defeated once again.

“You're being so fucking dramatic”

Eren detects that his carefully crafted ceasefire strategy is about to shatter on the very floor he's standing on as you stop typing and turn around in your chair to glare at him with narrowed eyes.

“Would you like me to take the dramatics one step forward and make you sleep on the couch? Or maybe you'd prefer Pieck's couch”

The amount of self-discipline he resorts to not to roll his eyes all the way to the back of his head again is honestly ungodly.

“Babe, this is getting ridiculous” he relies on a pout 'cause sometimes unexpected outcomes can stem from unexpected approaches and he's frankly willing to try anything cause it's almost dinner time and it's been five whole hours of this nonsense, “I'll pick you as a teammate next and we'll kick her and Porco's ass!”

You snort indignantly.

“Thanks, I'd rather cut my arm off than succumb to my boyfriend's pity”

“It's not pity. It's me telling you I love you enough to not care about winning” he knows he has used the wrong words as soon as they slip past his lips. To his shock, your gaze is capable of narrowing even further.

“It sure as hell didn't look like you loved me enough to not care about winning when you” a quick pause to dramatically lift one finger after the other to count “wanted Pieck in your team for five games in a row, cheered when she cut my road right when I was about to get the purple boost and kissed me to distract me enough to let her win”

With uncertain, pursed lips, Eren so badly wants to ask if you're more upset about losing (nothing unusual, for the record) or jealous of him picking one of your best friends as a teammate. He knows better, obviously, but the mere thought of small pangs of jealousy still existing in the face of all the years you've been together, can't help but boost his ego a little. His stomach flutters with pride and Eren is suddenly so glad he still gets to have these silly, playful, theatrical arguments with you.

“What are you smiling about?” you snap, disbelief freezing your features as he slips both arms under your armipts and lifts you up from your chair just to pull you into a forced hug, so tight your attempts at freeing yourself are more ridiculous than futile.

“Smiling 'cos you love me” you can barely understand him as his cheek is pressed to the curve of your shoulder. His hair is wet and you click your tongue in annoyance, although he smells so irritatingly nice.

“I don't, you're a cheat—” but Eren doesn't even give you the time to hurl the accusation as he clumsily drags you out of the room, stumbling all the way to the couch on which you both fall, his phone knocked over in the process, arms still tied impossibly tight around you and chest vibrating with mirthful laughter.

“Eren!” you whine, wiggling pathetically in the embrace.

“It was war, it wasn't fair” he has the nerve to giggle and you honestly wish he'd allow you to turn around just so you could flick his forehead.

“Really? That what you're gonna call Mario Kart 8? Stop squeezing—”

“Say that you love me” you jump as he unexpectedly nibbles at your jaw.

“Eren, it's gonna bruise!” you whimper, to which he only laughs harder.

“Say it!” he bites your neck next and you gasp in a new attempt to free your wrists from his hands.

“I love you, you dick!”

He finally lets go and you turn around to glare at him, one hand rubbing the sore spot on your neck. The glint in his gaze is both mischievous and familiar enough for you to roll your eyes in advance.

“Did you just say you love my dick?”

[tsnation]

ONE MONTH OF MIDNIGHTS

Can you believe it has almost been one whole month since Taylor Swift released her 10th studio album Midnights? Neither can we! So we thought, how about we celebrate our new favorite obsession?!

We have put together a few prompts for ideas on creations to honor the album!

Prompts: — favorite song — favorite lyrics — album/songs parallels — favorite music video — tour ideas — favorite interview — create a music idea concept — free choice

Information: — This event will run from November 21st until December 21st, but any late posts will still be reblogged. — Anyone can participate, and you may post as many creations as you would like.

How To Participate: — Reblog this post to help spread the word — Create something based on the event theme — Post your creation and caption it with

@tsnation event | midnights mayhem month [ your description ]

— Make sure to tag us with #tsnation — Join our Discord Server (optional)

[breakbleheavens]

For me, the award is the work. All I want to do is keep being able to do this. I love it so much. It makes me so happy. It makes me unbelievably blown away that it makes some people happy who voted for this award too. All I want to do is keep doing this. So thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to do what I love so much. Mind-blown. Thank you so much!

TAYLOR SWIFT attends the 2024 Grammy Awards in Los Angeles, California on February 4, 2024.

[missmeinyourbones]

we NEED "i'm just too soft for all of it." IWHT MEGUMI PLS IM BEGGING

I'M JUST TOO SOFT FOR ALL OF IT (m. fushiguro)

a/n: me making up medical shit LMFAO, repressed and emotionally constipated megumi, deadbeat dad t*ji, slight mentions and undertones of toxic masculinity

L’s MIDNIGHTS EVENT!

Since he was four years old and still growing into his long-sleeved sweaters, Megumi has learned to heal his own wounds or almost die trying.

A routine that he now knows like the back of his hand, he'd returned from his latest mission with weeping cuts and exhaustion clear beneath his eyes, making a point to stop at the medical closet before returning to his dorm. With Shoko's workday over, he makes a mental note to visit her first thing in the morning when he wakes. 

He can make it through the night, he always does. Because Megumi is a thinker. He plans until he can't and covers all bases for when they're stolen. He gets by. 

What he didn't take into account was potentially running into you, of all people. Dormitory halls barren and almost eerie, he nearly curses himself for brushing shoulders as you turn the corner on the way back to your own room. 

Your timing has always been wrong, or maybe it's right and Megumi can't differentiate between the two. 

And now he's here, on the creaky wooden floor of the medicinal closet, with you kneeling beside him and prodding at his injuries with tender wrists. 

Never one to be good with idle hands, Megumi fidgets and tries to brush at the dried blood on his shoulder. The action has both of you hissing—him in a jolt of pain and you in reaction to his hurt. 

"Don't touch it," your voice falters to be stern, still coming out so gently. Megumi thinks about the irony of that—of how you can't even be sharp if you tried. You're too gentle, too soft to even sound hard momentarily. 

Humiliated at the mere idea of doing nothing, at needing help, he shakily exhales and returns his attention to the floor. 

When the damp cotton pad in your hand touches a bit too deep in one of his cuts, Megumi does his best to save face but can't help the grunt of breath that gets sucked into his lungs. 

Immediately, he feels you retract from his skin and coo your apologies. Carefully returning your attention to the burning wound, you do your best to soothe him. 

"Sorry, it's deeper than it looks. Almost over."

Megumi's response is quick and curt, like a cut of its own, "It's fine."

You nod hesitantly before grabbing the bottle of antiseptic and another clean cotton round. The cleaning of his wounds continues in silence, though your thoughts are louder than anything. 

His injuries vary in size. Some deeper, fresher, than others. Some looking like one-hit victims and others a repeated attack. You do your best to take note of where he's sensitive, where he's hurting the most. 

When you reach a certain scratch on his bicep, you're able to catch a glimpse of his face. Sweat beading on his forehead and damp hair sticking to his skin, Megumi bites the collar of his uniform to suppress any kind of noise (weakness) from you. 

When he slips up and lets out a guttural muffled groan, you think you might audibly whimper yourself. 

"You can yell if you want to," you try to help him in any way you can, "or squeeze my hand or—"

"I'm fine," Megumi attempts to bark again, but this time is different. It's not cold or sharp like it was last time. You can hear how it shakes against the echos of the closet, how it sounds like the burn of tears building in a sore throat.

And between the pain everywhere he still has feeling and the intimacy of you carefully caressing him, Megumi finds himself tearing up. 

"Hey," he feels you whisper, attempting to caress his jaw and prompt him to look at you, "hey, you okay?"

He can't find it in himself to answer nor lift his head, so he sniffles like a kicked child and crinkles his nose in disgust at his own pathetic actions.

Megumi is tough, one of the toughest people you know. You've seen him more beat up than this and barely break a sweat. Your head feels light at the realization that something's wrong. He shouldn't be in this much pain from the familiar burning of antiseptic he's felt a dozen times over. Maybe it's from a cursed weapon, or a technique where—

A stifled sob cuts you off.  

Like a glass cracking beneath pressure, you feel something inside you break. No longer caring about cleaning his cuts or avoiding sensitive areas, you can't stop yourself from wrapping around his hunched frame. 

Megumi's breath hitches as you hold him, feels your hair tickling his neck when you rub his back and whisper.

"I'm sorry, I know, but you're doing so good, okay? And I'm almost done—"

"Don't do that," he bites. 

Assuming he's referring to prodding at a specific wound, you flinch and loosen your grip, "Do what?"

"Talk to me like that," he snarls with a crack, "in that—voice."

He feels your head remove its weight from his shoulder slowly, "Why?"

"Because I can't—" Megumi's voice almost breaks before he whines, gritting his teeth when he whimpers, "I can't handle it."

And just like that, Megumi is four years old again. He's scraping his knee on the concrete of his front lawn, and a blurry father-shaped figure with dark hair and legs far too tall tells him to be a man. Not being old enough to use the stove without supervision, but still knowing enough to save his cries for his pillow when Tsumiki is snoring and can't overthink his tears. He thinks of Gojo—of the first time he broke down in front of him and was met with whispers of good intent and love that registered in his brain as pity. Humiliation.

He doesn't realize he's crying until he feels your fingertips on his wet cheeks, replacing the stinging of antiseptic with a fluttering and velvety touch. 

Between sniffled strings of apologies and a few hiccups of words that don't quite make sense, you piece together that Megumi isn't crying because he's in pain. He's crying because he can, because you're helping him in a way he never asked for, let alone known. 

"I've never...been allowed to, like, feel—"

"Hey," you're soft again, as if you ever weren't. "I know," fingers delicately brush his sticky eyelashes when you remind him, "but you are now."

"Are what?"

"Allowed," you whisper against his cheek, "to feel however you want when you're around me."

And Megumi doesn't know how you do it. How you remain a light in a world that's constantly doing all it can to kick you while you're down. Maybe you're just naive, so stupidly optimistic that it'll eventually be your own demise. Maybe.

But, Megumi can't find himself to care, because he knows that for as long as he's on this earth, he'll be damned if he lets anything happen to that light of yours. 

Back to reality and rubbing at his stinging eyes, Megumi softly scoffs. "Y'know, sometimes you look at me with those stupid eyes and I don't know what happens, but I almost feel sick."

Your laughter tastes like water, "I know what you mean. But in a good way though, right?"

"Yeah," he nods, "in a good way."

When Megumi's back finally hits his mattress at an ungodly hour of the morning—something he's been dreaming of since he'd left it hours ago—he's sickeningly sore and his eyes burn with hypersensitivity. He lets himself close his eyes thinking of your hands, the ones that soaked his now scabbing wounds and wiped his watery eyes. 

Megumi plans, sure, but he never could have prepared for you. 

[littleacebee]

The only thing I have to say for myself is: Songs in podcasts my beloveds <3

IDs in alt text and under the cut

[ID: Front cover of a zine. In the middle of the page there is big red heart with text in it: „Songs in podcasts my beloveds”.

Page 1. Text saying: „I love songs in podcasts! They are so cool and great and amazing and wonderful and fun and fabulous and excellent and brilliant”

Page 2. On the top of the page there is text: „Me when there is song in podcast:”. Below there are three doodles of a person. First is singing dramatically, other two are dancing. There are colourful musical notes around.

Page 3. Text saying: „Some of my fav songs from podcasts with honest and totally not biased rating:

„Die Berliner Luft” from The Amelia Project - 10/10

Songs from Roguemaker - 10/10

Theme song from Night Shift - 10/10

„Magistrate’s daughter” Travelling light - 10/10”

Page 4. Text saying: „Musical episode of Mission rejected - 10/10

Folks songs in Camlann - 10/10

Songs from The Strange Case of Starship Iris - 10/10

„It’s all made up!” from Victoriocity - 10/10

Musical episode of The Bright Sessions - 10/10

Song in the last episode of Trice Forgotten - 10/10”

Page 5. Text saying: „”Poisoning Pigeons in the Park” from Midnight Burger - 10/10

Songs from Re: Dracula - 10/10

Cabaret Night at Cosmic Lounge from Stellar Firma - 69/10

Theme song from Dark Ages - 10/10

Songs from Welcome to the Brass Eagle - 10/10

The Ballad of Anne & Mary 1000/10”

Page 6. At the top of the page there is text saying: „”To be an Undertaker” from Wooden Overcoats - 100000000000000000000000/10”. Below there is doodle of a person playing on a mandolin.

Page 7. There is a doodle of a person holding a big sign with text: „You should add song to your podcast!”. At the bottom of the page there is text saying: „#fiction podcast zine event”. End ID]

[thebramblewood]

The first meeting of the Vatore Book Club has commenced.

Previous / Next

Helena: Caleb, are you in here? [telepathically] Caleb?

[silence]

[under breath] Where are you? You promised you’d show me more today.

[picking up journal] Hmm. These definitely weren’t here before.

[begins reading]

May 25, 1918: Another night daymare. Same as all the others. Calloused hands squeezing my throat, phantom fists pummeling my stomach, shrill bursts of laughter assailing my ears, sky of taunting stars, blinding white moon, a monstrous form looming over me… Straud insists I should no longer be able to dream. One more bold-faced lie from a man who speaks arrogant, empty words just to hear his own voice - and endlessly, endlessly. I already tire of his dull speeches.

July 10, 1918: The days stretch eternal in this crumbling mansion. I am Straud’s prisoner, though he claims I am free to come and go as I please. Yet he prattles on with excuses as though he does me a favor by denying me. I’ll not be allowed off the grounds until I bend to his will, until I  have suitably mastered discipline. How I loathe that word! I’ll be sick if I hear it once more.

September 8th, 1918: Killed two men last night. Only meant to step out for fresh air but instead found drunken idiot humans stumbling unknowingly across town lines. Their thoughts came to me easily. (So the old man taught me something after all.) Vile and crude remarks on my body, naturally. My vision flashed white with rage, and my body convulsed as if to split in two. Their taste of their blood was exquisite. It’s a funny thing, though. I kept expecting the swell of remorse to arise, but it never did, even when my brother, drawn by the cacophony, flinched away at the sight of my monstrousness, truly frightened of me for the first time. Further reflection is required, but for now I must depart. Straud requires placating.

Helena: [thinking] This is Lilith’s diary?

[flips to final pages]

February 22, 1921: Caleb’s birthday tomorrow. If it passes, he will be 27. He will continue to outpace me in physical age. He will eventually die. I’ve promised it will not. All week, he has been nervously pacing and eerily silent, too afraid to ask the obvious question: Will I truly make him like me? I know how to do it, but thirst remains a constant presence in the back of my throat. I suppose I will take it up with Straud one last time, though he will respond as usual. He believes the gift should be offered only to those who have been deemed worthy. But he grows uncomfortable when I ask how he determined my worthiness. I know he saw me merely as an opportunity, a flimsy young girl in distress who could be easily remolded in his image. I disappoint him every day. We must be free of him soon.

-

Vlad, telepathically: I can still hear every thought that passes through your mind, girl. Your barricades are sloppily constructed. And, no, my position has not changed.

[ministarfruit]

day 20: get you a girl that can do both ♡

(prompt list for femslashfeb)

[madisoncounty]

@pscentral​ event 13: tropes

anti-hero (taylor swift) + tropes

[lady-ashfade]

I wanna a slice of blueberry pie with Yandere class 1a!

Barks And Chains

´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ Yandere!Class 1A x Male!Werewolf reader.

Bakery Event

╰･ﾟ✧☽ words: 1k

╰･ﾟ✧☽ warnings: yandere, kidnapping, chains, being talked down to kinda, being seen as weak, reader has wolf tendencies, kinda hate this one.

˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚🫐 ˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚

There was always something about the people around you that made your sense go off. They always seemed to be looking at you when they thought you weren’t looking, or how you smelled their scent randomly when they ‘weren’t’ around. What was the most frustrating was them pretending like you were the weakest of them all- including your teachers.

No matter how hard they tried to sucker you up and seem like they were your friends, it didn’t seem right to you.

“Want the steak from my plate.” They would offer you because wolfs are supposed to eat meat or whatever. Or they would would try and play with the furry ears you tried to hide. And don’t get me wrong at first you loved your classmates but they are so overprotective sometimes.

You mostly stuck around shoto who wasn’t as bad but still had his odd ways like the rest. Just more shy or quiet. “Does it hurt when you shift?” he asked blankly out of the blue in the middle of lunch. His face in the same expression as always and mellowed voice. Shoto asks questions about your quirk or yourself after minutes of not talking. You didn’t mind that much, at least he didn’t shout at you.

Sighing you drop the fork and decide to answer, “No, not really. My body is used to it but at first it did ache a bit but not anymore.” He listens and nodded his head softly and once your done goes back to eating like nothing ever happened. And that’s why you love sitting with shoto alone. 

They are tolerable enough. Except when katsuki yells at you too long or calles you names like “mutt” or “furry bitch”, and then when the girls squeal over your wolf shape and pet you.

Until they put you down in class training.

“He’ll just getting himself hurt! He isn’t going to win against most of us.” The while class agreed with each other like you were standing with them, all saying how you didn’t stand a chance. And the teachers allowed it!!

Your routine changes after and you aren’t given as much training time. You stay with Aizawa when they are out, they give you less homework and give you extra points. The day you finally snapped was when they started to dot on you like you couldn’t do anything!

“Don’t worry, we can help!” They always came rushing to your side. For instance they tied your shoes even if you try and kick them off, fix your clothes and even iida and Momo would force you to do homework with them.

You were a chill person for most of your life because you learned that you had tendencies of wolfs. You were angry but learned to control it. But when you snapped and things started to change around you.

For the first time they heard you actually growl at them in both forms, if someone tried to go up to you when it was unwanted you would give them a horrifying glare and bare your pointy teeth. If someone tries to touch you without your consent you would snapped your teeth at them. Not to mention how much you started to get more angry about everything.

And this wouldn’t do! They thought something was the wrong with you, and it wasn’t them of course. The teachers agreed that you were getting out of hand and tried to talk to you about it, or calm you down. When Aizawa used his quirk on you when you got mad, everyone thought you would go back to normal, but you didn’t and yelled or hit something.

“Please don’t move,” a voice spoke to you as your eyes tried to un blur themselves as you woke up. Your arms felt tensed and stiff, and that’s when you realized something cold on your wrist. “Poor thing, they should have gone easy on you.” A pair of white tights was all you could make out at first and as you slowly looked up you saw purple.

Midnight was standing above you.

You quickly wake up and notice your surroundings and what position you are in. You seemed to be in your room, except the light was a different shade and there was no windows or balcony. And you laid down on the bed with chains around your wrists, and a quirk collar around your neck.

“What is going on? Let me go!” You shouted but she was unaffected by it.

“I will once you calm down. You can shout all you like but no one will find you here, we all just want you to be safe from the evil. And you simply can’t defend yourself against villains. So we moved you here! To a underground apartment and only we can get in or out.”

She was right about that. You tried once but the quirk collar shocked you and made you stay within the apartment boundaries. It was like a normal apartment. You had everything you normally do, a phone and tv, computers and consoles but they were programmed to never contact anyone that wasn’t them so you had no way of escaping.

Everyone come to visit and had a schedule of when they get to see you. Most come in pairs, sometimes the bakusquad comes together, or dekusquad. No matter the pairing they loving handing out with you. Then there are the teachers and they just chill, Aizawa likes to watch movies, Mike likes to play games or teach you instruments, midnight just pats your head and do anything you want to! Of course they homeschool you too! So you still have homework but they don’t hold it against you if you get anything wrong.

“Reporting live, the missing student from UA Highschool, Y/n L/n, has been found and identified as dead on scene. We mourn the loss of that child and have the family in our hearts. The teachers would like to speak out on this topic,” you watch from the couch and feel weird seeing and hearing about your “death” and how sad Aizawa looks while he talks about how sad he is to have you truly gone. Everyone looked like they actually had been crying and that meant one thing…

It was going to be torture when they come to visit again.

[mymameisnotknown]

Something about Phil flying Tubbo to safety on his soon to be broken wings

Using the very same technique he had messed around with and testing the lasso with the enemy teams leader just the day before

Sacrificing the very thing he's been chasing after for months and seeing the life drain out of them as the clock keeps ticking down to their impending doom

But also bird man go zoom

[yume-fanfare]

hidaka hokuto ⁉️

[neiptune]

Hi :3 im so happy to see this event because this is such a genius idea! I love taylor and all her lyrics are just Ugh😩❤️

Would you mind writing for Rengoku with the prompt “all you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing” ? Just a fluff fic where he doesn’t die, instead got married and retired with reader, looking softly at his spouse to realise that the reader only wanted sweet nothings from him❤️

kyojuro rengoku x all you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing

request a character + prompt here :)

Kyojuro doesn't mind.

Even if you don't believe him, even if you protest each time he offers to carry the laundry basket, even if you roll your eyes as he lowers himself until he's basically sitting on his heels to offer his back whenever you're walking home and he thinks you might feel tired. He doesn't mind.

That's exactly the first thought that crosses his mind as soon as he wakes up at dawn, the back of his hand gently but barely grazing your forehead, worried crests between his furrowed brows soothing as he finds your skin cool. He's careful as he gets out of the futon you share and pays extra attention to the pressure used to close the shoji doors of your bedroom as he exists the room.

It's a quiet morning and he can hear the birds chirping outside. He decides he likes the way the kitchen changes color as hues of soft orange and pink bleed through the windows, reflecting on the ceramic bowls you had piled up the evening before. It's kinda hard, resisting the urge to hum while the rice leftovers are heating up and eggs, salt and sugar are being mixed in a larger bowl. He's not gonna go with elaborate dishes, can't risk making you sick again. The miso soup will keep you hydrated and hopefully soothe your nausea, soft rolled omelettes are your favorites and, well, rice is there just in case you're hungry enough to eat it.

You try your best to tiptoe to the kitchen, woken up and drawn to the heavenly scent of whatever is being cooked in there. You try, but of course he hears you anyway, taking a former hashira by surprise being literally (and practically) impossible.

“Hey”, your voice barely crawls out of your throat as sleep still refuses to peel off from it.

Kyojuro wishes he could turn around fully in your arms, which are around his waist as your forehead rests against his back, but he's too afraid of burning those eggs.

“How are you feeling, my love?”, he resorts to a less affectionate although momentary greeting.

“I'm fine”, you mumble, “what're you doing?”

Slender fingers holding purple chopsticks make the job of rolling and folding an omelette look embarrassingly graceful.

“Making breakfast, of course. Do you feel like eating? There's soup. I have also brewed green tea and cut a lemon, please add a slice to your cup. It will relieve your stomach”, his voice vibrates against your forehead and you have to close your eyes for a second, take his cedarwood scent in. It mixes well with the geraniums sitting next to the window, you find.

“Kyo, it's your rest day. You spend the entire week training young slayers and you haven't slept at all within the last two days. I should be making breakfast”, you complain, right before a loud and not at all elegant sneeze cuts you off. You're forced to take a step back and sniffle slightly, puffy eyes and runny nose not really helping your case.

Kyojuro turns the stove off and piles the neatly folded omelettes on a plate.

“You should be resting”, he smiles softly as he brings bowls and plates and cups and teapot to the table. You sigh, surrendering to sit and wait for him to be ready to do the same.

“I'm sorry you're forced to take care of me”, you grumble, cursing the afternoon you had decided to run outside and attempt to save your freshly hanged laundry from the sudden downpour.

Kyojuro sits at his usual place, next to you and never across from you. He jokingly claims that it's to see you better with the only eye he's left with but, really, he doesn't see any reason to be farther from you when the opposite is possible. He wouldn't call himself clingy, just... tenacious in his love for you. Ever since miraculously making it back home from a train mission, he's been more indulgent with himself and his feelings. He talks more, touches you more, is working hard to piece together a civil relationship with his father. Kyojuro is now able to cry, mostly at night, after a nightmare, but even as no sad thoughts are crossing his mind and all he's looking at is his brother laughing with the Kamado boy or you bickering with Tengen. Tears just start rolling down his cheeks abruptly and it's impossible to stop them, not by kissing them away, not by holding him, now by stroking his hair. Perhaps they have been waiting too many years and should now get to decide when and how and where to stop.

“Come here”, he demands, arms invitingly outstretched, lips stretched in a gentle smile. You comply, because how could you not? Of course you'll sit on his lap and let him press your back against his chest, of course you'll sigh as his lips softly press to a spot right behind your ear.

“I love you. Getting to take care of you makes me lucky”, he murmurs, rocking your body ever so slightly.

“But I can't always ask for that. You should get to rest as well”, you observe, only for his grip around you to grow tighter.

“You never ask for anything. All you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing”, his voice is quiet but you notice the slight crack in it. Kyojuro talks more now but that doesn't mean that he always knows the right way to say what he wants to say. It's pretty fortunate for him that you always understand.

All I give you, I give you because I'm so loved.

All I give you, I give you because you're my home.

All I give you, makes me feel privileged. Because I still get to give you.

[tunabesimpin]

Midnight Mal

[breakbleheavens]

I just wanna stay in that lavender haze.

@pscentral​ event 11: 2023 releases ↳ the LAVENDER HAZE music video

[missmeinyourbones]

"we were supposed to be just friends." and gojo please?

WE WERE SUPPOSED TO BE JUST FRIENDS (s. gojo)

a/n: slightly suggestive, will they won't they (they will), mentions of alcohol, satoru can't not be annoying for like three seconds

L’s MIDNIGHTS EVENT!

Everything feels hot. And it shouldn't.

Because it's the end of autumn and your dress flows down past your knees and the wine in your glass was supposed to warm you up but now Satoru is everywhere and everything feels hot.

He has you pinned against the wall, and how you got from the front door to the hallway, you don't remember, but his lips feel like fire as they dance along your neck and down to your exposed collarbone.

Even breathless and tingling, you know this is wrong.

You knew from the moment Satoru asked you out for a few drinks—as friends, he promised. The second he pulled your chair out for you at the bar, the moment you took too long to pick out a dress, you knew this was how the night would end.

Because while you and Satoru are supposed to be friends, that's never been quite the case.

With eyes closed and a heaving chest, you manage to pant out a pathetic, "This shouldn't be happening—"

"Y'know, I'm not judging you or anything," Satoru chuckles against your sticky skin, his lips moving faster than the speed of light as they crawl up your neck and below your ear, "but if that's your idea of dirty talk, we might need to teach you a thing or two."

When he gently paws at your earlobe, you disguise the wanton whimper as an aggravated sigh, attempting to paw at his broad shoulders and remind him.

"This is a bad idea, we both agreed that it's a bad idea."

"Impossible," he gently smirks against your jaw before sinking his canines into the bone with a smug exhale. "It's half my idea, and I've never had a bad idea in my entire life."

Wrong, you immediately note.

You can think of a minimum of seventeen bad ideas Satoru has had, and that's just off of the top of your head. And of those seventeen, at least ten of them ended up like this—with the two of you gnawing at one another like animals.

Still embarrassingly breathless, you try to regain the upper hand, "So you're just talking to hear yourself speak?"

"Well, I can think of a few sweeter things to say," he smoothly mumbles against your jaw, relishing in the way his teeth gently scrape the skin lovingly.

His (huge) palms find your thighs with ease, and just as he's about to lift you in his arms and inevitably fuck you raw against your shitty apartment wall, a miracle happens.

With every ounce of strength you have, you're able to push him far enough away from you to actually look at him. Both of you panting and warm to the touch, you're able to look into his eyes with a telling frown.

"Satoru, we are supposed to be just friends."

And though your tone is stern, his reply is light and airy as he leans back in, insistent.

"We are friends."

When his tongue prods at your swollen lower lip once more, you pull him back by his hair. Not missing how he whines at the tugging, you raise your eyebrows, unamused.

"You kiss all your friends like this?"

"Only the ones as pretty as you," he coos immediately, leaning back into your mouth. But your grip on his hair prevents him from reaching what he wants, and when he notices the stern look in your eye, he softens.

"No," comes softly from his chest as he pulls away to properly look back at you. "No, I don't."

You exhale deeply, catching your breath and attempting to firmly plant your feet on the floor. Satoru's listening to you, or at least he's doing a good job at pretending to, and your gaze can’t help but fall to his swollen and spit-shined lips.

"We agreed to take things slow, to be friends for a while and not rush into things like we—"

Conveniently, his eyes do the same and flicker down to your own distracting pout.

The words meekly crawl out from his throat when he practically whimpers, "But you're wearing that lipstick you know I like."

"I shouldn't know you like it," you coldly remind him, "because we were supposed to be friends."

Satoru moves his hands from your thighs to your hips which, believe it or not, is a conservative improvement for him. Though his hands made a safe choice, his eyes falter back down to your neck when he presses a feathery kiss to your pulse point.

"Baby," he coos and you despise that you feel yourself clench around nothing. From a sixth sense or eye, Satoru somehow knows, because he smirks against your skin and brings his attention right before your lips.

"From the moment we met, we both knew we were never gonna be just friends."

He doesn't give you the privilege of a kiss, but lingers just above your lips as if his infinity is still on. You know enough to know it's off, it always is around you, but with the way he's so close and denying you his actual touch, you don’t quite know the difference.

When you don't answer, he prompts you tenderly. "Right?"

Stubbornly, you turn your head to look away from his stupid face, but all that does is further expose your neck to him.

Practically singing with mockery, Satoru's tongue dances along your jaw when he grins.

"Your silence is more telling than you think."

You gently shove him off of you, rolling your eyes in frustration at his cocky (yet correct) statement. He jokingly stumbles back at your shove, hand over his heart as he huffs out a whine.

"I can't stand you," you grumble.

With a shit-eating grin, Satoru sighs and lays back on your sofa, spreading his legs comfortably wide and patting his thick and barren thigh.

"Then come sit."

[wetleg]

Taylor Swift attends the MTV Europe Music Awards 2022