#this is not argumentative and i do not see your response as argumentative

[djarindroid]

hi! I don’t know if you’re comfortable writing this (I didn’t see you say anything about it in your rules), but could I request a pregnant!reader x Thanos? Kinda like Jun-hee and Myung-Gi. I totally understand if this makes you uncomfortable, and feel free to decline if so! Thank you! <3

tysm for this request! 💕 Loved writing this, I hope you enjoy it!

Stay Behind Me

Pairing: Thanos (Choi Su-Bong) x Pregnant!Reader

Summary: After walking out on Thanos, you never expected to see him again. But when he spots you in the games how will he react to the secret you’ve been hiding?

Warnings: Pregnancy. Usual Squid Game stuff - death, shooting.

Word Count: 1,162

The argument had been building for weeks, small drops of annoyance that had finally bubbled over.

‘You lost everything?!’ You shouted, voice raw. ‘What made you think you could just take my money and put it all into that stupid crypto thing!?’

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing like a caged animal. ‘FUCK, you think I wanted to lose it?! I did it for us!’ He pointed at you as he yelled back. 

‘Well good job, you lost all of our money and now we have nothing,’ your chest heaved. ‘How are we gonna pay the bills?’ Your nostrils flared as you watched him reach for his necklace, taking out one of his pills. ‘Oh, this is fucking great! I can’t believe you're just gonna get high rather than talking this out.’

He scoffed, ‘what do you want me to say? That I ruined everything? You already know that!’

‘I want you to take responsibility, at least say sorry!’ You threw your hands in the air in frustration. ‘Don’t numb yourself with that shit. Talk to me. Please.’

His jaw clenched, for a moment he looked away, avoiding your eyes. ‘You just don’t get it,’ he muttered before popping the pill in his mouth.

Your stomach twisted, ‘no, I get it. I understand perfectly.’ You could feel your heart breaking as you watched the man you loved turn into a stranger before you. ‘I can’t do this anymore.’

Silence stretched between you both, for a moment you thought he might reach out for you but in the blink of an eye his expression hardened. ‘Fine. Get out then.’

Tears began to slip from your eyes, this was it, it was over just like that. You didn’t look back, you couldn’t. Not as you grabbed your bag, not as the door slammed shut behind you and not when, days later, you realised you were pregnant with his child.

Months later you found yourself in a numbered green tracksuit. After you’d left Thanos, life had been hard. You’d struggled to make ends meet, until you’d met a suited man on the subway who offered you an opportunity to make enough money to solve all your problems.

You were currently stood in a giant arena, listening to the first game being announced. Red light green light, sounds simple enough. A shout from the front of the crowd made you flinch. A player, number 456, had run to the front and was shouting about how the game was dangerous, that if you lost you’d be killed. He had to be crazy right? 

Murmurs rippled around you, some people shouting out that he was just trying to scare them. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself despite the tremor in your hands. Your attention turned to the large mechanical doll at the other end of the arena as it whirred around, facing its back to you. 

‘GREEN LIGHT.’

You began walking forward, going with the crowd. 

‘RED LIGHT.’ 

Everyone froze as the giant doll turned back to you with a soft whirring noise. It seemed that everyone was doing well as the first few rounds went by without incident.

Then, a scream split through the air. Your eyes flickered across the crowd to see a girl swatting at something near her face. You held your breath, waiting. Maybe player 456 was just paranoid..

Your thoughts were interrupted as a crack pierced through the air and the girl hit the ground.

Screams erupted as people realised what happened. Panic ensued and more gunshots rang out. You clenched your eyes shut and focused on staying still. The life growing inside of you had to be your main priority, nothing else mattered.

‘GREEN LIGHT!’ 

You couldn’t move, locked into place by terror. You weren’t alone, everyone around you was frozen with fear. A prickling sensation crept up your spine, followed by the uneasy feeling you were being watched. Shakily, you took the opportunity to turn your head.

Thanos.

All the air left your lungs. He was here. His eyes widened as yours met his. 

‘RED LIGHT!’

You watched as his gaze lowered to your belly. Taking in the undeniable swell that definitely hadn’t been there when you last saw him. 

It was his child, he had no doubt.

You hadn’t made any attempt to reach out to him, you don’t know why. You’d made excuses, telling yourself he wouldn’t be interested, that he’d have turned you away at the door. But now, with him looking at you all of those excuses felt weak. It could just be your emotional state, or the situation you found yourself in but you wanted nothing more than to close the distance between you.

It seemed that he had the same thought because the second the doll turned away again, he moved. Not forwards to the finish line, but towards you. He hurried, stepping over bodies, until he stood in front of you, blocking you from view. He didn’t hesitate before placing a shaky hand on your belly. His touch was soft, gentle - everything that you’d missed.

There was so much you wanted to say but before you could the doll whirled back around and you froze. You stared into his eyes, desperate to read his expression. He looked determined. The moment green light was called again he grabbed your hand, ‘stay behind me.’ 

You didn’t argue. As the game continued he guided you carefully, always making sure to shield you with his broad frame. Other gunshots rang out but his grip was unyielding, never letting you go. Despite everything, being close to him again felt right. A part of you had been aching for it, even if you never wanted to admit it.

As the finish line drew nearer you felt the weight of everything pressing down on you. The stress of the game, disbelief that Thanos was here, guilt that you hadn’t told him, fear for your unborn baby - it was almost overwhelming. Tears welled at the corner of your eyes but you forced yourself to keep moving.

Finally you crossed the line, a shuddering breath escaping your lips as relief washed over you. Thanos turned to you, his dark eyes searched yours but before you could say anything he pulled you into him. You melted into his warmth, his arms familiar and steady - home. 

‘Stay with me,’ he spoke quietly as he held you. ‘I won’t let anything happen to you,’ he pulled away slightly and glanced down at your bump. ‘I won’t let anything happen to either of you.’

Your tears brimmed over as you replied, ‘Thanos I-I’m sorry I didn’t tell–’

‘No need,’ he interrupted gently. ‘I fucked up, I get it now,’ he cupped your cheeks and wiped away the tears. His voice dropped to a low whisper. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m not gonna let you go again.’

For the first time since walking out on him, despite the horror surrounding you, you felt hope.

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

Hi, if you're still doing poppy playtime asks, mind If I ask, how would the toys react if the player saved up a lot of money and used it to buy a remote property far from any society. When asked why the player states they're going to die one day, one day they won't be around and they need somewhere to live when for when he's no longer around to take care of them. It's remote so Noone should ever run into them, it's got plenty of food either by the river, sea, forest or simply growing in the garden. It's got plenty of rooms for each of them, they just ask that the toys take care of themselves, so when they do die they'll die knowing they'll be okay

I couldn't fit everything you said into one post because it was getting long, sorry about that. Hope you like it anyway!

If you like my work, please consider commissioning me or leaving a tip on Ko-fi (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

Kind of a continuation to this post.

Player who lives in a remote location

★ You got the property years ago; it's off a dirt trail far into the woods. Hard to find if you weren't actively looking for it. Could go weeks without seeing another person. You liked it, it was nice and quiet. And, conveniently, the perfect home for all the toys you could rescue.

★ It was a big adjustment for everyone. Doey, Kissy and Dogday were still shaken up over everything that had happened. Most of the mini critters seemed in good spirits, which you were thankful for. Even though the first few days were stressful, each passing day felt a bit better than the last.

★ Cartoons are constantly playing in your living room. Usually, older Disney movies or indie shows you find on YouTube. Doey tries to play peacemaker whenever an argument about what to watch breaks out.

★ Some of the smaller toys are scared of being carried away by a bird of prey. You made one joke about it, and it was taken seriously. "Watch out, or a big bird might swoop down and carry you away!" It was meant to be funny, but Bobby didn't leave the house for a good week after that.

★ The lack of light pollution makes it the perfect place to stargaze! Some of the toys who were turned at a very young age don't remember seeing stars. It's sad, but at least you can help them make up for lost time.

★ A mini-Catnap is the first to ask you “What’ll happen when you die?” It’s a heavy topic and you try not to think about it. But he has a point. What will become of everyone when you're gone? How can you prepare them for that?

★ You begin by teaching the toys basic life skills. Showing the more responsible one's cooking, the rowdy one's how to set fishing traps. And take the time to show Poppy how she can use your old sewing machine to make herself new clothes.

★ The thought of losing their protector would be unsettling. However, over time, they find solace in your home's safety and the skills you've taught them. When you're gone, everything will be okay. They have each other.

(Got the idea for some of the toys never having seen stars from this comic. Please check it out! It's really good!)

[spacegyaru]

cw: very toxic shidou! also, i'm having a baby fever rn after meeting my bf's nieces sooo. also, they're both 23 here!

toxic! shidou ryusei is the type to make you beg no matter what the circumstances are. whether it's in and out of the bed, if he has the chance to be a menace, he totally would be.

you remember staring back at the two lines that your pregnancy test kits left three weeks after officially breaking up with him. you cursed at yourself upon seeing it.

"ugh fuck," you whispered to yourself, after looking at the white stick you just used. you discovered that you were officially pregnant with your ex-boyfriend, ryusei shidou's baby.

well, the circumstances of the breakup weren't exactly ideal. you loved shidou dearly, but he started becoming a little bit toxic. it all started when you asked to break up with him for the sake of your career, but he refused to— you ended up having make up sex until you forgot about breaking up. after that, whenever you guys start having an argument, he brings up the fact that you almost broke up with him, even to the point of accusing you for cheating— but he wasn't agressive. it was more of a taunt to you, given his smug personality.

eventually, you got sick of it and broke up with him. now, you're in your bathroom, thinking whether you should tell him or not. you sigh, setting down the three tests, and taking a photo of them.

if you're going to be honest, you'd love to have kids— babies to be exact. but you're not sure about who their dad would be. also, you're not sure if your menacing ex would be the ideal man for that. besides, you're broke right now... which means, you'll be needing his help.

so with a little bit of hesitation, you texted him after deleting his contact, and not talking for the past two weeks, sending him a photo of those three tests.

this is the first time he left you on read, and it made your blood boil. you were so mad.

after that, you tossed your phone on the bed. why were you hoping for a good response from shidou anyway? that's like waiting for a shooting star.

until the next night...

you couldn't stop your blood from boiling upon reading this. so you devised a plan to confront. the next day, you were angrily storming in to the sports arena, after his football practice. there's not a lot of people during that hour and he's usually the last person to leave. you entered the locker room, where you met him, with his towel hanging low from his hips. he smirked upon seeing you with an angry expression while approaching him.

"yo y/n—" shidou tried to greet you, but your palm came across his cheek. you slapped him with full of anger.

"you have the guts to greet me with a 'yo' when i just told you that i'm pregnant and you literally ignored me?!" you almost caused a scandal in the locker room, but it's a good thing that there's only the two of you in the whole place.

you thought shidou would argue back, but he didn't. he smirked, ignored you, and just got dressed. all while you waited for his answer. this is shidou's usual trick to provoke you. he's going to be quiet and wear a smug expression, until you get so angry... and eventually, you're gonna find yourself calming down.

"r-ryusei— hey, d-don't ignore me! hey!" you tried chasing him as he almost left while carrying his sports duffel bag, but you blocked his way, almost doing a t-pose. and he laughed upon you doing this. you got so embarrassed and flustered by his reaction.

"you're so funny, y/n." shidou said in a smug voice, "if you want my help, you gotta at least be nice to me, you know? you'll need to take me back to your life.~"

oh hell nah, shidou knows a lot. he knows that child was made by you and him. but of course... he won't give you what you want. not until you beg for it. not until you show him how dependent you are to him.

shidou didn't expect you to give in so fast though. but you had swallow your pride. you badly need his help.

"i-i— don't leave me alone, ryusei. this is your child too. i—" you were having a hard time blocking his way and he's surely having fun watching you chase him like this. "f-fine, i'll play nice and do whatever you want!"

again, for the third time, shidou managed to make himself crawl back in your life again. you could never get rid of this man.

[asheepinfrance]

A Night Over

an: enjoy this cute picture of mike because i literally finished this like 2 hours ago and spent so long worrying about making it aesthetic i stopped caring

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He brushes past you as soon as you open the door, barely even a wide enough space to squeeze a body through. You huff, turn around just in time to get knocked into by his overstuffed messenger bag. It’s the same one you recognize from kindergarten cubbies and middle school lockers. 

“Well, hello to you too, Connor.”

You’ve done this all before. You recognize the sound of his body against the couch cushions before you see it, back turned to him to pull some blankets from the coat closet by the front door. You can feel his eyes, though, the way you always can. Intense in everything, even just in observing you move through your home. The home he’s been to more times than he can count on both his hands. He can’t help but to be fascinated by you, though, no matter how many times he’s been around you, bombarding his senses until the only thing his brain has a concept of is his existence relative to yours. 

He keeps a bag packed for nights like these, nights that are more frequent than they should be, and have just been growing more persistent. There’s a tone to his father’s voice he knows too well. Not necessarily anger, but a growing displeasure at everyone and everything around him, including the son that ruins his Facebook family photos and general public image of being a perfect, upper-middle class suburban family. He wouldn’t mind being in a miserable family if everyone agreed on the best way of doing it, but they still clash in that sense. So disjointed they can’t even find the same ways to hate each other, hate themselves.

You sit on the coffee table across from where he rests, hands clasped in your crossed thighs. There’s no need to talk about it anymore. The argument, the topic it took, isn’t the issue. It’s not what drives him out of his house at odd hours of the night to seek refuge in yours. It’s the feeling that if he stayed, there would be no escaping the idea that maybe, just maybe, his father is right. That he is ruining things. Sure, he’d internalized that feeling since birth, thinking and feeling it before his father could confirm he shared the same opinion, but it still hurt to know that he wasn’t his daddy’s little boy anymore. Now, he was the son that could’ve been better, should’ve been better with the resources provided to him. But he’s not normal in that sense, never has been. He wishes he could hit himself on the head hard enough to knock loose whatever is festering in his skull until it comes out his ears. Whatever neurochemical imbalance, whatever parasitic thought, whatever version of himself nestled its way in. 

You unclasp your hands, find your palms redder than they’d started, grabbing at his ankles to place them in your lap. 

“You can sleep in my bed, you know. Your back will thank you.”

You say absentmindedly, beginning the minutes long task of unlacing those scuffed, softened leather boots he always wears. They’d been a product of saved-up birthday money and weeks of not smoking, and he couldn’t help but to feel a little proud for having done something semi-responsible with himself. And now here they are, in your lap, sprinkling wet dirt onto your skin. It’s the same offer you’ve been extending his way for months, held in your palm like it’s fragile, like it means more than just a bed. He never takes it, curls your fingers back over it, nudges your hand back to your side. He means well. He means not to impose the way he does everywhere else. He knows how few places he’s truly welcome. He knows that the best one is wherever you happen to be. He won’t lose it, or he loses himself. But he can’t impose where he is invited. Welcome at all times. Your home is his home, because he doesn’t have one otherwise. Here he is wanted, and he just won’t let that be. 

You curl the undone laces around your fingers, watching the coils turn your skin just that little bit paler under the strained blood flow. He doesn’t stop you. He just watches, like he tends to do. You can feel his eyes follow the movement, whether it’s yours or the lace’s, you can’t quite make out. You look back up at him through weary eyes, the time of night clear in each fleck of color. It’s fairly late, but not late enough for you to look so worn. You’ve been tired for ages, and no amount of laying beneath woolen blankets has been able to rejuvenate you. Remarkably, there aren’t any real bags beneath your eyes. The one way you could cry out for the help you’d so desperately like without verbal confirmation of being anything less than mundane, and you can’t even supply yourself with it. How pathetic. He recognizes the look in your eyes, the plea for him to help himself so you can live vicariously through it. Feel better for having done something. He doesn’t give in though. 

So fine. He can have it his way. Boots are tucked beneath the couch, left to drip onto the wood beneath them. They can rot the whole house away for all you care. You squeeze yourself into that sliver of space he isn’t taking up, face to face so closely that it feels like this is the first time you’ve seen him at all. His left eye has a little spot of brown in it, stuck in amongst blue. A black sheep. He looks behind your head to the wall. It seems easier. He’s met with a framed photo of the two of you. No such thing as an easy way out. So, he does what he does best. Watches. Watches you move some humidity-frizzed hair from his face as if it won’t fall right back where it was, watches you attempt to get comfortable with the singular foot of room allotted to you, watches you pretend the proximity isn’t what makes your eyes look far away and yet so concentrated. He can’t point that part out, he’s sure he looks the same. He watches you sleep, too, for a while. Features softened, smushed, unfurrowed by stress. You look your age this way. You’ve shed years of forced maturation in a single shallow breath. He doesn’t feel it’s an invasion if it’s something beautiful to look at. Artistic, even. Biblical. He shivers, pretends it’s from the cold, the rain, the dampness of his clothes. You hadn’t actually put any of those blankets you’d grabbed to use. He doesn’t want to move. He can feel your heartbeat if he focuses enough like this, breath mixing with his own on your exhales. He thinks it’s almost kissing. It’s better. It’s nowhere near enough. He looks to the ceiling, then back at you. He smiles. Maybe someday he’ll say the obvious. Maybe someday he can impose. But for now feigned relative indifference will do. You know he cares more than he says. You will wake up rejuvenated.

[iskanderpryor]

"Whoever he is that I must marry, even as I see my duty through, know that I will always hate him," The prince was petty enough to see that through, but it was his heart that wouldn't permit otherwise. "because he is not you." Iskander’s feet carried him forward, though his heart begged him to stay - to linger in the echo of something that had never been spoken aloud, never been given shape beyond the weight of his own wanting. A return to their electric touch. His breath curled in the night air, a thin, fleeting thing, vanishing before it could be caught before Daven hurried ahead and Iskander followed his lead - because he always would - because there was no other choice but to honor the distance the witcher had set between them.

Though they moved in tandem the pair could not be further apart, residence of Bergia that might as well have been as distant as Valtolian sands from the fjords of their home. Iskander wished for more, wanted for more; while the prince never thought he'd grow a wishbone where his backbone was meant to be, the choice had been taken from his hands. He was fond of the belief that if Daven wished it to be so, then Iskander would have no qualms with throwing his life away so that their hearts might engage. His prospects, his family, and all the expectations that came along with it. For all those reasons, the truth was not so simple. He loved each of the Pryors in his own way, they brought out both the best and the worst of him. Something that Iskander didn't know if he could truly throw away - but the fantasy was nice to visit.

A cabin somewhere in the rural trees, so deep into the wilds that their company would be reindeer or stags. Perhaps a bear if the creature was unfortunate enough to tread too close to the watchful witcher waiting at the door. Iskander would take after his mother and start a garden for the spring and tend to frigid groves through deep winter - eating preserves and cured meats he'd prepared for the family of two and maybe a few more, when the time was right to fill the home with the laughter of children. Half of these things Iskander didn't know how to do - he'd never so much as cracked an egg, but if it meant falling asleep with Daven's breath on his lips, Iskander would learn.

He was no fool. Iskander knew how the world worked, how the gears of duty ground men like him into nothing. He had been born beneath the weight of expectation, raised to understand that his body was not his own, that his hands would be given away, his name signed onto another’s lips in a vow that had nothing to do with love. A prince did not belong to himself. He was a commodity, a necessary sacrifice for the good of Bergia.

And yet.

What a cruel jest, that he could have been content in his duty had he never known the warmth of Daven’s arms, the brief solace found in the quiet spaces between battle and obligation. That he could have gone his whole life never knowing what it meant to ache for something beyond what had been set before him.

But he had known.

Capability didn't align with interest and the placation of belief did little for him. It was something else to focus on, but it left little to be desired; better to be numb than make himself all the more marketable. That was the fashion that his charismatic tenacity might serve, Wylla preserve him he knew what it would take and it'd certainly make everything easier on the people around him if he'd just be complacent. But he had come tonight, hadn't he?

Though, that argument was moot if Iskander spent half the night avoiding the gala entirely. His warm eyes flickered about the Servants' Quarters as the staff responsible for all the moving parts behind the scenes seemed to take in Iskander's royal presence with a degree of shock. In natural cadence, Iskander slipped into the disheveled image of the Bergian second born hedonist, a grin as smooth as Castherian silk with eyes as rich and warm as a Medesian summer, "I heard a rumor our host has your spiking the wine -" a torturous comment, one that came with a raised finger that drifted from figure to figure. "so, who am I to hold responsible?" Fear of reprisal was, hopefully, a strong enough motivator to sew their lips together at the presence of the witcher and Iskander arriving together.

though  his  face  was  scrubbed  clean  of  emotion,  daven’s  shoulders  tensed  at  the  sound  of  those  words,  bracing  for  impact.  hard  blows  followed  consecutively.  iskander  painted  the  dreaded  scenario,  a  day  where  he  finally  would  have  to  part  with  the  other  and  keep  him  under  the  protection  of  some  silly  noble’s  banner.  a  day  daven  would  have  to  cut  off  and  bury  a  vital  part  of  himself.

he  felt  his  chest  constrict,  heart  veins  tautening  in  a  mix  of  grief,  anger,  and  something  unnameable.  something  unspeakable,  something  rotten  and  bitter,  like  a  selfishness  to  forbid  that  from  happening.  he  swallowed  again,  hard.  “what  else  is  there  to  do?”  daven  asked  in  the  same  whisper,  each  syllable  enough  to  damn  them  for  high  treason. 

daven  and  iskander,  iskander  and  daven.  they  could  only  exist  amongst  shadows  and  darkness,  bound  forever  to  be  close  but  never  touch.  the  other  selves  that  they  were,  prince  and  witcher,  carried  far  more  significance  than  whatever  daven  could  offer  the  other.  with  him,  what  was  the  life  that  awaited  them?  dark  woods  and  darker  creatures,  grime  and  dirt  and  blood.  a  far  cry  from  everything  that  iskander  deserved  and  was  worthy  of. 

yet  in  that  darkness,  there  was  the  slightest  crack  in  his  armor  as  he  let  their  knuckles  brush  against  each  other  for  a  moment.  the  touch  crackled.  it  sent  gooseflesh  pricking  up  his  forearm  to  gather  at  the  nape  of  his  neck.  “you  are  not  a  punchline  to  a  jest,  isk,”  murmured  softly,  tone  thickened  by  the  thrill  of  the  shared  touch,  the  world  closing  in  around  him,  “i  wish  you  could  see  how  irritatingly  charming  you  can  be.  but  most  importantly,  i  wish  you  could  see  how  capable  you  are  of  —  more.  of  —”

the  words  died  on  his  lips  with  cold  panic  as  he  saw  a  crack  of  light  from  what  could  only  be  the  door  to  the  servant  quarters.  daven’s  defenses  marshalled  themselves  in  an  instant. that  was  too  fucking  far. his  features  neutralized;  his  throat  incinerated  the  sentence  he  intended  to  say.  instead,  all  daven  said  as  he  began  walking  ahead  was,  “let  us  hurry.  before  anyone  notices  your absence.”

[separatist-apologist]

Genuinely, and I mean this kindly, but learning to recognize bait and not engaging with it will change your fandom experience.

[omsocks]

Fanfiction is for fun

​You’re not making it to make money, you’re making it for you

No one can tell you you’re writing fanfic wrong

If you want to write wildly inaccurate fanfic, do it

If someone has a problem with it, they don’t have to read, they can find something else to read, or even better, write what they want to read instead of bothering others about it

If anyone tries to tell you otherwise, then they just want to start arguments and you should ignore them

Where’s that post that’s like “somewhere along the way ‘fanfiction can be as good as published writing’ became ‘fanfiction should be as good as published writing’ and fandom as a whole has suffered since”? Because that’s essentially what I’m trying to say

[iustuspeccator]

Thanks so much for your response and for sharing your background, that definitely helps me understand where you're coming from. And, you know, I probably don't have as much direct experience as you do. I definitely have not met hundreds of pagans, in part because even though my husband is a practicing pagan, he doesn't really interact with other pagans because the pagans in his hometown disagreed so much with his beliefs. So, I do defer to your experience with the majority; I recognize that I don't have that majority pagan experience in my house. I don't see a lot of ground to cover left in this conversation, because I don't think you and I actually DISAGREE as much as we just have different perspectives and experiences. I do think you are absolutely right on the control aspect being inappropriate for Christianity, and I think that's one of the most persuasive arguments against Christian witchcraft and a good guardrail, because it really limits what magic is available to begin with. I actually never did any spellcasting I just like bought crystals and read tarot, and I stopped using the crystals as anything more than decoration because it did feel too borderline on like relying on God's power. I did also want to mention and just ran out of time on my first post, that I think you're dead on about the cultural aspect and the urge to "buy crystals about it." I know you pegged me, like c. 2012 with that, bc in my little break from Christianity I kept looking for faith in religions that really belong to specific cultural contexts, and I had to pull myself back and be like, your culture IS Christianity, it's Lutheran, that's where you need to be looking. I've got a lot of thoughts about like...white people's urge to look for culture outside of our own, and I think this really intersects with that. But that thesis is still kinda simmering. I'll be adding what you said to the crockpot. Last thing: I hope I didn't sound like I thought you were being mean to pagans. I was trying to be cognizant of the fact that this was like...a tumblr post and not like how you would interact with someone who came to your church. Totally normal to be overenthusiastic on tumblr. That's why I almost said nothing lol but I just...love to yap.

like I get it, being witchy and occult is in vogue right now, and I’m not ever going to tell someone it isn’t real or it’s not a valid spiritual practice

but we have a God who spent an excruciatingly long amount of time explaining to us how She wanted to be worshiped. part of worshiping a specific god of any sort in any pantheon is being aware of their preferences and desires - why is the way She wants us to worship Her no longer good enough? why do we need to look elsewhere? we are not supposed to divine, to use magic, to invoke without cause. there are rules. we should follow them.

[gibbearish]

every time i see discourse about fundraisers go by on here im just fully struck with the realization that not a single one of you people have either taken a cybersecurity fraud prevention course or bothered to take one singular second to consider the website youre on. this is the broke bitches website. none of us can afford to fund our mutuals' grocery bills, much less entire evacuation funds, and CERTAINLY not FAKE evacuation funds taking advantage of genocide victims. all this shit abt how people are deliberately choosing not to fund every post that passes their dash because they hate palestinians literally just does the work of actual scammers for them by laying the high-pressure sales tactics groundwork, and the "do you guys have any idea how hard it is to keep coming up with new attention-grabbing fundraiser posts?" ones just ring EXTREMELY hollow because YEAH! YEAH I DO! and so does everyone i follow! and everyone they follow! because all of us are FUCKING BROKE and surviving on crumbs! i just saw one that said "i make sure to keep $40 in my wallet at all times so i can give $20 to any panhandlers i see, this is the same" and its like!! good for you, thats very nice, but like!!! you need need NEED to take a step back and realize that /being able to do that/ is a position of privilege, not the default setting to be a good person. i wont discount that some people do ignore fundraisers specifically because of racism because Of Course, but like. a) yelling at them isnt gonna make them stop, or more accurately yelling at /everyone else/ isnt gonna make those people stop, and b) trying to apply that as a blanket motivation for everyone just. realistically doesnt work. not donating is a nonaction, it is the literal default status, and while in specific situations you can use CONSISTENT absence of SPECIFIC actions to track a person's motivations SOMETIMES, broadly speaking that just. doesnt work.

there are 8 billion people on this planet. most of them will never know you exist. of the ones that do, most will not be able to help you. of the ones that can, most will not be on the broke bitches website passing the same communal $20 around. consider your audience and stop shitting on fellow poor people for having the gall to need to be careful with their money. and if you are genuinely only posting your fundraiser to tumblr, like. im sorry, but you need to anticipate not reaching your goal and prepare accordingly. theres a reason the last big scam scandal people talk about actually getting the money is like. all-or-nothing era, as a website none of us have the funds to make that kind of thing happen anymore or the security to risk it. a fundraiser not meeting its goal on here is not a personal sleight against whoever made it, its just how life goes sometimes. and it's unfair and it sucks and we should help however we can, but. sometimes you just arent able to help someone else, and continuing to feel responsible serves only to torture yourself. and blaming OTHERS serves only to move that guilt from yourself off onto another person. i imagine that has to be where a lot of the vitriol comes from, is people who cant afford to donate more getting pissed at people they see as having the funds but choosing not to share them, but again, sometimes you just are not able to achieve the goals you set out towards, through no fault of the specific parties involved.

people on tumblr choosing to buy groceries rather than potentially donate to a scam are not your enemy and are not the ones facilitating a genocide. we're all victims of the same horrific system, the question is just how that system manifests its influence on each of us. poverty kills just as thoroughly as a bomb. everyone is just doing their best to survive, and as much as we like to pretend that everyone should be a perfect selfless angel that puts others before themselves no matter what, humans are by default a selfish species, and it is a lot easier to say what youd do in theory than actually do it. and there's a reason you have to put on your own oxygen mask before helping the person beside you, youre of no help to anyone if youre too dead to do anything.

[mortalityplays]

This is a dangerous sentiment for me to express, as an editor who spends most of my working life telling writers to knock it off with the 45-word sentences and the adverbs and tortured metaphors, but I do think we're living through a period of weird pragmatic puritanism in mainstream literary taste.

e.g. I keep seeing people talk about 'purple prose' when they actually mean 'the writer uses vivid and/or metaphorical descriptive language'. I've seen people who present themselves as educators offer some of the best genre writing in western canon as examples of 'purple prose' because it engages strategically in prose-poetry to evoke mood and I guess that's sheer decadence when you could instead say "it was dark and scary outside". But that's not what purple prose means. Purple means the construction of the prose itself gets in the way of conveying meaning. mid-00s horse RPers know what I'm talking about. Cerulean orbs flash'd fire as they turn'd 'pon rollforth land, yonder horizonways. <= if I had to read this when I was 12, you don't get to call Ray Bradbury's prose 'purple'.

I griped on here recently about the prepossession with fictional characters in fictional narratives behaving 'rationally' and 'realistically' as if the sole purpose of a made-up story is to convince you it could have happened. No wonder the epistolary form is having a tumblr renaissance. One million billion arguments and thought experiments about The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas that almost all evade the point of the story: that you can't wriggle out of it. The narrator is telling you how it was, is and will be, and you must confront the dissonances it evokes and digest your discomfort. 'Realistic' begins on the author's terms, that's what gives them the power to reach into your brain and fiddle about until sparks happen. You kind of have to trust the process a little bit.

This ultra-orthodox attitude to writing shares a lot of common ground with the tight, tight commodification of art in online spaces. And I mean commodification in the truest sense - the reconstruction of the thing to maximise its capacity to interface with markets. Form and function are overwhelmingly privileged over cloudy ideas like meaning, intent and possibility, because you can apply a sliding value scale to the material aspects of a work. But you can't charge extra for 'more challenging conceptual response to the milieu' in a commission drive. So that shit becomes vestigial. It isn't valued, it isn't taught, so eventually it isn't sought out. At best it's mystified as part of a given writer/artist's 'talent', but either way it grows incumbent on the individual to care enough about that kind of skill to cultivate it.

And it's risky, because unmeasurables come with the possibility of rejection or failure. Drop in too many allegorical descriptions of the rose garden and someone will decide your prose is 'purple' and unserious. A lot of online audiences seem to be terrified of being considered pretentious in their tastes. That creates a real unwillingness to step out into discursive spaces where you 🫵 are expected to develop and explore a personal relationship with each element of a work. No guard rails, no right answers. Word of god is shit to us out here. But fear of getting that kind of analysis wrong makes people hove to work that slavishly explains itself on every page. And I'm left wondering, what's the point of art that leads every single participant to the same conclusion? See Spot run. Run, Spot, run. Down the rollforth land, yonder horizonways. I just want to read more weird stuff.

[29121996]

.

[cumironi]

A BRAT IS ALL I WANT ！

TOJI FUSHIGURO has a breeding kink, and you’ll be damned if you give into it! but in reality, he just wants to start a family with you.

warning. husband! toji fushiguro, breeding kink, ōral ( m! receiving ), fingering, nipple-playing, dirty talk, pet names, name-calling.

wc. 4,5k | in this megumi wasn't born yet.

sure, you loved being toji fushiguro's wife. however, he sure knows how to get your nerves screaming. your birth control switched out for ibuprofen, holes in condoms, fucking you raw in your sleep even!

“c’mon baby.. i want a brat…”

toji drawls, so sexy and arrogant. you absolutely fume, straddling his lap as he gives you that big, scarred, smile. he has a breeding kink, and you’ll be damned if you give into it!

“let me fuck you raw again, baby…”

you glare at him defiantly, hands on your hips as you straddle his lap. “absolutely not, toji! we've been over this. i'm not ready for a kid right now.”

he just grins up at you cockily, large hands gripping your waist. “aw c'mon babe, don't be like that. you know you love feeling my cum flood your tight little pussy.” is thumbs rub circles on your lower belly. “and i know you'll look so damn hot all round and glowing with my baby growing inside you."

you scowl and try to wriggle off his lap but he holds you firmly in place, erection pressing insistently against your ass. “unhand me, you brute!” you demand haughtily, “i won't be bred against my will!”

his eyes gleam with mischief and lust, hands tightening around your waist as he chuckles deeply. “oh, but darling... i think you're enjoying this way more than you let on,” he teases, nipping lightly at your earlobe.

his fingers trail down towards your thighs, deftly slipping under the hem of your skirt to tease along your inner thigh. “besides, who said anything about doing it against your will? i just wanna see those pretty tits swell up with milk and feel our son kicking inside ya...”

with a swift movement, he flips you onto your back on the couch before you can react, pinning you beneath his heavy frame. his breath is warm against your neck as he whispers huskily, “now why don't we make ourselves comfortable while we discuss this further?”

“you're such an infuriating man!” you huff indignantly, squirming underneath him despite yourself. “fine then, if i have to do this, you better make it worth my while!”

your hands reach up to claw at his chest, nails digging into the hard muscle there as you push against him. the firmness of his body pressed against yours sends shivers through your spine. “show me what else you can do besides getting me pregnant...”

he smirks down at you, clearly pleased with your response. “is that so?” he murmurs seductively, trailing kisses along your jawline until he reaches your lips.

his tongue slips past them in a dominant sweep that leaves no room for argument. one hand moves from your hip to cup one of your breasts over the fabric of your shirt, thumb rubbing over the hardened nipple through the material.

“you've got quite the mouth on you when you're angry,” he growls approvingly before pulling away slightly to admire his handiwork— the flush spreading across your cheeks and chest. “but don’t worry baby... i plan on showing you plenty tonight.”

your breath catches in your throat as he continues his assault on your senses. you arch up into his touch, nipples pebbling harder against the palm of his hand.

“arrogant bastard...” you gasp out between moans, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity despite the heat pooling between your legs.

but it’s futile— every brush of his skin against yours sets fire to your veins and makes your heart race faster. the sight of him looming above you like this, so powerful yet so gentle at times... it drives you wild.

“just remember this next time you decide to play doctor without consent,” you manage to say through gritted teeth before biting down on your lip hard enough to taste blood. he chuckles darkly at your words, but doesn't stop what he's doing. instead, his other hand slides down from your waist to grip your thigh tightly.

“oh, i'll remember alright,” he promises huskily before leaning down to capture another kiss from you.

his free hand slips beneath your shirt to find bare skin, tracing up along your ribcage until he reaches your breast once more. this time though, there's no barrier between them— only soft flesh meeting rough fingertips.

“feel good?” he asks teasingly as he rolls your nipple between two fingers causing sparks to shoot straight down to your core. the sensation of his touch on your bare skin sends shockwaves through you. a low whimper escapes from deep within your throat as he teases your sensitive nipple.

“too good,” you admit breathlessly, tilting your head back against the cushioned couch back. your hips instinctively buck upwards seeking friction against nothing but air. the need for something— anything— to fill that empty ache gnawing at you becomes almost unbearable.

“just because i say yes doesn't mean you get to take advantage of me,” you pant out weakly, trying desperately to keep hold of whatever shred of control left over. but with each stroke of his fingers over your heated flesh, it feels less like a warning and more like an invitation into pleasureland.

a wicked grin spreads across his face at your words. “take advantage? me?” he questions mockingly, though there's a glint of amusement in his eyes.

slowly, deliberately, he starts to slide downwards— kissing and licking a path along your collarbone before dipping lower still until he reaches the swell of your breasts. “i think we both know who's really in charge here,” he rumbles against your skin, hot breath ghosting over one hardened peak, “and it ain't you.”

without warning, he takes the sensitive bud into his mouth and sucks hard— tongue swirling around it torturously slow while his hand continues its ministrations on the other side.

a sharp cry tears itself from your lips as waves of pleasure crash over you. his mouth on your breast feels incredible; too much so for comfort. your fingers tangle into his hair, holding him close against you. despite everything you’ve been saying, it’s clear that you’re losing ground fast.

“don't stop...” you breathe out heavily, unable to deny him anymore.

even though part of you knows this isn't fair— that he's manipulating things to get exactly what he wants— another part relishes in being taken care of like this. and god help you, but it feels amazing.

“oh, fuck! just please...”

he hums in approval against your breast, the vibration sending jolts of electricity straight to your core. “that's it, sweetheart,” he coaxes, releasing your nipple with a wet pop before moving to lavish attention on its twin. “just let go and enjoy it. you know you love when i take charge.”

his hands roam your body possessively, palming your curves and squeezing roughly enough to leave marks. when he finally pulls back to gaze down at you, his expression is pure sin— dark eyes blazing with hunger and dominance.

“now, where were we?” he muses, voice dripping with promise as he starts to unbutton his shirt— revealing chiseled abs and a scattering of scars. “why don't you show me just how grateful you are for my attention?” he suggests, fingers already working to undo his belt buckle.

the sight of him undressing, even partially, sends a surge of arousal coursing through your veins. your breath hitches in anticipation as he leans closer again. “like this?” you ask, reaching out to trace a finger down his chest, feeling the ridges of muscles ripple beneath your touch.

your hand dips lower, brushing against the bulge straining against his pants. a smirk curls your lips at the feel of him throbbing beneath your fingertips. “or maybe like this?” you whisper suggestively, giving his hardness a firm squeeze through the fabric. his bulge feels heavy on your palm.

he lets out a low groan at your touch, hips jerking forward involuntarily as you fondle him through his pants. “that's it, baby,” he encourages, his own hands coming up to cup your breasts again, kneading them roughly. “get me nice and hard for you.”

with a swift motion, he frees himself from his trousers, allowing his thick cock to spring forth. it stands proud and erect, the tip glistening with pre-cum. “now why don't you put that clever mouth of yours to good use?” he commands, stroking himself slowly as he watches you with hungry eyes.

“lick it clean first, then take me deep inside that sweet little throat of yours. show me how much you want to be bred by me, my love.” the sight of his impressive erection makes your mouth water. with shaky hands, you reach out to wrap your fingers around his shaft. he's warm and solid in your grasp— a tangible proof of his arousal. you can't resist leaning in to lap at the precum beading at the tip, savoring the salty-sweet flavor.

leaning forward, you press a lingering kiss onto the head of his cock before taking it into your mouth. the salty-sweet flavor explodes on your tongue as you start to suck gently. “mmm, tastes good,” you murmur appreciatively before wrapping your lips around the head of his cock and sucking gently.

as you begin to bob your head, taking him deeper into your warm, wet mouth with each pass, you feel yourself getting lost in the sensation. his musky scent fills your nostrils, and the weight of him on your tongue is intoxicating.

you hollow your cheeks and suck harder, determined to please him. your hand comes up to fondle his heavy balls, rolling them in your palm as you work his shaft with increasing enthusiasm.

you bob your head back and forth, taking as much of him as possible into your warm cavernous space. each stroke sends tremors rippling through your body making it difficult to concentrate on anything else besides pleasing him right now.

a low, guttural moan escapes his lips as you take him deeper, the sound vibrating through you as you suck. his fingers tangle in your hair, guiding your movements.

“fucking hell, just like that,” he growls, thrusting shallowly into your mouth as you work him over, “such a good little cocksucker, aren't you?”

he rocks his hips in time with your bobbing head, fucking your face with increasing urgency. the sight of your lips stretched tight around his girth, the way your cheeks hollow with each suck, is almost too much to bear. “you're going to make me cum so hard down your throat if you keep this up,” he warns, voice strained with pleasure. “ready to swallow every drop like a good girl?” his pace quickens, driving himself deeper with each thrust.

your nose presses against his pubic bone as he hits the back of your throat, the pressure building with each thrust. tears prick at the corners of your eyes from the intensity, but you don't dare pull away.

“mmph!” you gag slightly as he bottoms out, but quickly recover, relaxing your throat to take him even deeper. the vibrations of your muffled moans add to the sensations as you continue to suck and lick at his shaft.

your free hand slides up his abdomen to tease his nipples, pinching and rolling them between your fingers as you service him. the dual stimulation of your mouth and hands pushes you closer to the edge, your own arousal building rapidly.

you look up at him through tear-filled eyes, watching his face contort in pleasure as you work him over. his hips buck wildly, driven by instinct alone as you manage to take him impossibly deep. the sight of those full lips wrapped tightly around his cock, trembling from effort and pleasure— it's all too much.

“oh fuck, right there...” he grunts out, eyes locked onto yours, “that's it, swallow every inch.”

with a final powerful thrust, he buries himself to the hilt in your throat. he holds there for a moment longer than necessary, letting you adjust before beginning to move again.

“gonna fill you up soon,” he whispers hoarsely, his control slipping as ecstasy floods through him. his strokes become erratic as he teeters on the brink of release.

“just... just a bit more, my l-love...”

the feeling of him pulsing against your tongue is exquisite, his impending climax evident in the way his cock throbs and twitches in your mouth. you double your efforts, sucking harder and faster as you sense his orgasm approaching.

your throat constricts around him rhythmically as you swallow, milking his shaft for all it's worth. drool escapes from the corners of your stretched lips, dripping down your chin and onto your heaving breasts.

you can feel your own arousal building to a fever pitch, your core clenching around nothing as you imagine him filling you up with his seed. the thought alone nearly pushes you over the edge. but you hold off, determined to make him come first. you want to taste his essence, to feel him pulse and twitch in your mouth as he finds his release.

with a guttural groan, he slams home one last time, holding you in place as his cock erupts in your mouth. thick ropes of hot cum coat your tongue, flooding your senses with the intense flavor of his release.

“fuuuckkk!” he bellows, eyes rolling back in bliss as he rides out his orgasm. his grip on your hair tightens, not painful but insistent, keeping you still as he empties himself into your eager mouth. wave after wave of his seed pulses across your taste buds, each spurt a testament to his pleasure. finally, with a shuddering gasp, he stills, his cock softening slightly within the confines of your lips.

“swallow it all, baby,” he orders, voice husky with satisfaction, “every last drop belongs to you now.”

you eagerly swallow every last drop of his cum, savoring the taste as it coats your tongue and slips down your throat. his seed is potent and rich, leaving an unmistakable warmth spreading throughout your belly.

reluctantly releasing him from your mouth, you sit back on your heels, panting heavily. your lips are swollen and bruised from their vigorous use, a satisfied smile curving them despite the discomfort.

you reach up to wipe away some of the drool trickling down your chin, smearing it over your cleavage instead. looking up at him through half-lidded eyes filled with lust and satisfaction, “did i do okay?”

he looks down at you, chest heaving with each breath as he fights to regain his composure. a satisfied smirk plays on his lips as he takes in the sight of you, flushed and disheveled.

“you always did, baby,” he replies, voice rough with residual pleasure, “best damn blowjob i've ever had.” he reaches out to run a finger along your jawline, tracing the path of a single tear that has managed to escape. his touch is surprisingly gentle given the intensity of what just transpired.

“but we're not done yet,“ he adds with a predatory gleam in his eye, “it's my turn to breed you now.” without waiting for further response, he pulls you towards him until you're straddling his lap once more. his cock is already starting to stir again, eager for another round. you wrap your arms around him, smiling so beautifully just like how you are, his sweet, sweet little wife.

feeling your arms encircle him, toji lets out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling through his chest. his hands roam over your body, taking delight in the softness of your skin beneath his calloused palms.

“i'm glad you're mine,” he murmurs into your ear, nipping gently at the lobe, “i plan on making you feel very well taken care of.” his hands slide lower, pulling your hips flush against his growing erection. the sensation makes him groan in anticipation.

“so let's get started, shall we?”

you giggle softly, leaning in to press your lips to his in a tender kiss. as you pull back, you whisper, “i love being yours, toji. show me how much.” emboldened by your words, you begin to grind against him, your slick heat coating his length through the fabric of your underwear. the friction sends sparks of pleasure coursing through you, stoking the flames of desire even higher.

he captures your lips again in a searing kiss, tongue delving deep to claim every inch of your mouth. when you break apart, panting, he grips your hips firmly and begins to rock you against him, the motion deliberate and slow.

“that's it, ride my cock,” he commands, voice thick with need, “let me feel that sweet pussy of yours rubbing against me.” his hands slide under your shirt, palming your breasts roughly as he continues to grind you against his hardness. the sensation is maddening, each pass sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

“fuck, you're soaked,” he growls, breaking the kiss to trail biting kisses down your neck, “can't wait to bury myself inside you and fill you up.”

you moan loudly, the sensation of his hard cock pressing against your clit driving you wild. you arch your back, pushing your breasts further into his grasp as he tweaks and rolls your sensitive nipples. you can hardly stand it anymore; the need to have him inside you is overwhelming. you start to move faster against him, desperate for more contact.

“oh god, toji,” you whimper, looking into his eyes, “please, i need you... need you to fuck me.”

hearing your plea, toji's restraint snaps. with a swift movement, he stands up, carrying you effortlessly in his arms. he strides towards the bed, laying you down upon it with surprising gentleness considering the urgency of his actions.

“you'll get exactly what you ask for,” he promises, yanking down your panties with a rough tug. his gaze falls upon your glistening folds, wet and ready for him.

positioning himself between your thighs, he lines up his throbbing member at your entrance. without another word, he plunges deep inside you, stretching and filling you completely. “fucking perfect,” he grunts out, beginning to set a punishing pace. each thrust drives him deeper, hitting spots within you that make stars burst behind your eyelids.

a loud cry tears itself from your throat as he fills you entirely, stretching your walls deliciously. the sensation is overwhelming, causing your entire body to shake.

“oh, t-toji, baby..” you plead desperately, wrapping your legs around his waist to draw him even deeper if possible. every stroke hits just right, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. your fingers dig into his shoulders, nails scratching lightly over his skin as you cling to him for support. you can't help but buck up to meet each of his powerful thrusts, desperate to take everything he offers.

he growls in approval, loving the way you claw at him as he pounds into your willing body. the sound of your cries and the sight of your breasts bouncing with each forceful thrust only spur him on.

“look at me,” he demands, his voice thick with lust, “want to see those pretty eyes when i breed you.” his hands grip your hips tightly, anchoring you to him while he drives into you mercilessly. the slap of flesh echoes around the room, punctuating the symphony of moans and groans.

as he watches your face contort with pleasure, toji leans down to capture a nipple between his teeth, nibbling harshly before soothing it with a flick of his tongue. you obey instantly, meeting his gaze with wide, lust-filled eyes. the combination of his commanding presence and the raw pleasure he's giving you leaves you breathless.

“oh fuck, toji...” your voice trails off into a series of broken whimpers as he teases your nipple. the dual sensations of his cock pounding into you and his teeth grazing your sensitive bud send shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through your veins.

your inner walls clench around him involuntarily, trying to milk him for all he's worth. but it's clear that you're far from finished; there's still so much more you want from this dominant man.

feeling your walls flutter around him, toji can't hold back a satisfied grunt. he releases your breast with a pop, watching as a bead of blood appears where he'd been sucking. “good girl,” he praises, slapping your thigh lightly for emphasis, “keep coming for me.”

with renewed vigor, he starts slamming into you harder than before. each thrust goes deeper than the last, aimed directly at that spot inside you that makes stars dance across your vision. the bed creaks under their combined weight as he picks up speed, driven by pure instinct and carnal desire.

the sharp sting of pain from his bite quickly gives way to intense pleasure as he pounds into you relentlessly. your body bows off the mattress with each brutal thrust, helpless to resist the onslaught of sensation.

“o-oh god, oh god!“ you whimpering, your voice hoarse from crying out in ecstasy. your mind blanks, consumed solely by the primal urge to be filled, claimed, bred. you lock your ankles behind his back, using every ounce of strength to pull him impossibly deeper. your hips rise to meet his, creating a frenzied rhythm that threatens to shatter you completely.

the feeling of you wrapping yourself around him, urging him on, pushes roji closer to the edge. he feels your body tensing beneath him, signaling that you’re nearing your climax. “that's it,” he encourages through gritted teeth, “come for me, show me how much you love being fucked by your husband.”

his thrusts become erratic as he chases his own release. the thought of filling you with his seed fuels his arousal further. “going to breed you so good,” he vows before capturing your lips once more in a bruising kiss. the intensity of his words coupled with the relentless pace of his thrusts sends you spiraling into oblivion. a scream rips from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave.

“i'm cumming!“ you cry out, your body convulsing around his cock as waves of pleasure rip through you. your juices coat his shaft, slickening the path for him to find his own release. your inner muscles clench and unclench rhythmically, milking him for all he’s worth. you can barely form coherent thoughts; all that remains is raw, animalistic pleasure.

feeling your pussy spasm around him triggers toji's own climax. with a guttural roar, he buries himself to the hilt and unleashes a torrent of hot semen deep inside you. “take it all, my wife,” he growls, his hips jerking erratically as he pumps you full of his essence. the sensation of his cum flooding your womb sends shivers down his spine.”

as the final pulses of his orgasm subside, toji collapses onto you, his heavy chest heaving against your own. he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, marking you with gentle bites and whispers of praise. panting heavily, you bask in the afterglow of your intense coupling. feeling toji's warm seed fill you to the brim brings a sense of satisfaction and completion.

“handsome,” you murmur contentedly, running your fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. embracing the intimacy of the moment, you wrap your arms around him, holding him close as he recovers. your bodies remain joined, the evidence of his claim still dripping from your entwined forms.

toji hums in pleasure at your touch, nuzzling deeper into your embrace. he presses a soft kiss to your pulse point, savoring the taste of your skin.

“mmm, you're beautiful too, the most beautiful,” he murmurs, slowly rolling you to your sides. even in this position, he remains buried inside you, his softening cock still nestled in your warmth. gently, he begins to rock against you, stirring the mix of his cum and your juices within your shared depths. he action sends pleasant tingles through both of you, prolonging the intimate connection.

“this was perfect,” he says, his voice low and satisfied, “just what we both needed.”

your body responds eagerly to his movements, each subtle shift reigniting the embers of pleasure within you. you let out a blissful sigh, enjoying the lazy rhythm you've fallen into. “it was...more than perfect,” you agree, a smile curving your lips despite the exhaustion settling in. the tender affection mixed with the lingering heat of your lovemaking leaves you feeling cherished and utterly fulfilled.

as the minutes stretch on, you find yourself reluctant to break away from this sweet, languid closeness. it's moments like these that make you realize just how deeply you adore your husband— in every way imaginable.

toji gazes at you adoringly, taking in the blissful expression on your face. he reaches up to brush a stray lock of hair from your forehead, his touch feather-light and reverent.

“i love seeing you like this,” he confesses softly, “satisfied and happy in my arms.” he pauses, his expression turning thoughtful. “i think it's time we started planning our family, don't you? we could have a few more little ones running around, keeping us busy and on our toes.”

the suggestion is made with a playful glint in his eye, but there's an underlying seriousness to his words. toji wants to build a life filled with love, passion, and children— and he intends to start that process soon. at the mention of starting a family, your heart swells with joy. the idea of carrying another child conceived in such passionate, loving circumstances fills you with excitement.

“you know i've always wanted that,” you reply, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his lips, “a house full of laughter and love...and maybe some mischief too, maybe later,”

the prospect of growing their family together stirs something deep within you. not just physical attraction, but emotional commitment— a bond forged not only between lovers but also parents-to-be. “but for now,” you continue, tracing idle patterns on his chest, “let's just enjoy this moment. our private paradise.”

hearing your agreement, toji smirks, his eyes sparkling with delight. he captures your wandering hand and brings it to his lips for a kiss.

“a private paradise sounds ideal,” he agrees, nipping gently at your fingertips, “but i suppose we should get moving eventually.” despite his words, there's no urgency in his tone. Instead, he seems content to simply stay here with you— lost in each other's company until reality comes knocking.

“but first,” he adds, pulling you closer until your breasts press against his chest, “i need to make sure you're thoroughly satisfied.”

a soft chuckle escapes your lips at his declaration. the idea of being thoroughly satisfied by your husband is quite appealing indeed. “oh, i think i am,” you purr, rubbing your thighs together to alleviate the residual ache left by their earlier activities, “but if you insist...“

you arch your back slightly, pressing even harder against him. the sensation of his semi-hard member still nestled inside you sends delightful sparks of pleasure coursing through your veins. “just one more round?” you tease, batting your eyelashes playfully.

toji's smirk widens at your teasing words, his dark eyes gleaming with lustful intent. he rolls you onto your back, positioning himself above you with a predatory grace.

“one more round it is then,” he declares, beginning to move again, leaning closer to kiss your forehead. his renewed thrusts are slow and deliberate, designed to draw out every last drop of pleasure from both of you.

each stroke sends jolts of pleasure radiating throughout your body. the combination of his weight pressing down on you and the steady rhythm of his hips driving into yours creates an intoxicating blend of sensations.

“and when we're done,” he promises huskily, “we'll start planning our future...together.”

[audliminal]

Man it is so funny when you watch someone swing a baseball bat at a hornets nest in live time

[gibbearish]

hm ive been thinking about it and i dont feel like that post is actually falling in the division being sown because like. theres no part of me that feels like these beliefs and behaviors are inherent to transfems, and in both that post and the long baeddel one from before i focused entirely on the ops and their specific actions/motivations. and i feel like if there /is/ a way to discuss things like this without falling into the trap, that has to be it. there has to be a way to address the actual issues without it just being about fighting and i can't think of a better way but. idk i do still worry it does more harm than good

[soleilapproves]

The one where Toji gets a buzz cut.

Masterlist

-•-

You dropped the grocery bags on the ground when you were greeted by your boyfriend.

But not out of excitement or happiness.

“No! Your glorious hair!” You dramatically walked to him so you could take a closer look at the damage. Toji, being the evil man he was, laughed at your response. “What d’ya think? I hated my hair covering my eyes while I was on missions so I tried something new.”

“Something new? You look like a felon!” You groaned as your hands roamed around his scalp, hoping for a miracle that would grow his hair back.

“Alright, that’s too far. I thought chicks dug this look.”

“Not on you! Maybe some weirdo that doesn’t look like an assassin for hire.”

“But I am one.”

“That’s besides the point, Toji. You’ve hurt me. By cutting off your hair you’ve also cut off any ties you had with me.” You sulk.

Toji was starting to feel self conscious even when he knew the adjustment phase would go away. “Do I really look that bad, doll?”

“No, but-“

“There’s a but? Okay, that’s it, I’m not touching you from now on. Since I look so bad, you can come to me when you find me attractive.” Okay this was turned into a real argument and you started to get agitated too.

“Fine! Let’s see who’ll last longer.”

Toji simply scoffed and walked back into his man cave.

Who knows how long you guys were planning to do this for?

-•-

A long time. You both can go without touching each other for a long time. It had been a week and a half without any physical intimacy but the relationship was normal, you both spoke about anything and everything. Neither of you were showing signs of caving in (or were just that good at hiding it).

It was a quiet afternoon. Toji was out buying some last minute ingredients for dinner and you were starting to miss him. And as much you hated to admit, the buzz cut was growing on you. Just the other day you had to fan yourself when you saw Toji doing pushups where he looked like an underground fighter prepping for his next match.

To distract yourself you decided to spend your time calling your friend instead. You put her on speaker while you organized your closet.

“Girl, what do you mean it’s ugly? It’s all the rage right now.”

“I know. I hated it when he first got it and now all I can think about is pouncing on him. Ugh, I hate myself.”

“You live together. Just go touch him, you fool.”

“No, I’ll lose and I can’t lose to him. He’s always winning bets between the two of us.”

The conversation went on for a few more minutes until your friend had some urgent business to attend to.

You turned around to grab the rest of clothes and shrieked when you saw a tall figure standing in the door way.

It was Toji. “Did you hear everything?”

“I’ve been here since you admitted that my haircut was hot. Do what you will with that info.”

You sighed as you sat down on the bed. “I guess that means you win.” He could tell you were pouting even when you were turned away from him. He smiled at your childishness and gathered you in his arms and made you lay on top of him as he laid down on the bed. “There, you won.”

“No, it doesn’t work like that. I admitted that I wanted you first so you’re still the winner.”

“Then you’ll be happy to know I’ve been thinking about pouncing on you since the day I got my haircut. I wanted to do it out of spite cause I knew you’d cave in but then we made that stupid bet.”

“Ugh, I’m so stupid. You do not look bad at all, Toji. In fact, you look like a hot felon. The type of felon that has a girlfriend who visits him.” You mumbled as you played with the collar of his t-shirt.

“Uhuh, and does she do overnight visits?” He then started attacking your face with kisses as you start giggling.

It was you and your hot felon against the world.

[peachsayshi]

(minors / ageless / blank blogs dni) ok but do you know how quick sukuna would fold in an argument if he ever made you cry?

we know he can get there. we know he can be difficult to communicate. but picture this:

he barks another reply, his responses always so sharp. the frustration gets you riled up and you can’t help but sniffle, can’t help but let the welling tears finally fall. you turn your back to him, your shoulders slump and miss the moment where the realization strikes him, where all the irritation and anger inside him evaporates.

“you…you can be such an ass…” you murmur, choking out a sob as you wipe your tears.

you don’t want him to see you.

two arms are around your waist then, “I’m sorry,” he huffs, “fuck, angel, I’m sorry, please don’t cry…”

and you turn to his embrace, because you love him. because his apologies are incredibly sincere towards you, and you alone. his voice is suddenly so gentle, his words chosen ever carefully.

yes, he can be vicious and rabid - but not towards you. never towards you. the guilt eats him up alive.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, keeping you firmly against him. his chin resting atop your head, one hand massaging the back of your neck.

people say he’s incapable of this, but his love towards you is immeasurable regardless of their opinion. they don’t understand and they never will. but in a moment like this he will always hold himself accountable, reminding himself never to cross this particular line with you.

you should never taste his cruelty, no matter how natural it exists within him.

so, when he cups your cheek in his palm, his eyes drooping in regret, you know that he recognizes his mistake. his thumb wipes away the tears, his lips pressing to the apple of your cheek. “I’m sorry,” he whispers against your skin, “I lost my temper”

you squeeze your hand around the fabric of his clothing, another shaky breath leaving you. but when you gaze up at him from underneath your lashes, you know you’ve already forgiven him.

he rests his forehead against yours, another kiss follows but it’s a peck to your lips.

“you need to work on that,” you pout, your hands reaching for his jaw and he melts between your fingers like butter.

“I’m trying,” he exhales, mostly disappointed in himself. “I’m trying…”