#um. idk what this is.

[onismdaydream]

tw: 18+ mdni. gn reader. anal fingering. mentions of toji's past abuse/upbringing. uncharacteristically soft for me. not proofread.

it's a rare thing, toji handing control over to you.

not that he doesn't trust you — he would place his life in your hands in a heartbeat, you know him far better than anyone else has ever come close to. he just feels safer when he's the one holding the reigns, no matter the situation. toji has spent too long around shady and shitty people that it's engrained in him to never let his guard down. let someone get the upper hand or be one step ahead of you and you're as good as dead.

but you...

you forced your way into toji's heart, kept pushing even when he pulled away, and carved your home in it. you made him learn to accept love, taught him that he deserves to love and be loved in return. showed him that there can be beauty in this cruel world.

though, he would never admit it — sincere and genuine expressions of emotions were still so foreign to him, but he was trying. there were other ways for him to show his affection, however. it would come in the form of his lips pressing against the top of your head when he thought you were asleep. his thumb rubbing circles on your hip when he held you close. his arm wrapping around your shoulder as you sat next to each other.

but there are moments when he felt more vulnerable, when he craves nothing more than your loving touch and sweet praise. he wants to deny those feelings, a nagging voice in the back of his mind that remind him of those days where he was forced to be on his own, thrown to the wolves without a care — inferior, weak, a mistake.

you're always there, though. always next to toji. always ready and willing and trying.

your touch is gentle where other's were not, soft and warm skin against his own, fingers tracing over the faint scars that litter his back. how he survived this long is a miracle. too many stupid and reckless decisions placing him in danger's way. you'd chastise him if you think it would make a difference. instead, you lean down, kissing down his spine and making him tense.

"'s okay, toji." he can feel your breath fanning against the small of his back, your fingers resting at his waistband. "i got you."

he's quieter when he's like this, almost as if he's afraid of what might come out of his mouth if he opens it. too in his own head.

and it's your job to get him out of there.

you take your time, admiring every inch of his body that you can reach as you strip him of his underwear. you don't want to rush this, wanting to savor each and every little reaction you pull out of toji. usually, all the attention was on you in the bedroom as he took you apart underneath him. you wanted to return the favor.

it's a simple rhythm you fall into with him. your fingers curl as you pump them in and out, a glossy sheen coating them and making the motion smooth. low groans and heavy breathing fill the space between the two of you, your sweet praise and compliments making toji's hips hump into the bed.

it doesn't take much longer for him to spill onto the sheets under him, a shudder working through his body as you pull your fingers out afterwards. he doesn't protest much as you wipe him down, letting you roll him over enough to clean his cum off his stomach.

he holds you close when you come back to him, pulling you into his chest and wrapping his arms around you. his way of thanking you, of saying i love you.

and you smile softly, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

i love you, too.

[sukunasweetheart]

Sukuna, a middle aged man jaded by the harsh realities of his life. He steps outside for a smoke nearby a convenience store, completely bored out of his mind.

A lady is handing out flyers nearby, although nobody is bothering to look her way, including sukuna himself.

You approach the man who's getting irritated by the lighter that refuses to work in his hand.

"Hello there, sir. Would you be interested in taking up classes for arts and craft?" You offer the cute flyer up.

Sukuna scoffs. Is she serious?

"No thanks."

"Are you sure? You look like you could use a bit more colour in your life."

He's too exhausted at this point to get angry at a random woman on the street.

"...You're not too far off, i suppose," sukuna mutters, still trying to get the spark to stay on his lighter. "Even so, I'm not interested in the likes of arts and craft. Do i look like a child to you?"

You withdraw your offer of your flyer, and inspect him for a moment.

"Arts and craft can be enjoyed by anyone, regardless of age. But moving past that... you seem a bit down. If you'd like to confide in a stranger for a night, I'm happy to listen."

What a strange, persistent woman. Sukuna gives up on his lighter, and takes out the unlit cigarette in his mouth to think back for a moment. One thing does come to mind.

"I'm not feeling down. But i remembered something, now that i think about it..." he confesses, feeling weirdly compelled to tell you about it.

"Today is supposed to be my birthday."

Birthdays have never been special to him. Nobody celebrated his birth as a child, and in turn, he's never paid attention to the birthdays of others.

"Oh, happy birthday. Are you doing anything special for yourself today?"

"No. I've never cared for birthdays. And I'm getting too old for that anyway."

"Well, that won't do... Hold on for a second."

Puzzled, sukuna looks back at you but you've already gone inside the convenience store. Whatever you're up to now, couldn't possibly be more enticing than getting in a proper smoke right now. Sukuna begins to zone out.

He only snaps out of it when something mildly cold grazes past his cheek, leaving a ticklish and moist sensation on his skin as it disappears upon impact.

Bubbles. Bubbles are flying past him, and floating away into the sky.

For a moment, he gets mesmerised by the swirl of colours that are harboured in each one. Even just from the light of this dingy street, they fly up while holding a multitude of different colours inside them. Time seems to slow for a split second, and he doesn't understand why.

His gaze follows the trail to identify it's source. And unsurprisingly, it's you, standing behind him. You blow a couple more out, and then grin at him childishly. He finally looks at your face properly for the first time.

"Birthday bubbles. For the birthday man," you chuckle sheepishly, knowing that you probably look a bit silly right now. You put the bubble wand back into the small bottle of the soapy mixture, and screw it tightly.

"Here, you can have it. Next time you're feeling a bit antsy, why don't you try blowing some yourself? They're pretty, aren't they?"

You also hand him a different small item.

"And i also threw in a little something else, while i was at it."

He looks down, and sees that it's a new lighter. He slowly pulls his hand out of his pocket to take both of them from your hands.

"I hope you get to do something more special next year. Birthdays are supposed to be joyful, after all," you comment.

"Thanks for putting up with my nosiness. Farewell."

And then you leave him after a quick wave.

Sukuna stares wordlessly as you walk off, wondering what to name this ticklish feeling rising in the pit of his stomach.

The small bottle in his palm reminds him of a moment in his childhood. Kids in the park bragging about their bubble wands that were gifted to them. the laughs that resounded as they all ran off to catch the fragile spheres as they blew away in the wind. The tiny feelings of envy in his heart.

The item he tucks away into his pocket is the lighter. And when nobody is watching, he blows a couple more bubbles into the night sky.

-

Every time he passes by that convenience store, the thought of you comes to his mind. A flashback of your smile in the back of his mind. Every so often, he comes to this particular store. Despite having closer options, he comes to this specific one.

At times, sukuna regrets not taking one of the flyers that you were handing out. He wouldn't have had to mope around a convenience store in hopes of running into you again.

Today is a rainy day, and this calls for a hot piping cup of instant ramen. He doesn't usually enjoy convenience store food, but he wants a reason to stay around inside for a bit longer.

He needs to wait five minutes for the noodles to soften. In this time, he stares out the glass frame of the store, and watches the various rows of people walking past with their umbrellas opened.

There appears to be one anomaly in the crowd, however. Running without shelter from the rain, clutching her bag as if it contains something important in there. Sukuna realises that it's you.

Forgetting about his instant ramen, sukuna grabs his umbrella and dashes out the door.

You're mildly panicking about being stuck behind the red light at the zebra crossing without anything to save you from the rain, but the sensation of the droplets hitting your body come to a stop all too suddenly.

You look up, and there's a black umbrella sheltering you, big and strong looking. You spin around and recognise the stranger with pink hair and sharp eyes. Seemingly out of breath.

He signals to the light that has now turned green behind you, and ushers you forward to cross the road before you can say anything to him.

Now safely on the other side of the road, you begin to converse with him.

"It's you! Hello. Thank you for sheltering me. How have you been?"

"... So-so. Nothing's changed since the last time we met."

"I see. You look better than last time, though." You get the feeling that his eyes have a little more light in them.

Sukuna doesn't really get what you mean, but he moves on.

"What’s in your bag that's so important for you to be protecting it like that?" He asks, effectively changing the topic.

"Oh, this? I literally just bought some brand new origami paper... i can't risk getting them wet and unusable. The children would be disappointed."

"Origami, huh? How original."

"Hey! That's not all... there's a lot of options i offer them. They voted on origami this time."

"You got a lot of people signed up?"

"Not really... but I'm sure it'll start picking up soon. Slowly, one at a time."

You smile up at him hopefully.

"...is the offer still open?"

You cock your head to the side slightly, confused. Sukuna grits his teeth, feeling a little bashful about having to ask more specifically.

"You know. Lessons for grown adults."

"Oh! Of course, anytime! Would you like to come sign up today?"

"Do you offer one-on-one sessions too?"

"Yes, I do."

"Alright. Let’s go."

Sukuna can't fathom the words that are coming out of his own mouth. But fuck it, what's the worst that could happen? You've somehow intriged him, and he can't think of a better way to approach you.

You chatter his ears off along the way, and he nods along while his shoulder gets wet from the way he leans his umbrella closer to your side.

[fear-is-truth]

JASON TODD’s arms are a masterpiece of brute strength, sculpted from years of training, from pulling himself up fire escapes to knocking out lowlifes with a single swing. his biceps are thick, round, stretching taut the armscye of his shirts, the fabric straining to contain him. his forearms are equally mesmerising—corded with sinew, the tendons twitching with each flex. there’s something almost obscene about the sheer size of them, before they gradually taper down to those calloused hands (and god, those hands. with veins that stand out like tiny rivers.)

you’ve lost count of how many times those same arms have caged you against his chest when he got you in a playful headlock, you struggling in vain (you never really tried too hard), laughing yourself silly. if he wanted, he could easily pin you down, hold you there until you begged him to let go—or begged him not to—and maybe that’s why it turns you on so much.

and now, as he’s leaning back on the couch, one arm slung over the backrest, in such a fashion that your mouth starts to water. so you lean in, the tip of your nose nuzzling the hard swell of his bicep before sinking your teeth in—just a teensy chomp. “what the f—” his head snap towards you, surprise and exasperation flashing in those green eyes. “i like them,” you smile at him sweetly, tracing your tongue along the tiny, crescent indentations that are starting to bloom pink. jason groans, tipping his head back against the couch. “you are so fucking weird.”

[kcrabb88]

I feel like we really lost something when we started looking at writing as a reader-centric product meant to appeal to the desires of a specific audience rather than a writer-centric approach of someone writes whatever particular thing particular compels them/whatever weird thing the demons in their head want to talk about, and people out there who are also compelled, and/or relate, find that writing. A lot of discussions of writing really center around what readers want rather than a writer's exploration. Sometimes as a reader I don't know what I want. I click on a fic or pick up a book I'm not sure about but that looks interesting, and I love it. Reading what I expect to get is it's own joy, but we always need to expand our horizons and not get mad at creators for not always writing what we want/expect.

[vidoeslot]

IN HER GUTS

[greenglowinspooks]

Hey. Shakes you by the shoulders. DCxDP where Eobard Thawne is Danny’s cool distant “uncle” that he never sees but always sends in the coolest gifts for the holidays.

~

Danny had grown used to seeing people injured at a surprisingly young age.

He wasn’t injured on the regular, or witness to some sort of extraordinary amount of violence; his parents’ lab was just… very volatile, and they were unprofessionally lax on safety measures on the best of days.

As such, when he saw an unconscious, incredibly injured man wearing some sort of superhero suit in their backyard in the early hours of the morning (he had gotten up to get a glass of water when he heard a thump outside), he didn’t panic, as any young child should have in his situation.

No. Instead, Danny dragged the man inside (with considerable difficulty; despite how thin he was, he was heavy), treated his wounds as best he could (it’s difficult for a child younger than 10 to do stitches, you understand), put a blanket over the man, and went back to bed.

After losing a fight to the Flash and passing out in a random suburban lawn, the last thing Eobard was expecting to wake up to was a small child sitting on the floor in front of him, noisily eating a bowl of cereal.

(He had thought, maybe he would have been found by the Flash and brought to some Justice League holding cell. Or, found by a civilian, and brought to the police. Perhaps, in his feverish state, he had remembered the prison he ended up in from his time, with their brands and chemicals and torturous therapies.)

For some unknown reason, this child had found him, not recognized him as the monster he is (perhaps due to the boy’s age), and helped him—even if his healing factor would have fixed him eventually, having all his parts in the right order certainly sped up the process.

Usually he wouldn’t care for civilians. He’d killed enough that he’d lost count what felt like an eternity ago—and yet, somehow, he felt indebted to this boy. This boy, who had helped him so selflessly, who was so entirely clueless to the evil right in front of him.

This boy, who was all alone in an empty house, whose sister was away, whose parents had gone on a trip and left him behind.

(It didn’t matter the explanation the boy gave for it, Eobard’s mind whispered to itself regardless. Kin. Like calling to like.)

And so, he worked hard to free himself from this debt he had incurred.

He traveled through time, working his way into the family whilst posing as a distant relative. It was remarkably easy; the Fentons didn’t have an incredible memory of their relatives; all he had to do was forge a few papers and mention a few people and he was now “Uncle Eo”.

It was, however, taxing on the mind. These people were absurdly friendly, not to mention talkative. The effort had become a multi-year operation, popping in every now and then for large family gatherings and home visits.

It felt… nice, to be wanted for once. To be noticed in his absence for more than just his status.

To be liked.

He made sure to send the boy a gift on the right holidays, as well as on his birthdays. With his skillset, it wasn’t too difficult to follow him around and see what he liked and wanted. It also wasn’t difficult to spy in when he opened them, to ensure that he had done an acceptable job.

Of course, he couldn’t let this sort of thing cut into his time spent fighting the Flash, so he wasn’t too present. The last thing he wanted was to drag trouble into the boy’s life from his presence.

But then, it happened.

He found out that this boy, and the one known in his time as Phantom, were one and the same.

It was, as a historian, thrilling.

It was, as a villain, horrifying.

In all his travels, he had never intended to involve himself with that mysterious being which shadowed the Justice League. That ghost with the power, in some timelines, to bring about the end of all things.

Of course, he was also capable of doing that, but it isn’t exactly fun to meet someone who’s powers are a match for your own.

Especially if you couldn’t find it in yourself to end him, should he make himself your enemy.

Still, he had a debt to repay, and a boy to look after.

He delivered things to the boy’s room to help him; tactical gloves, a lightweight protective suit, weapons and equipment. All uncredited, since the boy seemed to value the idea of a secret identity.

He took it upon himself to shift the odds in his favor a few times, even; making faster-than-light adjustments to the boy and his combatants during fights to shift the odds in his favor.

Somewhere along the years, he had formed some sort of odd affection for the boy, if he was capable of doing so at all.

And so, when that ghost-boy sought his Uncle Eo out all the way in Central City, carved open and scarred, a distant look in his eyes, he took him in without a second thought.

He would protect this boy, who once had protected him.

[francy-sketches]

cringe ass family ❤

[satangcrush]

AU where solomon is much more shadier 

| MASTERLIST

“What do ya’ want?”

It was a growl, raspy around the edge. He bares his teeth, posture hunched as if he was ready to pounce. Solomon blinks at him, taking a step forward. 

“What do you mean?” His mouth pursed, calm voice light and airy.

The air in the Avatar of Greed’s lungs seemed to be screaming for release, chest heaving up and down.

“What are you doing here?” Mammon barked back, fingers clenching around nothing. His nails pierce into the palms of his hands, crescent-shaped marks left on them.

The sorcerer smiles, folding his hands gently in front of him.

“Visiting my apprentice, what else?”

“Stop it.” Mammon takes in a deep breath, irises flashing gold as his jaw clenches. Sweaty palms rub up and down his thighs, sweat trickling into the indent of his palm.

It hurts. 

He grits his jaw harder.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Quick movement as he tries to sidestep the demon, aiming to reach the door’s front to ring the doorbell. “Doing your job as a guard dog, aren’t you?”

“Did your owner praise you today?”

The demon refuses to move, stationing himself starkly in front of the door. The sorcerer’s breath ghosts against his neck and the cool inhale of his breath strengthens his resolve.

He can’t let this wicked man pass him.

“You—“

“Solomon?” 

He recognises that voice. 

At once, all tension leaves his body yet he still stands there warily, hackles up. You open the door, peering confusedly at the scene in front of you.

“Mams?” He jolts back like his leash has been pulled. He can’t let you see him in this state. Forcing a smile, he hides his hands behind his back. “What are you doing?”

“My apprentice!” In a blink, the sorcerer sidesteps him with his arms up high. Momentarily, he half-turns, leaning down in a pretense to pat Mammon on the back.

“Good boy.” He whispers, a smug smirk on his face that the demon was itching to smack off.

Mammon unclenches his fist.

an: found this in my draft & finished it up. believe this was when I was trying to deepen tension in my scenes

[obsob]

bedtime story with my love !!

[lizstiel]

in which scott realizes he is not immune to the logan brainrot

[onismdaydream]

yuta okkotsu who cries the first time your hand wraps around his cock.

he's always been sensitive, his pale skin covered in goosebumps at the slightest breeze, every fall or hit resulting in dark bruises or messy scrapes. even now, he can't help the flush of his cheeks when you so much as touch his shoulder or give him a compliment. it's cute, honestly. but you didn't know just how much it extended to the rest of him.

it just feels so much more intense and real to have the warmth of your palm around him, slowly stroking his length with his shiny precum. every swipe of your thumb across his leaking tip resulting in a full body shudder, his thighs shaking and his breath hitching.

he doesn't even truly notice it at first. his vision begins to blur and he bites his bottom lip, trying so desperately to keep any sounds in as to not embarrass himself. but soon enough, a fat tear rolls down his blushing cheek and you're quick to notice it.

"are you crying, baby?" its a sincere question. your hand stops in its movements, ready to pull away. he makes a soft noise, something between a whine and a moan — something meant to keep to himself — but the dribble of pre that blurts from his swollen head betrays him.

he likes it.

and he wants more.

it's only a matter of time before you have him a blubbering mess, your hand covered in his cum as he orgasms for the third time.

[requinum]

[casscainmainly]

The thing about Dick and Cass is not only that Dick resents Cass' closeness to and understanding of Bruce, but that Cass resents Dick's closeness to and understanding of Babs. They both make each other feel insecure in their most fundamental relationships, which is why they fight so often, and why many of their fights feel one-sided. Essentially, they're mutually beefing with each other over different people, but because they'll never admit it neither of them ever know what the other is mad about.

[thatnununguy]

What if I built a robot version of you that makes it obvious that I completely misinterpreted your entire character? Haha, jk.... unless.....

[biruesque]

dead end.

[stiffyck]

shoutout to agent stone for being the prettiest man alive