#so the cw feels necessary

[basilpaste]

Love Sick

(Hey! There are themes of romantic coercion in this this drabble! Stay safe!)

… You've asked Sif to date you in six loops now. Six times, knowing nothing mattered — that in the end you'd just go back and he'd never remember, you asked him to be yours. And… he said yes. Every time. They said yes. You went through six loops with Siffrin as your partner.

Is it comforting? To know that they return your feelings?

The first time you were overjoyed! The others were still… nice. Weren't they? It was nice! To see them look at you that way! In the bashful, giddy sort of way you look at them. It was fun to watch Bonbon win their bet with m'dame Odile, to see Mira's shock. Holding Siffrin's hand never stopped being something that made your heart swell.

Six times is… a lot, though. You've been doing this whole thing a lot, to be fair! It was just different with this! And maybe it's not actually different, but it feels different.

Because… it's not fair to them, is it? That you get to do this over and over again? That you get to learn all these details they'd never share with you if you weren't looping? You love them. That's what you tell yourself. Would someone who loves somebody do this to them? Use them like a model? Tweaking the details until it's perfect? You say all the right words in the right order, make them feel loved, hold them close.

But do you love them still?

"Um… Isa?" He speaks, drawing you from your thoughts. "You wanted to ask me something?"

You did. You do. You want to ask him to be yours. Again and again and again. To feel loved by someone so dear to you. Always.

Change. How awful is that?

You're a monster. How could you ever do this to someone? Force them to be with you so many times? How could you! Sif doesn't have a choice! You've entirely taken it away from him! Stitched his mouth and tugged at the strings until they said exactly what you wanted them to. He has no option but to say yes to you!

This only happened...

because

you

MADE

IT.

You open your mouth to say something — anything.

You choke on your tongue. You can't breathe. He's staring at you, he looks so worried. You forced them to feel like this. In a world already so devoid of change you gave him a new option and turned it into the default!

You don't — you can't—

…

You are kneeling in front of the Favor Tree. Your throat burns from the taste of sugar.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

you’re an angel, i’m a dog ; satoru gojo

synopsis; an upcoming exam has been stressing you out, and satoru’s pleas for you to take care of yourself fall on deaf ears. he takes matters into his own hands.

word count; 4.3k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, yan!gojo, as far as yanderes go he’s very mild i think (im sensitive u can trust me!!), mentions of blood, implied murder (not depicted!!), he threatens your professor w a knife lol, surprisingly fluffy??, gojo is soooo lovesick & smitten, he just wants his baby to live a happy life :( is that so wrong :((, also your parents love him <33 and he calls you honey <333 ideal man.

a/n; i blacked out & when i woke up this was in my drafts… mysterious. @kissxcore here u go alexis <33 one very smitten morally gray yan!gojo just for u!! i completely lost the plot halfway through but i had a lot of fun writing this!! :33 i don’t dabble in yan content at all so it was a fun lil challenge hehe, i hope it ended up . Somewhat .. decent…

satoru thinks you deserve everything good.

”haah…”

— the sigh spills into the air, dripping with exhaustion, a palpable fatigue that has his heart clenching.

just as he feared, you’re here. again. seated on the couch, in the living room, legs crossed and framed by flimsy strings of moonlight; illuminated only by the dim light of the laptop in front of you. carding through your hair, blinking sluggishly.

another sigh. deep, exasperated — from satoru, this time. he keeps a single hand on his hip, brows furrowed in soft disappointment. 

”honey… what do you think you’re doing?”

you jolt, the sudden sound breaking you out of whatever trance you were previously in. when your gaze flits to his, craning your head to see him rest against the wall leading up to your bedroom, he thinks you look a little like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

it makes him smile. despite his disapproval.

”ah — satoru! it’s… um.” a moment passes. he can practically see the gears of your mind turning, searching for a good excuse. ”… not what it looks like?”

he clicks his tongue. ”nice try.”

then he’s walking towards you, in long strides, gliding across the room like a butterfly in search of nectar. from the sweetest flower there ever was.

even when said flower is still awake, past midnight, pulling an all-nighter despite his frequent advice not to. his very frequent, very thoughtful advice not to strain yourself until you just about pass out.

but you just won’t listen.

”’m disappointed in you, baby,” he huffs, just playful enough to ward off any genuine feelings of distress. he could never truly be disappointed in his baby. ”what did we say about studying this late, hm?”

a sheepish chuckle slips past your lips. satoru is standing in front of you, hands on his hips, raising a questioning eyebrow as you squirm. lighthearted, yes, but genuine. it makes you feel a little guilty.

”… sorry,” you breathe, closing the lid of your laptop. knowing he won’t let you stay up any longer. with the loss of light, your face becomes shrouded in darkness. ”just can’t sleep when i’m so stressed.”

at that, satoru makes a tiny noise — something worried, a little sad, from the base of his throat. a soft frown finds its way onto his lips, and he blinks the sleep away from his senses. plopping down beside you.

”i know. i’m not trying to lecture you,” he croons, reaching out to cradle the apple of your cheek. you melt into him like molten honey, easy and sweet. ”just worried. know you’re stressed.”

and he does. he does know — it’s all he’s been able to think about, these past few weeks. to his dismay, he’s even begun to grow used to this sight, used to finding you in the midst of working yourself to exhaustion. fighting the urge to sleep, slumped over your desk, or cooped up on the couch. staring into your laptop like it holds the secrets of the universe.

time and time again, he’s told you to take care of yourself. tried to coax you into relaxing, rubbing your sore shoulders and kissing the puffy skin beneath your eyes. but this exam is important — you’ve told him as much, more times than he can count. he doesn’t doubt that you’re right. 

of course you’d be stressed. he gets it.

still, though.

”but you know it’s not good, yeah? that it’ll just burn you out?” his thumb goes to smooth over the dark crescents beneath your eyes, gentle as a feather. ”we don’t want that, do we?”

you bite your lip. trapping it between your teeth. he knows you know. ”… yeah,” you admit, a flimsy little sigh on your tongue. ”it just feels easier to do this at night. don’t know why.”

”my little night owl.”

that makes you smile, a little, but it’s not enough to satisfy him. he curls an arm around your waist, and drags you into his lap; gentle, always gentle, like all that exists under your skin is made of porcelain. like the lines of your face form a string of words, a label of fragile: handle with care. he always does.

with his heartbeat by your ear, his warmth melting into yours, it’s easier to speak. a pressure on your chest that fades away. ”i’ll try not to do it again,” you murmur, biting back a soft yawn. nuzzling into his neck. ”promise. don’t wanna worry you…”

satoru softens. 

(always so good to him.)

”it’s fine, honey. i understand.” he smiles, smoothing down your spine, counting the bumps of vertebra that slide along his palm. ”don’t worry that pretty little head of yours over me, alright?”

in return for his comfort, you wriggle away, lifting your head to give him a smile. one of your many smiles, each one fervently cherished by him; the one you’re wearing now is tired, a soft curl of your lips, the kind that makes him want to lull you to sleep. just the sight alone makes the anxiety in his veins feel like a worthy investment.

he doesn’t tell you anything that could cause that joy to diminish. doesn’t tell you that he can’t sleep without you, that he can barely breathe knowing you’re this stressed all time. doesn’t tell you that he jolted awake with a sinking feeling of dread, a gaping pit in his stomach when he didn’t immediately feel the warmth of your skin against his. doesn’t tell you that he always, always assumes the worst.

satoru doesn’t tell you these things. it’s a safety measure, an act of love. a bundle of unvoiced syllables, woven into white lies, silky and sweet. tailor-made to put your aching mind at ease. 

satoru thinks you deserve everything good.

it’s a theory, of sorts, a train of thought. a hypothesis made manifest. after many years of pondering, he’s arrived at the following conclusion; you are all that’s good. therefore, it only follows that you deserve everything that’s good, all of it and more. satoru believes you deserve every single thing your little heart desires — and he’s determined to give it to you.

so he’s been worried.

it’s not that he doesn’t trust you. he knows you’ll ace the exam, knows you’ll do your very best, knows you’ll make him proud. you always do. you aren’t the problem, no, never.

he just doesn’t trust your professor. 

that unfair, stuck-up, incompetent professor who’d fail his students just for being a couple minutes late, who curates his exams to be as convoluted as humanly possible. you and your friends are starting to suspect he just likes berating people for a living. satoru knows it all, he’s heard it all, of course he has. satoru pays attention to everything, when it comes to you. he knows all about your professor, the man who’s been making your studies pure hell for the past semester.

it makes his blood boil. steady, ruminating, hot and heavy in his veins. a rivulet of lava.

(it was only a matter of time.)

satoru is a teacher too; he knows that type. one that has no business being a teacher, in the first place, one no student deserves to be subjected to. he’s met more of them in his career than he could even begin to count. the thought of one of his own students being at the mercy of someone so incompetent makes his skin itch.

and the thought of you, seated on the couch, crying and sniffling when he comes home because none of the exam questions made enough sense for you to even try —

it makes satoru want to claw his skin off.

it makes that tiny, tiny cavern in his heart extend, widen, like a maw, swallowing up his liver and lungs and sense of morality. an emptiness begging to be filled. 

there’s only one way to satiate it.

so he plants a wet kiss on your forehead, ruffles your hair, tucks you into bed and waits until you fall asleep. deep and heavy, a slumber you won’t wake up from anytime soon. he presses his lips to your forehead one more time — for good measure.

then he grabs his coat and slips outside.

the moon is visible through the window.

a thin crescent, nailed next to the dim stars, leaking a dream-like fluorescent shine; illuminating the office, so quiet he can hear those erratic breaths spill out, one by one. a heavy, heavy silence, thick enough to spread like butter over toast. 

(ah, that’s right — he forgot to buy the butter you asked for this morning. no wonder he feels so out of sorts. he’ll have to grab it on his way back.)

”who… w — what are — ?”

satoru stays silent. lips pursed, eyes keen, burning into the back of the man in front of him. close, almost chest to back, enough to have him scowling in displeasure. 

just being in his presence makes satoru feel a little sick. 

he keeps the blade pressed right beneath his adam’s apple, a silver glimmer in an office painted blue and gray. not enough to sink into his skin, but enough to have his heartbeat hammering, enough that satoru can practically feel those rapid flutters of life. brushing against his gloved hand.

he gets straight to the point. voice muffled by the fabric covering his mouth, low enough that it’s barely even audible. he’s careful, about this kind of thing. there’s a delicacy to the ill intent, something he’d be a little enamored with if it weren’t for the compass stuffed into his ribs — the compass that tells him this is wrong.

he just can’t bring himself to care.

”the upcoming exam.” his voice sends a shiver down the man’s spine. satoru can feel it. ”don’t fail a single student.”

silence. pure silence, suffocating them, tangling itself into the air. satoru can practically taste it — fear, familiar, that pang of panic. a ticking time-bomb. the knife stays pressed against warm skin, pushing, sinking, just a little, a drop of red against his pale throat. 

it’s enough to get your professor to make a little noise, one that vaguely resembles a whine. like that of a small animal, rolling over on its belly, eager to play dead. no word is spoken in reply, but he nods, just barely, a nervous tremble of his head.

satoru hums, approving. ”good.” he doesn’t loosen his grip. ”there’s a particular student i’m worried about. marked them down in the catalogue... i’m counting on you.”

another noise. a grunt of affirmation, a silent plea — satoru allows that fear to seep into his own bones, just a little, just to get a taste of it. cold on his tongue. he wonders if this is what helplessness feels like.

then he takes a step back. slow, tentative, dragging the knife with him. not before parting his lips once more. ”don’t turn around,” he warns. ”i’ll be back if there are any complications. this’ll be our little secret, hm?”

the man in front of him doesn’t say a thing. frozen in fear, paralyzed, not moving an inch. a fly trapped in his web. it’s a relief.

before he exits the room, satoru puts the final nail in the coffin. just in case. ”i happen to know what school your daughter goes to.” he waits for a flinch, and it comes almost instantly. like clockwork. “remember that.”

it’s an empty threat. your professor doesn’t know that, though. he doesn’t know that satoru knows his daughter, that he walks past her preschool almost every morning on his way to work. that she waves to him whenever he passes by, and that he makes it a point to always wave back. a little troublemaker; the rowdiest of utahime’s preschoolers. she has a bubbly laugh, and just lost one of her milk teeth. she was giddy when she showed him, a bout of giggles spilling from her lips as he cooed and ruffled her hair. 

he wouldn’t lay a finger on her. 

but your professor doesn’t know that, hasn’t got a single clue, and satoru delights in the fear that must be running through his veins. down his spine, crawling into every narrow of his skeleton, making a home for itself that he’ll never quite be able to root out.

a gulp. satoru hears it, in the quiet of nightfall, just before he shuts the door behind him. good.

the rest of the evening is a blur. satoru gets home, relieved to find you still asleep, and tucks you into his chest. makes a mental reminder to order your favorite take out tomorrow; a little reward for your hard work.

finally, he can sleep easy. knowing you’ll get what you deserve. 

three weeks later, satoru places his hand on the familiar doorknob in front of him, dragging his weight behind him. blinking sluggishly. 

there’s a sinking feeling in his chest, weighing him down — like an anchor tied to his liver. a compass, tucked between his fourth and fifth rib, one that’ll always stay lodged right there. he’s learned to grow used to it, a natural consequence, a sign that his humanity is still intact. 

that doesn’t make it any less bothersome, though.

(ridding the world of a pest shouldn’t make him feel dirty. especially when he felt nothing but contempt for the pest in question, for the way he whistled as you walked by, the words he spewed before satoru met his eye. vile. putrid. why should he feel guilty for wiping a stain off the pavement?

it does make him feel dirty, though. a sinking feeling in his chest.)

there’s nothing to be done about it. satoru swallows the unpleasant taste on his tongue, and drags the door open, closing it behind him with a softness he reserves for you alone.

and there you are.

on the couch, farther away, already looking his way — lips instantly curling up into what he knows will be a smile. this time, it’s laced with excitement. one of his personal favorites. his gaze devours the joy in your features, the glimpse he gets of your teeth, that familiar crinkle of your eyes. 

you’re smiling. at him. you smile and his world wakes up, it’s dyed in different shades of blue, it’s brimming with life and love and something too good not to kill for. you smile and everything is right, good, worth it. you smile and it's as if the blood has been washed off his hands.

suddenly, all is well again. satoru exhales a blissful little breath.

“‘m home, honey,” he grins, a light pink dusting his cheeks, hanging his coat up before turning to face you. arms wide open. “did you miss me?”

his heartbeat stutters when you practically engulf him, all giddy giggles and that perfect smile, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “mhm,” is what you chirp, pressing kisses down his collarbone, and he has to bite down on his lip to stop the shivers trailing down his spine. he tastes iron, but laps it up with a coo. sickly-sweet.

“missed you too, precious,” he purrs. “sorry i was gone for so long — had to take care of something.” 

he cups the back of your skull with his palm, large and crafted just to hold you, and marvels at how much you trust him. how you’re melting into his chest, fitting into every crevice of his heart. he wants to keep you there forever. forever and ever, always within reach, always close enough to touch. 

but he also wants you to be happy. he wants to see you run away, wherever the wind takes you, if only so he’ll get to feel you jump into his arms again, when you’ve had your fill of the world. when you come home to him, where you both belong.

satoru would never cage you in. never, never, never. he wants you to enjoy your life — confining you wouldn’t do any good, would only stifle that pretty smile he loves so dearly. he wants your world to be large, brimming with life, blooming with fervor, wants the air to be clear enough for your beautiful lungs. he couldn’t build a world for you, here, in this apartment. no matter how big or luxurious. 

so his only option is to bend the world into a kinder shape — twist and mold until it forms a path good enough for you to follow.

(it’s worth it, he knows, he’ll always know. it’s worth it to see that smile.)

“is that a new coat?” you ask, naive and innocent, and it breaks him out of his thoughts, attention wired to the lilt of your voice.

“yeah.” it’s stylish, expensive, a nice shade of black. he had to throw the last one away. “looks nice, right? i’ll get you the same one, pretty.”

“you don’t have to, toru!” you hurriedly exclaim, knowing he’ll jump at the opportunity to spoil you. “i like the one i have now!”

satoru pouts. a soft huff, right by your ear. “you don’t wanna wear matching coats?” he feigns sadness, scratching softly at your scalp, drinking up the little purrs that bubble up in your throat. 

and you giggle. you giggle and all he can think is worth it, worth it, worth it. a stained coat or two means nothing. the blood on his hands is just insurance. 

“well, when you put it like that…” you shift a little, curling your arms around his neck, breathing him in. he wonders if you can smell the cleaning detergent. “i guess i wouldn’t mind a new coat.”

and he grins. like clockwork. “right? want me to buy you new shoes while i’m at it? some jewelry?” he peppers kisses down your neck, amusement laced in his voice. “the whole store?”

again, those giggles. again and again. he laps them up like fine wine. “okay, that’s too much.”

“but you deserve it!” he whines, sickeningly sweet. sick to his stomach with love. “been working so hard, my angel.”

and, suddenly — you light up. his little firefly. brightening, inhaling a giddy breath. pulling away, a little, and he does his best to bite back the frown on his face. you’re practically beaming, sunshine personified, eyes glittering with giddy joy.

“right! i almost forgot!” 

then you’re skipping away, happily, to retrieve your phone. and he knows what you’re going to show him, but still feigns surprise when he sees the score on your exam, that perfect 100 on the screen. still makes an expression of shock that he knows will get you to laugh, still picks you up and spins you around and tells you how proud he is.

he almost, almost feels bad, seeing you smile so wide; at what you assume to be the fruits of your own labour. almost feels ashamed, knowing that perfect 100 wouldn’t exist without the knife at your professor’s throat.

but, then again, this is how it should be. those numbers are the fruits of your own labour, because satoru is a part of you. and you deserve it, deserve it more than anyone — he knows you would have gotten it, even without his help, if your professor was competent enough to see your brilliance. 

satoru smiles. he is proud of you. and this is exactly how it should be. he’s just bending the world into its rightful shape, cutting strings from a wrongly woven web, righting the wrongs of the people around you.

you, you, you. the only thing that exists.

all of him is for you.

”i knew you could do it. never doubted you for a second, baby,” he smiles, so wide his cheeks hurt, and you return it with a kiss to his jaw. 

”thank you. i’m just so relieved,” you exhale a breath, heavy, and it’s like he can practically see the stress melting, slipping from your shoulders and eyes. worth it, worth it, worth it. ”gosh. i’m gonna sleep like the dead tonight.”

”as you should,” satoru chirps, pinching your side. softly, brimming with fondness. ”but before that, we’re gonna celebrate. all day. and tomorrow too!”

another smile coaxed from your lips; this time, it’s a little bit shy. bashful, at the praise, his endless excitement. so precious he wants to kiss you breathless. give you all the air in his lungs.

so precious that he forgets about everything else. 

this is what you always do to him; wrap him up in a blanket of your love, cloud his veins with a nectar so sweet he takes the leap into your arms without a second thought. a foolish, lovesick butterfly, sticking to a single rose; dripping with honey, overflowing. the butterfly is too drunk on love to care. 

you’re his flower, his joy, the most useful form of anesthesia. with you in his veins, on his mind, your lips on his jaw — satoru can pretend that his hands are clean. that they always have been.

it all slips from his mind. your professor, the creep who catcalled you, that one classmate you’ve been complaining about recently. he forgets that they even exists, and satoru thinks that must be what love is: something that narrows your world down until you can make a home out of it. 

(something worth cherishing, no matter the cost.)

as always, it’s your voice that snaps him out of the trance he’s in. turning around at the sound of your call, the orpheus to your eurydice, too in love to save you from himself. you’re both getting ready to head out, dressing up for a well-deserved date. 

satoru feels himself smile. he does the dirty work, and you get to reap the rewards. heaven on earth.

“oh, by the way! would you want to have dinner with my parents tomorrow?” you meet his absent gaze with a tilt of your head. “they’ve been asking about you again. it’s such a headache, seriously.”

satoru giggles, barely containing how delighted he is. raising a playful brow. “oh? grumpy that you aren’t the favorite child anymore, hm?”

“okay, first of all —“ you stifle a giggle, pulling a drawer open, rummaging through it. freshly washed clothes. he washes most of your things. “you aren’t their child. and second of all —“

“— yet.”

a pause. 

satoru watches your gaze flick over to him, then back to the drawer, collecting yourself. a cute flush to your cheeks. “… whatever.” you clear your throat. “second of all — i don’t like how much they like you. what kinda spell did you put them under? it’s always satoru this, satoru that!”

a huff fills the air, and you mutter something that sounds a little like mocking, an obnoxiously imitated where’s satoru? that makes him chuckle into his fist. 

he shrugs. “i’m just a natural charmer, y’know? and, for the record; i would love to have dinner with them.” he sends you a wink, playful, and you roll your eyes. “are you joining us?”

a bout of laughter pushes past your lips, and satoru thinks he could die happy — just soaking up the joy that spills from out your throat. he wishes he could live in it, paint your house in it, wear it. he wants your joy to be all he ever feels. he feels sick at the idea of ever being out of earshot for it.

“yes, i’m joining you.” your scoff is dripping with humour. ”i’d hate to be the fourth wheel, but it is what it is.”

satoru stifles a grin. ”lucky me. three beauties all to myself,” he drawls, a seductive lilt to his voice, just to hear that little noise you always make with the back of your throat. vaguely disgusted.

”you’re so gross.”

a coo. like the buzzing of a bee. ”don’t be jealous, honey. know you’re my favorite, don’t you?” satoru smiles — more sincere than you’ll ever know. ”could never love anyone else.”

”so my parents are in second place?” you quirk a brow, amusement lacing your words, and he clicks his tongue. 

”well, they made you. i’d have to be a fool not to worship artists of such caliber.” 

”charmer.”

”yours.” the word is a knife at his throat, a stain on his coat, a love so heavy it’ll burn him alive. ”only yours.”

and again, you smile. all he can think is that you deserve everything, everything that’s good, everything he could ever give you. it’s all he can think as you go about your day, as he leads you outside, as he watches a flicker of joy dance within your iris. as he watches you walk wherever your heart takes you.

the thought remains when you return home, when you wrap yourselves up in blankets and he throws a leg over your waist and you curl an arm around his ribcage. it’s all he can think. 

satoru was born to be of service — to someone, to the world, to something or another. he was born to carry a weight on his back. 

so why not bear the weight of your burdens?

all he wants is to protect you. all he’ll ever need is that smile on your face. he was always bound to be just this: a dog at your heels, a halo around your head, the watchful eye keeping you safe from everything rotten in this world. he’s the butterfly, the spider, the web itself. and he’ll never let you be tangled up in it.

he was born to be of service to you. so service you he will, until it all comes back to bite him.

“satoruuu — stop stealing the blanket!”

he prays it never will.

[yuridemon]

EVERYDAY I'M LOSIN' MY MIND. (FEELS LIKE THEY'RE WATCHIN' ME.)

alternate versions

[mosaickiwi]

Everything and Anything

I got too goofy about this kink ask with aftercare. [REDACTED] is ~so~ poggers for basic human decency (I am completely serious). An eventful evening leads into soft and silly aftercare. 1k-ish words, GN reader.

cw// sexual content in nature (nothing explicit), non-specific kinks implied and mentioned, degradation and impact play/spanking specifically mentioned, allusions to neglectful aftercare

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

~

You had some vague idea of how things would go. By now, you knew your dark-haired boyfriend never held back in his dedication to your comfort—but you hadn’t expected this. Who knew your casual comments about a few kinks would lead to treatment better than royalty?

Endless conversations of boundaries and what was to come had slotted into the previous week during your nightly pillow talks. Each more thorough than the last, as [REDACTED] always came prepared with research and more questions. They'd even brought a strangely long list of potential degrading pet names for you to decide on—some in languages you didn't speak. Eventually, he was satisfied to put an end to what you were sure being interrogated felt like. That is, if the interrogator saw fit to cuddle and kiss the criminal into a confession.

So the fateful night came, and all had gone well. You had the sore muscles and countless bite marks to prove it. It was what came after that made you feel akin to something worthy of heavenly worship. 

Once you were both dried off from a much needed—and breathtakingly intimate—bath, [REDACTED] began taking inventory of you. Gentle fingers glided over your naked form as he stood behind you, lingering at every mole, mark, and reddened imprint of teeth. He noticed all the small reactions of your body at certain placements of his careful touch, gaze focused on your visage in the mirror while you brushed your teeth. They couldn’t help but bestow a feather light kiss to each spot you barely tensed at to serve as silent apologies.

"Ren," you said once you'd spit your mouthful of toothpaste into the sink. "I told you I'm fine."

Blue eyes pointedly met yours in his reflection. "Really? Y'so sure after that punishment you wanted?" Their hand moved from your hip to lightly pat your bare ass, taking note of the whining gasp you let out. "'Wonder how you're gonna do that little front desk job tomorrow."

"It probably won't hurt by then," you insisted with a rather unsure shrug. As you set your toothbrush next to his untouched one, you looked back at him. "Not gonna brush your teeth?"

"Not quite yet. 'M relishing in the taste of you, Angel." They sensually licked their lips for dramatic effect.

Your nose wrinkled. "I love you, but that's so gross." Still, you raised up on your toes to kiss him, nasty as he was.

~

Dressed in your favorites among their clothes, you were splayed out on your stomach over the bed sheets—in hopes to save your admittedly sore ass come morning. You stared up at your overly doting hacker, who'd resigned himself to playing with your hair in silence. Your mind only wandered at his caress.

You couldn't imagine how you'd gotten so lucky to be their first and only. 

Hours had passed since that intense encounter, and he hadn't left your side except to get things you meekly asked for—it was impossible to ask too much, he'd reminded you. A blanket to warm up, a hot drink to soothe your tired throat, a gentle massage to relax you, and even gentler words of reassuring praise as you'd bathed together in steamy water and afterglow. Their soft, loving touch to bring you to quiet bliss once again in their embrace as you soaked in the bath stayed settled in your mind. It almost completely overshadowed the rough treatment they had you pleading on the verge of tears about earlier.

His actions were above and beyond the bare minimum that others were elated to get. There were myriads of horror stories about terrible partners that completely withdrew after sex, and even more so when performing certain emotionally and physically vulnerable activities on their supposed loved one. You knew he’d never treat you in such a hurtful way. Despite that security, just the thought of it burdened you in the days leading up. To be left to your own devices after the things he whispered in your ear and did to your body—no matter how desperately you welcomed it all—would devastate you. 

"You know you mean the world t'me," he suddenly said, an uneasy frown on his face that brought you back to his focus.

Those words again. Words you'd heard plenty in your relationship, usually accompanied by an embarrassed shrug to explain away some bizarre habit of theirs you'd discovered, or a passionate kiss to soothe both you and themselves. You'd lost count of how much your lover repeated the sentiment tonight. He still must've been worried that you needed soothing in spite of his endless affections. 

You hadn't realized you were holding onto a frown of your own. "I know," you spoke his name with resounding devotion and a soft smile, "You mean the universe to me."

Familiar pink blossomed in surprise on his cheeks, but he quickly caught on to your game. "Y'mean everything to me, Angel. ‘Love you more than anything."

"You mean—" His thumb pressed over your lips to silence you. It was completely stunning. They'd hardly ever stopped you from speaking before, even if it was to scold them.

"Whatever you're trying t'one up me with is already included in everything. So you’re not beating me here," he explained, smug as could be while he loomed ever closer. Ticklish kisses came littered along your cheeks and anywhere else he managed to reach, further encouraged by your laughs of protest.

You successfully wriggled out from their grasp after a few torturous moments. You felt flushed, clothes in disarray from their calculated attack. As you tugged up the sheets to hide under, you teasingly tossed a pillow at him. "Go get me some water, asshole."

He was happy to let the pillow hit him square in the face for your satisfaction. "Anything for you, my love."

[byanyan]

i've decided that byan has been admitted to a psych ward once. it was at 14, an involuntary hold after their overdose, and it contributed heavily to their fear of hospitals and distrust in doctors & nurses. after all, if they were kept against their will once, who's to say it won't happen again?

[addysfandomdump]

A little headcanon for @themetalvirus' egghog Sonic. I love fucked up and evil hedgehogs.

[vacant2007]

i never do anything with love when i get it

[butchdykekondraki]

srry if we arent too hyped up today. sicker than a dog for some reason

[1pcii]

thinking about younger 124ji as years of this kind of unchecked thinking and behaviour, mixed with their unnatural lack of empathy bringing them to the cartoonist extremes they display in canon.

[snekverse]

I'll keep singing along to all of you

I'll keep singing along!

For @mav3rick-hyde, unfiltered version under the cut :)

[this-is-a-nice-show]

What I love about destiel is that it is both simultaneously cannon and not cannon. It's not cannon because y'know...it wasn't reciprocated. But it is cannon because in my heart I know that Dean loves Castiel.

[emberoops]

look this is my tikkun.

we all have one. We all know the world is broken, somehow.

tikkun olam

healing the world

[mimsiical]

i was reading this blog post about food + chronic illness management and the person was like “let’s talk about the two extremes -- extremely hungry and extremely full. both of these feel bad and we want to avoid them.” and i was like oh buddy. you have never been chronically hungry and i’m embarrassed to have read that sentence.

[roobylavender]

How do you feel about the Ziyech/Aboukhlal thing generally? Like are you going to keep supporting them?

going to put this under a cut bc it's long and i totally respect if people don't wanna read lmao

i don't really follow many of the other players on the national team closely aside from ziyech so there's that but (and not to scrutinize your word choice here) i feel like support doesn't really encapsulate the dynamics of the situation accurately, at least for some gay muslims like me. like do i like any of it? no. it's obv disappointing. but i also think people are kind of naively if not outright ignorantly loath to the reality of much of the muslim diaspora, esp those with an impoverished upbringing

second generation immigrants born into socially liberal muslim families are really lucky, but for a lot of us that’s not the reality. many muslims immigrate having come from already socially conservative backgrounds that are subsequently exacerbated by their poor economic circumstances. our parents are economically and racially / ethnically isolated in a new country and that makes them even more vulnerable to conservative support systems here, particularly religious ones that reinforce regressive cultural values. it’s easy to write off entire populations or groups of people for being inherently “backwards” but for a lot of us it’s a matter of opportunity and well timed exposure to break free of certain ideologies ingrained in our upbringing. and many young muslims don’t even experience that opportunity at all. i’m lucky to have broken away from many of the cultural values i grew up with, but there were several factors that played a part in that. my parents were not internet savvy at all so i was on tumblr / twitter from a young age and befriended other gay people here. i stopped going to islamic school pretty early despite maintaining my own belief in my faith. i grew up in a school district that was overwhelmingly white and had no irl muslim friends before i entered uni (although this was an admittedly smaller factor at play bc most of the white people in my school district were republicans. but it was a factor in the sense that i was surrounded by people who encouraged parental rebellion and questioned my family's values so while that had harmful effects in some areas it helped in others, even though the peers i grew up around were largely homophobic themselves). and probably most significantly, i was never really a well-behaved kid. i've always been someone to talk back, speak my mind, resist social conformity. it has led to me having a very poor relationship with my parents at times but as i already mentioned it's helped in other ways, like establishing my own beliefs free of religious / cultural influence. and to reemphasize, i was very lucky. most of the people in my religious / cultural community are openly homophobic. i am in all likelihood a closeted rarity here

all of this to say, when those socially regressive values expose themselves within our communities, it's not that they shouldn’t be condemned. they should. but it’s so easy to write off people and give no thought to the environment that’s nurtured them to begin with. it's a product of decades of enforced patriarchy and heteronormativity that has only been exacerbated in the dire economic circumstances many immigrants are put through when they uproot their entire lives. all too many of them turn to religion without recognizing that not all of what they're told actually makes sense. and by the time they acquire wealth, if they do, it's a matter of already having spent years in these communities and circles. no amount of proximity to social liberalism or wealth can actually change their views if the people they're still hanging out with share those values. which is why it's really frustrating to see people act like unlearning culturally ingrained homophobia is like turning on a light switch. it’s not. it’s hard, it’s a daily struggle, and it’s insulting to assume immigrants are automatically prone to liberalization merely by virtue of living here. i wish it was that easy. i wish my parents could just wake up one day and recognize some of the beliefs they have are nonsensical so that i could actually tell them i’m bisexual. but that’s not how reality works, and more people should understand that. gay muslims who struggle to help their parents and peers recognize the hypocrisy of culturally ingrained ideology should have way more say in the treatment their communities deserve from society than those who have no understanding of nor exposure to that dynamic at all

and to be clear, non-muslim gay people are under no obligation to condone these figures or people in their community. on the contrary, they're fully entitled to being upset, disappointed, etc. but i also think it's all too easy to approach it like it's a black-and-white situation when it's not. you (figurative "you" here, am not targeting you) have no idea what it's like to live with people you love dearly who nonetheless continue to hold deeply regressive values. i have gotten into so many arguments with my mother over homophobia (among a range of other issues) and i remain committed to getting into those arguments bc i care about her and i want her to recognize that what she's being told by lecturers, scholars, etc., doesn't actually make sense. not everyone has that kind of stamina nor has to have it, esp in situations where extensive abuse is involved. i'm very lucky that my mom never resorts to that and fields these arguments with me even if it's supremely hard to win her over on them. no one is obligated to stay or try to reason with a parent verbally or physically abusing them for their identity. but personally speaking, those situations aside, there is no hope for some of our communities if we take an approach of simply leaving people behind to eternally stew in their regressive values. i feel like it's so bleak to wait for regressive people in our communities (i.e., oppressed communities and figures, not people in positions of political power who enact oppressive policies in turn) to die before we move into a new era. i want to take my parents with me into that new era even if it takes everything in me to make it happen, bc i know at their heart they're not bad people, they've simply been shaped by decades of regressive views that it will take extensive work and consistent challenge to unlearn. i can admit that's a very idealistic view of things but it's one i've embraced personally

so like. do i support the statement from aboukhlal? no. but i also feel like having grown up the way i did i'm not really going to be one of those people who's like wow the moroccan nt are automatically scum and i can't ever believe i thought they would be perfect socially liberal men completely aligned with modern day progressive values re: sexuality and gender. like it's a bit delusional to think that way yknow. this is one niche of social views where they are unfortunately regressive and i really hope they meet people in their lives who can help challenge those views. but i simply think it's too easy to blame individual people for the products of cultural upbringing that they've simply never bothered to question (esp where many are not party to the same factors or inclination towards parental disobedience that i was). and that becomes even more significant when this blame is used to exacerbate and justify racism against them in turn. like maybe there's a slim chance aboukhlal did say "where we live, women don't talk to men like that." but when the person he allegedly said that to immediately refuted it and he never had a history of behaving that way with female coordinators in the national team, not to mention never had any problems at toulouse prior to this incident, what do you think the chances are of it being legit? it feels way too convenient. i don't like what he said in his statement, but i honestly think the story with the toulouse official is complete bs and being used to freeze him out of the team

[bibridlizzie]

Hope Mikaelson

[hyliasblame]

So who are you anyway

I Don't Know.

All I know is I am Angry and Terrified and I am Link's Fault. But he either Won't acknowledge it Or is Too Stupid to realize.

But I know if I Kill him I will stop Feeling these Things.