Forever Floored By Folks Who Refuse To Read Anything Not Tradpub When It Comes To Queer Books Cause Let

i need you to acknowledge the stomach tongue a little more…please and thank you.

i got a whole mini stomach tongue drabble babes. but i know, i know! it's been forever since i wrote that...

how about this... thinking of sleeping in bed with trueform!sukuna and he pretends like he hates it cause when y'all cuddle you just don't want to curl up next to him you want to be ON TOP of him. and he's a stomach/side sleeper and you hate trying to cuddle with his back, it feels like a brick wall.

cuddling on the side is a no-go too because his four arms are smothering you like thick tree trunks when y'all spoon. so in order for you to stop bitching he's forced to sleep on his back. his least favorite position. while you, like a spoiled little princess, gets to sleep on your stomach on top of him.

trueform!sukuna is massive. so even sprawled on his chest, using his muscular yet squishy pecs as a pillow, your legs still only manage to straddle around his lower torso. this position isn't as comfortable to sukuna but still the grumpy curse king can't bring himself to move you. however, that doesn't mean he is just gonna lay there all night under you and not amuse himself.

a smirk on his face, Sukuna's upper arms hold you in place. his lower hands slide up your sleep shirt up and rip your panties clean off of you —he's sworn he's told you not to bother wearing the troublesome garments around him so the ruined garments are your problem not his. this leaves your pretty pussy exposed and in the perfect position for free access to his stomach tongue.

the mouth that forms on his abs grins evily, hot breath inhaling and exhaling the scent of your cunt through its mouth. you wiggle slightly due to the warm the moist air trapped in the blankets causing your skin to tingle. soon sukuna stomach tongue, unnaturally long, thick and dexterous, slithers in between your spread thighs to take a slow sloppy lick up your slit. curling over your swollen clit, the bumpy texture of his large tongue stimulates every nerve in your puffy bud. instinctively opening your legs even wider around his torso, you unknowingly allow sukuna further access to your leaky hole. tentatively dipping in the tip of his stomach tongue into your pussy sukuna swirls it around the entrance to gather up your slick.

fucking delicious.

he could taste how close you were alreading to cumming. his tongue large enough to flex its unified muscle against your clit while the tip continued to probe into your dampening pussy hole. Sukuna's claws drag streaks across your skin, the fat of your ass spilling over his fingers as he spreads you wider under the blankets.

absolutely quivering on top of him, sukuna had you right on the edge before pulling his tongue away completely.

now to play the devious game of how far sukuna could edge you, all night—until he got bored or finally fell asleep—without you cumming. you'd prevent him from getting enough sleep, so there's no way he'd allow you to just sleep peacefully... where would the fun be in that?

So a lot of us use our notes app like little diaries right? Right. So. I'm bored, so I was scrolling thru mine, and I see this that I wrote back in December 2022, and to this day it still haunts me occasionally, and I need to get it off my chest.

I've decided to share this trauma bc I refuse to go thru this alone in silence.

So.

Public transportation is the worst.

I'm with my younger sister, sat down in a small maxi (picture a mini bus ig?), at the very back. We cool. Two seats clear up closer to the front, so we moved, my sis by the window.

A man reaches his stop, so he exits the maxi.

He has to bend over a good bit to do so.

This man has apparently never heard of underwear.

Keep in mind I am in a SMALL MAXI.

I got a front row seat of this man's ass in my face.

And that's not the worst part.

Oh, no.

The worst part are the details because it's right in front of me and l was wearing my practically brand new contacts, so I saw everything in HD.

First of all, this is a black man so it's a black ass. Second, it was huge. I'm talking voluptuous. Third, it was hairy as all fuck. Why were there grey hairs scattered around and why were they at least an inch long.

I cried, I'm not doing to lie. I physically teared up. My eyes were stinging, tears pricking.

When I saw it I had my hands held to my chest like I'm clutching my pearls, leaning against my sister, frozen. I couldn't move for a good while even after he's gone and we'd driven off.

She laughed at me all the way to our destination.

I could hear people snickering in the back. These bitches were laughing while I'm developing PTSD.

Even now, occasionally, when I close my eyes, I can still see it and I want to throw up while crying.

Why me. What did I do. This could've very well been my villain origin story.

My only salvation in this is that I refused to leave the house without a mask on bc Covid so there's that I guess. 😃

Lol so I'm pretty sure my house is haunted or something bc the only other explanation is that our dog grew thumbs

So our dog, Luna, likes to hang out under my parents' bed, but we don't particularly like her going there, so we try to always keep the door closed, though it's sometimes futile bc if it's even barely cracked open, she'll be able to open it.

But tonight, my parents went out on their usual lil date thingy, and I was looking for something, and their room is one of the places I checked (my mom was the culprit just as I suspected, so yes I found my charger there), and as I was leaving, I MADE SURE to close back the door. I heard it close and click, I even tugged on it.

Now, the way the house is arranged, it's pretty small, so the living room is practically next door to the bedroom. I was in the living room when I heard the distinct sound of their door opening.

Assuming it was my lil sis going in, I got up to tell here to make sure to close back the door so Luna doesn't get in.

Though the door was opened a good crack, she was not there.

She was, in fact, in her room, on her bed, under the blankets on her phone in thee comfiest position that is not humanly possible within the time frame needed for this to be some sort of prank.

Also. She can't run silently for shit, she stomps, so I knew she wasn't the one to open it.

That left me with the only other options, bc no there was not anyone else in the house, I'm typing this out like an hour after and there's deadass no where to hide.

1. Luna is now somehow magically able to open doors now, despite the fact that she's barely 2 feet tall and the door is not a latch, but an actual doorknob.

2. There is an entity that apparently befriended Luna and willingly opened the door for her.

Now, despite the fact that we've seen Luna staring at nothingness and the void of corners a good few times, for my own sanity, I'm going with option 1.

Wish me luck 😃

Fucking hell that's gorgeous

Genuinely feel a bit more insane each time I see these

I see this directly after going down the familiar rabbit hole of Damon Salvatore edits & clips on tiktok and I wanna scream bc they are blending together in my mind help meeeee i want him so bad

INSUFFERABLE

todoroki touya x gn!reader

includes: dabi is a shameless flirt lol. brief dire mention bc he’s a dumbass. you fall for his antics

notes: he’s so. dumb. i hate him lol

Sometimes you envy the students whose professors’ lock their doors as soon as class starts. 

The ones that provide that immediate punishment for the students who don’t care enough to show up on time, not giving them so much as a minute past the beginning of lecture to slip in. If they’re late they miss, it’s nothing more than a product of their carelessness and they deserve it. 

Sadly, your biology professor is not one of those people. 

Which is fine for your peers who rush in only five, ten, hell—even fifteen minutes late. Their hair wet from just getting out of the shower or clothes wrinkled from having just rolled out of their cramped dorm bed because they forgot to set their alarm. You can understand that; empathize with the plague that is eight a.m. classes. 

Who you absolutely cannot empathize with is the guy who sits next to you. The one who walks in not ten, not twenty, no—thirty minutes late at the very least into lecture, and doesn’t give two shits about not being disruptive. Lets the door slam shut behind him and his scuffed combat boots stomp heavily down the aisle and shuffle with an unneeded amount of noise before plopping down in the chair next to you. 

He’s simply insufferable, truly. With his box dye black hair and chipped fingernail polish and the intricate canvas of tattoos that sweeps from his jaw down his arms and disappears somewhere below the ridge of his perfectly carved collar bones that look absolutely—whatever. He’s annoying. That’s the point here. And today is, of course, no different. 

“Hey, dollface,” Dabi smirks as he sits down, then immediately scrapes his chair over to you. You think today is a new record, a whole forty-one minutes late. You wonder why he even bothered to show up at all. 

You don’t address him, not at first. You merely send over a half assed side glance as a form of acknowledgement. That is, until something glimmering catches your eye. (Something that isn’t the piercings or rings you’ve become accustomed to over the past month). 

“Why do you have that?” You half whisper-half hiss at him, staring down at the object twirling around his fingers. 

“What? ‘S just a lighter.” He flicks it open to show you, as if you couldn’t tell before, then snaps it right back shut. 

You roll your eyes, turn your attention back to your professor. Just fifteen more minutes and you’re out of here and far away from him. “Obviously.” You sigh, bounce your leg subtly. “Don’t light that in here.” 

And you don’t think you should really have to say that, and you don’t know why there’s an unease bubbling in your stomach due to his presence—but you do and it’s there. And it only increases as you catch the smirk slicing deeper across his face out of the corner of your eye. 

“Or what?” Dabi questions, scrapes his chair even closer to you, opens the lighter again. “Whatcha gonna do about it, doll?” 

“Seriously don—“ 

“Oops,” he grins, wide and cheeky as his thumb flicks the lighter on. He’s holding it up, like he doesn’t give a shit whether the professor catches him with it or not. Like he has no worry for the trouble it could cause. 

“What’re you—stop that.” You can’t believe him, seriously, and the audacity he has for disregarding basic rules. “If you get caught with that inside you could get fined.” 

“Pfft, please.” And this time it’s his turn to roll his eyes at you, scoffing under his breath. “You have to be a student here to get fined.” 

You blink at him. Once, twice. “Huh?” 

“What?” He hums, waves his finger over the flame disinterestedly, not even looking to make sure he doesn’t hold it over it too long and burn himself. “I don’t have to worry about stupid ass fines.” 

“Yeah, but—what do you mean you aren’t a student here?” 

Your lecture is long forgotten, your professor’s voice fading out into static as you stare at the man beside you. That uneasiness in your stomach is twisting, stirring around in a way that’s a little uncomfortable. Because sure, you knew the guy was a little odd. But not being a student? Showing up to your classes all the time? Hanging around campus? What if he’s some sort of creep, or stalker, or— 

“Woah there, sweetheart. It’s not what you’re thinking, I'm not some freak or anything. My dad’s the uni president. I get to sit in on whatever classes I want for free. No need to alert the authorities.” 

Oh. 

Your cheeks heat up, a flush rising so fast as well as the want to hide under the table. Silly you, of course he wouldn’t be some creep. I mean, he might be a tad creepy, but that’s not necessarily a crime. 

(He’d be a cute creep, you think. Then mentally tell yourself to shut up). 

“I wasn’t going to do that,” you huff, still looking at him. You aren’t sure why, but his eyes look particularly blue today; more than normal. Maybe it’s because you’re finally allowing yourself to look, a full proper look at your—sort of—peer. “For the record.” 

“Sure,” Dabi chuckles, leans a little closer to you. His fingers mindlessly play with the necklace dangling around your throat. You don’t know why you let him. “So that wasn’t a total how do I discreetly call 911? expression then?” 

“Definitely not,” you dismiss, tapping your pen to your notebook. “It was a man this guy’s so lame he goes to class in his free time expression.” 

Dabi winces, an exaggerated thing that you hate to admit is a little charming. “Ouch, lame? You wound me, dollface. Right in the heart.” 

“You’ll live.” And it’s minute, a little twitch of your lips before you can catch yourself, but it’s there. And Dabi catches it, pointing a finger annoyingly close to your face. 

“Was that a smile, hm? Did I just make my little doll smile?” He teases, prods his finger into your cheek. If you had any idea where it’d been you might lean forward to bite it off. 

“One,” you tut, pinching his digit between two of your own and pulling it away from your face. “I’m not your doll. And two, not a chance. You’re imagining things.” 

“Oh no no, definitely not,” Dabi presses, devilish tilt to his mouth. “That was a smile. Finally falling for me, that it?” 

“Uhm, excuse me—“ 

“Not now,” the man in front of you cuts off the person’s voice from behind, giving them a cold look, “We’re busy, thanks. Anyways, as I was—“ 

“Sorry, it’s just—“ 

“I said we’re busy,” Dabi grits, brows cutting deep as he snaps his head back over his shoulder. “Or did you not hear me?” 

“I did, but—“ 

“What?!” 

“Their jacket’s on fire.” 

Whatever snark Dabi might’ve wanted to push out at your fellow classmate dissolves immediately as the both of you snap your eyes down. And sure enough, right where Dabi has his lighter open—the one you told him not to light—the edge of your jacket has just caught on fire. 

“Oh shit,” Dabi curses, snapping the lighter shut and tugging it back from your jacket as he watches you frantically pat it out with a sleeve covered hand. 

You’re successful—thank god you don’t burst entirely into flames—but the corner of your jacket (your favorite one, mind you) is now very obviously scorched. Your eyes snap up to meet cerulean blue and what little bit of uneasiness left in your stomach turns into a boiling fit of rage. 

Completely disregarding the lecture (that you admittedly weren’t paying attention to anyways) you shove everything into your bag and get up from your seat to leave. You make your way out of the lecture hall absolutely fuming and don’t miss a single beat as you turn on your heel to yell at the man behind you as soon as the door shuts. 

“You’re absolutely unbearable!” You grouse, jabbing your finger into Dabi’s chest. “Seriously! I can't believe you.” 

“Oh c’mon. ‘M sorry! I didn’t mean to, it was just an accident—“ 

“I told you not to light it. But no,” you groan, and you seriously want to rip your hair out, or punch him, or something. “You just had to act like a tough guy. Mr. Too Cool To Be A Student Here. You lit me on fire!” 

“I didn’t mean to! I said I was sorry!” 

“I don’t care! I could’ve been burnt up in a crisp!” 

“But you weren’t!” He defends. “It's not a big deal.” 

“It is to me, this was my favorite jacket. You know, just because you’re hot and have some big shot dad doesn’t mean you can just do whatever you want!” 

“Well obviously, because if I could do whatever I wanted then I'd be doing you!” 

The both of you pause for a moment, catch your breaths through slightly labored pants as you stare at each other. It’s like the gears are turning in both your heads simultaneously, cogs clicking into place and smoke clearing in the workshop. 

“Did you just admit you think I'm hot?” 

“Did you just say you want to do me?” 

A part of you wishes your jacket was still on fire, because at least then you could try to justify that as the reason your cheeks are suddenly burning. You turn your face away from him, adjust the bag slung over your shoulder. You’re thankful you’re the only two in the hallway, or else you’d probably die from embarrassment right now. 

“Well, how ‘bout I make it up to you then?” 

You let your gaze drift back up to meet Dabi’s, staring into tattoo and mascara framed eyes suspiciously. You narrow your vision, tip your head to the side as you watch that shitty (read: thigh clenching) smirk make its way back to his lips. 

“And how do you plan on doing that?” You tense up a little as he takes a step closer to you and digs a pen out of your bag. Then he grips your wrist—gently, despite the firm hold—and scribbles across your palm. 

“I’ll be outside your dorm at eight,” he grins, dropping the pen back into your bag when he’s done. “Wear something hot. ‘N I don’t mean the burnt kind.” 

You shove his shoulder at the remark, glancing down at your palm to see what you’re guessing is his phone number. “Asshole.” 

He simply catches your wrist again, tugs you close enough that he has perfect range to dip down and kiss your cheek. And if you weren’t flushing before you certainly are now, eyes going wide against your will as you watch him let go of you and take backward steps away. He throws you a wink, chuckles when he sees you snap out of it and scoff at him. 

“Insufferable!” You call after him. And you don’t try to hide your smile this time. Don’t try to veil your expressions. 

“Irresistible!” He corrects, sticking his tongue out and making a corny call me gesture with his hand when you flip him off. 

And you wonder if you should wear your scorched jacket tonight simply to spite him. 

decidedly unfriendly reminder that fanfiction is written by real people with real feelings for free in their free time. it's a labour of love and something to cherish. if you come across a fic that you don't enjoy, that's totally fine, but it is your due diligence as a fellow fan and decent human being to click away. leaving mean comments, absurd rating systems or harassing writers in their inbox while hiding behind an anonymous icon is not an acceptable manner to behave in any fandom and online space ever. it's disgustingly entitled, wildly disrespectful and only serves to discourage people from sharing their writing in a community that is meant to be fun and supportive. the next time you read something you don't enjoy, stop reading it and move on with your day. read something you like and leave kudos and a nice comment there instead. have some common sense and don't be a fucking asshole. it's not that fucking difficult.

its just embarrassing when you make a fandom related post and it doesnt get any notes like okay. so no one want to play tuoys with me. no one wants to play with our little guys together. okay thats fine. yeah its cool... puts my hands in my jacket pockets. kicks a beer can that was on the side of the road a little

Toga probably would have enjoyed knowing that Izuku was able to recognize her no matter what face she was wearing. Too bad Izuku never voiced this conclusion that he recognized her from the Provisional Licensing Exam.

Because as much as Toga's wish to become other people was partially motivated by her own self hatred, at the core of it she wanted to be truly known and loved by someone she loved in return. Hatred may not be the right word, but Toga's desire to become other people was linked to her feelings that she was never able to fulfill societal expectations of normalcy. So she sought to become people who have traits that she felt that she lacked.

Stain was admired by large segments of their society despite having a similar blood ingestion quirk and had ambitions for structural change. Izuku had convictions he believed so strongly he would destroy himself for them. Ochako fit within the definition of normal without trying and she had people who trusted her absolutely.

It's clear in retrospect that Toga's crushes represent her own personal wishes for herself: acceptance of herself as she is by society and her loved ones, convictions she believed so strongly she would bet her life on them, and the trust of the people dear to her.

I wanna say crow/raven to be edgy or whatever (Read: I Love Them), or Owls bc lol night owl, but sadly, I am, in fact, a Kiwi.

Chunky, brown/black/spotted, HORRIBLE, terrible, no good eyesight, barely any self preservation, probs gonna die bc I couldn't see the hole/predator right in front of me, Loud as fuck randomly, nocturnal........I'm a kiwi 🥝😔

T I D D I E S

Sosiski