titannballs

ask to be moots pls / i love gojo

[t1tannballs]

welcome !

adult, she/her

requests: open

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⤷ prompts

[sp1ritb0x]

Tried to draw 1a timeskip but I got tired

[t1tannballs]

to write or not to write is the age old question… hmm…🤔🤔🤔

[onlyvalentine]

dex watching you sleep and muttering "i'm sorry" , moving the hair out of your face and tucking the blanket up to your chin . 😂 it hurts😂😂 so bad

FINITE — BENJAMIN POINDEXTER.

SUMMARY if you love something, you let it go.

NOTES ok i got carried away i’m in my bag today. also i love your work this feels like a celebrity interaction????

WARNINGS angst, brief smut, kinda creepy!dex, sad ending

Dex knew it was finite. His fixer-upper apartment with the far-too-energetic neighbour opposite him, who had bullied her way into his life. Despite him trying— and failing, at keeping you at arms length. It grew impossible to do when you would flash a toothy grin and make him feel like he was doing more than just existing.

"Bought you a coffee, early bird." You would exclaim as he opened his door, at nearly seven in the morning. The both of you early risers, having "caught each other" for the past few mornings. Dex would never admit he stood at his door, waiting to hear the groan of your door hinges.

"You have got to read this!" You would exclaim, shoving a book into his chest as he opened his door at an ungodly hour of the night. "I just finished it. Wait, shit— did I wake you?!"

"No, can't sleep." He mumbled. A half-truth.

"Me neither. I blame that book, too good." Even with tired eyes, your smile held every ounce of your remaining energy. It was refreshing. It flushed his chest with a breath he couldn't seem to catch, even when he tried his hardest. It came easiest when you appeared.

And when he shoved the book back at you two days later, a bewildered look across your face, he felt that same rush of life.

"You already finished it? It's like 900 pages." You gasped, looking down at the book as if it might have shrunk in your absence. Dex only chuckled back at you.

"Couldn't put it down." He admitted. "Clara reminds me a lot of you, actually."

It was comparable to a love confession, for he was speaking in your language. You breathed, swaying lightly as you felt the familiar pang of tightness in your stomach. Dex had grown in the near two years of knowing him, from the quiet neighbour, to a good friend, to someone you had reached for subconsciously.

Perhaps it had been in that moment the love had hummed at a higher, more noticeable, frequency. When Dex had spent enough time with your mind and soul, to see you in a book character. It sounded childlike and silly, but your chest ached in remembrance of that moment. So small, of little words, and yet it had been engraved into the marrow of your ribcage.

Sleeping with you was a life altering moment for him, a man of such little intimate experience. Given free rein over your body, to do as he wished. He would paw at your breasts, kissing every exposed part of your body as he undressed you. You would giggle against each other's lips, he would whimper into your shoulder as he thrusted into you. His mouth dried at the sudden surge of desire for you, a fragment of something so unattainable had become so... available.

He learnt you, learnt what made you moan the loudest, or cry the hardest. And use it against you. He would do as you asked, taking you whenever a free moment presented itself. He would fuck you everywhere, a newly learnt skill to crawl inside your skin, to feel that flush of life within his chest again.

Dating Dex had not been easy, but it had not pushed you away as he feared. He would spiral, latch onto you and fear for your safety when you would leave him at night. You would fight, he would yell, you would yell back at him. And you would spend the night in your apartment, with him sat on the outside of your door. Head in his hands, sulking, until you opened the door and cradled him from behind.

The worst it had ever been was a Friday night, after a long week of late finishes at work. You had been invited on a girls night, to drink and dance until the bars closed. Dex had ached for you all week, for more than just a minute of conversation before you passed out. And to him, you were choosing your friends over him. He watched you with tensed limbs and white knuckles, applying your makeup with shaking hands.

"Can't you just stay in tonight?" He pleaded, following after you as you searched for your phone. Which had been nestled into his pocket for hours.

"I'm meeting my girls tonight, Dex. It's just one night." You reasoned, frowning as you scoured your purse. "Have you seen my phone?"

Dex shook his head, waiting for you to return to the room before he slipped your phone into your purse. You wouldn't check the same place twice, that's how well he knew you. He would spend hours helping you find it, that's how much he cared for you. He wished you would see yourself how he did. A higher being. He finally understood Matt's unshakable faith in his God, when his own stood before him fiddling with her heels.

Then it had begun. The shouting, the throwing of the closest objects, the begging you to stay. He hadn't lost it this badly before, you could only stand with such wide eyes and watch as he unfolded before you. But you didn't move. You didn't grab your purse and run off into the night, you didn't block his number and put your apartment up for sale. No, you slipped out of your heels and sat beside him. Cradling his head against your shoulder.

You didn't run from him, you didn't fear him. The words coiled around his heart as he laid beside you the next morning, the two of you had fallen asleep on the living room floor. You curled your arm up as a makeshift pillow, lips pouted as you were still taken by sleep. Dex watched your chest expand before it hollowed out, soft breaths he could feel against his cheeks. The dress you put on last night had ridden up to your hips, your panties on show. His fingers hooked into them, feeling the flesh of your ass as you laid beside him.

Dex grovelled for days after that, doing just about anything for you. He didn't even see you walking as necessary, when his arms could carry you. He would spoon-feed you your meals if you let him. And even when he would suit up after you had fallen asleep, a ghostly kiss on your head, he would think about you as he killed AVTF enforcers. He would think of your smile, your breath hitting his cheeks, the flush of life he felt in his chest when he looked at you.

He planned to make a normal life with you, buy you a ring and take you to the courthouse to marry you. To fill you with his kids and have that picket-fence dream. Because it felt like the natural trajectory of true love, from what he had seen and read about. If it was what you wanted, you'd get it.

But it was finite. The poison bit at him every so often, and he would muffle it by asking you to tell him you loved him. Fisk had been closing in on him, he knew it. He was growing out of options, and he wouldn't let you become another Julie. He couldn't let that happen, his life would end as swiftly as yours would.

And so Dex had committed a selfless act. He offered to stay at yours. He cooked you dinner. He watched your favourite movie. He fucked you once more, filling your mind with the love he had been growing between his ribcage. He laughed with you in the darkness, your sweaty bodies clinging to each other as you came down from your highs. And he put you to bed. The blanket pulled up to your chin, his hands brushing gently over your hair as you snored softly.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed as he watched you sleep. He had been sat for well over an hour, memorising your face, feeling the breath on his cheeks, savouring the flush of life in his chest.

"I've got to go," he spoke to you, as if you were conscious and respondent, "I know, baby, I know."

He knew you'd kick, scream, and fight for him to stay, because he knew you so well. So he left whilst you slept, because he cared so greatly for you. His apartment key left on your bedside table, for you to mourn him as you sifted through his things. His apartment, just as he left it. Ingredients still in the pantry, clothes still in the closet, his things untouched for you to cry into and hold onto.

The flush of life would never be felt again, not without you. But this kept you safe, this was his good deed. The most selfless act, and yet the most selfish one. He loved you, his love consumed him to a concerning end, but your safety was paramount. He would relinquish that flush of life if it meant you were still breathing. And you would always be there to look at, through the opened blinds of your apartment.

[paper-mario-wiki]

do not forget the patron saint of these weeks that we celebrate ourselves proudly and openly in the streets

her name was Marsha P Johnson, and we have her to thank for so much.

remember, the first Pride was a riot, and she was one of the brave souls who endured it to help carve the path which so many of us walk today. she helped found several activist groups regarding LGBT safety and wellbeing. and she was absolutely radiant, too.

thank you, Marsha. we remember you.

[cutelittleslxt]

I'm sorry, hello ANGEL WTFFF

[plumkissed]

making boyfriend!yuji chase you ᝰ.ᐟ fem!reader

imagine doing that tiktok trend with yuji where you set your phone up, run as fast as you can like your life depends on it, and see how long it takes for your boyfriend to catch you.

and when you explain it to him he just shrugs with a gentle little smile and says, “sure, babe. sounds fun.” because your sweet boy would do anything you ask him to.

so with your phone propped up, you quickly hit the record button, then break into a sprint while yuji waits with his hands in his pockets, watching you closely and counting to ten like you told him to.

and you keep count in your head, too. to make sure he’s not cheating of course.

but it’s something about seeing you run from him that entices him in a way he doesn’t expect. makes a delicious anticipation bubble inside him, makes his jaw clench. his lips take to a smirk once he realizes that’s what you wanted, and then he takes a breath.

“ten.”

he takes off immediately, a little dirt kicked up in his absence from how powerfully his foot launched him into motion.

and you’re a mess of giggles as you run, heart beating against your ribcage because you know it won’t be long. you don’t bother looking back, you know you can’t outrun him.

you haven’t even blinked twice when a pair of strong arms snake themselves around your middle and he’s got you caged in the air with a low grunt, your backside pressed against his chest, feet kicking and flailing as you squeal between laughter for him to let you go. his hold only tightens further, biceps flexing with a little more effort when you squirm. his hands are locked on his forearms that bind you to him, ensuring you won’t be going anywhere.

you can feel the rapid thumping of his heartbeat, the heat of his body and it makes you pull your bottom lip under your teeth. there’s no need to wonder if this excited him as much as it did you, because you can feel it.

it’s exhilarating, to say the least. you’re completely out of breath, and just as you expected, he’d barely even made an effort.

the sharp of yuji’s canines gently nip at the shell of your ear to make your breath catch in that way he likes, his voice low and smoldering, yet sending a shiver down your spine when he whispers,

“got ya.”

.

.

.

©plumkissed 2026

[whosjunglejim4322]

Oh fuck off

[stardustdusting]

finally got to draw shixiong xavier 🌸

[p1nkfreak]

school’s lowkey beating my ass but those fics aren’t gonna read themselves

[dearose]

need him in every au that exists and every au yet to exist. cowboy, hybrids, office, just one bed trope, modern au, soulmates, i need that man in a soul-crushing way

[margottenenbaum222]

im in heat

[dewveils]

enrichment | husband!gojo x reader

gojo is so, so, so unbelievably fucked.

you can't be more than ten minutes away. ten minutes. and he knows this because you'd texted him when you left work — your first shift back in seven months — and now you're probably driving home, humming to yourself, thinking about what to make for dinner, thinking about the baby, completely unaware that your apartment has more or less turned into a crime scene.

gojo stands in the center of the living room, still. too still. like if he moves too fast, he'll miss something. a sound, a shift, a clue. something that explains where the hell the baby went.

"okay," he says out loud, voice thin and stretched with panic. "okay, okay, okay — "

he retraces. couch? no. playpen? all toys, no baby. crib? untouched since he took the little squirt out of it this morning.

his stomach sinks so violently it feels like his organs are trying to escape his body. lovely.

"oh my god," he breaths. "oh my god, oh my god, oh my god."

this is it. the last of his days. you're going to kill him. not metaphorically, not lightly. literally end him.

"she's gonna kill me," he mutters, dragging his hands down him face. "she's gonna kill me so fucking hard — "

his brain does that thing it does. that awful, vivid sprint ahead of reality.

door. windows. did he lock them for sure? of course he did. he always does. he checked them twice. three times. he lunges for the front door anyways, and sure enough, it's locked. windows, also locked. sliding door to the balcony, also locked up tight.

so where the hell —

"heyyy," he calls, softer now. like maybe he's been approaching this wrong. like his volume is the issue. "c'mon, little man, this isn't funny. it's actually the complete opposite of funny..."

his voice cracks. that's new.

but gojo doesn't let himself think about it for too long. instead, he drops to his knees, then fully to the floor, flattening himself like a damn sniper as he shoves his head underneath the couch, cheek pressed to the hardwood and scans every inch of shadow.

nothing.

nothing.

more nothing.

then, his phone rings.

it startles him so much he smacks his head on the stiff underside of the couch. "ouch! fuck, oh my — "

your name lights up his screen. he's dead. so fucking dead. but against his better judgement, he answers anyway.

"honey!" he chirps, way too bright and way too fast, voice pitching up as he continues army-crawling across the floor.

"hi, baby," you, his beautiful-stunning-kind-sexy-very-forgiving-and-hopefully-merciful wife. but despite the lightness of it all, the words come out tired.

his stomach twists. "god, it was such a good day," you continue. "i feel like i spent half of it just showing everyone baby pictures and sitting around. i swear, they were treating me like i just popped him out." you giggle.

and he tries to match it, but expectedly, it comes out strained, weird, wrong. you notice.

"is everything alright?" you ask, slower now. "how is he?"

gojo freezes. don't panic. don't panic. don't —

"oh, he's so great! just great!" he says quickly, scrambling up and yanking back an elephant-patterned blanket like it's going to magically reveal your child. it doesn't.

it reveals a stupid stuffed plush of yuji, a gift (from yuji) at your baby shower.

"h-he's..." he swallows, hard. "just finished a bottle, actually, and i, uh, just set him down for a nap...the usual, y'know."

there's a pause. too long.

"are you sure?" you ask. "you sound a bit — "

"ah! wow!" gojo blurts, volume spiking as his brain short-circuits. "look at that! blown out diaper, gotta deal with it right now, i’llseeyouinabitloveyoubye — ” before you can respond, he ends the call, lowering it like a bomb that might go off.

he looks around the apartment again — the toys, the mats, the empty spaces where there should absolutely be a baby.

he claps his hands again, sharper this time.

“alright,” he says, forcing something like determination into his tone. “new plan.”

a beat.

"...what the fuck is the plan?" gojo straightens slowly, dragging a hand through his hair, eyes sweeping the apartment again. toys everywhere. play mat. couch. blanket. kitchen —

kitchen.

his head snaps toward it. "...no," he mutters. "no way." but he moves anyway, steps quick, then faster, then borderline tripping over a plastic set of keys as he rounds the corner. the kitchen is quiet. too quiet.

his eyes narrow. “hey,” he calls, softer now. cautious. like he’s approaching a wild animal instead of his own elusive child. “hey, buddy…”

nothing.

then —

a faint sound. a tiny thump.

gojo freezes. another thump. quieter this time. followed by a soft, muffled noise that is very distinctly not silence.

the cabinet. the bottom cabinet.

the one he definitely closed.

the one that is now —

slightly.

open.

gojo stares at it. the cabinet stares back. he crouches slowly, like he’s defusing a bomb, fingers hovering over the handle for half a second before he yanks it open —

and there he is.

a baby. a wide-eyed, drool-covered, perfectly intact baby. sitting inside the cabinet like he pays rent there, surrounded by a tupperware lid, a wooden spoon, and what looks like a very enthusiastically chewed-on measuring cup.

he blinks up at gojo. then smiles. like this is the funniest thing that has ever happened in his life (it is).

“…you,” he says finally, voice hollow. “you have got to be kidding me.”

his son giggles. giggles. gojo exhales so hard his entire body practically deflates, forehead dropping forward until it taps gently against the cabinet frame.

“don’t laugh at me, you little punk,” gojo mutters, reaching in and scooping him up, checking him over in rapid, frantic passes. “you don’t get to laugh. i just saw my entire life flash before my eyes — "

the baby grabs his shirt collar, gumming it with his little mouth til the fabric turns dark.

“yeah, yeah, you’re cute, whatever” gojo sighs, pulling him close, pressing a quick kiss to his head. “you’re lucky you’re cute. otherwise i’d be fu — uh, in...a lot of trouble with mommy."

he moves fast now, grabbing the play mat, tossing toys back into vague, acceptable positions, kicking a stray pacifier under the couch (he’ll find it later, maybe), adjusting the blanket. he places him back in the pen strategically, like he's been there the entire time.

because he has! of course he has!

gojo points at him, then zips his fingers over his lips.

“not a word,” he warns.

the door unlocks just as he sets himself down on the foam-padded floor.

“hey, you two” you call, slipping your shoes off. “i’m home — ”

your husband smiles back instantly. “hey,” he says, like he didn’t just experience the worst ten minutes of his life. “feeling okay?”

you hum, stepping further inside, gaze flicking to the playpen. “he looks happy.”

“yeah,” gojo says lightly. “we had a great day. didn’t we?” the baby squeals. gojo nods once, like that confirms everything. smart kid.

“yep,” he adds. “super chill.” a beat.

then, you narrow your eyes slightly.

"baby," you tilt your head. “…why is there a measuring cup in the playpen?”

gojo doesn’t even hesitate.

“enrichment.”

[siennayaps]

This is so cute omg

[lloeydd]

Megumi!!!

[sp1ritb0x]

Red Riot is so cool

[stingrae36]

my sleep addled brain insists, college rock band bassist! wolf. i love ur art ur rendering is so peak and i love wolf so much

IM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG OTL OTL OTL OTLLLL

[t1tannballs]

HOLY SHITTTT

[sunsetagain]