#HOW can someone be SO greedy and SO coddled

[anarkhebringer]

I swear to EVERY deity to EVER exist if I catch ANY of y'all doing that shit to my or ANY other person's OCs you are DEAD to me like WHAT

[nyankochan]

Pomegranate Seeds

Synopsis: Idia is terrified of you but after you guys accidentally end up in a “compromising” position, he realizes how much he enjoys your touch

Content: Idia x Cerberus!gn!reader, reader is a beast man, sub!idia, oral (male receiving), pre-ejaculation, multiple orgasms, over stimulation, sorry if Idia seems a bit OOC

W/c: 2.5k

Idia is avoiding you as much as possible.

First off: you terrified him. He couldn't figure out why a canine hybrid as yourself wasn't sorted into Savanaclaw like most beastmen but the mirror chose Ignihyde. You may be shorter than he was but you were definitely stronger and faster. And your acute sense of smell made it damn near impossible for him to hide from you.

Second: you were like a hyperactive puppy that required attention all the time. You'd come into his dorm when he was skipping out on his Housewarden duties and dragged him out of the confines of his room to take him on your many adventures. Don't let him try to escape or else you'd hunt him down. And let's not forget how you'd take it upon yourself to crash in his bed when you have a perfectly good room of your own.

Granted, Idia stayed up half the night gaming, but it was annoying finding your hair in his blankets!

Third: you never took the hint to go away! Idia was much too shy to directly tell you to screw off, so whenever he tried to make an excuse, you always managed to find a way to stay around. It's like you were glued to his hip whenever possible and he couldn't stand it.

He felt bad for doing it, but many times he pushed you off to Ortho. His poor brother didn't really understand, but you seemed to enjoy the younger Shroud's presence. You often coddled him cause of how cute he was and since he reminded you of your younger siblings from back home. And you two often played games together, racing to see who was faster, or making a mess baking in the kitchen.

Ortho couldn't quite compute the issue with you. You were sweet and caring. Sure, you could be a bit rough at times with the affection. But overall you were fun to be around. So he couldn't figure out why Idia didn't like you.

"Ortho!" You announce your presence as you kick open the boy's dorm door. Your tail wags excitedly as you proudly show off the object in your hand. "Look! Look! We got pomegranates in botany! They're so sweet and tasty!"

"Ohh! I've never had one before!" Ortho muses.

"You haven't?" You ask as you munch on the soft fruit. The blue haired boy shakes his head.

"I don't think they grow on the Island of Woe. It's pretty secluded."

"Oh? That sucks." You hand one of the extra fruits you took to Ortho. "Here! You can have one of mine." Crewel was less than thrilled when you ran off with a batch of them, refusing to share with anyone else. And when someone tried to take one, you growled at them. Poor Ace almost got his hand bitten off by his greedy upperclassman.

"Thank you!" Ortho then paused. An idea then came to him on how to get his brother to like you. "You know, I think my brother really likes pomegranate. You should give him one."

"He does? Hm, i guess I can share one more." You really didn't want to give away your snacks but for Idia you could make an exception.

"Brother should be in his room," Ortho says with a giggle. "He'll definitely be happy with your gift."

_______

Game over flashed in bright red letters on the screen. Idia groaned in annoyance and threw his controller on to the bed.

"This level is so stupidly hard. Do they not want anyone to beat it?" He had been playing this particular game for hours. A new release in a franchise he enjoyed, but compared to previous versions, this one seemed unnecessarily difficult. Sometimes stupidly so. Idia prided himself on being a bit of a game pro, so being bested by a mere level was irritating him more than he would like to admit.

"One more time. After this, I'm going to look through the online servers for a cheat," Idia told himself, picking up the controller. But before he could restart, his dorm door was kicked open.

"Ids!"

The long haired male pales. His body tenses when you nearly tackle him out of his gaming chair in a hug. "Y-Y/n-ssi-"

"Ids look! We got pomegranates today in class! Crewel let me take extra. Have you ever had one? Ortho said they were your favorite! They're super sweet! Fun fact did you know pomegranate shows up in a myth similar to that of the God of the Underworld?"

You continue to ramble on, obvious to Idia's increasingly flustered expression. The ends of his hair slowly turn bright pink to match his cheeks. You were sitting on his lap.

Idia tried to focus his attention anywhere else. The posters on his wall. His computer screen. Anywhere else to keep his mind off the way you pressed against his crotch while you animatedly talked. And as much as he tried to suppress it, he could feel his pants begin to tighten as an erection formed.

"No no no no this cannot be happening," Idia internally panicked. "I was not expecting to handle a boss of this difficulty. Ah, what do I do!?"

"Hey, Idia," you whine, pouting when you realize he's not paying attention to you. "Are you listening to me? Stop ignoring me."

"S-sorry!" Idia stammers, closing his eyes. You stare at him curiously, tilting your head to the side like a puppy. Your ears twitch. A sweet scent fills your nose that makes your tail wag.

Suddenly, You lean in until you're practically in his face, Idia's pale skin blossoming bright red as he flinches. You press your nose agains the crook of his neck. The sweet smell is coming from him.

"Y-Y/n..." Idia is paralyzed in his place. For some reason, you're on his lap, pressing against his raging boner, all while sniffing him as if he smelled. How was he supposed to proceed? What did one even do in this situation? He was too scared to push you off in case you took offense, but he was going to be even more mortified when you realized he had gotten hard. Sevens he didn't want you to think he was a creep.

"You smell...good," you sigh. "Really good. Like pomegranate." Your senses were going in overdrive. All you could focus on was Idia's scent and taking in more of it.

"Y/n w-wait a minute!" Idia finally finds his voice to speak. You pause and it finally hits you. What you're doing. The position you're in. Your own face blossoms red.

"I-I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to. You just-" He just smelled so good and you couldn't figure out why. It made your heart race and heat pool between your legs. And the aching desire to taste just to sedate the growing hunger was just as intense.

"Y/n," Idia's voice came out shaky. A borderline moan that he's embarrassed even came out. "p-please s-stop moving." His hands grip your hips. You had been steadily rocking against him. Now his erection pressing uncomfortably against his pants, which you for sure felt.

Your heart hammers against your chest from nervous excitement. This was a good sign right? That meant he felt something too, right? Idia wasn't a beast man, so some of the natural reactions (ears twitching, tail wagging, etc.) that you were accustomed to, he didn't have or do. So it was difficult to gauge interest. But this, this was a common reaction regardless of species.

You press against him harder. In response, Idia lets out a whimper, closing his eyes in embarrassment.

"Idia," you say gently. "C-can I please touch you more."

"H-huh?!"

"Y-you just smell so good. And it's driving me crazy. I'll stop if you're uncomfortable. Please?"

You give him near irresistible puppy dog eyes. Idia swallows back his nerves and gives a slight nod. He could handle this. It was just another boss level to conquer. He could totally handle it-"ahhh s-shit-" Idia's body jerks as your cold fingers feel up his shirt. Your claws tracing his smooth skin.

You press your nose against his chest, inhaling deeply before letting out a shaky breath of content. You continue lower and lower, continuing to feel him up with your fluttering touch until Your hands brush over his crotch. Idia immediately grabs your wrist, hair burning pink.

"I...I..."

You tilt your head. "Do you want me to stop now?"

Idia swallowed. Yes. No. Yes! No!

"Can you go slow?"

You nod. Then scoot from his lap to the floor. Idia gulped, his heart thrumming against his chest in anticipation. He don't know what has come over him. How did things progress his far where he'd have you, settled between his legs just barely underneath his pc, staring up at him with innocent eyes as if your touch hasn't been fucking with him the past ten minutes. Naturally, every gamer probably imagines getting head from their partner under the desk while they play a game, but Idia didn't think it would actually happen to him! No amount of dirty manga and mature video games could have prepared him to react IRL.

"You smell good here too," you sigh constantly, ears twitching. You untie the drawstring of his sweats, pull the waistband down his hips, and reveal his dark blue boxers. There's a large bulge at the crotch, holding up the fabric along with a large wet stain. "Ids?"

Idia could die right there and then. He had already came. Just from you touching him!

"I'm sorry!" Idia covers his face but his hair betrays his flusteredness, a blaze of pink. "I-I didn't mean to. J-just."

You grab his hand, pulling it away from his face. A soft smile spreads across your features. "It's okay. Can I clean you up?"

Not really knowing what you meant, Idia nods nonetheless. You’re careful when you pull back his boxers. Inside's a sticky mess of white. It coats his cock that's long and thick. More pearls from the tip that's a bright red. The cool air making him twitch.

You start at the base near his heavy balls, licking up the side until you reach the top. Idia tenses, shaky moans leaving his blue lips as you continue to work your way up and down his cock. Your tongue feels rough. But he doesn't hate the feeling and tries hard not to buck up into your face. Idia could feel his stomach coiling but he didn't want to come again yet. Not so soon.

"You taste good," you moan. Your thighs press together, heat pooling in between them. And no matter what you do, more beads of pre leak out, leaving more for you to clean up. As you take Idia's cock back into your motive more, he lets out a louder moan this time. His fingers twitch, searching for something to grab on. And ultimately, his hands land on your ears. You're caught off guard by the sudden touch against your sensitive extremities and let out a squeak that catches both you and Idia off guard. And from the way his cock stiffens in your hand, Idia liked the sound of it.

"F-fuck I'm sorry!" Idia quickly apologizes. "I was just-"

"It's okay. It just surprised me," you say, bashfully. "You can touch them. But they're sensitive a bit."

Idia nods. Still with hesitation, he holds on to your hair to ground himself as you take him back into your mouth. His fingers trace the soft fur of your ears, making you moan. The vibrations leave Idia gasping.

"A-ah t-that f-feels good," he whimpers. Your tongue swirls around the tip before you take him deep again. Your cheeks hollowing to suck and slurp against his throbbing cock. When you pull back to do it again, Idia's hips buck up, and suddenly, he's coming down your throat.

"S-sorry!” Idia stammers. “I didn't meant to fuck it felt so good I couldn't help-"

Idia's head throws back as once again his cock hits the back of your throat. His hands tighten in your hair, and he whimpers out your name over and over again until it's the only thing he could event think of.

You're greedy. Trying to suck Idia dry to quell your own desire. You could feel yourself soaking down below, the budding anticipation making your stomach coil. Your grip on his thighs tightens.

"N-no no no wait," Idia begins to panic. He begins trying to push you away, but you don't budge. "Wait wait something isn't right. I-I'm gonna s-shoot again but it's different!"

Tears prickle against his eye lashes. This time the pressure feels too great. His balls constrict and his abs tense. He could feel his cock throb, as something was threatening to come out. And he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold it back. Idia tugs at your hair harder.

"Y/n! Wait stop! I think I-i have to pee! Please! Fuck fuck fuck-" Idia cries out as he comes hard. His body jerks back into the chair, hips bucking up.

Hot, sticky release hits the back of your throat suddenly, and you're not prepared for the amount of cum Idia ejaculates. You pull back, sputtering into a cough. Idia is still coming, his release spraying into your face. He's a moaning mess. There's tears running down his cheeks. The overstimulation leaves him trembling.

You lick your lips and the side of your mouth, cleaning the cum off them. Needless to say you weren't expecting that, but it was so arousing, you almost wanted to see if you could make him do it again.

"Idia, are you okay?" You ask, standing to check on the male. You brush your thumbs across his cheeks to wipe the tears.

"I-I don't know what h-happened. It w-was too much b-but i-it felt so good. I-I'm sorry. I-" Idia babbles.

"It's okay, Idia," you assure, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "As long as you felt good."

Idia nods quickly. "R-really good. But I think I'm out of HP. I can't go again," he says, slumping back into his chair. He was quite frankly in the negatives. Even his cock had finally gone soft, but he still longed for your touch.

You remember then. The pomegranates. You had set them off to the side. Taking one of the fruits, you split it open, juice running down your fingers and you pull out the seeds. "Here," you offer to the blue haired male. "I'll be nice and share. Since it's technically my fault you're exhausted."

Idia stares blankly for a few seconds before taking the pomegranate seeds. They were sweet. And he couldn't help but wonder...His eyes trailed down the span of your body before his cheeks flushed at his dirty thoughts.

As mythology went, taking the pomegranate seeds bound two souls together. Would that mean the same for you two here on out?  You terrified Idia in a lot of ways, but at the same time, he couldn't deny the way your presence was starting to allure him. Just like the sweetness of the pomegranate seed.

[xazse]

Hiiii!! ｡⁠◕⁠‿⁠◕⁠｡

I just wanna see say that first of all that I LOVE UR works! I literally SCREAM when I see ur works they're so good!!!! 🫶🫶🫶

Anyways I wanna share my thoughts with you if that's fine (⁠◠⁠‿⁠・⁠)⁠—⁠☆

I just watched a cute cat video with a tom cat meeting his kittens for the first time and I just thought what if it was Tiger hybrid!Sukuna meeting his cub, Yuji! (With a tiger hybrid reader too)

At first he'd be like growling and looking annoyed at the sight of Yuji cause I heard that's how usually male tigers respond to their offsprings (and they usually don't help raise or look after cubs), maybe pushing him away too (but not enough to hurt cause he somewhat cares kinda). But over time he starts getting attached to little cub, mainly cause reader forces Tiger hybrid!Sukuna to spend time with their cub. And he'd act annoyed but deep down he actually bonds with the little cub, ah its so cute!

(btw not forcing u to write or anything just sharing my recent hyper fixations (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡)

No the Peakness in this needs to be studied, sorry I haven’t been uploading I’ve been in a block so I hope y’all enjoy this! Thanks for leaving the request!!! Just something sweet and short to tide you lovelies over. PLUS THANK YOU FOR THE COMPLIMENTS SO SWEET!!

Warnings: Tigerhybrid!Sukuna + TigerHybrid!Yuji + Tigerhybrid!Reader + baby!yuji + big ol tiger family + not proofread

“Kuna stop it!”

“You’re scaring him with your loud growling, stop it.”

“He isn’t scared stop overthinking it, plus I’ve already told you I don’t want em near me.”

For such a huge scary Tiger like Sukuna he sure was giving off childish energy right now. Everytime little Yuji crawls to get close he’s pushed back right where he started. He doesn’t even seem to care that he’s growling and clearly not happy.

He’s so distracted and infatuated with Sukunas tail that flows back and forth, greedy little eyes looking for something to bite probably.

“I wish you’d stop treating him like a stranger he’s our baby.” You cross your arms and go to pick up Yuji, he eagerly has his chubby little arms out for you to coddle him, how can Sukuna just not find him so adoreable?

A loud huff of air comes out of him his tail whisking angrily behind him, you see the glint of sweet in his pupils it’s just a facade he needs help getting over.

And getting over it will happen.

It starts with baby steps at first, you pretending to need to make Yuji a bottle before he gets fussy, so you quickly plop him in Sukunas lap, he has no time to process or tell you to get him. He has no choice but to let Yuji curiously grab all over his face.

Sukuna thinks Yuji is too soft to be his, he should at least have a backbone at his age but he mainly blames you, you’re far too kind for someone of his own species, Tigers are meant to be fierce but he isn’t getting a hint of that from either of you.

Sukuna is holding Yuji awkwardly, arms outstretched and holding him in the air away from his body. The cutie is babbling and giggling about nonsense. Sukuna pulls him in a little bit closer and he immediately starts sucking on his cheek, encasing the whole thing, Sukuna is quick to act disgusted and pull him away.

You come shortly back with the bottle and also plop it down in his lap.

“No”

“Yes.”

“Kuna, please I’m extremely tired and need a quick break.”

You flash him your sweetest eyes and even pull your fluffy ears backwards, you really strike his heart everytime you do that so he grumbly obliges to watch Yuji.

Whilst you’re in the room he begins feeding Yuji, everytime he so much as rests his arm Yuji is whining for the bottle.

“Can’t even move an inch can I?” He straightens up and fixes himself. Sukuna can’t help but poke at his little inflated cheeks, filled with warm milk he looks so content gobbling it up.

He really looks like him even has the same patterned tail and tiny fluffy ears.

When he finishes the bottle he isn’t sure what to do besides letting Yuji relax on his chest and watch something, the baby Tiger is slowly drifting off his soft coos slowly fading.

This is okay just for a little, only until you rest up, he won’t have his wife walking around tired then he’ll throw the brat back in your lap.

But that doesn’t happen, it’s becoming an everyday thing where he feeds Yuji then they both drift off on the couch, it’s like this over and over.

Sukuna finds himself searching for Yuji in your arms then taking him to do the most random tasks with him laid awkwardly on his side. He still doesn’t know how to hold his own son properly but you’re so ecstatic.

You catch Sukuna helping Yuji build his building blocks up, then when Yuji knocks them down and is about to cry he’ll quickly build the tower back up in reassurance. You can see his tail swirl around when Yuji looks up to his daddy to help him.

On nights where Yuji is crying out for you, you’d usually get up to go comfort him but it’s Sukuna who jumps up faster than you to go tend to him. The room goes quiet within 10 minutes.

Sukuna won’t say it out loud but baby Yuji is starting to grow on him!!<33

[karolinswritings]

I hope it's okay to ask for a request!

If you like, would you be interested in writing some headcanons for Greed x gn reader (to be more inclusive for anyone to enjoy pls) who is a chimera? If possible leave the readers chimera mix ambiguous / no specific mixture pleaseee

But maybe the chimera reader is a bit more on the docile , soft spoken side, and loves being coddled by Greed? Like they love how protective Greed is and feel safer with him, they bond over "not fitting in" with the rest of society or idk 🩷 And no pressure if you don't want to do it no worries!

Hii! Thank you for the request ^^ Those are my first headcanons for Greed so I hope I did well!

Fullmetal Alchemist Greed X gn Chimera Reader

To begin with, knowing Greed, I think he would be the first to talk to reader. He wouldn't start a regular converstion though, for example asking about their name. He would rather start a dialogue over something about them that caught his attention, for instance their hairstyle or clothing.

If the type of chimera they are makes it obvious that they are not human, for example they have non-human features like eye color or hair color, he would most likely instantly get intrigued and go talk to them.

Greed is an extrovert and if reader is a bit more on the introverted, quiet side, that would not be a problem at all. He would actually like it. I see him as the type that enjoys being the one to lead the conversation. He would also find it cute.

Even if reader does not mention that they are a chimera to him, he would know. He wouldn't tell them that he knows though, until they themselves decide to tell him. Then he would be like "Yeah, I kind of knew that already."

If they wish to join his team he would be more than happy. This would have been one of the reasons he decided to befriend them in the first place. Not to use them of course, but to have more people like him on his side. People who don't exactly fit it with the rest of society.

He would naturally, as the leader of his team, be worried about reader's safety, just like he if about his other friends'. Although he would not show it. The most obvious sign that he cares for them that he gives is probably saying "Don't die" whenever they are about to take part in a dangerous fight.

When he notices that reader likes being coddled by him and that they enjoy how protective he is over them, he would start having that in mind about them.

He would also enjoy protecting them. It makes him feel high and mighty.

Any compliments about how well he did in a fight or how nicely he has planned an operation will be appreciated.

Reader being soft spoken definitely has an effect on the homunculus. He would not expect it, but he feels at ease when he talks to them. He likes having some time when he is calm and relaxed, he can take a moment to empty hid mind and have it be filled with the sound of their voice. Greed lets them ramble about anything and everything, as long as they are speaking.

He is a good listener too. A pretty active one at that. He doesn't let them just talk while he spaces out.

About their relationship, I think Greed would be the one to confess, and he would also do it pretty quickly too. He wouldn't lose any time being all shy and embrassed of his feelings. He wouldn't overthink his feelings too. He feels good around them, he likes the way they look. They seem to be enjoying his company a lot as well. But he doesn't like the idea of being just friends, he wants more. So that must be love? Or he is just being greedy? Well who cares, all he knows is that he wants them, and he doesn't want someone to take them before he does, so he has to do something about that.

He would most definitely not mention lovey dovey stuff in his confession though. To most people it would even seem rude, but to reader, who has known him all this time, his words mean the world.

"Ahm as you know, dear..I am the sin of greed, I must have everything I wish to have..I need to have it..and I just so happen to want to have you. So from today on, you are mine. You belong to Greed...I-I will not accept no as answer..but..what do you say?"

[i-am-minty-fresh]

(The ask at hand being: “I'm really normal about robin (<- lying) and I want to hear about her and chopper because their relationship is so important to me” from @noisypitta)

Okay, so I took my melatonin before committing to this so I apologize if I get incoherent about halfway through. I finally get to address Robin and one of the many fascinating elements of her personality and relationships. Not only Robin, but I also get to talk about the world’s bestest boy, Chopper! What a good day for me! And this analysis is going to be about self-image and what makes us monsters.

Hilariously, Chopper doesn’t have that much to his character…because he’s a child. He’s best understood through the lens of a still-developing child. He’s not old enough to commit to his insecurity in the common strawhat way (Sanji, Nami, Robin), but he’s also inexperienced enough not to understand shit like Usopp’s betrayal in Water 7. He’s yet to make a proper mistake because he’s going in completely blind. His only understanding of himself was brought on by either his dad or his adoptive mom. Up until meeting Luffy he always understood himself to be a monster, something no person in their right mind would want anything to do with. Hiriluk takes care of him cause he’s a crazy old man (who paid the price for taking care of him later) and Kureha only takes care of him out o obligation…this is a lot for a child to put up with. Hated by reindeer and people alike he can only associate with the kinds of people that even other people don’t like (i.e. crazy doctor and greedy witch). Chopper thought himself an unlovable monster and rather than being told that he wasn’t a monster, he came to meet other (worse) monsters. He joins a crew of insane monsters who embrace all that makes them strange and offputting because that's the strawhat way, and after Marineford Chopper vows to become a real monster to protect his crewmates from losing like that ever again.

Another thing to keep in mind for Chopper is his development, which is something I brought up a little bit earlier. He’s never really had a comforting parent figure, much less for very long. He’s a child who seeks validation and comfort at every turn because he’s used to violence and hatred. He’s not used to someone treating him like a child meant to be protected rather than a monster to be feared…and Robin…

Robin knows a lot about being a monster. About being hated and hunted and laughed at and being seen as nothing more than devil spawn. She has spent her childhood being chased for just being herself and learning to never fully trust anyone but herself because everyone else will just hurt her in the long run (or her past will end up hurting them). He keeps people at arm's length because she can’t trust herself not to hold everyone too close. She’s so desperate for comfort and safety that it makes her uncomfortable to be too friendly. She’s a textbook manipulator who hides behind the lies told about her because if she becomes the evil thing they call her at least it’ll stop being a lie about a helpless child. Robin is done being a child, or so she says. She’s matured with her terrible self-image and until Enies Lobby was more than willing to let her piss poor perception of herself kill her…but it didn’t. Luffy wouldn’t let her. He made her admit just how desperate she was for a real family. She’s got stupid dreams she’s willing to die for, she finds the crew's antics ridiculously charming, and she loves being both looked after and respected as a powerful member of the crew. She’s cared for in the way that she needs to be at this point which is to feel intellectually important (hands down she’s the smartest member of the crew), and valued as a strategist. She doesn’t need to be coddled, she just needs to feel like she takes up the proper space on hr crew, and she does…but for Chopper….he’s something different.

Zoro and Sanji are stubborn and bull-headed and unwilling to accept help even when it best suits them. Nami has her being more of a sister than a dotting mother, on an equal playing field in terms of trickery. Usopp’s similarly stubborn and does best by learning through his mistakes so not much she can do there. Luffy loves being cared for, but not as the unique god-child savior he is but rather as an extension of how every member of the crew should be cared for (which is to say efficiently). Chopper though is little. So little he hasn’t learned to take compliments in stride or mask his enjoyment. He doesn’t have up all the walls that Robin or Nami built to try to put everything that has happened to them into a context in which it doesn’t hurt as much rather than just admitting that it wasn’t fair and they should be mad. Chopper wants validation from his peers and attention from those he sees as more experienced…but he also wants to be cared for. Similar to Robin, he wants to be respected in his field and as a fighter, but only because that respect can be translated into cool points with older brother Zoro and dad Franky. He’s a textbook case of a little sibling who wants to feel just as important as everyone else and it’s devastating to him but adorable to everyone else. Robin doesn’t want him growing up too fast, because that’s what she had to do. The world turned her into a monster and now she sits comfortably with that title making sure to use it against them when they try to hurt her family. Chopper does the same. He knows that no one will look at him and not see a monster, but it doesn’t mean he can’t break his Hippocratic oath to kick some ass if need be.

Robin treats him like how she wishes she was treated. She hangs on every word and carries around his favorite food because she wants to give him what she never got but wanted so badly. He wants to be looked after because the world is full of stuff that he knows nothing about and he doesn’t have his dad around to wrap his wounds anymore.

Their relationship is one of the teacher and the student. Robin gets to pass on her wisdom through her terrible lived experience at the hands of people who call her a monster and Chopper gets to learn that maybe being a monster isn’t so bad if it means you get to protect the people you care about. If Robin’s a monster, maybe being a monster isn’t that bad.

Not as long as I would have liked it, let me know if you think I missed anything! I’d love to discuss them further because I love my antlered son and his bloodthirsty mom but it is now bedtime.

Sorry for taking so long!

[jb-nonsense]

hmm, Imma be greedy, if I may. xD One 💬 for Bralov, 💬 for Razesha, and 💬 for Fadyl?

Send me a 💬 for me to ramble about a random SWTOR OC

Always be greedy.

Bralov Itera is the second born of a set of twins, his identical brother being Jarkiv and having a younger sister, Solvi. His bio is here. Bralov has a strong sense of Mandalorian honor, viewing it vital for him to keep to the code and bring honor back to the Itera clan. This is why he connects well with Torian, viewing him as a brother more than anything else. But Bralov also refuses to be dishonored or mocked, as well as refuses to go after targets below his level. He doesn't find any honor in attacking those weaker than him, or in senseless violence. He's got a strong belief in honorable combat and respect, as well as just tired of Imperials treated Mandalorians like attack akk dogs instead of allies, causing him to be less agreeable to the Empire as time went on (he wasn't that agreeable at first due to what happened with his father, but his dealings with Tormen just made it worse).

I did this for her before located here but I will find more to talk about her with.

As a healer, Razesha does not view it as her place to judge others or their choices. She has an open mind and understands not everyone can walk the same path she does. But she also knows sometimes people need just a gentle suggestion to get them on a better path.

She can be stern but gentle about it, often able to out debate someone to convince them to stay and heal. She understands the importance of pausing and reflecting, of resting and preparing for the next trial to come.

She's known to travel the galaxy setting up med clinics in areas with less resources or war torn areas, helping who she can when she's not being called for duty with the Jedi. In her absence, she makes sure her clinics remain open and cared for, so people are not lacking proper medical care.

The pretty boy trooper then senator. Fadyl Urdasher is the son of a Mirialan Senator and a high ranking Republic General who was KIA during the war before the Treaty of Coruscant. He is also the adopted cousin of the Alliance Commander in my legacy set up. He joined the Republic military wanting to make a difference like his father did but found himself frustrated by how often, due to his family lineage, he was delegated to 'safe' jobs instead of being out on the front. A sharp mind with a good sense for both tactics and diplomacy, he knew he was being wasted by being coddled.

He forged some forms to enable him to be sent to the front, where he excelled and the brass eventually relented (it would be a scandal to have court martialed him and the soldiers he served with would have not been pleased) and allowed him to remain. He was a well respected officer and was able to out maneuver almost any enemy, but the brass still tried to be careful with where he went.

When his mother retired and the whole set up with Zakuul was done, Fadyl decided to run for office to try to have some influence on what was happening, since the military was stalled out. He easily won his mother's seat in the Senate and as served as Senator for Mirial ever since.

[allycat75]

(buckle up buttercup, this one got long)

There was a time I really thought I could, one day, retire your moniker, Boston Dumb Fuck. I didn't think that you could possibly continue to make wrong move after wrong move, but instead, eventually you would find your way back onto a better path. However, confirming you still blindly follow that incel cult leader Troll, combined with your deplorable behavior during the Red One press tour (and Red One in general) I think you may be permanently Dumb-Fucked. The best I could offer is a location change, but who am I kidding. There is no way the coddled Prince of Concord would compromise on home base- it is your world and we just live in it.

The comfort of your head up your own ass I guess is better than living an authentic life in the fresh air, perhaps because you have grown accustom to the stench of your own bullshit. Which is probably why that false guru appeals to you so much- it allows you to renounce any responsibility for your actions in the name of not wanting to suffer. You may think you have little control of your current circumstances because "the industry makes you do things you don't want to do" but this is your life and you are where you are as a result of your choices. You just liked this one better because it was easier to hide in denial, oh sorry, I meant "stillness" instead of taking a leap of faith in yourself to do some hard work- looking deep at and processing the ugliness of Mr. Christopher Robert Evans. But guess what- you may not want to see it, but the rest of us see it clear as day. It is the cis, rich, white, male privlege never checked, leading to empty and performative acts that got you participation trophies because people recognize your name or thought you were "cute". But looks fade and there is a new, younger, more talented "Chris" coming off the bus everyday and that artifice you are trying to conceal is starting to show. But instead of working to actually be the man you were pretending to be, you got greedy and desperate and threw everything that corresponded to a moral spine out the window.

And as much as you would like to think you are without ego, I hate to tell you buddy, but it is oozing out of every rancid pore, weighing you down. Which is why when we all think you have hit rock bottom, your egoic corpulence cracks the floor and sends you careening to lower depths.

So no, you are not connected to yourself (whomever that ever was) or the world, unless you count the vice grip CAA currently has on your nads. But you live a Peter Pan life so of course you believe those poison words etched on your ever aging skin, just like the toxic metals probably leaching into your body from that liars band on your left hand, possessing you like the Mad Matter. How could it be untrue because you "love love"- she's into rollerblading (supposedly) and pot, what more could you want (except for someone anti-racist, not antisemetic, accepting of all body shapes and sizes...; obviously you don't care about the xenophobia, arrogance, entitlement, childishness, increasing talentlessness and laziness since you are at present ebullient with these beliefs and behaviors). You can bond by obnoxiously teaching her how to play Mario Kart and she can lifelessly instruct you to paint by numbers or fitfully toilet masterbate. Am I getting closer to "yourself"?

No matter, I was never really going to stop being a sarcastic bitch anyway. Maybe just lighten up a bit. Looking forward to your next fuck up, you prick!

[dancewithlou]

Interesting reading about the current career paths. 20 years from now I’m sure Louis, Zayn and Niall will all be proud of their musical accomplishments, and will have diversified enough to continue to have purpose and meaning in their life. I sincerely fear for Liam. And I wouldn’t be surprised that once Harry really loses his looks/hair in the next couple of years that his trajectory will be downhill fast. Mentally and emotionally he can’t be in a good place, knowing he didn’t earn anything, and that he’s been nothing more than a puppet for the greedy music industry. Not to mention what the absolute public humiliation of him as an actor must’ve done to someone who has only been coddled.

Louis, Niall and Zayn are hard workers from what I can see they love their jobs and just want to make music I do think 20 years from now they will have fanbases that are fans of them for their music and they will be remembered for those things.

I wonder if Liam will continue to make music or if he’ll choose something else he’s still a celebrity after all and no matter what that opens up doors for you but I agree while I don’t like the man he is talented at singing. He’s not well and is clearly working through some stuff.

As for Harry while yes I agree he’s not really worked for what he has accomplished all that much the man is probably worth close to $250 Million atp I don’t think he cares he’s happy selling his $135 tiny perfume bottles along with his nail polish and other things, the man doesn’t care when you get that rich people don’t care how it happened they just know you’re rich and I’m sure Harry is happy with that. But I do agree there’s only so much dancing and flancing around in ‘camp’ outfits that people and even Harry can take, and well he’s already had some work done in terms of Botox to slow down his ageing and he’s apparently shaved his head recently as rumours say 😭 so he’s probably going to come back with hair implants likely and his fans will act like his hair never receded in the first place.

At the end of it all though while I don’t mind talking about the 1D boys, I don’t really care for the other boys or their careers I only care about Louis and how his career is going and will be in the future.

[yonemurishiroku]

@messypenguin Love, why did you hide the brilliant in the tags?

Anw, few words about these:

- The Jasico one:

😭😭😭😭😭 I love this so much like Jason being selfish for once kahdkahs. 😭 I don’t know if it’s your intention but I can smell a bit of teenage drama and dark vibes here. 👀 Absolutely in love with the idea of Jason keeping Nico and Reyna all for himself. He deserves it, and I deserve to see this trio.

Imagine tho, when it all blows up and Percy questions why Jason didn’t bring them in sooner, Jason just passively glares at him while gritting out “They don’t remember anything, I don’t want to overwhelm them.” Liar. But I like that. Wow, isn't Jason's possessive side a sight to behold.

It makes sense, you know? When you're so used to losing and this time when you finally decide to hold onto it, it's bound to go overboard.

And Nico who doesn’t remember anything so when a bunch of people come hugging squeezing him he freaks out and hides behind Jason instead. 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 I’m gonna cry——

Also, I’d like to propose that Jason wants to keep Nico in the dark because, in his opinion, Nico’s tragic past life is too much to bear, just unnecessary pain. He sees this reincarnation as their new chance to restart - live again, fully this time - thus he doesn’t see the need to have Nico remember. He already has Nico’s trust anyway

I think Reyna should remember though, mainly because I need someone to see thru Jason’s intentions. 🤔 Reyna fits because 1/ she’s there before the Percy bunch comes and thus sees how Jason coddles Nico, 2/ she’s also there when everything changes and 3/ she’s not only observant and perceptive but also close enough to see the changes.

Right. Nico and Reyna are definitely close friends in this AU, even without past-life memories. I don't care about one wherein they aren't.

I’m all in for Jason being selfish, but I also want someone to act as a challenge just for the drama. 🥳

I like what you've done with Percy and Annabeth here:

I have nothing against Percabeth, but even I find every word present so true. so accurate. That sounds exactly like what Annabeth would do.

When I read this, my first thought was that "Oh so Nico's the second chance" - which, you have to admit, is factually correct. Though, I think it would be more fun if it's totally unintentional/ instinctive on Percy's part.

As in: Percy would die like a fish out of water without people's love. So naturally, he would gravitate toward those with affection to spare. IMO, Percy isn't one to think too much before acting. It's not fair to Nico, granted, but it's possible.

Just to be clear, I'm imagining a sort of Nico-without-Bianca's-death in here because obviously, it's a new AU. So, a sweet, sweet Nico who isn't afraid to shower another with love, regardless of relationship status. Combining it with the residual impression of the past life's crush, it isn't that far-fetched to reach that conclusion.

HOWEVER - and I'm blaming this on you - the way you wrote the tags made my brain thrust all of these ideas into one AU and what does that mean? It means that this Percico vision would change drastically in the presence of Jasico.

And I like that.

Sue me for wanting to see Jason point out Percy's lack of consideration. 😭 Jason being the words of wisdom with his selfishness. 😭 Jason trying as he may but cannot help himself from criticizing Nico and Percy's friendship. 😭😭😭 He knows he's right and he doesn't hesitate to exploit it. Please i need that greediness.

I do believe Percy and Nico should be friends in this AU though. It makes better sense that way.

Modern AU in which the characters reincarnate as mortals with the memories of their previous magical mythological fantasy lives intact.

[yeyinde]

I’M ON FIRE  ⋮  THOMAS HEWITT | LEATHERFACE ☓ READER

sometimes it’s like someone took a knife, baby

edgy and dull and cut a six inch valley through the middle of my skull

at night i wake up with the sheets soaking wet

and a freight train running through the middle of my head

only you can cool my desire

A shudder rolls through his massive frame and it makes your heart twinge with that greedy type of want that’s never quenched no matter how many times you see his eyes widen at your open, honest affection, at the love you pour into his skin, and the way you worship his flesh. It sits heavy in your pericardium: always there, always wanting. Never satisfied no matter how much of him you consume.

(You never quite understood the meaning of hunger, of want, until you met Thomas. 

It's a good thing, then, that there's just so much of him to devour.)

⤷tw: shameless Thomas Hewitt body worship/worship in general. softcore smut. so sickeningly sweet it'll rot your teeth. ultra light breeding kink. ultra explicit size kink. gendered terminology (female gendered body parts). no substance - just smut and fluff

You trace the constellations into his worn, rough palms - Ursa Major, Cassiopeia, Centaurus, Orion - and murmur to him about the universe, the sun, and stardust. 

Thomas makes no noise as you etch your fantastical stories into the white-hot skin of his palm. He listens, intently, as you speak; his burning gaze fixed on the way your mouth moves, gentle and soft, around the unfathomable cosmos that you don't, entirely, think he understands. But he likes the sounds you make - the way your lips mould around the words, and the susurrus lull of your voice as you tell him about quasars and moons and the intricate gases of the Nebula that you don't really understand much, either. You echo the words inside the books you've read and try to find your place in the limitless, infinite galaxy. A place, you know, will be just for the two of you. 

When the curve of Orion finishes and you've exhausted your knowledge of Betelgeuse, you bring his massive paw up to your lips, press a kiss in the deep divot of his fate line, and hope that somewhere along the linear curve, your name sits. That inside the harsh, rough crevasse is a world where the two of you gaze at the stars and find yourselves between Virgo and Leo, locked in an eternal embrace where nothing can hurt you and the world doesn't matter. 

(Like here: in this humid room you haven't left since mid-morning, where just the two of you exist in a little microcosm that smells like the sweat on his skin and feels like home.)

The heat of his palm almost scalds your lips.

Thomas burns as hot as the summer sun. A constant inferno that scorches you when you touch him. It burrows into your flesh, warming you from the outside in. 

It might be the lingering fever: a mid-July cold that had him bedridden for nearly a week. His immune system isn't the best, Luda Mae said. Colds take him a while to recover from. You coddled him - much to the derision of Hoyt. 

("Stop babyin' the idiot already," he snaps at you as you bring down an empty bowl of soup. "He's a man, goddammit, not a fuckin' child."

You trade off the bowl with Luda Mae for more water and blow a raspberry at him. "Aww, Charlie, are you upset that no one takes care'a you when you're sick?"

His threat is swiftly cut off by the sharp glare from Luda Mae, who then turns to you, now all soft, motherly smiles, and says, "thank you for takin' care of him."

You don't think she'd be particularly impressed to know that your version of taking care of him meant mapping out the star systems in his skin, and finding nirvana in the way he fits inside of you.)

After nearly a week in bed, tossing and turning in the throes of a fever, it finally broke. You'd spent the rest of the day helping him thoroughly sweat it out. 

The thought of it makes your cheeks flush. Makes that ache inside of you spume.

You never quite understood the meaning of hunger, of want, until you met Thomas. 

He rips open a vacuum inside of you: a festering black hole that needs and yearns - insatiable - for more. It's a constant ache that drives you delirious with the urge to consume him whole. But no matter how much you try to stem the rapacious chasm, it's never satiated, never full. 

(It's a good thing, then, that there's just so much of him to devour.)

Your lips part, tongue rolling over the line to get a taste of his molten flesh. 

Thomas smells like sin and tastes like warm milk and honey. 

A shudder rolls through his massive frame and makes your heart twinge with that greedy type of want that's never quenched no matter how many times you see his eyes widen at your open, honest affection, at the love you pour into his skin, and the way you worship his flesh. It sits heavy in your pericardium: always there, always wanting. Never satisfied no matter how much of him you consume. 

Your thirst for his taste is unending. 

His other hand flexes on his thigh. A nervous, fretting tick when the kittenish way you lap at his palm becomes too much. The movement draws your eyes to the bulk of his legs which are almost as big as the trucks on the Magnolia trees down the road. Your mouth runs dry at the sight. 

It's easy to worship him, you think. Easy to press offerings into his flesh, and sings hymns into the soft, plush give of his stomach. 

"Thomas…" you whisper his name softly into the humid summer night, tone drenched in that voracious need that never really goes away. 

The sound of his name spilling from your lips makes him flinch,  a low whine rolls up his throat, muffled by the pursed press of his lips. You like the sounds he makes. The grunts and the whimpers. The groans and the huffs of breath into your neck when you sit in his big lap and whisper praise into his ear. 

You'd spent most of the day with him nestled in bed with you. He rutted inside of you over and over again until you were filled to the brim with him - his scent, his sweat on your body - and even now, hours later, you're still hungry. You can't get enough of him. Parched for his touch. His taste. 

You bring both hands up to cup his wrist, tugging him gently toward you. 

He makes another noise in the back of his throat. A wanting trill that burrows into your chest and sends liquid heat to your abdomen. 

There is an almost needy haze in his eyes when you meet his gaze. If you're not careful, you think you can easily get lost in the endless cyanic that stares up at you, soft, pleading, irises almost entirely eclipsed by his widening pupils. The fathomless black of the cosmos has nothing on the endless pools of cerulean in front of you. 

"C'mon…" you say, and he goes, willing. Eager. He rocks up on his knees, his frame easily towering over you. Large. Indomitable. He eclipses you entirely, blocking out the soft light from the candle flickering on the bedside table. 

Kneeling over you like this, he looks every bit of a Cimmerian god meant to be revered, admired. The messy curls on his head, moussed from the sweat of the summer swelter and his lingering fever, and the many times your fingers threaded through the locks, falls over his forehead when he bows his head and stares at you underneath him. 

And you, as always, stare back.

It makes him twitch; embarrassment, and shame prickle across his expression. His chin quivers, turning slightly away from the open way you swallow him whole with your look. You tut softly, a gentle warning that no, that's not allowed here, in this space made just for the two of you. 

Thomas frets under your admonishment; the hand still in your hold shakes, and you're quick to soothe his worry with a wet kiss to his thundering pulse. You suckle the thrumming vein until another mark sits on his flesh. By the end of the night, when the moon is nigh in the aether and the ocherous smear of the hazy coruscating sun breaches the inky black above you, his whole body will be a mosaic of your reverence. A testament to your devotion. 

(The thought thrills you. You love seeing your mark pressed into his sunkissed flesh: a red map of Orion across his chest and Cassiopeia over his shoulder.)

When he quiets, when his shoulders ease from the coiled, self-conscious hunch that makes him feel like he's smaller than what he is, what he ever could be, you offer him a small, reassuring smile. He huffs at the sight of it, his broad chest deflating with the deep exhale. Relaxing above you at the wordless praise in the tilt of your mouth. 

It amazes you just how much self-doubt lingers in the broad vastitude of his neverending bulk, but you're determined to wash it all away with each nip you scour into his body. Slowly, slowly, because the last thing you ever want is to make him nervous, scared. 

But that doesn't matter with Thomas. The trust in his gaze shines as true and effortless as the love and affection in the abyss of blue that tugs at your heart each time you look over at him and find that mushy, misty-eyed look in his expression. It steals your breath away each time. A paradox that you can't even begin to unravel.

He's so massive. So big. An unstoppable force. But he gives you so much power. He lays everything in your hands, as gently as possible, and looks at you like you're responsible for the smattering of stars that gleam across the astronomical cosmos.

Thomas looks at you sometimes, and the weight of his gaze makes you feel like the most powerful being in the universe. It's an odd little juxtaposition coming from a man who looks like the personification of Hercules. A sentient mountain.

He tugs out his heart, such a precious treasure, and hands it to you for safekeeping next to your own, where they beat congruent. 

"You're perfect," you say, a little drunk on the dazed way he makes you feel. The power he gives you. 

His breath catches in his throat at your unexpected words, chin ducking bashfully to his broad chest. A man this enormous shouldn't be as cute as he is, as endearing. It jars into you, and makes your stomach flutter when you catch sight of the red staining his ears, his cheeks. 

Your eyes greedily follow the rufescent plume that snakes down his throat, his chest. 

It gleams with his sweat. With red smears from your nips and kisses on his skin. The thick bed of hair hides most of your work, but his nipples - reddened from your mouth - peek out from the blanket of tight curls across his upper chest. Your gaze follows the trail. The hair dissipates over the curve of his stomach. His belly hangs, paler than the rest of his body, and partially concealing the flushed cock between his legs that twitches under your appraisal, your wanting stare. 

Thomas is big - everywhere - and you ache with the reminder of the way he stretches you, stuffs you full of him until you're clinging to the precarious precipice of that inexorable pleasure-pain that lacerates up your spine. He fills you in a way that knocks the air from your lungs. That makes you keen into the sheets. 

But despite his sheer size, he's so, so gentle with you. 

He doesn't fill you up entirely - always so worried about hurting you - no matter how much you asked him for it. During the last several couplings, he fisted his hand around the base of his cock, and slowly rocked into you, not giving you the entire length of him, not pushing in too deep. It was good - so good - like it always is, and even with half his length inside of you, the girth alone steals the air from your lungs; but this time, you're determined to get all of him.

All of what he has to offer. You want him to devour you whole. To swallow you up in his heat, his touch, his caress. You want to fuse your limbs together until you can't find the space that separates you anymore. A tangled web of sweat-slicked skin and that haze of pleasure that makes you feel drunk on the sensations he wrought from your body. 

The thought alone makes your heart hammer in your chest, and your gaze waver. Your misty eyes slide down to the thick, hairy thighs that kneel between your legs. You want to touch him. To grasp at the flesh there as he pounds into you. 

It's been so sweet thus far. So soft. So gentle. And now you want him to mess you up. You want Thomas to take whatever he wants from your willing body. Take what he needs. 

(To give you what you need.)

Your eyes roam his body again - greedily, appreciative, wanting - and you hear the hitch in his breath. His cock twitches; a bead of pre-cum dribbling out of his engorged, flushed head. 

"Please…" you whimper, and his whole frame trembles once again. The rattle of an earthquake. The bed shakes with him.  

His hand drops to the pillow behind you, and you immediately follow, lowering yourself down, matching his pace until your head rests against the bed; Thomas bracketing you from above. He stretches out, yawning over you like the infinitely dark cosmos; a Stygian King. You see Orion in his eyes. Map Cassiopeia in the dusting of birthmarks and blemishes that line his thick face. You see forever in the way he stares back at you. 

Your thighs spread as far as you can manage - wanting him, needing him closer - but it's still not enough. He's too big. You're too small. But somehow, he feels like a perfect fit. The drag of his tummy settling over yours makes you mewl; the weight of it, of his body on top of you, makes you pant and gasp into the balmy air. 

You whisper more praise into his ear when he finally rests on top of you - right where he belongs - and pull his hand down until it lays on your breast, a wordless plea for more. He shudders above you when your hardened nipple catches the rough skin of his palm, a callous making your thighs squeeze his sides, and he quickly kneads the flesh you offered him. 

The soft give of his body feels good. You reach up and trace the stretch marks covering his belly and chest, cooing softly when he whimpers. He doesn't cover himself up as much as he used to. You've kissed every silvery line on his body. Every scar and dimple. Thomas knows you love every part of him - even the ones he tries to hide. He knows you want him. Need him. He knows because you tell him so every day. Your lips kiss prayers into his flesh until he's a quivering, whining mess. Until his ears burn red and his chest is flushed the perfect hue of roseate that makes your mouth water. 

"Want you…" you murmur into his shoulder, flicking your tongue out to lick across a small stretch mark that dips into his underarm. The rough scratch of his hair feels good against your tongue. 

His hips buck into you, his belly ripping against yours with the sharp movement. His thighs drag across the delicate skin on the inside of your legs, and the rasp of his coarse hair rubbing against the soft, sensitive flesh makes you gasp into his shoulder. His cock - tacky from the slowly drying mess of being inside of you for most of the day and white-hot to the touch - slides so deliciously over your mons and lower stomach, that you can help but to cant your hips up in response, eagerly seeking more of him. More of his touch. 

Fuck, you can't get enough of him.

"Please, Thomas…" it's all he needs to hear, but it's not enough for you. The adulations slip from your lips until he's quivering above you, your lower belly covered in the messy smear of his excitement. His cheeks are stained sunburn red and you push to make them blister. "Please, I want you so bad-"

His hand pulls away from your breast, reaching down to take hold of his cock. Your breath stutters in your chest when the head drags between your folds, pressing against your aching pussy. You're so wet. So messy from his cum. He's filled you so many times today. Your hand slips below the flesh of his belly, pressing against your naval where you can almost feel a little budge. 

"You filled me up so much today, Thomas," you pant into his shoulder, nuzzling your lips into his skin. He trembles above you, letting out a deep whine. His cock rubs through the mess still spilling out of you, jerking sharply at your words. "You wanna gimme more, baby?" 

He keens, his head dropping down to your neck as he ruts into you, desperate and wanting. He likes it. Likes filling you up. Making you messy with his cum. Likes watching it slowly drip out of you just so he can push it back inside after. 

Thomas isn't normally so open, so honest, about his desires. He hides it as if it was something to be ashamed of. But with the sickness still clouding his mind, spooling over his inhibition, he lets it out. Let's you see the things inside his head he covers up, that he pushes aside. 

You like it a lot more than you thought you would. The warmth deep inside of you when he cums, head tossed back in euphoria, mouth open as he groans, whines, deep in his chest. The sloppy way he thrusts inside of you with his release, as if he can't help himself, as if he can't get enough of you. 

The glossy sheen of his eyes when he drops to his elbows, burying his head in the crook of your neck, nuzzling your skin after he finishes makes your heart thrum with contentment, and affection; both so visceral, they bludgeon into you like a club. 

You wiggle your hips, unable to stop the molten ache billowing inside of you at the prospect of having Thomas fill you so deeply once more.  

"Please, Thomas," you whisper again, splaying yourself under him like an offering. "Please-"

He's there before the next plea finishes rolling off of your tongue. The scalding press of his cock inside of you has the cosmos flashing across your eyes. Phosphenes dance behind your eyelids when you squeeze them shut against the delicious ache, the burning stretch, of him splitting you open, carving out a place inside of you meant just for him. It's good - too good - and you can't stop the hiccuping whines from tumbling past your parted lips, a mindless chant of his name, and more, more, more.

Your legs slide over his, curling as much as you can over his broad back, and you push your heel into the rounded softness of his ass, forcing him deeper.

He whimpers. His hand fumbles. You reach out, fingers curling around his elbow, tugging his hand up. 

"All of you, Thomas," you gasp into his ear, pleading and wanting. A needy keen wells up in the back of your throat. "All of you - I want all of you."

And Thomas -

He can never say no to you when you beg him so prettily.

He breaks, and the way he crumbles has you seeing stars when he fills you so deeply. Pushing in until he can't anymore, until his hips are flush against you, and his cock is burrowing past the limits of what you can take, of what you can handle. It's so hot. The searing heat, the ache, jars into you like a sledgehammer, and you whimper at the too-full feeling of him stretching you. He brushes against a spot that makes you keen, that makes you feel that intense whiplash pleasure as it ricochets down your spine, pooling liquid bliss in your belly. 

You're pinned under his sheer bulk, but you can't help the way you shudder and arch into him. It's good, too good, and the pleasure lacerates through your core as he ruts into that tightly winding coil deep inside of you that spumes with molten ecstasy. 

You chant his name into stifling air, breathless and quaking from the undulated pleasure he brings you; the way his body moulds over your frame has you mewling, and panting at the smoulder of his suffocating heat. 

It's dizzying. Intense. The inferno of his heavy body nearly smothers you. You tip your head back before hypoxia settles in. Black smears moult across your vision when he moves, when he pulls back, the thick drag of him inside of you makes your toes curl in bliss. 

Thomas' thrusts are messy. Unpractised despite the numerous times he's fucked into your willing body. It's cute. Endearing. The eager, desperate way he pushes into you makes your head heavy with a pleasured slurry of endorphins and dopamine. 

"You feel so good-," he moans at the sincerity in your slurred words, and bucks into with a deep cry. The force of it sends you reeling. It makes your head feel gummy with that gossamer of euphoria that grips you tight when he makes noises like that. "Oh, god, Thomas-"

You pull your hand out from under his body, dropping it down to grip his plush hip, the flesh bulging between your spread fingers. It dredges up another squall from his chest, and he rocks forward, his head pressing down into the crook of your neck. His breath is hot on your skin. His hair tickles your cheek. Your other hand slips into the messy locks, nails scraping over his scalp in a way that makes him twitch inside of you, hips jerking into you - fast, hard. The force of it has you wailing his name, and your body tensing with the sudden pulsating pleasure gnashing inside your abdomen. 

You're close, you think, deliriously careening toward that precipice of pure nirvana only he can bring you to. 

His thrusts are sloppier. Sluggish. You can see the fatigue drenching his brow under the rivets of sweat that pour down his hairline. You lost count of how many times he's been inside of you today; how many times he held you down and fucked you until you cried into the sheets with his name turning into a hymn on your tongue. Your skin is soaked with him - his metallic, ozone scent, the slickness of his sweat, his saliva - but you want more. 

You're always wanting. Always hungry. He makes you feel ravenous; a need so deep, so infinite, that it's never satisfied, never quenched. You're always yearning for more. 

You're drunk on the taste of him. Addicted to the way his flesh feels under your palms. You breathe rapture into his pores and sing about your eternal devotion to him. Thomas shivers under the intense way you eulogise your matins in his name. 

The slick sound of him rutting into you sends jolts of pleasure to your core. 

You pull him deep, holding him tight to your smouldering body as he rocks inside of you, grunting in your ear. With the raspy way he whimpers, the hitch in his breath when you shift your hips to take him as deep as you can, you know he won't last much longer. 

Your paean turns into a breathless miserere in his ear, one that makes his chest reverberate with a deep grunt in response to the pleading way you prose your love for him. His hips stutter into yours with fevered desperation. The frenetic way his cock pistons into your oversensitive body makes your chorale turn into a nonsensical babble of choking whines and hysterical moans. You rasp out his name - a fervid plea as hedonism congeals inside your marrow, making you cant your hips into his as he sends you toward that rapturous edge.

Each jarring thrust spools an incandescent heat in your lower belly, where the blunt head of his cock slams into the soft, spongy wall that has you burning with bliss, and bucking into the molten feeling that gnashes into the base of your spine. It coils tighter and tighter inside of you until Thomas drops to his elbows above you, the force of his body resting on yours, lax with his exhaustion and out of his mind with pleasure, sends the scant vapours in your lungs rushing out as his weight descends on you, pressing you deeper into the mattress as he batters into you. 

You can't breathe. You choke in greedily lungfuls of air to sate your oxygen-starved mind as each plunge Thomas makes into you wrenches it out. 

All you can do is take it as he gorges himself with your body and renders you into a mindless, mewling mess under his bulk. 

You can't get enough of this. Your fingers dig into his sweat-slicked skin, wanting him closer despite the ache in your lungs and white-hot lashes of pleasured pain that chisels into you. It's so good, so good, so -

Your toes curl, muscles spasming with the electrifying force of the release Thomas dragoons out of you. 

His name is wrenched from your throat, and you cling to him as your vision whites out under the deluge of pleasure. 

Each thrust cudgels into you. In the kaleidoscope haze of phosphenes, you see Orion in the milky gossamer. The fulgent prisms erupt into static before shuddering out of existence where the effulgent face of Thomas swims in front of you. The look on his florid face when he cums clots behind your ribcage where it sits just as heavy as his body over yours. It's that coalescence of feverish delirium and the sfumato of delectation that percolates into your pounding heart, making it swell from the sheer elation he brings you. 

You can feel his hips stuttering as he rides out the last throes of his orgasmic haze, spilling liquid embers into your body. His body quivers under your hand. You scratch at his crown with your nails when he blubbers into your neck, mewling at the oversensitive feeling of your walls, molten and drenched with his release, clinging to his spent cock. 

You might have pushed him beyond his mettle tonight. There is a stab of guilt in your pericardium as he slumps into your embrace, quaking with the aftershocks of your greed and gluttonous insatiability, but it's gone when you feel his humid pants into your neck, the blunt press of his teeth to your skin. 

You coo softly to him as he trembles over you, your hands petting the body you so thoroughly worshipped today to ease the strain in his quivering muscles. 

When he lifts his head, you slide your palm to the base of his neck and kiss the nasolabial space between the decayed remnants of his nose and his cheek. He flinches, shying away from the soft kiss. He tries to hide his face from your view, shoulders trembling under the nervous thrum of shame, shyness, and embarrassment. You hate the look in his eyes - the ghost of self-abasement that sets your teeth on edge and makes your heart prickle with agony. 

"Don't be so mean to the love of my life," you murmur softly, tracing Orion into his shoulder. 

Thomas jerks his head up at your words, eyes widening. You hate the shock in his expression whenever you confess your love to him - like he doesn't think he deserves it. It makes your stomach churn with sorrow. How could this man not see how much you want him? How much you adore him? 

"Yes, silly," you pepper more kisses over his face, smiling at the flush you can feel scalding your mouth. "I mean you."

Thomas nuzzles into your affection like he's starving for it, and you're determined to make him surfeit by the end of the night. 

It's when you stretch your legs out that he shakes from his exhausted revere, jerking back with noises of distress and worry spilling from lips in a rapid cacophony of sorrow and concern. Thomas pulls himself up, looking over at you with contrition bunching up in his brow. 

"It's okay," you soothe him and try to hide the way you greedily suck in deep breaths without the pressure on your chest stemming the flow. "I'm fine."

He doesn't believe you. Compunction pinches the corners of his mouth. 

"Thomas," you whisper, but he rises to his knees and drops his head into his hands, shoulder shaking. "Tommy, baby-," you sit up, wincing at the ache inside of you, the tacky mess between your thighs, and reach up to grasp at his wrists. Your thumb and forefinger never meet. There's a width of space the size of your own wrist between them. 

You can't say that the sight of it, the sheer vastitude between the difference in your sizes, doesn't make you pant. 

"Tommy," the breathless tenor of your voice makes him look up, and you grin at him. "Baby, I love when you crush me-"

It's the wrong thing to say. He squalls deep in his throat. Morose shutters over his expression. He tries to cover his face up again, but you squeeze your hands. 

"Baby, baby… I'm sorry," you say, not at all apologetic for the words, per se, but certainly the timing. "I love your body, Thomas. I love the way you feel on top of me. I can't get enough of it." 

His whimpers begin to quiet, but the rueful look in his eyes doesn't lapse. 

You huff and slowly clamber to your knees in front of him. He watches you, body coiled like a whip -as if he is waiting for punishment. 

You draw his hands close to you, and pepper kisses all over his palms, his fingers, his knuckles, his dorsal, his wrist. 

"I love your big hands and the way they hold me so tight…" you glance up at him, watching him as you slowly lap at his pulse. "I know you'd never hurt me, Thomas. You're so gentle. So kind." His breath stutters in his chest when you nuzzle along his arm, your lips tickling the sensitive flesh in the crook of his elbow. 

It seems you aren't finished with your quixotic hymns. The look on his face spurns you on, makes your chest froth with liquid affection, adoration. 

"I love your arms, you know that. I love when you wrap them around me and hold me close. I love the way they swallow me up," you huff out a small blissful laugh. "You're so big, baby - god - it's amazing. I feel so small next to you." 

You press your head into his chest, breathing in the heady scent of sex and ozone that clings to him, letting it fill your senses. It makes you dizzy. Makes your head feel mushy with contentment. You slide your face up until just your chin rests against his sternum.

The open, raw, look in his eyes makes you keen low in your throat. 

"You're so big, and I feel so safe in your arms, Thomas. So protected. You'd never intentionally hurt me, right?"

Noises of distress immediately pour from his lips as his head quickly jerks to the side in an emphatic refusal. 

"I know you wouldn't," you dip your head down, pressing a kiss over his heart, feeling the rapid pulse beating under your lips. "I trust you more than anyone in the whole world." 

Thomas shivers. His body wracks with tremors under the sincerity, the bluntness of your words. 

Your hands drop down from his wrists, sliding over the smooth curve of his belly. He flinches, blushing scarlet at the way your nails scratch through the coarse smattering of hair you find. 

"I love your belly," you drop down, following the path your fingers took with gentle kisses to his flesh. His belly quivers. Your lips sink into the plump skin. "Fuck… I really love it. Love how soft it is compared to the rest of you. You're so bulky. So hard, strong… But here-," you nuzzle your nose into his luscious skin, words laced thick with an amatory drawl. "You're so comfy." 

Your gaze drops to the soft cock now hidden behind the bulge of his stomach, and your grin turns wicked, eyes burning with desire. You can feel him give a small twitch when your hands brush over his mons, fingers playing with the thick bed of coarse curls. 

"And you know how much I love your-," his whine cuts you off, and you chuckle in response. He's overstimulated. You've worn him out today. You slide your hands down, resting the flat of your palm over his legs. His skin scalds you. The smear of hair tickles your skin. "-Thighs," you finish with a wink. 

Thomas huffs above you, the flush deepening as it spreads over his chest. You can tell he's growing restless under your arduous exploits in making him acutely, pointedly, aware of just how much you love his body and how good he makes you feel. 

His belly ripples when you pull away from him, and the sight makes your mouth quiver. Your hands snake around his thighs, squeezing the generous globes of flesh you find when you reach up and grab his ass. He squawks, flinching when you do. It pushes his belly into your face, and press one last kiss to the tumid flesh offered to you before you pull away. 

Mournfully, you release your grip on his succulent flesh, and slide your hands up his back, feeling the taut ripple of his muscles under your palms. He's so brawny. So stalwart. You love the contrast of his soft belly and the hard, burly planes of shoulder blades and thick thighs. 

Your arms loop around the nape of his neck as you press your body firmly into his. The hefty bulk of his body fills you with an intense concupiscence. The way his bare skin moulds to yours has you seeing Antares behind your eyelids. 

"I love every part of you," you murmur into his chest, words breathless and heavy with desire. 

Even on your knees, your head barely brushes past his sternum. It's supposed to be a tender, loving moment, so you pretend the absurd girth of him, the length, doesn't make your mouth water. Doesn't whet your appetite. 

After a whole day of rolling around in the sheets, you still want more. 

"Every single inch." You punctuate your words with a kiss. A smile. 

Nervously, he returns it. It's just a quake of his mouth to the side. A crooked, lopsided grin. But it sends a thrill down your spine. 

"I love you." 

He bleats in response, eyes lidded and heavy with fatigue. He's still on the mend. You can hear the residual sickness in his voice, feel it in the humidity clinging to his rubicund skin. 

"Let's get you to bed, now, yeah?" 

He nods, eager, sluggish, and his arm wraps around your waist, tugging you close to his body before he leans down, his other hand balancing on the mattress. Thomas lays on his side, pulling you down with him, before rolling onto his back, arm opening wide, beckoning you forward. 

You smile down at him, the mushy thrum of affection swelling inside once more, and clamber into your space on his chest.

Thomas pulls you close, tucking you in to the folds of his side where you fit like a puzzle and he feels like home. You lean up, brushing his hair away from his sweat-slicked forehead, and press one last latria to his skin, murmuring your devotion into his flesh.  

When you lay on his chest, his heartbeat marches in tandem with your own, dragging out another smile that tugs on your lips. Thomas nuzzles your crown, cooing wordless adherence into your hair. He kisses your crown, and a sappy, soporific haze shudders over you; somnolence seeps into your marrow when his arm drapes over your shoulders, locking you to his side in an unyielding hold. 

You settle into his embrace, tracing constellations into his kiss-bruised chest. He fits around you like a Magellanic cloud, and you think you'll never be satisfied when he reels you into his gravity without evening knowing the magnitude of his pull. Thomas is the sun, and you're a tidally locked planet on a rapid spiral from which there is no escape. As he pulls you closer, you contemplate the benison of this perigee and find solace in the fact that your name must be etched into his fate line because you don't think the way his flesh burns into your skin could ever be happenstance. There is no fortuity in the way you fit beside him, and how much he smells like home. 

You belong to him, and if there is no place for you by his side, then you'll rip apart the cosmos until you can find a microcosm meant just for the two of you, nestled somewhere in the middle of Virgo and Leo, in between the infinite everything that threatens to consume you. You'll shred the Nebula apart to be near him because Thomas brings out this need, this want, that spumes inside of you like an unfathomable chasm, and without the taste of his piquant flesh on your tongue, or the heft of body on yours, you might just starve. 

(And if it is a coincidence, well - you'll carve your own kismet into his skin just like you etched Orion into his palm.)

[mcdonaldsnumberone]

touchin’ like we know each other !

physical touch headcanons

gender neutral reader

—pinching his cheek

Truth be told, Ness likes to be babied a bit. He fulfills his role in Bastard Munchen like his life depends on it, often playing the cut-throat supporting role for Kaiser and his belligerent playstyle. So a slightly childish part of Ness wants to be a bit greedy with receiving praise and affection in the same way that Kaiser does, wanting to be acknowledged rather than constantly being his biggest supporter. While he won’t outright say that he wants you to fawn over him all the time, he enjoys being coddled by you a lot more than he thinks.

Having his cheeks pinched is something he would never admit to enjoying given how much his team would tease the living daylights out of him, but he likes how you always lavish him with attention whenever you touch him. Sometimes it’ll be a quick gesture to get him to loosen up before a big game, and other times you’ll do it to catch his attention when he’s distracted. But it’s such a cute yet casual motion, it reminds Ness of how close the two of you are.

He also likes the slight contrast between who he is as a person and how you treat him. He’s an athlete with a bright future, and he could literally overpower you physically without doing much, yet here you are, fearlessly babying him and feeling up his face whenever it strikes you. Despite all the rigorous training he goes through, Ness knows he still has a bit of a babyface (and one hell of a poised smile too), so it’s always jarring to think that while he must come off as a ferocious opponent to some players, he’s just mochi-faced Ness to you.

Sometimes he’ll pinch your cheeks too, just to mess with you. It’s cute when you get all flustered and stunned, always used to being the one to do it to him. He likes riling you up only to smile at you angelically like he always does, blatantly wearing his satisfaction all over his face. If you let him get carried away with it, he’ll trail after you for as long as he can. Lying in wait for the perfect chance, he’ll stick by your side as if glued to your hip to swoop in and catch you when you let your guard down. Don’t worry—he’ll make sure the rest of his team doesn’t see you with your face stretched out in between his hands.

“Did I play well today? Yay, I’m glad to hear! Kaiser’s playing is really amazing, isn’t it? It’s fun to see my magic work out. Won’t you reward me for always giving it my all?”

—kissing his eyelids

Chigiri likes reveling in the calm after the storm. After giving it all while playing, what he needs to unwind is something that can take his mind off of things for a little while. He’s still looking for ways to improve and utilize his full potential, but he’s more than his skillset at the end of the day. He wants someone who can hold him and tell him he’s doing great as he is, reminding him that these quiet cadences in between high tension moments are necessary to ground him.

Chigiri finds himself at his happiest when he’s laying down, his head resting in your lap. It would be so easy to just drift away and forget the world as he is, but he wants to stay awake for a little bit more to watch your face and lose himself in your presence. Sometimes you’ll play with his hair or distract yourself by watching something on your phone, but you never fail to lean down every once in a while to kiss his eyes and call him your precious pretty boy.

He never knew such a simple thing could make his heart flutter so much. He’s been stuck in his head for too long, focusing too much on ‘what ifs’ and his own fears, that such a small act of intimacy is enough to throw him off entirely. Chigiri wants to become more graceful at taking whatever kisses you send his way, so he isn’t staring dumbfounded at you with his cheeks turning the same shade of red as his hair. He feels like a schoolgirl with a crush when you beam down at him as if nothing happened, and the butterflies in his stomach are enough to keep him up the entire night.

Unlike some of the other boys who would rather die than be caught doing anything couple-y in front of their teammates, Chigiri has absolutely no issues with it. He’ll smugly walk onto the field after you kiss him good luck, knowing perfectly well that he’ll give it his all as usual when he knows you’re cheering him on so thoroughly. His teammates can only dream of having such a supportive significant other as you, and he always looks to you with pride when he spots you in the seats during practice or actual games.

“Do you like kissing me on my eyelids that much? You do? You’re making me shy… It’s fine. I don’t want you to stop. Kiss me again?”

—adjusting his appearance

Yukimiya is used to having eyes on him all the time. Even away from having people always evaluating him for his athletic career, he’s used to being stared at whenever he’s on the street or being ogled by the people who directly help with his modeling career. He doesn’t think too much of it usually, but sometimes he wants a breather where he can exist without someone scrutinizing him from some angle. This is why he likes being with you so much. You never treat him like some spectacle. He’s your boyfriend, and that’s all there is to it.

And whenever you adjust his appearance, it’s never to make him more “palatable” or “professional.” You do it to help him out. It’s never these glasses will make you look more handsome, it’s you’ll get a headache if you wear your glasses crooked for so long, Yuki. You really have nothing but his best interest in mind at all times, and you don’t care about how he looks. He could be coming straight from a modeling job or be rolling out of bed; you love him all the same.

He especially likes it when you fix his clothes a bit. It warms his heart whenever you take a moment to button up his coat for him or smooth out his hair, your hands lingering over his body enough to make his heart skip a beat. It’s a kind of everyday, domestic intimacy that Yukimiya learned to appreciate while he can. They don’t come often for someone who always has to stay poised and ready like him, and he devours your cozy love like the starved man he is. 

Yukimiya swears that one day he’ll work up the courage and the status to do whatever he wants with you. He won’t do anything rash, but he wants to be comfortable enough with his job and himself to be able to kiss you and hold you in public, to not have to be so reliant on these quick touches and fleeting gestures to satisfy his longing heart. But until then, he’ll ask you to continue being patient with him, and he promises that he’ll return your love tenfold when he can.

“I have something on my face…? Would you mind getting it for me? Thank you, love. You’re always so kind to me. It makes me very happy. I hope you know that!”

—hooking your arm around his

Reo has been raised to be a gentleman, only ever getting aggressive when the situation calls for it. He follows his own desires, refusing to give them up no matter what, and his love for you runs deep in the same way. But he won’t ever let you be harmed by his own greedy wants, preferring to show the more polished and smooth side of him more than the desperate boy within him that wants something to keep him on his toes. He’ll be the ideal boyfriend, being your knight-in-shining-armor (or a shining limousine) and never pushing you into doing anything that makes you uncomfortable.

Which is why he likes it so much when you sometimes take the initiative and confirm that you feel the same way about him. You hooking your arm around his tells him that you like being around him enough to actively go out of your way to get closer to him, and despite all the immense pressure around the two of you due to his status as an heir, you don’t mind being seen with him in a way that’s clearly romantic. It makes his heart swell up with happiness to be parading around the street with you latched onto the crook of his elbow like a normal couple, and with how cute the two of you are, you’re bound to leave everyone green with jealousy.

To top it off, at the end of every hangout or date with him, Reo will insist on escorting you back home. Not only is it a way for him to make sure you get home safe, it’s also a great excuse to spend a few more minutes with you. He cherishes these stolen moments: walking through your town with you right next to him, arms entangled together, away from the chaos of Blue Lock and his family, with nothing but the rising stars and the elegant moon to witness you kissing him goodnight before being dropped off. 

Reo can’t wait for the day where you won’t ever have to let go. He might keep a picture of you like that saved and stashed away somewhere in his room. The two of you on a small date, side-by-side, lost in each other: whenever he finds himself missing you, he’ll pull it out to stare at it before smiling like the lovestruck fool he is. He might even gush about it to Nagi, chatting the poor boy’s ear off about how he wishes you were there right now to cling to him until Nagi eventually smothers Reo with a pillow so he can go back to gaming in peace.

“Hold me tight, and stay on this side of the sidewalk, okay? It’s not safe to walk close to the road. Don’t worry! I’ll protect you! You can always count on me.”

x

[phantasmiafxndom]

How about the obey me brothers with an owner who is VERY involved in helping them recover from their abusive homes, maybe to the point of overstepping. They’re trying to give them space but they still give daily check ups and grooming sessions and make sure they eat well, much more than they boys are used to getting or think is “little”

Lucifer

He does not appreciate what you're trying to do. He's not the kind of demon who's meant to be coddled, so all of this attention is both utterly wasted and an insult to his pride. Lucifer doesn't take your attempts to help him heal very well, especially if he feels like you're patronizing him in any way. He's survived everything that's been done to him before, and there's no need for that to change now. And yet... he's still instinctively preening under the attention.

Mammon

As much as the overwhelming amount of attention makes him nervous, Mammon is nothing if not greedy for whatever he can get. Even though he should really know better than to just accept your kindness, if anything, he accepts it a little too readily. There's plenty of bad behavior and trying your patience involved, but Mammon is enjoying the constant spoiling enough to hope that maybe, maybe you might be serious about being nice.

Leviathan

It absolutely terrifies him. Leviathan is barely used to being noticed, let alone being the focus of someone's complete and utter attention. No matter how much you insist that you just want to help him feel more comfortable, he looks like he wants to hide every time you get close. But... there's still a part of him that wants to be spoiled. Even if he's too shy to admit it and too scared to let it happen, he's really hoping you'll keep going with the nice things.

Satan

You have a tough road ahead of you, that's for sure. Satan is capable of being polite under normal circumstances— but having you constantly in his space is not a normal circumstance. He gets aggressive when you're too pushy (though he never hurts you), and that just ends up stressing him out even more. And of course, he doesn't trust you. You're nice, weirdly nice, but all he can think is that you're setting him up to have his hopes crushed, somehow.

Asmodeus

While he's not sure if he trusts your kindness to be genuine, that doesn't really matter. Asmodeus wants attention more than he cares about being safe, so he'll delightedly eat up every second of your efforts to help him "recover". It doesn't take him long at all to get attached— his feelings for you are the kind he's learned in a far worse environment, though. He doesn't know what to do with a proper home, but he can't just sit by and wait for it to end.

Beelzebub

So long as you feed him, he's content. Beelzebub trusts easily, much too easily, so a few regular meals are all it takes to have him convinced you're a good person. He still gets nervous when you're too overbearing or affectionate, but he really does believe you're trying to help. Of course, that doesn't make it any easier to talk himself out of the responses learned from years of abuse, so he still needs something of an adjustment period to it all.

Belphegor

Nope, nope, nope. Belphegor has absolutely zero faith in what you're trying to do, and he makes that opinion plenty clear. In his mind, you're trying to trick him. He doesn't know the exact plan yet, but there has to be some ulterior motive behind a human being so nice. And of course, he doesn't take well to the constant attention, either. You're bound to have him snap or lash out at you at some point... which is when he gets scared instead.

[leonasbunny]

Hiya! May I request Leona with an athletic s/o? Like they're on the track team with Deuce and Jack and they went to camp Vargas?

— TWST X ATHLETIC!READER (*´˘`*)♡

Thank you for requesting anon !! <3 Ilysm <3 Had a bit of a struggle but nonetheless I think this will be pretty cute <3 :3

Ah, the fresh outdoors. Nothing like staying beside your best friends in the open greenery, basking in the sun and skin gleaming perfectly in the daylight.

Birds chirping together as many of the sports club members chatter and the air is warm and the atmosphere is bright!

Ever since Leona had met you, it was something out of the ordinary for him. He was so used to seeing carnivores and predators of his beastmen kind that are fast and strong. All muscle and no talk!

However, you? A mere herbivore with ambition and pride and you strive to be healthy and proud with what you have and what you are. He knows he can overpower you any day, though. But when you’re fighting against the Savanaclaw beastmen? They don’t stand a chance.

And that makes Leona laugh in amusement. To think someone like you would capture his heart, little bunny. You are full of surprises aren’t you?

However, being on the track team, it pulls away your time to spend with your boyfriend; and it displeases him immeasurably.

Leona will have his eyes on you, emerald green orbs staring at your thighs and body; beads of sweat trickling down the side of your figure as you wipe the wetness of your forehead with the swipe of your hand and heave out a soft sigh.

He loves watching you, and often becomes distracted instead of helping out his own teammates set up the tent and tend to regular activities.

You, however, spend the time stretching and picking up logs to prepare firewood. You help Deuce capture fish and help the rest of the club members sort their regular activities.

Yuu and Grim can’t help but admire from far away upon how steady and firm you are ! Yet looking so adorable while doing so!

A greedy lion lingers in the shade, watching his prey dance about in the sunlight. He looks at your ears faltering beside you and watches your cute little tail wiggle as you approach Jack to ask where should you set up the tent.

He eventually grows tired of watching other men stare at his bunny while you’re utterly oblivious to it. It’s frustrating to him beyond anything, and he’s pretty sure Ruggie and Epel will take the tasks of leading the other activities and all.

Least to say, Leona grabs you and takes down his over-the-top jacket and remains in his shirt. He takes you off somewhere in the distance so you two can relax together despite your resistance- but ends up shutting your mouth with a gentle kiss on the lips ~

Your scent is entirely intoxicating for him, little herbivore~ You have no idea how hungry he is for you while he had to watch you from the distance. Ruggie could sense his intimidating aura but decided to stay away from it. This is torture for him to stay away from you for this long, so when this is all finished, you better sit on his lap and make this lion boy happy by coddling him for a bit in closed doors~

Leona needs to spend time with you at least once every day. Whether its just five minutes cuddling together or five hours napping beside each other. You’re both athletic in your own ways. But since you’re still a bunny, you’ll need to train harder. Not only is Leona stronger, faster given the fact he is a lion after all, but he’s got more of an upper hand advantage.

So you’ll need to work out more often, and it amuses Leona very much to think you’d even dream of one day overpowering him~ it makes him chuckle. We all know who’s wearing the pants in the relationship, little herbivore ~

You’re more of the type to be compared with Judy Hopps. Both have admirable traits, the fact you’re still a bunny and have a long way to go makes Leona think how utterly gifted he is to have someone like you as his partner.

It isn’t long before you convince Leona that you have to go back. He groans in frustration, holding onto you in a vice grip;; he doesn’t find the idea of you leaving so soon very appealing.

But both Riddle and Vargas will have both of your heads knowing you two slacked off to have some lovey-dovey moments together ~

Floyd touches you a lot, so Leona will become agitated at the fact he glances over for one second and this tall ass eel decides to pamper you for a bit and subtly try to be a bit possessive. He gets even more ticked off that Jack is blushing whenever you’re around him; wiggling your tail as you both chatter up for a bit; with his arm around your waist as he pulls you closer.

It’s almost as if a surge of anger took over Leona; but he remained still and kept his composure; both arms crossed and eyes still kept on you. Ruggie asks him to help out every so often but he shrugs it off since he has to keep his eye on you.

A lion can never take his eyes off his meal in the wild. How else will he get to keep his prey the moment they’re out of sight? Bunnies are very agile and speedy creatures, so the fact you are in the track team doesn’t surprise him in the slightest.

But your strength is something beyond of what he can even describe. You aren’t stronger than Leona of course, but against a few of the beastmen in savanaclaw, you’re bound to end up beating up one of them. And again; this makes him amused. Suppose that’s why he’s drawn to you so easily, little bunny?

How ironic it is. A bunny has the big bad lion twisted around their little pinkie.

By the end of the camp, you swear that you and Ruggie couldn’t contain your laughter when you find out Leona had to stay back to do extra special training for slacking off simply because he had to watch you do a lot of work while he remained off in the distance; glaring away other men who wanted you to help them out for even just a second.

Leona considers it his duty as your boyfriend and lover to look after you; Lions never share their meals unless they feel friendly enough; unlike Hyenas.

Honestly, he doesn’t know whether it was worth it or not. But he doesn’t care honestly; the poor boy just wants to let everyone fuck off and use you as his warm little body pillow to sleep on and just relax with you.

[merakiui]

Have you ever considered Platonic yan! Diasomnia? Oh my goodness, that would be an utter nightmare. Though physical punishments would likely be off the table, you will be coddled and smothered with affection to the point of insanity. Your youth and humanity can and will be utilized as justification for their constant presence. You're too naïve and helpless to exist by your own means! They just want to keep you safe from yourself and others. Please, everyone's worried sick.

AAA YES!!!

(cw: platonic yandere, mention of confinement, unhealthy relationship, overprotective behaviors)

The amount of smothering you receive from them is insane. It’s obvious they care for you in their own unique ways and are extremely overprotective of you, so much so that they wouldn’t have any qualms about locking you away in a tower in some isolated part of Briar Valley—where they are the only ones you’ll be permitted to see. You’re constantly under their surveillance. Human beings are very fragile, after all. Since you’re so prone to injury, you’ll allow them to look after you, won’t you?

Life is quite fleeting, so Lilia makes sure you make the most of it. He allows you to do all sorts of things when you’re with him, so long as you don’t try to escape or do anything that might cause harm to yourself. He wants you to live your life to the fullest. Lilia tries not to dwell on your humanity too often, as it pains him to think about the day when he’ll inevitably lose you—unless he chooses to lengthen your lifespan indefinitely. He might consider teaching you how to defend yourself, but he finds that it’s much better if he and the others are protecting you. You’re just so precious; he wants to spend every waking moment with you! He likes telling you stories of the past and watching as your eyes light up in excitement. It’s one of his favorite things.

Malleus also delights in your company and he admires your penchant for listening. You’re always so interested in what he has to say, and you make sure to find enough time to spend with him no matter how busy your schedule is. How can he not want to protect you when you’re such a bright light in his life? He’s usually smiling fondly whenever he thinks of you and is so relieved that you enjoy his presence. Humans are peculiar with their habits and customs, but he likes being curious when it comes to you. Malleus can’t help being greedy when he takes up more and more of your time. You never seem bothered by it, though, and that makes him very happy.

Sebek will always be there to protect you! You’re the only human he’ll make that exception for. He’s come to appreciate you throughout the time he’s spent with you. Much like his treatment of Malleus, Sebek will dedicate himself to keeping you safe and content. He wants you to be comfortable around him so that you can confide in him whenever something or someone is bothering you, and he’ll make sure to cut down the source of the problem. Anyone who messes with you also messes with him, so people will know not to cross you unless they want to deal with a very angry Sebek. He gets huffy when you do things on your own, especially if it’s something like hanging out with other people. He’ll come with you! How can he protect you if he isn’t with you? So please let him accompany you. Even if it’s from a distance, he will be fine knowing his eyes are on you. And don’t even think about dating unless you’ve discussed that with him and the others.

Silver is your napping buddy! He will lend you his shoulder if you ever need to rest (and he’s also quick to fall asleep on your shoulder if you happen to be beside him). Aside from his drowsy spells and the times when he uses you as a suitable pillow—which he has apologized for, but you’ve told him it’s okay and his heart warms at your forgiving nature. He’ll act as your loyal knight, always there for you should you need him. Silver realizes the importance in having enough strength to defend you, so he’ll devote plenty of time and energy to his studies and training so that he can hone both his physical and magical strength. He wants to be someone you can rely on and it becomes known that you can come to him or the others whenever you’re troubled. Silver will do everything he can to keep that smile on your face, so please continue to remain happy and healthy. It’s what he and the others wish for the most.

[delicrieux]

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 24: OH...HI

after months and too much longing, you finally meet corpse in person.

─── corpse husband x reader ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: 3.8k

author’s note: we did it joe.

ultimate masterlist.  ҉  myso masterlist   ҉   previous. ҉   next.

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You woke up. That’s a lie, you didn’t sleep. Too much to plan, too much can go wrong and you’re...Not nervous, no, that’s not quite accurate. Excited. Yes, excited, so excited that two Redbulls and three coffees (so far!) make you jitter around the apartment like a butterfly that can’t find a flower bed to rest on. 

Rae has almost had enough of your...random spurts of energy. So what if you ran a few laps, climbed a few tables, sang karaoke a bit too loud and yet another noise complaint had been issued? It arrived exactly an hour after your concert via your displeased landlord. Rae was, of course, the one to apologize because you were too busy trying on miniskirts. After that ordeal was taken care of, no sooner than Rae shut the front door with an exhausted sigh, you emerged from your room clad in your prettiest outfit. You present it to her with a bright smile and flourish. 

She is not impressed.

“Will you quit it?” She questions, arms crossed over her chest. Your grin does not damper -- you’re used to such harsh treatment, having accepted her backhanded way of showing love long ago. Instead, you flick your wrists, showing off an ungodly amount of rings. You’re not certain of the exact number because you can’t count, “Y/n.” Her voice gains an edge, but you persist. Show off your shoes that have cute lil’ charms that jingle jangle not unlike the spurs on a hot cowgirl’s boots, “Y/n.” Her eyes narrow in displeasure, her stern tone making you falter in your dramatic stride down the imaginary catwalk, “Just stop.”

Okay! So maybe you’re not as used to her coldness as you thought you were. Your expression sours, and you quit the act, even if a part of you - one you barely fight off, goodness, you almost perish in that battle - wants to continue but even more annoying. As if you could somehow block her rationality with manic energy. 

“What?” You ask, trying to keep the mood lighthearted despite her squared shoulders and tight frown, “I’m just having a bit of fun!” You say with a joyous little laugh, reaching for a glass of much needed water.

“No, you’re panicking.” Her words make the glass still, hoovering by your painted lips, but it’s short lived. You take a greedy gulp and it tastes fresh with a pinch of lipstick, “Look, I get it...” She shakes her head softly, “You’re meeting the guy you like for the first time, you jumped the gun straight to dating and now you’re...Anxious. It’s normal, you know.”

“But I’m not anxious.” You persist, and you really do mean it. You don’t like how she looks at you as if you’re the one that’s misunderstanding your own feelings. You set the glass down with a soft clink, heaving your own sigh, “I’m not, I’m really happy actually.” You explain softly, “It’s just...my way of dealing with it. I’m more... Worried about Corpse, to be honest.” You add, a tad quieter, “But, like, it’s all good!” You exclaim, strolling up to her and landing your hands on her shoulders, “I prepared.”

And it’s true! You had spent the night scouring the depths of the internet. Read every WikiHow article on how to deal with someone with extreme anxiety, how to not make things painfully awkward, and how to talk to boys (just in case. The last time you stumbled upon that particular article was way back in middle school when you had a crush on that one guy you saw in your school’s cafeteria every now and then. Naturally, that led you down the rabbit hole, and according to WikiHow’s How To Tell If A Boy Likes You guidebook, you found out that he was absolutely enamored with you because he glanced in your direction, like, two times. Safe to say that love story went nowhere. The point still stands). 

So you forward all of this information to Rae, nestled in her bed whilst she lazily folds her clothes; clarify that you know that nothing much can happen, and that this whole situation is delicate, and that you must tread carefully because you don’t want to overwhelm him. She pauses her actions, glancing behind her to watch you staring idly at the ceiling, so peaceful, so thoughtful. And it’s not the eerie calmness you had displayed during your murderous spree in the last Among Us game, no, it’s just...quiet understanding. 

“I’m actually impressed.” She says. You merely hum, counting the dust slowly descending in the cascading light, “You’re not as clueless as I thought.” Your lips quirk into a shy smile at the compliment- “Or as tactless.” - and turn downward just as quick.

“That implies that I’m always tactless.”

“You are.” She states and you sit up, a soft frown pinching your brows, “Not like, in a terrible way. You just...don’t think about your actions. Or the repercussions. You just know that you can get away with everything.”

“And I can!”

“That doesn’t actually mean you should do something just because you can. You know I’ll always support you. Literally everyone will always support you. But I’m not gonna coddle you. You’re just...a lot. Online and especially in person. But the fact that you’re actually taking this seriously and taking his feelings into consideration is...well, the bare minimum, but still, good job.”

...Much to think about. You don’t like thinking, it makes your head hurt. Though, that could just be the lack of sleep. You cross your legs and plop your head in your hand, tired eyes blinking owlishly, “Do you...think I should change what I’m wearing?”

Prompted by your question, she gives you a careful once over, “I mean, it’s signature you.”

“Signature me is a hoodie and some sweatpants.”

She smiles, “Then go change. Your outfit is a bit distracting for just...Hanging out indoors, no? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind either way, though.”

“I just...” You bite the inside of your cheek, mulling your words over. Truly, the last time you were so attentive was when you went Psycho Mode in Among Us, which, to be fair, wasn’t that long ago. Perhaps there wasn’t a chance to let your mind dull - it’s almost as sharp as your butterfly knife, “I figured that if, like,” You vaguely motion with your hands, “if I be, like, all over the place, and wearing something cute, he’d be, like, distracted? And less anxious? No...awkward silence?”

“First meetings are always awkward, it’s natural.” She chimes, “I mean, if you’re so nervous-”

“I’m not nervous!”

“-then just don’t overthink it. I know it’s easier said than done, but you’re you, and Corpse is Corpse, and he likes you for who you are, and even if it is a bit awkward, I’m sure it’ll, like, blow over in a second. It really doesn’t matter how you look, Y/n.” She grins, “Plus, it’s not like you’re greeting him in your underwear or something.”

You will not admit that that was your plan B, not when you just landed in her good graces. You nod, “...I’ll go change.” 

And so you do. Pick out your cutest hoodie and some sweatpants. Put away your jingle jangle shoes with a broken heart, instead of them donning your fluffiest socks; slip off some rings because they keep falling off of your fingers. It’s almost like all of those transformation scenes in rom-coms that are still popular for some reason, except you’re hot before and after, so there’s really no transformation at all. 

Now you wait. Just wait, all other activities are excluded from this. Rae comes back to find you sitting on the edge of your bed, back straight, hands neatly folded on your lap. She compares you to a Sim’s character and you allow her. After mercilessly mocking you and snapping a few pictures - for blackmail, you assume - she helpfully informs that she is leaving because she doesn’t want to get in the way, but your psychic abilities which you acquired just now tell you that she simply doesn’t want to witness this train wreck. Not that it’ll be a train wreck, it would be if you were nervous, but you aren’t. 

You just aren’t. You fidget with the rings adoring your hand; toy with the hem of your hoodie; bounce your leg up and down. It’s just caffeine, okay?! Fuck this, Twitter time.

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[ADDING A MUSICAL INTERMISSION, LISTEN TO THIS IF YOU WANT (I WROTE THIS CHAPTER WITH IT IN MIND)]

The waiting commences, only now it somehow feels more intense. The sun is setting, and you really want to be one of those cute girls that fill their camera roll with pictures of the sunset and the roseate sky, but your hands are trembling and holding up your phone feels like too much of a hassle. You’d rather just sit there, alone in the apartment, in the pin-drop silence, extremely uncomfy and tense, as if waiting for the end of the world. 

A notification sounds off and your life flashes before your eyes. Hastily, you check it, a sticky mixture of delight and something else, something unpleasant constricting, making your stomach churn. He’s here. Holy shit, it’s happening. You order your anime plushies to stop fucking panicking, they’re like, totally embarrassing you at the moment! You wonder if they have their own little group chat, but instead of Totally Spies it’s called Total Embarrassment. Yikes, okay, that was harsh. After a good scolding, and a heartfelt apology for getting so heated, you smooth down the non-existent wrinkles on your modest outfit, and quickly waddle over to the electronic apartment thingie something something... you unlock the main door, okay!? This is for some reason feeling very not cash money, so you break out in a little dance number.

The doorbell does not sing that shrill, unpleasant tune; rather, there’s a soft knock on the apartment’s door, and you pause your shuffling, your renegade, and perk up at the imposing future hidden behind a slab of wood. Your heart beats a melody all on it’s own, and it’s loud, uncoordinated, like a musician that’s still familiarizing themselves with their instrument. And there’s that knock again, as uncertain as you’re feeling, and your clammy fingers latch onto the lock and turn it and now there is no more hiding - such a possibility is no longer an option; no more sporadic dances or sitting in disheartening silence and letting your thoughts weight you down.

You’re not quite sure what you were thinking about before you saw him in the threshold, head tilted slightly, fluffy dark hair obscuring the bags under his eyes, hunched, one ringed hand clutching onto the strap of his duffel bag, the other frozen mid-air, ready to knock one more time lest you didn’t hear him the first two. No, truly, you can’t, for the life of you, remember what all the fuss was about. 

“...Oh.” It’s a soft sound, so quiet, but not surprised, rather...relieved. Faint shimmers of a smile reach you, hidden behind a black face mask - the panini chic! You must stan a respectful king - but there’s something about the way he looks at you that makes you question it’s sincerity. He fails to return your gaze, rather choosing to stare somewhere over your shoulder. His eyes seem unfocused. Apprehensive. A wild thought occurs to you that he expected you to trick him somehow, and wild thoughts invade the land of your mind often, but never in such a way. You clutch the handle just a bit tighter.

His hand retreats to his side, up to his mask and you think he’s about to unhook it but he stills, and there’s panic there, as if he had been moving unconsciously, as if he hadn’t realized what he’s doing. He plays it off by idly scratching his cheek, muttering an equally quiet, “Hi.” to fill the silence.

Finally, your WikiHow knowledge can come in handy, along with your common sense, “Hey, pretty boy.” You mutter, pulling away from the door, “Make yourself at home!” You slide to the kitchen, your socks acting not unlike ice-skates cutting through the Arctic frost covered ground. You hope that with you occupied and not watching him as closely he’ll feel slightly more at ease. 

You’d like to hug him. Kiss him, definitely. But if he’s so uncomfortable that he can’t bring himself to shed his mask in your presence, then there’s really nothing you can do. 

You hear the door shut and lock behind you as you pull out two glasses from the cupboard, humming a song you can’t quite recall the name of. You ask him if he’d like something to drink - it was a short flight, yet a flight still, and planes always make you thirsty, and there you go talking his ear off. You end abruptly, but smoothly, like a true diplomat; if he notices, you have no way of knowing - he doesn’t provide even a hint. He’s hard to read, and literature was never your best subject. But you’re trying.

He sets his duffel bag down on a nearby chair, “I, uhhh,” His voice is raspy and low, another indication of a pathetic lack of sleep, “I...got you something, uhh, I dunno-dunno if I should...give it now, or?” He sends you a questioning glance, but it doesn’t linger. Your offer of drinks is momentarily forgotten, though you hardly mind. 

You grin, “Sure! I love gifts, gimmie gimmie.” You make grabby hands, and he snorts, and it would’ve sounded endearing if he didn’t sound so fucking tired. He unzips the bag, and you pad your way to him, mindful of personal space (something you, in most social situations, chose to pretend does not exist). You note his hands quivering lightly, just like yours had in the agonizing wait, but he hides it well. You wish you could hold them. You’re afraid to try.

He pulls out a black hoodie and you recognize the custom art on it instantly - it’s his merch. He presents it in awkward flourish, murmuring a “Tadaaaa” under his breath; your heart skips a pleasant beat, and you have to bite down on your lower lip lest you smile appears too big. The fabric is soft under your fingers, and you accept his gift with a dramatic bow, and he turns his head away with another little laugh. You’re chipping away at the ice around him; it’s a slow process, but it’s worth the effort.

Truly, your own hoodie is shabby in comparison - icky, how could you have ever worn such a thing in the first place?! You’ll have to do extensive research in fashion magazines and Printerest so such a slip-up may never happen again. You discard it hastily and put his on instead; it smells like washing detergent with hints of cologne, one you instantly pin point belonging to him, “It’s, uhhh, it’s mine? I hope you, uhh, I didn’t have any spare ones, so-I hope you don’t...mind.”

He’s finally looking at you, but he’s still tense, still hesitant, and you shake your head softly, “No,” You admit, “I like it even more now.” You pull on the hood, toy with the strings and yank them quickly; your face is concealed, save for your nose, “Comfy.” Your commentary is unmatched, best of it’s kind - eloquent and effortless, much like yourself.

Another small laugh reaches your ears, and it sounds a bit livelier than the others had been. Success!

“Stop that.” He says gently, and you see moving shadows; his hands loosen the strings and your face is revealed to him once again. He’s close now, and he doesn’t move away; his hands come to rest on your shoulders, warm even through layers of fabric, “I came all this way to see you, don’t hide your face from me.” 

Your eyes narrow playfully, your finger rapidly tapping away on his clothed cheek, “What’s all this then? Hm? Hm?” Instead of swatting your hand away, which you figured he’d do, he complies and finally tugs that fucking mask off. Your breath catches in the back of your throat and you halt your ministrations - truly, seeing him smiling on screen is nothing compared to him smiling in person. You can’t quite contain yourself any longer - your excitement might burst out in another dance number otherwise - as you throw your arms over his shoulders and pull him flush against you. He’s quick to return the embrace. Maybe it was all the encouragement he needed.

“Wow,” He mumbles, only slightly offended, “so I finally show my face to you, in person, and you just-...you just look away?”

“I’m hugging you, dumbass.”

“...Touche.”

Things fall into place after that, like a dozen puzzle pieces fitting together. He won’t let you go - he doesn’t want to. You put on some music, something easy and indie and that doesn’t require too much effort to listen to, as the two of you contemplate what to eat. Cooking by yourselves was dismissed due to the unstable relationship between yourself and cooking utensils. The stove and you had had a falling out recently, but this feud had started long ago, back in pre-school, with only short intervals of friendship. He listened to your extensive explanation absolutely enraptured and only moderately confused. 

So you settled on ordering pizza from Domino’s. You have no trouble calling or receiving phone calls, because you have no trouble doing anything, and he admitted that he only really calls you because he gets too anxious to do more, so you’re tasked with ordering the food. You accept this mission with pride.

You stand tall, gazing out the window into the wild California domain: massive buildings and towering eucalyptus trees, bleeding skyline and the sun slowly getting swallowed up by the ocean. Corpse looms behind you, with his arms snaked around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder, looking at you through the corner of his eye. You wait patiently for the underpaid, overworked staff member to pick up, and once they do, you have the audacity to grin brightly and chirp, “Hi! I want pizza.”

Conversations flow smoothly, and you make hot chocolate - because you are hot and you crave chocolate - and he insists he wants one too, because you want one, and you don’t hesitate to overflow his cup with whipped cream and an ungodly amount of miniature marshmallows. A premature heart attack, just for him. Whoever said romance is dead has clearly never met you. When the doorbell chimes, you’re astounded that an hour flew by so quickly.

After the delicious meal, the movie night must commence. So what if you watched 10 Things I hate About You yesterday, you insist that you have already forgotten the plot. You lead him to your room and he tries not to stare, but can’t help himself. Pretty boy in a pretty girl’s room. His eyes linger on the massive posters of Chrollo on your walls, and you sense his displeasure rolling off of him in waves. 

“What?” You huff, fluffing the pillows, “You don’t like my husband?”

He jabs his finger into his chest, into the spot of his heart, “I’m your husband.”

“Side hoe, then-”

“-No.”

You didn’t lie when you said you love to cuddle, or that you’re clingy. It’s a good thing he’s just as clingy as you are, because when he lays down and you latch onto his side. He doesn’t complain, rather wraps his arm around pulls you close. His thumb draws lazy circles on your side; with your head resting on his chest, you feel each rhythmical rise and drop. 

The opening credits play on the projector, the room dark enough for your pile of plushies to look like a whole fucking human just standing in the corner. A ghost! Sucks for it, you’re not scared. You feel safe. Protected. So comfortable in Corpse’s hold that you’re honestly wondering how did you manage to be so long without him. To think all of this started when Sykkuno followed you on Twitter. What a lucky accident.

“Can I ask you something?” Your voice cuts through the bopping 90s soundtrack and Julia Stiles’ voice. He hums. You take it as a yes. Tilting your head upwards, you find his eyes again, a thorn of displeasure picking you as you note that that apprehension you had seen previously is still very much there, “...You really wouldn’t date me if I was a worm?”

His chest rumbles with a laugh and his lips split into a grin, “I would.” He presses your side for emphasis, “I really would.” He repeats, reassuringly. You, however, are not convinced.

“But I’d be a worm.”

“I know. We’d... roll around in the dirt together, or something.”

“But you’d be human.”

He frowns softly, “Why couldn’t I be a worm, too?”

“Those are the rules.”

“What kind of shitty fucking rules are those?”

“I dunno, it’s like the Thanos snap or something. I just turn into a worm. I’m the only one.”

“That’s fine.” He smiles, “I’d take you out on a fishing date or something.”

Shocked, offended, and heartbroken, you hit his chest and pointedly turn away with a pout, which he finds very funny for some reason, but you fail to see the humor anywhere except the movie. Despite the fact that he’d sacrifice you for a fish, you smile shyly and close your eyes. He did say you would take a nap together, and if he really thought you’d stay awake for movie night, well, then he’s just an idiot. You had decided you would fall asleep as soon as he was next to you. It’s a miracle you managed to stay awake for so long.

“...Sleeping already?” You don’t appreciate his teasing tone.

“’m not sleeping...” You murmur, “’m resting my eyes.”

“Sure.”

You’re not quite certain (of anything, really) how much time drifts by, but you’re nearly lost in unconsciousness, in the warm, nice feeling that comes along with him like a cloud. Perhaps he thinks you’re asleep, he has to, else he wouldn’t say anything at all, “You’re stuck with me now, you know.” It’s such a soft admission, riddled with the same notes of anxiety that always prevail in his speech; with the same hopeful sincerity he had been gazing at you the whole evening. 

Moving your lips is such a hassle, but you manage, “’m...stuck...” You mumble, “’m...stuck...what are you doing step-”

“No!” He laughs, and your lips quirk into a lazy smile, “No, no, no. Just no. Do you talk in your sleep?” You fake snore at that, loudly, “You’re like a little dragon.”

“...Fuck you.”

“Fine, a kitten, then.” That’s better. You feel something chapped, but soft, press onto your forehead, “Goodnight, Y/n.”

God, you’re so fucking happy. Does he know how happy you are? How happy he makes you? But you’re too tired for screaming and flailing around, too tired to even crack an eye open. You want him to know all the same, “...like you.” You whisper, but you don’t know if he hears you over the movie, “...I like you.”

His reply is instant, breathless, “I like you too.”

Good, you want to say, and maybe you do - can’t tell anymore. Sleep takes you too quickly.

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tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury--moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

[vergess]

The Letters from Watson situation and you bringing up that being exposed to bigotry over time normalizes it reminds me of a situation where I was hurt because someone didn't tw for bigotry. I watched the Nanny a lot as a young kid and when Matt Baume did a video essay about it and it's roots in queer culture I decided to try and re-watch it. When I actually went to watch it, I was floored by the sheer scale of fatphobia presented. It wasn't a jab here or there every other episode, it was a barrage of fatphobia in every episode, baked into the text. I tried to hold out, to see if I could ignore it, but eventually found myself in tears as a chubby child actress was berated on screen for comedic effect. But what really scared me was... The show was getting to me. I was starting to see the thin but less petite elder daughter as fat, when I wouldn't have before. The show was changing my perspective despite my best efforts to not let it get to me. Fatphobia is not comparable to anti semitism, but this taught me that, if you are going to present a piece of media, or analyze it, not mentioning or warning for bigotry is irresponsible at best, and endorsement at worst. I'm still a bit irritated that fatphobia wasn't mentioned even once in the essay. I'm really sorry this backlash is happening over a very reasonable reaction. :/

Mmm, actually I think most kinds of bigotry are very comparable.

Not universally, no. But, in general? People benefit from comparing them. Solidarity is often built on learning the things we have in common first, so that we can better help respect and protect each others' different needs, interests and abilities.

Just off the top of my head, for example, fat people and Jewish people are both characterized as greedy, and in fact, Jewish people are often specifically characterized as fat.

But that's REALLY off topic, haha.

In this case, while there were some warnings made about a month ago (apparently these warnings were repeated if you use the email reader, but I do read on the website, where the warnings are not repeated), and while I was aware of the content going in, my issue is, again, not with the existence or lack thereof of the TW list.

As I have. Repeatedly and constantly said. I think the TW list is lovely. It's great. It's very complete. Nice work everyone. No one has any problems with the TW list. No one has ever had any problems with the FUCKING. TW. LIST.

THE PROBLEM. IS WITH. THE UNHINGED. ANTISEMITISM. IN RESPONSE. TO THE MOST MILQUETOAST. IMAGINABLE. POST. EVER. MADE.

Here's the breakdown.

20 y/o Jewish woman: Gosh, even with the trigger warning a whole month ago that imo was really not enough, that sure was some antisemitism. I would prefer to see more pushback on such intense racism in the future, but it is early days. Sure hope things get better as we go!

Me, 30+ Jewish person: Haha, yeah, reminded me of how much it hurt to read when I was a kid. Glad I've got bigger problems to worry about nowadays lol.

Every gentile within earshot: OH SO YOU THINK WE SHOULD CODDLE YOU POOR LITTLE JEWBABY FEELINGS HUH? WE SHOULD CENSOR ART FOR YOUR PRECIOUS WIDDLE OWIES? YOU WANT YOUR TO PRE-DIGEST YOUR WORDS BECAUSE YOUR SUBHUMAN JEW BRAINS CAN'T READ? KILL YOURSELF!!!!!!!!

Me, again: Okay, well. That is an extreme fucking reaction so let's fucking calm our asses down with the goddamn nazi shit for ten fucking minutes, perhaps????

And then the gentiles devolved into further screaming about how I'm, I don't know...

They seem to have convinced themselves of a lot of things at this point. The ones willing to put their names on it are mostly content to call me anything from a liar to a harasser to an imbecile incapable of reading, to someone with a personal hatred of the Substack operator, etc etc.

They seem broadly convinced that I "want" something or to impose on the substack. Which is nonsense. All I "wanted" was to read some books I liked with a group of people and discuss, and that ship has thoroughly fucking sailed.

The anonymous bitches are mostly wandering into blood libel at this point. Again, I used to post all my anon threats, but I stopped doing that once bigots got smart enough to start reporting me for spam when I did that, because victims showing their harassment in public is, of course, the real harassment.

They also seem not to be aware of a very simple fact:

I can still see your comments in my notifications page if I'm the OP, even after you've blocked me, and it is very fucking obnoxious.