#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

[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

[youngmio]

or, you’re trying to take a picture that will help you win the photography contest at your new school. and just like luck would have it, it comes to you in a pretty lad.

content warning : no blue lock!au. gn!reader. fluff. isagi x reader. first meeting. possibly inaccurate Japanese & Scottish dialogues.

Your shoes bite the concrete as you walk on the path, passing the open verdant field that has been clearly maintained by school. Your gaze follows the clean cut lines of where the grass meets the stone. It can go unnoticeable to the average student—a textbook example of ‘where’s waldo?” like if that candy cane man had any better career choice with that sickly smile on his face. Plus, isn’t his whole deal to be hidden?

The open space doesn’t carry the scent of warm rain that you’ve coddled up to majority of your life. And you are out here acting like an explorer dramatically waiting to hit oil so greedy hands—preferably fat—can bring gold to your way.

It’s late enough that students who don’t have extracurricular activities have already been sent home and filling their stomachs with a warm meal. Whether it’s ramen or something more extravagant, it’s no ones business. Just say your thanks before every meal and you won’t get any bad luck. Er, something like that. Ah dinnae ken. It can’t be helped that Japanese customs haven’t smacked you with the force of your mum’s hand.

You fiddle with the aperture of your camera, a nervous tick. You need to capture something to win the school’s photography contest. Not that you aren’t confident, you’ve won a couple awards in photography back in Scotland but in Japan? Yer aff yer heid.

As your eyes lift from the ground, you notice someone making their way toward you along the path, their expression a mix of frustration and disappointment, reminiscent of someone who just bombed a test after burning the midnight oil to prepare. Bonney lad. You come to a sudden stop, and your mind experiences a moment similar to that scene in Ratatouille where the plump—fat—rat eats the cheese and strawberry.

Don’t freak him out, don’t freak him out, don’t—

Composing yourself, you bow gently, making sure to be in his way like some perfume seller trying to get you to try their pricey products. “すみません,” you say ‘casually,’ your voice cracking slightly as you take in… well, him. “Um, 私はあなたの写真を撮ってもいいですか?”

The—pretty—boy’s eyes widen and he looks just as pretty as a magnolia in may. If the flower had a subtle peachy red on it’s cheekbones and tips of it’s ears. His lips part after a few seconds of stunned silence, “Eh, すみません?”

“なんてすてきな画像です、あなたの笑顔がとてもかわいいよ,” you comment, looking at him with an earnest gaze. You’ve learned not to be too bold in your words, but Isagi still blushes at the compliments no matter how casually it leaves your parted lips.

“Eh! 全然〜ない,” he replied, his hand rubbing his neck. A nervous tick you’ve noticed from the time you’ve spent together. If Isagi was a test, you’d get full marks.

A soft chuckle leaves your throat, before your hand gently pulls his own. Your thumb brushes against his knuckles like if petting a flower, a very pretty flower. “I like you, Yoichi,” you whisper like a prayer.

But even as Isagi reads your lips, he doesn’t know what you’re saying. And you’re happy to keep this secret to yourself because a delicate flower doesn’t deserve a brash camera.

author’s note •┈ ⋆. ❥ ｡ﾟ

+ first writing post on this acc. don’t expect too much of me, i’m still figuring my writing style.

+ this is meant to be unfinished and short. i’m not good at writing so this was just a test run if anyone likes it, so if this does well then i’ll be more inclined to start writing

© 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐌𝐈𝐎 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 — all rights reserved. only posted on tumblr with this username. like & credit if you use my designs and/or edits. reblogs are appreciated!

[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!

[saltminerising]

re: post/734821757300686848/

i'd like to state that there's also a difference in content having racist themes / tropes / negative stereotypes / etc. in it, vs. the people themselves being racist. i feel like that is an important distinction to make. you can absolutely accidentally write in racist content without being racist yourself. mistakes happen. staff is doing what they can to fix their errors; in fact, they're being very good about being transparent, and trying to amend the problematic content in their story/lore. but calling them "racist" seems a bit too far, and people insisting that they're still just awful people no matter what they do is an unhelpful and dismissive mindset.

yes, they should own up to their mistakes. yes, they should fix or rewrite the lore. this isn't about being "coddled," it's about realizing that perhaps not everyone's intention is to be directly hurtful, dehumanizing, or othering to any type of group. their content can be unintentionally harmful without them being a terrible person who condones racism and the horrible things that ideology stands for. there are people genuinely acting as though staff cannot redeem themselves from this offense, and that's such a negative, vitriolic mindset that does not allow growth, that does not account for the fact that they are people too, who can make mistakes. let people learn without tearing them down in the process. that doesn't help. if anything, it discourages it. positive reinforcement truly goes a long way.

there is not a single person who hasn't accidentally hurt someone else in some way or form. there's nobody who is perfect. does that make you a bad person, who can never recover from what you've done, not ever, despite how hard you try to, despite any effort you may give in rectifying that? i'm not here to say "staff didn't do anything wrong, uwu why are you all bullying them." no. they did do things wrong. but what matters is that they're making efforts to fix those things to the best of their abilities, with the feedback they have gotten from poc voices or those representing them. in light of that, shouldn't we give them the benefit of the doubt, rather than acting like they are the "villain" in this story, some faceless, greedy corporation who cares nothing about the feelings of their userbase? that all they want is money, that they do not take into account criticism? that they meant all that harm and hurt? it is very clear it was not their intention or their goal.

yes, people have every right to be upset and hurt over the story. that is so fair. it is so extremely valid. but... can we advocate for just a little more empathy on both sides here? i just think that calling them "racist" is an oversimplification of a very complex topic. it's not so black-and-white. it's grey, and it's okay to navigate those waters with a critical eye. but it is unnecessary to throw out terms that are so accusatory, and influence people to get riled up. you cannot claim "racist" and "racism" aren't loaded terms that don't immediately cause upset from both sides of the equation when these words are used.

again, i'm not advocating for censorship. or sugar-coating, or coddling, or what have you. i'm personally advocating for empathy above all else. only by fostering open communication can we really understand and grow as a community, rather than doing what we can to dismiss others, throw blame, tear each other down. respect and compassion is the best way to move forwards, from both sides.

for instance, i very recently came across someone on the forums who was using an ableist joke. and so i took the time to privately message them, informing and educating them. no blame. no anger. merely pointing things out in a civil manner in the case they did not know. they took it very well, they edited their post, because they really were just ignorant that it was something hurtful after all. sometimes, a situation can be solved with escalating it further. how would that person have reacted, if i had immediately jumped to calling them ableist instead? it is one thing to say their content is ableist. it is another to point fingers and blame, and say that they are, too. it would've done nothing but hurt them, shut down their want to be better, discouraged them from even trying. perhaps they still would have, even so. but you cannot deny there would have been an amount of hurt that was unnecessary to create in such a situation. does that make sense? (/genuine)

that is all, really. thank you for reading if you did. and if not, that is perfectly fine as well. apologies if i've upset anyone with my words, genuinely. because again, people are right to be hurt and upset. and really, this is my own two cents on the matter, and you are perfectly free to disregard what i've to say. after all, although i am poc myself, i'm but a single person in a sea of many, so i don't expect my words to hold that much weight. it just makes me sad to see everyone so angry and divided on this topic, rather than us all coming to a mutual understanding, as a community, but most of all, as people.

regardless if you disagree or not, i thank you anyways. please, take care of yourselves. and stay safe.

[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.

[le-amewzing]

Money Is No Problem!

A Hetalia fic from way back when~

Fic: "Money Is No Problem!" [FFN] [AO3]

Pairings/Characters: pre?China/France, with a dose of America/England on the side bc why not?

Rating: very light T

Words: ~875

Additional info: humor, romance, friendship? XD, 3rd person POV

Summary: There's always something to groan about with America around… -—Or, four Allied nations wind down.

      "Awww… China mugged me again…"

      "Did not, aru! America, you're too greedy!" China fumed as America wandered over to England for unnecessary coddling. "You shouldn't make me out to be the bad guy, aru!"

      "And wouldn't it be the other way around?" England asked America. He furrowed his thick brows. "Technically speaking, since you borrowed more money from China…"

      "But who says 'America mugged me'? Mugging happened, so I beat China to the punchline." America sighed and leaned against England. "I need to drown my sorrows in a cheeseburger…"

      "You're only going to get fatter, America," France commented as he sauntered into the room. He took the open seat beside China and kicked up his heels. "Young men like us need to stay svelte, in-shape, good-looking—"

      "What idiot told you that you were any of those things?" England snorted at their new company.

      France glared at England. "And if someone had ever listened to his big brother, then he'd be good-looking, too," he jabbed.

      "You're all a bunch of idiots, aru," China interrupted with a shrug. "Looks only carry you so far. Money takes care of you the rest of the way…but I'm not working to support America, as well, aru!" he added with another sharp look at the burger-loving fiend. He ignored the pout America wore in response.

      "Then I suppose I better get a second job," England groaned albeit rather halfheartedly, and he dragged America from the room to get a bite to eat.

      France grunted as the two countries left. With only him and China left in the room, it felt fairly awkward, as he'd never had much interaction with China before. He turned to the Asian nation. "So my looks won't be that valuable in the end?"

      "You are correct, aru." China sipped his oolong tea.

      France ignored that China had pulled the tea out of nowhere and crossed his arms. "But my looks have always gotten me by—art, music, fashion, food. I'm always sure about my presentation."

      China wagged a finger in front of France's nose. "Hard work takes you places, France. That's why I've been able to ensnare America in his debts to me, aru."

      France nodded with approval. "Clever, clever… You're like a—a ninja, or something."

      "Are you kidding me, aru? That's Japan, not me."

      "Yes, but you'd probably look better in a cat suit." France made the remark with his ever-charming smile, but China appeared a little disturbed by his words.

      "…you really are a pervert, aru."

      "I'm not the one who looks like a girl."

      "You have long hair, too!"

      "But I pair it with a manly, scruffy beard. Ah, China, I'm merely teasing you…" But France punctuated his words with a wink, so China simply took another sip of his tea.

      "Don't you need to go taunt England some more, aru?"

      France shrugged. "I'll always have time for that. Say…how did America become so indebted to you anyway?"

      "A poor economy, too many conflicts and natural disasters, and the desire to help anything that resembles a stray kitten—America has many foibles, aru. I'm the only one in shape to help him."

      "Do you like America, China?"

      China blushed. "Ugh, that's horrible, aru! America is better left to England's coddling… England is the only one who can stand him, besides Japan, aru."

      "Then who do you like, China?"

      "I don't like scruffy, horny bastards, aru," China deadpanned. His flat expression emphasized his bluntness.

      France froze. "That wasn't very nice, you—you panda."

      "Don't call me a panda!"

      "Actually, 'Panda' suits you very well," France continued, smirking. "You know, a lazy, weak-willed critter…"

      China slammed his teacup down and glared at France. "Weak-willed? I'll show you weak-willed, aru! The power of money makes one strong, aru!"

      France's feet slipped from the table as he shrank back from China. "Uh, erm, sorry…?" He felt rightly stupid when his voice squeaked on the last word. Then again, it squeaked justly so, as China loomed over him. Who knew someone so short could seem so big?

      "You shouldn't tease or taunt those stronger than you, aru." China leaned down so close to France's face, their noses almost touched. "You never know what trouble you might get into, aru… Just look at America."

      "Yes, but then he wins England's attention."

      "True, true… And you don't have anyone's attention to win, aru." China smirked. Oh, yes, he definitely was the predator here.

      "I'm not allowed to run away, am I…?"

      "Why should you, when you walked in here?" China sat back down then, surprisingly calm, and took another sip of his tea.

      France breathed a sigh of relief, though he didn't feel very relieved. A shiver—probably from fright—ran up and down his spine when China's hand rested on his knee under the table and gripped it. "You—You know, my homeland is known for expensive escorts…"

      "You mean whores? So is my country, aru." The Asian man took another sip of his drink.

      "B-But mine cost a pretty penny."

      For the first time, China laughed. "Haven't you heard, aru? Just ask America—I've more than enough money to loan…and to buy anything I want."

      France couldn't decide what was scarier—that laugh, or China's "sweet" smile.

*LOL!* XD This was fun to write! :D I definitely think I'll be doing more Hetalia fics. I even have another China/France idea in mind, thanks to crocious. Though my first loves are USUK and US/Japan… -w- So funny that I'm finally writing Hetalia stuff, considering how much slash I write… 0.0

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

2023 note: "I definitely think I'll be doing more Hetalia fics," she wrote in 2011—and then she didn't. XD As with a few of my other fandoms, this is one where I enjoy more fanart than fanfic, and, while I did read fic for it back in the day…I rly don't anymore?? Altho the idea of USUK still gives me the warm&fuzzies (Alfred's & Arthur's designs are too cute), and I have read too many GerIta doujin that gave me feels (iykyk). But having Francis and Yao interact like this here was fun, for sure. Ahhh, now I just wanna spend a whole day looking up Hetalia fanart…! ;D

[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.

[finned-fish]

Vent Post

⚠️Trigger WARNING⚠️

Physical Abu//, Sui//, Sui//al ideation.

Really do hate interacting with new people. It's been so long since I've done that. Well, did it today in phasmo and rediscovered that I am a nuisance to all.

I am that "everybody leaves me" person, except it's more accurate to say they don't interact with me on a closer level in the first place. People do figure out why.

Autism, OCD, ADHD combined type, Chronic Generalized Anxiety, Chronic Major Depressive. All diagnoses of mine. Traumatized regularly and consistently.

I forgot that I talk too much, or that I do something wrong. Idk what I do. I don't know what it is about me but no matter how much I mask, mirror, or even script up entire new personalities, I'm just off-putting. People dislike me. Either that or they coddle me. Treat me like some young adolescent that still needs to learn how to properly communicate and interact with others. I hate it.

I always see people talk about how horrible the "everybody leaves me" person is, or the "nobody wants to be friends with me" person is. Someone was talking abt that and said "especially when they don't even know why." I don't know why. I don't know what I do wrong. Nobody will tell me. It doesn't seem like I've wildly offended anyone. I don't know what I do. If someone just told me what I do wrong I'd fix it. Why am I such a problem? What do I do wrong?

I'm consistently ignored, undermined, dismissed, and coddled.

That or I'm constantly annoying, frustrating, too loud, or too talkative.

I try so hard to be right for other people.

And I hate it when people give me that fucking "just be yourself bullshit." All that "being myself" got me was severe physical beatings multiple times a day.

I'm supposed to move in with the two people I love most. Never in my life have I cherished a connection as much as I do with these people.

Even when I had someone who I was deeply in love with and who was deeply in love with me. She gave me everything and accepted me purely as I was. And then she killed herself. And I didn't know to cherish the connection more. I cherished her more than anything, but I did not know then that cherishing her and cherishing our connection were two different things.

So I don't know if I can move in with these two people. If I am that "everybody leaves me/nobody wants to be friends with me person", I don't want to interact with them or hurt them like all those videos and all those people say the "everyone leaves/no friends" person does.

What should I do? I don't know what to do. I've hovered my finger over that block button so many times. To just disappear.

Is it greedy not to? Should I just disappear for them? Am I being selfish? I love these two people so much, and I don't want to disappear from them.

I don't know what to do anymore. I'm just sinking. I'm so comfortable with them and I am myself around both of them, and every time I say something or send a message, it feels like I pinched a nerve. I worry so severely that I've done something wrong. It doesn't even matter if they're typing their response or talking to me, I still worry.

And I try to act like I don't worry. I don't constantly put myself down or require constant reassurance from them. I am not forcing a codependent relationship or anything. So I don't think that's it either, since I do a pretty good job of that.

I don't know what I'll do when it comes time to move in. I can't imagine myself getting any better or being any better by then. At so many different points at my life I've been sure that I reached my max potential and still wasn't enough, and I was wrong. It's happened over and over and over again. And after all those times of still getting better, I'm also still not enough. And once again I'm at a point where I think I've reached my max potential. And that there is nothing left for me.

And so now I just wonder how long I can keep going before I make a decision? I have such a strong feeling of doom. And I know what it is. I feel it in the strings, and I know that I'm only going in one of two directions.

I move in with them, and that's as far as I can see. The strings end there. Or I fall the other direction.

If I may be dramatic for a moment:

It's a massive pit. It's oozing such horrible doom. I can't describe the potency of it other than saying that it squelches out and climbs up the strings that I feel are tugging me into it.

And saying these "two directions" I already know I'm only going in one already. I am careening towards suicide so rapidly. I think I just didn't wanna sound utterly hopeless or cliché but there isn't another direction. No strings pulling me towards those two. I look and there's none. And I'm not going to make any.

I don't know when I will commit, but I know it's going to happen within the next six months. It feels somewhere between late January and early April.

Is it cold or heartless to be this analytical? Is that the problem? I can use "both halves" of my brain — emotional and intellectual — in tandem and as completely separate entities. It's not the same as turning my emotions off, either. No matter how heightened my emotional state it I have perfect analytical clarity. Maybe that's the problem. Maybe people can somehow feel that and they don't like it.

Now i do feel heartless. I feel entirely neutral — and even at peace — when I ask myself "which part do I cull?"

And I don't care, actually, because I'd do anything to fix myself. So I don't really feel anything about how horrible I imagine that ultimatum must sound to others. And even then I don't know if it sounds that horrible. But if I had to terminate one of those two parts of me I wouldn't hesitate, I just need to figure out which one it is.

And unfortunately, there's no strings with the answer to that.

[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.