#exceedingly chill

[monards]

the way dain refers to them as the 5 sinners of khaneri'ah even though in almost religion or religious concept to include the idea of sin it's an established point that all humans are inherently 'sinners' due to being human im going insane

[boilingheart]

"why is anduin 40" have none of you seen a 25 year old man before

[operadsaremyhappyplace]

Prapai: Sorry, I just sneezed and liked all your posts.

Sky: And commented “damn daddy” on all my pictures?

Prapai: I have the flu.

[dyed-red]

I think of that “slightly more unhinged Dean” s1 au at least once a week, I need you to know that. Dean’s eyes dilating when Sam asks if Dean would want to be there when Sam is with someone, it not being clear if Sam is also unhinged or is just humoring his brother but still has no issue with his brother being so unhinged, Sarah definitely noticing it’s super weird, whatever Sam’s Stanford friends must think about this because they probably noticed that Sam’s brother was really really weird and intense about him and he had some kind of issue with them despite having never met them before and Sam clearly not having any issue with them so it’s not Dean disliking them because his brother does, John being worried by how the brothers are so either John only just noticed what they’re becoming or the catalyst was Dean getting Sam back and that makes me think of that post about how getting Sam back from the Cage was the absolute worst thing for Dean because he faced living without Sam once and can never do that again, Dean not listening to John when his relationship with Sam comes up, Sam of course follows Dean’s lead rather than John and it’s like that scene when Dean insists John is possessed and Sam automatically sides with his brother despite there not being any solid evidence, Meg adding fuel to the fire when she’s around the brothers, Azazel having been informed about what Sam and Dean were becoming and this being part of why Sam’s the favorite, this also reminded me of how Dean has a hit placed on him by demons in s5, it really struck me that it looked like this was done simply to weaken Sam, what with Gabriel having once told Sam that the bad guys knew Dean was Sam’s weakness and the demon in Swap Meat being so focused on getting Lucifer in his vessel upon realizing Sam is not Sam at the moment, Azazel taunting John about how desperately Sam needs Dean vs not needing John as much, etc. Climbing the walls over this

anon i really do love your brain when my own manages to process all the words you write <3

[sexynetra]

omg i wanna know what the fics r about, especially the sashnetra one

Oh boy, there's so many worlds living in my head currently hahaha!

There's the boxer continuation I still need to plot out, more one-shot collection pieces including an amusement park AU, a couple different stripper ones (I can't help myself oops), drunk Anetra at a party with Marcia taking care of her (tbh this one might leave the one-shot folder and become a whole story)

Then there's the non-one-shots, which has a bodyguard/celebrity AU that I have plotted but need to suck it up and put to paper, a (shocker) Vegas stripper and 21st birthday AU, and yes I know it's cheesy as fuck but I love cheesy fics but I'm currently working on my tattoo shop owner AU where Marcia comes to get some tattoos and accidentally falls in love.

The Sashnetra is a fun one! Very directly inspired by the top 4 episode (and I will cry if anyone steals this) but Sasha is a pop girlie, Anetra is a model/dancer who was hired to be in her MV, and working with Sasha is a gay awakening (feat. am I gay BuzzFeed-esque quiz taking)

[kissporsche]

Omg yes about Apo Jeff and Tong!!! They looked like they had so much fun! And bought a bunch of food it seems to eat by the roadside, which is just a normal everyday stuff but to see them genuinely enjoy each others company is. Ugh. MY FEEELS

Right?! All these little snapshots we're getting from the world tour (and let me say, it makes me so happy they seem to be going out and just having fun without the pressure of it all being filmed) are so normal and chill and... unrehearsed?

like yes, the bts content and sponsored lives and stuff are lovely, but they're also being paid to be there and do that (not to say they're not enjoying themselves but yeah) whereas these snippets of their time just being tourists are so natural and sweet and I genuinely love that they seem to have found real friendship on this show :( excuse me while i cry about it

[ofpd]

im leyning this shabbos at a shul ive never been to and like ok i get that they don't know me and want to make sure i know how but whyyy are they making me read it for them beforehand. dude trust me

[orangeocelotmartyn]

Jevin: one of the reasons why I picked my skin to be a slime—way back when, when I very first started YouTube, when, uh, the internet was invited because I’m that much of a boomer—(laughs) uh, slimes were like, really really really hard to find, in Minecraft? Like, exceedingly hard to find. Um, they were very very rare, and so, I had found one, and was like, “oh my god I love this thing!!” It was amazing. And so, ever since then I’ve been a slime. Like, I did pick my skin randomly? But like. Um. I just like slimes. They’re pretty cool looking. They’re pretty chill.

[stargirlinterludefr]

RIPTIDE: Rafe Cameron x Pogue!gf

POV: You and Rafe go for a late night swim (partially inspired by Percabeth!)

TW: slight sexual remark, mentions of drug usage (weed)

0.7k word count

Both you and Rafe are lounging on his bed at Tannyhill, the sun having set hours ago as you both aimlessly scrolled on your phones his head on your lap as you mindlessly scratched at his scalp.

After another minute, you huff and drop your phone onto the bed not caring as it bounces from the bed and to the floor making Rafe pause his scrolling as he asks, “Everything okay, baby?”

“I’m bored.” You point out, despite having already been surfing earlier in the day with JJ, Kiara and Pope alongside going for an ice cream with Rafe you found yourself entirely bored.

Rafe chuckles softly as he turns his body so he can look up at you, “And what is it you want to do at like….“ He starts, briefly checking the time on his phone “Twelve in the morning?”

You quirk a brow, “Aww why? Is it too late for you, pretty boy?” You tease making Rafe pinch your side as he tilts his head to assess what you actually want to do.

“Why don’t we go for a swim?” You suggest, eyes bright at the idea of a late night swim, a frequent occurrence you, JJ and John B took up in the third grade when you’d first became friends. But with you and your friends being exceedingly busy working at the minute, you hadn’t had the chance to in a while.

Rafe looks confused at the idea, “It’s a bit late for a swim, baby.”

You raise a brow as you let out a sarcastic scoff, “It’s never too late for a swim… come on, you live in OBX, you telling me you’ve never been for a late night swim?”

“I mean…yeah, but in a pool.” Rafe responds, watching as you smile slowly.

“But never in the ocean huh?”

-

The beach is empty and desolate, as it usually is on figure eight at this time but you wouldn’t doubt that on your side of the island there were a few people chilling on the shores.

“You telling me you used to do this like all the time?” Rafe asks, his mind clearly whirring at how unsafe it could’ve been in the ocean at night especially on the south side of the Outer Banks.

You laugh slightly as you strip down to your bikini, “It’s fun, one time me, JJ and Kie went in high and well…” You turn your back to him, pointing down to your ass to the crescent shaped scar that resided making Rafe’s brows furrow as he comes over and assesses it more sincerely than he ever had before.

“What the fuck? I thought you’d gotten that as a kid or something.” Rafe says, snorting out a laugh at the peculiarly shaped scar making you turn your head and smirk at him, a playful glint your eyes.

“Last one to the ocean gets no head for a week!” You shout before beginning a sprint toward the moonlit sea, Rafe shouting out “Unfair!” in protest behind you as you smile widely pushing your body to run as fast as it can, immensely aware of Rafe beginning his own sprint through the sand.

You reach the water first, due to your “unfair”head start. Not that you’d live up to the wager you’d spouted out but you’d give it a try.

As you splash into the sea, strong arms wrap around your middle making you squeal and twist in Rafe’s arms to attempt to escape as he plunges you both under the water.

After a moment, the two of you resurface, your now wet hair clinging to your face as you glare playfully at Rafe who stares adoringly at you under the moonlight.

“When i said fun, I didn’t mean dunking-“ you began but were interrupted by the feeling of Rafe’s lips on yours, his hands looping around your waist as you grin into the kiss.

As you kiss, you take the upper hand and push both Rafe and yourself under the water, the Cameron boy letting out a loud groan before you fall into the waves.

Before you can resurface above the water, Rafe eagerly pulls you back to him, latching your lips to his once more and well….

It was pretty much the best underwater kiss of all time.

[chosos-mascara]

with me

𝙨𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪 𝙜𝙤𝙟𝙤 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 - as you find yourself awake at night, you wonder if it's time to confess to captain gojo. (pirate au)

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 - kissing

1.3k words

The wood creaks among the gentle sounds of the sea. 

What was usually a comforting lull to soothe you to slumber kept you awake tonight. The ship's rocks were something you'd grown accustomed to over the past several months; groans of cedar and oak paired with the calm ripples in the night's water were all much louder once your crew were tucked into their quarters. During the early hours of the morning you know a few of them may still be awake - though you find yourself hoping for one's presence over others.

Captain Gojo. At first you had begrudged that name, but now it felt just as natural as your own. You were so sure you'd hated him too, yet with passing time it was fairly obvious you felt only endearment toward him. You didn't know when this switch had occurred - only that his features felt so much softer now. Silky white hair that had been left to grow a little too long seems to frame his face so well, those frightening blue eyes easing your worries through sight alone. 

You were from another vessel. A raid had resulted in yourself migrating to the Kaisen as a bargaining chip - Sukuna hadn't cared for you all too well. It took only a few days to win over the newest member, Yuuji, and a few weeks for the others to come around. Once you'd displayed a lack of loyalty to your previous crew, an unwanted career choice as Sukuna had taken you from your home, Gojo and the others promised to return you to your native country. You neared it now, yet with every mile closer you couldn't find it within yourself to want to leave. You enjoy life exceedingly more with Gojo as a part of it. 

You need to speak with him. A sleepless night wouldn't do you good, nor would bottling up your feelings any longer than you already have. 

Slow footsteps from mid-deck to the top allowed you the warm embrace of solace, a small flame guiding your anxious mind. You stood outside of his door on the top deck, sea breeze chilling you through the thin fabric draped over your shoulders, covering the nightie you'd adopted from Nobara on one of your first nights aboard.

Fist hovering over the door, you knock once, and then twice. 

Silence follows as you await some form of response; your stomach twists. Tonight wouldn't be the night you confess, and as you stare at the wood planks beneath your toes, you wonder if any night would be. You were likely less than a week from your destination, and once arrived, you would part ways with the friends you'd made.

Your foot drags backward, and then the other as you turn to leave. Only, as you glance toward the door in one final look of regret, you watch as it opens slightly, pale fingers wrapped around oak. Gojo's face emerges in the darkness, and after only one look at your sheepish expression, he opens the door wider. 

Slipping past him and into his room makes you feel like two teenagers sneaking around, yet you continue on, his tall frame towering over your apprehensive one. 

It wasn't often you would see the captain's quarters, in fact you were sure you could count the times you'd peered in on one hand - let alone stepped foot within them. As you stood within his room, watching as he pushed the door closed, you felt as if you were intruding on an intimate part of his life.

His bed is raised and sturdy, the pillow creased within the middle, a blanket messily slued to one side. You assume he would've pushed it off of himself to answer the door, previously laying awake much like you had been. There's a table on your left drowned in papers, various types of scrawling and writing upon them. You inch closer as you succumb to curiosity, forgetting you were intruding on his life.

Propped against the wall, there's a canvas, a painting of himself and a male of the same age, dark hair tied messily back into a bun. They're both smiling widely, Gojo's arm is loosely over his shoulder. That was something you weren't sure you'd seen much of - his genuine smile.

"That's my best friend." You're startled as Gojo's voice is suddenly closely behind you, his presence lingering within arm's length. He's staring at the drawing with dulcet eyes, a downturn to his lips. "Where is he now?" The question is asked with some reluctance as you sense an offish aura about him. Gojo adjusts his weight from one foot to the other, crossing his arms. "I killed him."

Your eyes widen, and he laughs breathily, his shamed expression facing floorboard. He doesn't wait for an interrogation, simply offering you context before your mind would spiral. 

"He tried to kill one of our crew members, injured others too. I had no choice."

Your hand reaches to him in the name of comfort, though stalls as you're only an inch away. "I'm sorry." Gojo glances down to your retreating hand. "Don't be."

"Why did you come here?" Moments had passed in awkward air as you shifted uncomfortably on the spot, mouth opening, and closing. Now hadn't felt to be a good time, the air staled with his open heart. "I couldn't sleep, thought maybe you couldn't either." A half lie, you had expected him to be awake too, for some reason. "I was drifting in and out." Gojo paces past you and to the bench, throwing himself into the seat and leaning back against the desk. His elbows meet table top, and he leans back with eyes closed.

"We're almost to your home-town, now." There felt to be bitterness on his tongue as he'd made his statement. "Are you excited?" "I-" You pause. "Yeah." Although the response had been what he'd been expected to hear, your drab tone hadn't been. Gojo opens his eyes at this, watching you through half closed lids.

You step toward him slowly, and he remains still. Despite himself seated, his face is almost level to yours. You place a hand to his cheek with reluctance, and finally allow yourself to express how you feel.

Your lips meet his slowly, and at first, he doesn't reciprocate your kiss. But as you linger on him, eyes squeezing to push back tears, his hand finds it's way to the back of your neck, and you're locked into place. The pair of you spend a few moments of sereneness against the other, his mouth opening slightly upon your lips to allow tongue to slip past. It drags over yours, and you respond in kind with a flick, meeting within your connected lips.

Gojo breaks the kiss sooner than you would have liked, leaving your lips victim to the cold air.  His eyes are locked onto yours, but you can't bare to meet them, dropping to his chest. A white loose tunic, the strings at the breastbone open to leave the 'v' revealing bare skin, balloon sleeves meeting wrist. To match had been black cotton trousers you'd assumed to be stolen - or at least purchased through stolen gold. He hadn't worn anything at his feet, bare much like yours had been against varnished wood.

"Do you want to leave?" Gojo's question is abrupt, and it pulls you from your thoughts. You gaze up to his face now, but his expression is indistinct. His hand drops from it's place at your neck, nestling instead into the small of your back. "Now, here?" The confusion slips from your mouth with a crackle as your throat is dry, your breaths still uneven. His lips are straight, his stare quiet. "The Kaisen. Us."

Your furrowed brow lifts and your face softens. "No, I don't."

"Don't, then." His fingers swirl over your back, the nightie a thin barrier between your skin and his. "Stay with us, with me." Gojo's voice is hushed as he swallows what pride he thought himself to have as he opened his soul to you. You smile freely, hands enveloping his cheeks once again to place a kiss over his lips once again - this time small, and sweet.

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without either of these, i’m not able to know what’s worth writing - please help me out and at the very least leave a comment!

[rs-hawk]

Nobleman Minotaur Part Three

After your official debut, Minotaur started avoiding you even more. It hurt. You tried to find reasons to be around him, but he always found an excuse to leave quickly. You had thought the two of you had grown closer, especially after the dance you shared. You thought maybe he liked you, but maybe you were wrong.

One day, you were walking through the garden, lazily picking grapes from the vine, with Pasiphae appearing in front of you. "Your Rarity!" you gasped, quickly dipping your head, grapes dropping from your hands as you grabbed up your dress to curtsy.

The immoral laughed, setting her hand under your chin to draw it up. "No need for such formalities, Princess. I've come to check in on your family, and my son. Have you seen him?"

Your face fell as she took her hand back. "I don't know, ma'am. Minotaur has been avoiding me lately."

"What did you say?" her voice sounded hard, angry even. It sent a chill down your spine.

"Minotaur has been avoiding me," you whispered, your throat felt tight as you repeated your sentence.

"Is that what you all have been calling him? No wonder he has been avoiding you," while she didn't mean it as cruelly as it came across, it still struck your heart.

"Is that not his name? I thought-," you started, only to be cut off by a wave of her hand.

"That is the name my last husband called him. The name given to him by nurse maids to try to appease him, as if he were Hera and my lovely boy was Heracules. No, Minotaur is not his name, and never had been," she sneered, looking towards the building where your love had been residing.

"Why would he never correct me, or anyone?" your voice quivered as she began to take long strides towards her son's home, and you followed obediently.

"Asterion has always been a curious child," she paused, sparing a glance over her shoulder at you. "Even curse aside."

"Asterion? Is that his true name?" you asked as you rolled the name on your tongue. It tasted like a warm blanket and honey tea.

"Yes," she said with a smile, coming to the stairs leading up to his doors. "A strong name for a strong boy."

Lifting her hand to the door, she rapped lightly on the door. It only took a moment for her son to open it, though his eyes went immediately to you. Under his gaze, your face flushed. It was so intense. How could he look at you like that and then not even want to speak a word to you?

"Oh, am I interrupting something?" Pasiphae grinned, looking between the two. "I thought you said my shy son had been avoiding you."

"He has been," you muttered, your cheeks glowing redder.

"Mother," he groaned, though you thought maybe you saw a blush under his fur.

"Alright, alright. I won't push," she smiled as she made her way inside as he side stepped to let the two of you in. "I just wanted to check in on my sweet boy."

"I am doing well. Y/N and her family are exceedingly kind to me," he said in a quiet voice, side eyeing you.

"And yet you haven't even told the poor girl your real name. Are you ashamed of it? I agonized over your name," she puffed up her cheeks playfully, glaring at her son.

"Of course not, but everyone already knows me as Minotaur, so it just felt strange. It's not like anyone actually referred to me as Asterion... before," his eyes were downcast, his tail and ears drooping.

"I like it," you chimed in, rubbing your arm nervously. "I think it suits you."

"Thank you," he muttered back just as shyly.

"I think I will continue my visit with the King and check back in later," his mother nearly purred as she gave you a slight shove before stepping back towards the door. "You two should get better acquainted, I think. I can trust the two of you unchaperoned, can't I?"

Minotaur, no, Asterion, glared at her as she rushed away, laughing lightly. He didn't understand how she could be borderline cruel to her. She knew him better than anyone else. She had to know how his heart had always ached for love and kindness, and here you were, all of that embodied. You looked up at him through your dark lashes, the blush finally subsiding. Gods, it was such a gorgeous sight.

"So, you haven't been avoiding me. Then what has this all been about?" you said in what you hoped was a playful tone.

He was definitely blushing under that fur. There was no doubt in your mind about that with the way that he was acting. "I have been trying to be respectful."

"How so?"

"You are a Princess. It's not as if I am really deserving of the kind of attention I... well," he ran his fingers through his hair as he looked away. "Well, the kind of attention that I wish you would give me. I might have a title, but most will always see me as a monster."

"What kind of attention do you wish that I would give you?" you were breathless, your blood pounding in your ears. He shrugged and didn't respond. "I don't see a monster when I look at you. I see a man. A man who has been through so much. More than anyone else could imagine. A very handsome man."

His eyes met yours quickly as he jerked his head up to look at you. "Please, don't say things you don't mean."

"I would never," your voice was strained. Your mouth dry.

Cautiously, you took a step closer to him. He let out a soft groan, his brows furrowing together. "Princess, you don't know what you're saying when it comes to a creature like me."

"What does it mean for me to say it to a man like you?" you whispered, taking another step closer to him. You reached out, your fingers just barely grazing his muscular forearm. "Tell me."

There was silence for several seconds before he reached out to you, cupping your face in his large, calloused hands. You were able to look up at him, your heart racing. His dark eyes seemed impossibly deep. After a moment, he lowered his head. Your eyes fluttered shut with anticipation. You gripped his forearm now, drawing him closer to you. You could feel his breath on your lips. Your entire body was shaking with excitement.

"Princess," he sighed, and you could almost feel his lips moving as he spoke.

"Well, that was a quick visit. Y/N, your father is waiting for you," Pasiphae's voice filled the air as she opened the door.

Asterion jumped back, snorting with clear irritation. "Mother, we were-."

"Doing something that a chaperon would fully allow, I'm sure. Now, Y/N, I do believe you would be interested in what your father and I discussed," the immortal smiled at you, her eyes creasing as it brightened her face.

"Of course," you bowed your head, casting a look at Asterion before exiting, with your heart still nearly beating out of your chest.

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[valacirya]

Indis appreciation post!

Disclaimer: All the canon info is taken from Morgoth's Ring and Peoples of Middle Earth. Also, this isn't a character analysis/meta. It's just a list of stuff I love (plus some headcanons) about one of my favorite characters in the legendarium.

1. She's athletic and outdoorsy. We're told that Indis is "exceedingly swift of foot" and that "she walked often alone in the fields and friths of the Valar, turning her thought to things that grow untended." When Finwe sees her, she's chilling on a mountainside. I love that she's associated with nature, specifically the wilderness. She parallels Feanor in her exploration of Aman and interest in the imperfect. Also, this is purely self-indulgent but ever since reading HoME for the first time, I've pictured Indis as tall and broad, and muscular beneath a layer of fat.

2. She doesn't let her unrequited love affect her life. "There was ever light and mirth about her." She's not the pining, languishing princess stereotype. She goes on. She doesn't let it make her bitter or depressed, and she is so restrained that only Mandos and possibly Ingwe are aware of her feelings.

3. Part of her attraction to Finwe is intellectual. In HoME we're told that his "mastery of words delighted her." Considering that Indis is also a poet/composer ("wove words into song") and that the Vanyar enjoy linguistics, it makes sense. It's also just really cute.

4. She's politically minded. Her reasoning for pronouncing 's' instead of 'th' is: "I have joined the Noldor, and I will speak as they do." This is the right thing to do to gain the respect of the Noldor and their acceptance of her authority. I also think she makes a statement with Fingolfin and Finarfin's mother-names. Arakano ("high chieftain") and Ingoldo ("the Noldo, eminent among the kindred") are not only powerful, prophetic names, they're also strikingly similar to Ingwe ("chief of chieftains") who is the High King not just of the Vanyar, but all Eldar. What a power move.

5. She's able to balance her own culture with the culture she marries into. Indis integrates into Noldorin society easily while remaining Vanyarin at her core, as is evidenced by Finwe saying that "above all her heart now yearns for the halls of Ingwe and the peace of the Vanyar." Her sons also respect and are proud of their mixed heritage; Finarfin "loved the Vanyar, his mother's people" and is said to be like them (as are Finrod and Galadriel), and Fingolfin's daughter-in-law is Vanyarin (plus the Nolofinweans have a special connection to Manwe).

6. She gets an awesome prophecy about her line. "But I say unto you that the children of Indis shall also be great, and the Tale of Arda more glorious because of their coming. And from them shall spring things so fair that no tears shall dim their beauty; in whose being the Valar, and the Kindreds both of Elves and of Men that are to come shall all have part, and in whose deeds they shall rejoice. So that, long hence when all that here is, and seemeth yet fair and impregnable, shall nonetheless have faded and passed away, the Light of Aman shall not wholly cease among the free peoples of Arda until the end." Fuck yeah.

7. Her name means "valiant woman." This is the only definition given in Morgoth's Ring, I believe. I highly prefer it over the "bride" meaning because it's a badass name and is similar to Artanis ("noble woman") and Astaldo ("the valiant"). A headcanon that I'm particularly attached to is that Indis's mother-name is Indome, meaning "will of Eru."

8. She's popular with most of the Noldor. We're told that "Finwe, King of the Noldor, wedded Indis, sister of Ingwe; and the Vanyar and Noldor for the most part rejoiced." The majority of the Noldor also follow Fingolfin and Finarfin instead of Feanor.

9. She's friends with Nerdanel. HoME states that Nerdanel went to "abide with Indis, whom she had ever esteemed."

10. She gets pissed off at Finwe when he sides with Feanor. So much so that he thinks she won't want to see him if he's re-embodied. I know this is from his perspective but I'm inclined to agree. [However, this is still very presumptive of him, and his comment that "Indis parted from me without death" is super shitty. Eugh.]

11. She's close to her kids. Finarfin takes after her, Fingolfin passes on the name she gave him, Findis lives with her, Lalwen goes by the name she gave her. Finwe also says that "she hath dear children to comfort her."

So there we have it! What little info we get about Indis is pretty awesome. And this is just a list; I could write a whole essay on her fortitude and unconventionality and my numerous headcanons about her.

[soulmatesinc-if]

ok im seeking revenge for all flustered mcs trying and failing to act normal. best ways to fluster the ros and turn the tables!! especially wyatt. smug ass

listen, I am perpetually in support of MC taking revenge, so here it is

Wyatt is just hard to fluster, I'm sorry! 😅 Even if they are, they would do their damn best not to show it, but someone who has been around them for a while would definitely notice that contained smile and them shifting their gaze to the ceiling as they process it. What would work well to coax it out of them would be compliments, but not just any kind. Nothing flowery, no over-exaggeration or exuberance, just plain "this shirt looks good on you", "I like it when you wear your hair like this" or "you have beautiful eyes".

Sam grew up into a rather chill but ultimately pragmatic person, but an MC that presents them with one of those paired kind of items (where the gifter has a match to the gift) would absolutely short-circuit them. It doesn't even need to be romantic (though it could be). They would be a fully grown-up adult who understands what drives and doesn't drive the processes in economics, working towards that 401k—and yet they cannot stifle a cheesy smile when their gaze lands on that friendship bracelet around their wrist or the "His/Hers" mug on their desk.

Romero is exceedingly easy to fluster, it's embarrassing sometimes. It's typically the smallest, cutest things too: like suddenly coming up behind them and wrapping arms around their waist when they are distracted, offering a bite of own food, or fixing their collar or hair until it looks good again when they're outside.

[astronomywriting]

Unexpected Affection ❤️ Shinobu x Fem! Reader

WC: 1.8k Words

Vocab: [H/T]= Hair Texture || [H/C]= Hair Color || [S/C]= Skin Color || [F/N]= First Name || [E/C]= Eye Color ||

Content Warnings: Reader’s father is mentioned to be deceased, and their mother is emotionally unavailable

Premise: The reader is emotionally repressed, but they find themselves wanting cuddles from Shinobu

A/N: This one is a lot of yap with little dialogue. If you happen to have any constructive criticism I’d love to hear it :D

|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

You were an exceedingly stoic person. A persona you’ve long adopted, ever since early childhood. Your father passed away unexpectedly, which threw your mother into a pit of depression. Depression that would lead her onto the path of emotional neglect, not only for herself but also for you. Your mother would never go on to tell you why she changed so harshly after the passing of your father, but somewhere you had a feeling it was because you resembled him too much for her to bear.

These unfortunate events made you grow up faster than you would’ve liked. You had to take care of yourself, get back up on your own after something in life had gone wrong, and teach yourself how to adjust as you grew with the ever-changing world. Even now, as an adult, you still hold onto these past techniques, normalizing them into your day-to-day life. You weren’t able to trust easily, and even those whom you’ve left in your life rarely get to see a smile or express basic human emotion.

Which is why, as you lay on the futon alone, you wonder how and when you started missing the company of your girlfriend. You were used to being alone, so what strange circumstances of events led you to greet being alone as a foreign feeling? When did you start longing for her to be around? When did you begin to enjoy the small kisses and the warmth of having a partner to sleep next to?

You didn’t know how to answer such a question yet, but you did know you wanted to drag Shinobu back to bed so you could fall asleep once more. However, there was one small factor stopping you. It wasn’t in your code to just get up and tell Shinobu how much you enjoyed her company and that you couldn’t sleep without her. Even the smallest levels of intimacy were completely untouched by you.

Kisses between you were nothing but small pecks, only to be shared in the privacy of your own home. The only handholding you did was a quick squeeze in between the days. Your type of affection wasn’t something bold or outgoing; it was simply small acts that could be done completely alone. Instead of cuddling, you’d just silently enter a room Shinobu happened to be in and sit down, simply basking in the proximity of your beloved.

Tonight was different, though. Echoes of the past were quite keen on keeping you up, no matter how much you tried to readjust into a comfortable position or try to work on your breathing to lull you into sleep. It was becoming more and more obvious to you that what you needed was another person to help you drift off. Whether it was with her scratching your [H/T] [H/C] hair or whispering small words of affirmation until you fell asleep, the fact was clear. Sleep would not come tonight unless Shinobu was with you.

You sigh as you remove the covers from your body, the chill air hitting you in an instant. You sit on the edge of the futon as you nibble on your lip. Your hands are scrunched up on your thighs, leaving small crescent patterns in their wake. You let out one small, shaky sigh. You knew Shinobu wasn’t like your mother, but it still just felt so nerve-racking. Knowing your girlfriend, she was most likely up late again working on another project of hers. She had her own personal study just down the hall from your shared bedroom.

A short walk was all it would take to get what you wanted. All you had to do was pop the question, and you were sure Shinobu would oblige. Though many times you asked your mother for something small, like a hug or the simple message that it was going to be okay, you were declined instantly. You continue to dig your nails into your [S/C] skin.

You release the grip of your nails on your skin and stand up. Maybe the sleepiness had made you bold, or maybe you were facing the fear of intimacy. Whatever it was, it was enough to make you travel outside of your bedroom and down the hall towards Shinobu’s study. For a moment, you just stand there, staring at the door knob. You command your arm to move so you can enter, but it’s of no use. The light is on; you know she’s in there, but your body lies still.

This is stupid. You think to yourself.

What kind of adult can’t sleep alone? You criticize.

I’d only be bothering her. You admit.

Despite these harsh words, you find yourself slowly opening the door. The confidence you once had is beginning to shrivel away. Your hands turn shaky, and you begin to sweat. You almost want to close the door and run back into the futon to hide under the covers, but you don’t. Twisting the knob ever so slightly with your trembling hands, you see Shinobu, her back turned to you, doing some paperwork at her desk. The chair is pushed to the side, and she is standing.

Your heart begins to pound in your chest and out of your ears. You’re surprised Shinobu doesn’t hear, with her being a Hashira and all. Maybe it was the habit you picked up in your early childhood— wanting to be completely silent as you wandered through the house so as not to upset your mother. Either way, you enter the study silently, and you are now standing behind her. A small part of you wishes to stay inside your comfort zone. Opting for the usual routine of you and Shinobu sharing a space with comfortable silence. But today you feel different, more bold, and more eager.

You find yourself walking behind her, slowly wrapping your hands around her waist, and plopping your chin on her shoulder. She tenses up for a moment, a bit startled, but relaxes when she realizes it’s you.

“Love?” She asks, her voice a little confused.

Normally you get tense when she calls you any sort of pet name, but today you feel yourself relaxing instead.

“Shino,” you start. Your mouth goes dry, and while you don’t mind her calling you a pet name, hearing it come out of your mouth is a different scenario. “Can…can you come back to bed, please?” You mumble.

Shinobu doesn’t respond; she’s a bit stunned for a moment, unused to your small display of intimacy.

“Shino?” You try again, your voice low.

This clears her senses, and she quickly forms a response.

“Ah, yes, [F/N]?” She quickly stutters out.

“I asked if you would go back to bed with me.” You repeat.

“Yes, of course, my dear.” Shinobu agrees; she prioritized her work heavily, but on this special occasion, she simply couldn’t refuse. “May I ask why, though? You’re usually so—”

You cut her off. “Stoic? I know,” you let out a dry chuckle. “I just,” you struggle to find words to represent how you feel. “It’s hard to sleep when you’re not there, and my late-night overthinking is the worst,” you confess.

You realize your hold on her waist, and you step back to let Shinobu readjust her posture. She turns to face you; her purple eyes tear into your [E/C] ones. You see her lean forward ever so slightly, but she stops herself. You know that she knows about your boundaries. You’re hyper-aware of them too. Although not comfortable for a full kiss just yet, you grab her hand. Despite her being a Demon Slayer, her hands are silky smooth.

You bring her hand to your mouth, placing a small kiss on one of her knuckles. It’s short, like all of your other kisses, but the air around this particular kiss feels different.

“I wish to cuddle with you..?” You phrase it as more of a question than a request. “And you don’t have to use my name either,” you add on. “I’m okay.. I’m comfortable with you using a pet name,” you reassure. This all feels dizzying to you.

Shinobu gives you one of her soft smiles, and she goes to take your hand. Not a small squeeze or a simple graze. This touch is lingering and comfortable.

“Of course, my dear,” she says, leading you back to your shared room.

Shinobu lets go of your hand to enter first; you follow after her and realize the air is no longer chilly. She kneels down in front of the futon and pats it, signaling you to come lie down. As you do, Shinobu moves to lay behind you. This time, it’s her who wraps one arm steadily around your waist, while the other comes up to toy with your [H/T] hair.

Your body relaxes, your muscles go limp, and you lean back into her smaller frame.

“Sorry for interrupting your work, ‘Nobu, it’s just today I felt like—“

This time, it’s Shinobu who cuts you off. “Shh,” she coos. “You’re not a bother; in fact, I’ve been waiting for you to get more affectionate.” You feel her warm breath against your neck as she speaks.

“You have?”

“Mhm,” she hums. “I concealed it, but in my study I was practically jumping for joy.”

“That was always your specialty, huh?” You snicker.

“My specialty is medical work,” Shinobu declares. “Speaking of.”

You can’t get a word in before two hands gently run along your shoulders.

“Did you know that massages help with sleep, love?” Shinobu says.

“I did not,” you reply.

Shinobu gently caresses your shoulders before moving down your back. Every now and then, there’s a small pop, and any pain you once had in your back dissipates. You also feel yourself growing drowsy. Eyelids turn heavy, and you can barely focus on the scary feeling of intimacy anymore. The only thing that is present is Shinobu giving you a massage while you flutter into a peaceful sleep.

[magicalbats]

Kinktober Day 9: Lactation

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 8971

Afab!reader, noncon, mentioned/implied abduction, lactation, milking machine, medical kinks, injections, human experimentation, breast expansion, breastfeeding, possible body horror elements depending on how you want to look at it, general horror/ psychological horror themes, let me emphasize again that this is VERY non consensual 

A/N: okay, this one is dark. It might be upsetting or uncomfortable to some so PLEASE read the tags and pay attention to your own comfort levels before clicking the read more. It’s Dottore and you should expect the worst, so honestly just multiply that by 5 before you make your decision to read or not ndkvndke

⭐

You were hand selected from a group of other women and girls. Neither the oldest or the youngest, you’d fallen somewhere in the middle. It had been a diverse selection, ranging in size and shape, and even physical maturity, but he chose you out of all the rest. You’d watched him summarily dismiss the matrons standing in line with little more than a glance, outright scoff at the ones who hadn’t even hit puberty yet, as if they disgusted him, and then wave off the girls who were thin and malnourished. It was impossible to tell what he was looking for at the time, especially when it had come down to you and a few others who were healthy and ripe; old enough to be of marriageable age but not so on in years that your bodies were showing signs of aging yet … but you’d long since come to realize the answer for yourself. 

After that humiliating selection process and the equally invasive exam that followed, your world receded to a fine, pinprick of existence that consisted almost exclusively of cold metal equipment and him. Sterile and unpleasant, he touched you with impartial hands encased in powdery gloves while he conducted his preliminary experiments in the cold laboratory where he kept you like an animal. When not on his exam table or hooked up to strange, whirring machines that you did not understand the purpose of, you were securely locked inside a cage in the corner. You’d been foolish enough to think it somewhat nice and even comfortable at first, since it was bigger than the one you’d had to share with all the others after those masked deviants took you from your home. He even provided you with a blanket so you wouldn’t catch a chill and expire before he was through with you — or so he’d said —  but the appeal had quickly faded. It was impossible to stay optimistic when you'd been in here so long that you were even starting to forget what the outside world was like. 

You couldn’t tell how much time you’d spent there, unsure if only several weeks had passed or if months had flown by without your noticing. It could have been either, and he never responded when you asked. He never said anything to you, only at you. The Doctor in the frightening bird mask. As cold as any of the steel equipment he touched you with and just as silent as the machines, he merely conducted whatever trial or objective was on the schedule for the day and then left. You weren’t even sure if he had a name, but if he did you certainly didn’t know it. 

He’d also never asked for yours. 

The Doctor called you ‘Specimen’ when he bothered to refer to you at all, sometimes murmuring instructions to the exceedingly rare assistant that would stop in from time to time to help him with tasks. Either to get you hooked up to another set of plugs and monitors, or to strap you down to the table for him. You were much too scared to actually struggle or fight but it seemed to be the way of these things, so you allowed them to secure leather straps over your ankles and wrists without a fuss. He never hurt you beyond temporary discomfort when he’d take stabbing metal pincers to your breasts and notate the measurements with a low hum, or slip an uncomfortable metal device inside your cunt to spread you open. This, you could accept. You tried to tell yourself it was probably still better than what the others were experiencing, wherever they were, and the pain never lasted long anyway. 

But then came the day where he wheeled a small tray over after already securing you in place on the chilly metal slab in the center of the room, and you just caught a glimpse of what was on it. Needles. That wasn’t so strange. He took blood samples from time to time, to do what with you had no idea, but … these syringes were full of something. A mostly clear fluid that looked only slightly murky in the glaring overhead light. He was going to inject you with it. 

You understood this on an intrinsic, innate level of comprehension but still maintain your obedient silence while he putters around with whatever else was on the little tray. It’s not like he would have explained anything to you even if you’d asked. It’s only when he finally turns to you and wipes a cold, faintly clinging swathe over one side of your breast do you start to realize that something is not quite right here. The smell of antiseptic floods your nose all at once and you gasp, jerking against the bindings holding you down. 

It’s no use though. The leather is entirely unrelenting no matter how much you anxiously jostle your wrists, and all you can do is lay there, watching with big, frightened eyes, as he thoroughly wipes the area clean. It was so chilly in the lab that your nipples were already stiffly coiled but the one he’s clinically wiping down with that damp cloth seems to pebble to an even finer point that makes you whimper low in your throat. The Doctor had touched you like this before, many times in fact, so you didn’t understand why your body was reacting like this to him. Almost like it knew something you hadn’t yet realized … 

When he brings the first needle close to your tit you panic even though you try not to. But he merely clicks his tongue at you, murmuring something under his breath about behaving as he reaches out with his other hand to cup the swell of your breast and still you. Your toes curl at the sensation even as you anxiously shake your limbs, so scared and wracked with uncontrollable shudders your chest heaves under his hold but he doesn’t even give it a moment's pause. One second the sharp needle is arching through the air on a sure, steady trajectory, and the next it’s sinking deep into your flesh. 

A hurt, gutted little moan escapes you, hot tears flooding your eyes while you watch him swiftly depress the plunger. It only takes a few seconds for the syringe to empty and he leaves you wildly gasping for breath when he withdraws it from the skin before turning back to the tray. 

You can’t process any of it as he sedately moves around the table to come up on the other side and repeat the process. It’s like you’re suffocating, looking up at him in horrified confusion and disbelief. What the hell was he injecting you with?

“Wait …” It's little more than a timid mouse squeak. 

Softly tutting at you, The Doctor quickly wipes the area down with a second antiseptic wipe and then bends over your chest to bring the next needle close. “Hush now, Specimen. I’ve got you.” 

The sharp point pricks into the meat of your breast and he lets out a low, faltering breath as it sinks in. You lurch on top of the table, too restrained to actually pull away, but it does little to stop you from devolving into hysterical, heaving gasps. You didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand. But if your frantic reaction concerns him in any way he certainly doesn’t show it as he straightens up, eyeing you from under that horrid mask for a long moment before humming a brief sound. 

“Perhaps Specimen needs a sedative for today. We don’t want you hurting yourself carrying on like that, do we?” 

Chuckling faintly at the way you wordlessly squawk and shriek, he steps around you again to dig in a drawer on the far side of the room. You’d never admit it but you were so gripped by wild, mindless panic, very nearly choking on it, that you’re almost a bit relieved when he returns and injects another shot into your pinned arm. Almost immediately a false, manufactured calm starts to wash over you and you readily relax into it, happy to let your mind drift off rather than be forced to face the reality you were living. 

*~*

The next day finds you strapped down again, but this time with the upper half of the table propped up so you could sit. You’d woken up sore, your chest aching so fiercely it made you wince and seethe each time you moved, and having the weight of your breasts settle without any support like this was just making it worse. If you could have brought your hands up to elevate them and lessen some of the pressure you would have gladly done that but your wrists remained locked next to your hips. 

The Doctor takes his time giving you the usual examination as he always does, checking your temperature, blood pressure, heart rate, etc until he finally gets to the end and sets his clipboard aside. You cautiously watch him reach out then, twitching when he tentatively prods the underside of one breast with a blunt knuckle. He doesn’t miss your reaction even though you’d tried to conceal it, scared of what he might do with that information, and he noises a brief sound of interest as he brings his other hand up as well. 

Simultaneously, he nudges both of your tits to lift them slightly but not actually support them, and you hiss through tightly clenched teeth. You were already starting to feel lightheaded, a bit nauseous. The deep ache you felt was so close to being unbearable that you can’t help but react even when you know he’s only going to turn it back around on you. 

“My, how interesting,” He murmurs to himself, sounding really quite pleased with this result. “You’re already this tender, Specimen? It must be working even quicker than I thought … looks like I made the right choice when choosing you for this experiment. Aren’t you happy?” 

You want to ask him what experiment, desperate for any information at all, but you bite your tongue, already knowing full well he wasn’t going to explain anything to you. All you can do is helplessly watch as he pokes and prods, and paws at your chest until you can’t hold it back any longer and stinging tears track a wet path down your face. Your chest was so sensitive and sore it felt like he was jabbing you with blunt knives. 

Softly laughing under his breath, The Doctor lifts his hands a little higher and just brushes over your stiff nipples. You choke at the instant, blinding sensation and jerk back against the table so hard it clatters in response. It was all you could do just to keep drawing air into your lungs. You were so oversensitized it hurt! 

“Please,” You somehow manage to grit out. “Stop it!” 

“How precious,” He purrs, low and mean, as he takes delicate hold of the hardened buds between thumb and forefinger. Just holding them for the moment but even that is enough to make you writhe in place, thrashing against the bonds as much as you physically can. “You know, this is the kind of feedback you just can’t get with animal test subjects. All they do is scream and bleat, but you …” 

He leans closer — so close the curved beak of his mask almost touches your face — and you suck in such a ragged, threadbare gasp that it seems to claw at your throat on the way down. Trembling like a leaf now, you just stare at him. Fixated on the spot where his eyes should have been. You can catch only a very small glimpse of the corner of his mouth like this, and you’re more than a little unnerved to find he’s smiling. Delighted. Pleased. 

You just shake even harder. 

“Isn’t it nice that we can communicate like this, Specimen? You can beg me for mercy and I can laugh at you for being stupid enough to try. Why, if I suddenly find myself feeling generous I could even attempt to have a conversation with you.” Pausing, The Doctor appears to give that a moment’s consideration only to softly click his tongue at length. “Probably not, though. I doubt you have anything of interest to say.” 

Before you can even think to respond or formulate a convincing argument for yourself, he abruptly pinches down on your nipples and you shriek. Jerking back against the table only makes your tits bounce and pull at your sore teats where he’s still got them squeezed between his fingers, fresh tears welling behind closed eyes. It was easily the worst thing you’d ever felt. Even worse than the barbaric looking contraption he’d wedged inside your cunt and used to stretch you open when he first brought you here. You’d thought nothing could compare to that discomfort but you were now realizing just how bad it could really be. 

In this manner he spends what feels like many agonizing, endless hours just toying with your breasts; tugging and pulling, and twisting, until the sharp sensitivity somehow exceedes the threshold of comprehension in your mind and dwindles to a dull, mostly numbed but still aching throb. You’re distantly aware of it but too strung out to give it voice anymore. You barely even register the sound he makes when he finally breathes out a quiet sigh of satisfaction and pulls away, leaving your chest screaming in the aftermath. All you knew was that he was stepping away, leaving you to the agony … 

But then he comes back, and a broken little sob bursts out of you when you recognize the two needles in his hand. Whatever this experiment was, it didn’t look like it would be over any time soon. 

~*~ 

The next few days continue in the same manner, repeating the same process over and over again until you almost start to become acclimated to it. The Doctor visits you once in the morning to make note of your vitals and jot down whatever remarks on his clipboard before leaving you to waste away in solitude until midafternoon. Another round of vitals and more note taking, then another session of having him paw at your chest until tears were streaming down your face and, finally, another shot in each breast. He leaves you for the rest of the day until his final check in late in the evening when he makes his final notations and then secures you inside your cage for the night. It all would have been rather humdrum at a certain point except … 

Except that by the end of the first week you start to notice certain changes in your body. You’d thought it was your imagination at first, just a result of the injections and all the brutish pawing he insisted on doing for no reason you could conceive, but your breasts were in fact getting bigger. Swelling to the point that it was noticeable and you couldn’t write it off as a mere flight of fancy. Even worse though was the way your nipples had likewise become puffy and constantly stiff, like they were in a perpetual state of arousal. It was all very strange, to look down at your own chest and see yourself looking like that, but The Doctor was nothing if not pleased. 

He marveled over the results to no end, constantly remarking on how well you were reacting to the treatment and muttering under his breath that it wouldn’t be long now. You didn’t dare to ask until what, really not sure if you even wanted to know, but it’s not as if he would have told you anyway. Utterly helpless, all you could do was try to grin and bear with it for as long as you were able to, hoping that this trial would soon come to a close. 

But of course you’re not quite so lucky, and at the start of the second week he suddenly introduces double dosages of that mysterious substance he was injecting you with. Instead of one in both breasts, you now got two in each and with that increase so too do the results start to speed up. 

Your chest is not only growing bigger, you're more than a little horrified to realize one day, but heavier too. Initially you think they’re one and the same, and you were feeling jittery panic over nothing. But then you’d touched them, lifted them in your palms to lessen some of the strain, and it had occurred to you that your tits weren’t just filling out … they were swelling with an internal pressure, like something was building up under the skin and the resulting inflation was forcing them to expand. You couldn’t make any sense of it. Not only did you just not understand what was even happening in the first place but you couldn’t seem to wrap your head around why he would do this to you. What was his goal? Were these really the results he’d hoped for, or had something gone wrong? 

Trying to tell yourself you were still likely faring better than any of the others you’d shared a cramped little prison cell with or any of the women you’d stood in line with to be evaluated like livestock only goes so far. It soon becomes especially hard to consider your situation a lucky one when the daily breast massages steadily turn into a truly tortuous experience. Where you’d once been simply too sensitive and tender, there was now the added sensation of having too much pressure without any way to relieve it. You sob all throughout these little sessions now, groaning and heaving against the exam table while he squeezes and pinches, tugging on your raw teats until you’re sure you’re going to lose your mind. It gets so bad that even after he leaves you to your own devices you find yourself rubbing your chest in a blithe attempt at easing some of the constant ache there. 

That’s how you eventually figure out what’s really going on. 

It’s the start of the third week (you’d made it a point to keep track from that first injection) and your tits are so heavy and swollen they look like they’re ready to burst. Fighting back harsh, body wracking sobs, you desperately run your hands over them even though it’s done you little in the way of good up until now. It’s like an instinctive urge though, something deep in the primal part of your brain compelling you to massage your breasts even when it just causes you more discomfort. But you can feel something building in them and you’re half delirious with the thought that you would soon find relief if you just kept at it long enough. 

The first wet dribble almost goes unnoticed. You think it’s a mistake. A bead of sweat, perhaps, or maybe even a faint little droplet of blood where your nipples felt so chaffed and sore. But when you look at your fingertip only to find a clear, somewhat thick consistency clinging to the skin, you feel faint with disbelief. Try to convince yourself that it’s not what you think it is, that you were excreting literally anything else — anything at all, but … the proof smacks you across the face when you bring it up to your mouth and take a cautious lick. 

It was sweet and bitter at the same time, and more than just a bit cloying and you’re suddenly left with the crushing realization of what he’s done to you. 

~*~ 

For the first time ever, you fight him tooth and nail when it comes time to strap you down to the table for your midday exam. It’s difficult with your chest so swollen and heavy that every shuddering movement hurts, but you still manage to hold out until he’s forced to call for backup. You feel rather proud of yourself for that up until two sets of hands descend upon you, grappling to get you secured in place, “without harming the Specimen!”, he’d irritably snapped. 

It seems to stretch on for many, many minutes, but at last they manage to buckle a restraint around one of your wrists and it becomes frustratingly easy for them to get the rest. You’re left panting and heaving, shooting daggers at The Doctor as well as his assistant when they step back to sort themselves out. The younger man was nursing a bruised jaw where you’d successfully caught him with your elbow and The Doctor … you’d almost knocked his stupid mask off his face, and you regretted not being able to see him without it as he tersely readjusts it’s placement. Maybe next time though. There was always a next time with him. 

Finally drawing himself up, The Doctor impatiently tugs at the cravat around his neck where it had twisted askew before barking at the other man. “Get the table up. I want the Specimen sitting for this.” 

His assistant rushes to obey and you narrow your eyes at him in warning, still gasping for breath as he comes up next to you. Bending down, he reaches under the table to fiddle with some sort of lever or mechanism and then moves to incline the top half of the table, slowly inching you up until you’re left staring directly at The Doctor. He’s standing at enough of a distance that you can see his mouth under the curved beak, and you’re quite pleased to note he’s scowling at you. Good. A bit of frustration was well deserved after what he’d done to you. 

“Now then,” He finally intones, low and dangerous, as his assistant reaches back under the table to lock it in place. “Might I ask just what it is you think you are doing today? I was so sure you knew better than that.” 

It takes you a moment to realize he hadn’t asked you a rhetorical question for once and was actually expecting an answer. You were so unused to him acknowledging you in any way that for a moment you’re not quite sure how to respond. 

“Why don’t you start by telling me what it is you’re injecting me with.” You finally spit. 

The Doctor tips his head to one side, looking so much like a curious carrion bird in his beaked mask and feathers that it actually sends a chill down your spine. “Do you really think you’d understand if I told you? How ridiculous.” 

Your cheeks start to grow warm, but you pull yourself up as much as you’re able to and try again. “You’re a monster! What did you do to me?” 

“That’s better.” Simpering, he roughly yanks at his coat to straighten it and then strides forward. Your already erratic heartbeat picks up at his approach but you can’t pull away when he comes up alongside you and reaches out to rather disinterestedly grab one of your tits. Sharp splinters of pain immediately shoot through you and you wheeze, looking down at his hand on your chest in dull disbelief. “What I did to you is rather simple, really. If you want my honesty so much then let’s just say I’m a little surprised you didn’t start to figure it out sooner. Even someone with rocks for brains should have noticed the correlation when their body started to undergo sudden change. I mean, really. Are you that oblivious or are you just trying to get under my skin, darling Specimen?” 

He emphasizes that last bit with a tight, incensed squeeze on your chest, and you outright choke when a tiny little spurt of discharge flies from your nipple. Going so completely still it’s disconcerting, The Doctor simply stares down at you for a long, tension filled moment. Then, to your reeling surprise, he abruptly lets you go. 

“I see,” He eventually murmurs, tapping a gloved finger to his chin in thought. “So that’s what finally tipped you off. We’ve already made it this far in the experiment so it simply wouldn’t do to kill you now and have to start over from scratch … but we’ll have to adjust the parameters. Specimen is far too erratic to be left to their own devices anymore. Might even need to be put under permanent sedation until the final test results are obtained.” 

Muttering under his breath, The Doctor turns from you to pace the room in deep consideration and leave you violently shuddering on the exam table. You didn’t want to be permanently sedated … just the thought alone is almost enough to send you spiraling into full blown panic. Although you’d welcomed its comforting embrace once you were far too alert now to willingly slip under like that. You needed to think of something. Quick. 

“I’ll cooperate - -“ 

“Your cooperation means less than nothing to me.” He cuts across you like the crack of a whip, making you cower in place. Suddenly turning on his heel, he stalks towards you again and you can do nothing at all when he slips his hand under the heavy weight of one breast so he can lift it in consideration. “Specimen should be close to full production levels at this rate. Another day or two, I suspect.”

A heavy silence settles over the room, interspersed only by your labored panting and the nervous shuffle of the assistant somewhere behind you. But The Doctor is perfectly still while he seems to weigh the options laid out before him, his blunt thumb brushing idle circles over the straining swell of your tit while he thinks. You’re certain the waiting is going to kill you. 

“Dimitri!” He abruptly snaps, startling both you and his assistant, if the tiny yelp behind you is anything to go by. “Prepare the machine immediately. I know just what to do with this one.” 

*~*

With your hands secured behind your back, you’re led from the enclosed section of the lab you were usually kept in and into a different section that housed far more complicated machinery than you could reasonably process. You’d never seen so many different kinds of knobs, buttons, circuits, control panels, hanging wires and thick cable power lines in your life. Half of it you hadn’t even known existed until being brought here, but your relative familiarity with the banks and complicated components in the other room did serve as an effective baseline to at least understand that what you were looking at was far outside your sphere of comprehension. 

Even the tall cylindrical machine The Doctor’s assistant pulls you up to is so far beyond anything you could reasonably wrap your head around that you have no idea what it was supposed to do. You feel a bit like an oblivious sheep being peacefully led to the slaughter, but there wasn’t much you could have done about it even if you did know what was happening. 

Leaving your side, the assistant scurries over to the control bank and starts to fiddle with various levers on the panel, evidently fine tuning the parameters of the output as the strange machine starts to sputter louder. You momentarily consider making a run for it, weighing your odds of escape with your hands tied behind your back, but then The Doctor steps up behind you and takes a pinching hold of your elbow to give you a brief, teeth rattling shake. 

“Did you know,” He says rather amicably, at complete odds with the rough treatment. “Mammalian births are some of the most successful in nature. Even putting aside mankind, they’re among the most common class of animal and for good reason. Tell me, Specimen. Do you happen to know why that is?” 

You give your head a mute shake, a little too unnerved to play this game with him, and he barks out a clipped, humorless laugh. Yanking on your arm, The Doctor drags you closer to the heaving machine until the sound of it seems to swallow you whole and set your guts to vibrate. Suddenly finding yourself more scared than you’d ever been, you instinctively try to backpedal but he all too easily holds you in place. 

“It’s the milk, you silly little nitwit. It promotes growth and development, in addition to a wide variety of benefits to brain functionality.” Grinning a sharp, eager smile under his mask, he reaches up with his unoccupied hand to tug at a clear tube sticking out of the machine. Your mouth drops open when it jerks loose with a loud, forceful suck of air but nothing comes out, not even a peep. You were starting to have strong suspicions what this machine was used for and yet — you didn’t want to believe it. Couldn’t believe it. 

Turning to you again, he holds up the open ended tube piece and tauntingly waggles it at you. “Now, answer me this … do you have any guess as to what happens to developing infants if they’re denied that very milk they need to grow? Say, in the instance of the untimely death of their mother?” 

Your stomach lurches with an intense, sinking feeling of dread. You did not like this line of questioning and what it would suggest any more than you liked the aggressive shucking noise coming from the machine. Surely you were misunderstanding something and he didn’t really mean what you thought he did. “I — I don’t know. I don’t understand - -“ 

You cut off with a frightened squeak when he gives your arm another tug to drag you closer, nearly pulling you stumbling right into him. Your heavy tits bounce with the sudden motion and bring fresh stabs of discomfort with it, but you’re much too focused on The Doctor to get swept up in the pain. It was all you could do just to stay on your feet instead of collapsing in a dead faint. You’d never been so terribly frightened. 

“They don’t grow.” He hisses, sharp fingers digging mercilessly into your skin. “Not to their full potential, anyway. All the amino acids, antibodies, vitamins and minerals they should have gotten from their mothers milk … gone, just like that. I’d ask you another question but it’s obvious you don’t have the intelligence to even follow along so allow me to spell it out for you instead. A colleague of mine runs an orphanage. Some of the children she takes in are quite young indeed and there is a noticeable difference between those who lost their parents early in development and those who did not. The ultimate goal of this experiment was to determine whether or not a reliable production method could be used to — fill in the gaps, so to speak.” 

He leans down then, putting his face close to yours, but you just stand there, staring up at him in wide eyed terror. It was like he was speaking a foreign language now, every other word so bizarre and incomprehensible that it may as well have been complete gibberish. But somehow you still grasp enough of the meaning to be afraid. You still tremble uncontrollably when he tips his head, and suddenly his breath is intermingling with yours without his mask in the way to block it. 

“And lucky you, our first test subject. Such a resounding success too.” He purrs in a soft, velvety croon that makes your spine snap straight. “Even I wasn’t expecting to see these results so quickly. If only you could have just had the sense to stay nice and docile for me … oh well. It doesn’t really matter now does it, my darling Specimen?” 

You force your constricting lungs to expand, sucking in a harsh, stuttering breath, but he just nudges your right up against him before you can think of something to say. Your blood instantly turns to ice when you feel his coat brush against you as well as the body heat coming off him, and frantically try to twist away. It was much too late though. His hold on your elbow was as good as iron and he now had you standing close enough to the machine that he could direct the suctioning tube towards your chest. So gripped with terror, you desperately try to angle away from it to no avail and you outright shriek when it sucks your nipple up and seals to your breast with a deafening loud schuck. 

Throwing your head back, you scream up at the ceiling until your throat seizes under the stress and you trail off into a gutted, hollowed out groan that seems to echo off the walls. The pressure is so extreme on your swollen, sensitized teat that for a wild moment you actually think it’s going to pull it right off. But when you sway unsteadily, nauseous and sick, then chance a look down, immense relief washes over you when you see the tip of your breast very much intact. That doesn’t make it any less painful though, and you viciously seethe through your teeth as you watch the suction pull at your nipple, stretching the pliant flesh to the point that it hurt just to look at it.

But then, to your groaning horror, you catch a brief jet of milky discharge getting sucked out of you to disappear up inside the tube and whatever it was attached to. You understood perfectly now. This was a milking machine. A horrid creation of The Doctors, no doubt, and it was so powerful that even when his hand falls away it stays suctioned right where it was over your teat. To your surprise, however, the sharp discomfort you’d first felt quickly starts to recede into a dull thrum under that constant pulse and you can’t quite stop yourself from issuing a low, faltering sound of relief. There was still an immense amount of built up pressure inside your breast but somehow the intense suction actually helped make it a bit more bearable. It wasn’t by much, but you were willing to take anything at this point, and your knees violently knock with that realization. 

“O - oh, blessed Archons!” 

Chuckling faintly, The Doctor slowly releases his hold on your arm and you nearly collapse right then and there. The only thing that reminds you to catch yourself is the tube attached to your breast which showed no sign of loosening its hold anytime soon. You stagger and try to reestablish your balance without him there to keep you propped up as he shifts behind you to step up on the other side. From the corner of your eye, you watch him reach out to grab the second suction device, grimacing even when your neglected tit throbs at the prospect. 

“Please, dear Seven, I’m begging - -“

“They aren’t listening, I’m afraid. Such a pity.” Casually, The Doctor curls his unoccupied hand under the weight of your tit and lifts it slightly to better bring the tube down on the nipple. It firmly sucks into place just the same as the first did, and you scream at the initial pain that tears through you. But same as before, it only takes a few moments for the constant, rhythmic sucking to alleviate some of the tension in your chest and, shuddering, you force yourself to relax into it. Easier said than done when it felt like this horrible machine was actively trying to suck the life right out of you but you manage, somehow. 

“How … how long do you intend to leave me like this?” You pant, struggling to swallow around the rock lodged in your throat as you awkwardly shuffle your feet to better ground yourself. 

“Hm?” Crossing his arms, The Doctor puts his head to one side in faux consideration. “What a silly question. As long as it takes for your production levels to reach their maximum output and for you to start milking properly, of course. Your current rate,” He nudges his chin towards the shuddering tubes, still mostly clear save the occasional tiny wet bead moving along their length. “Isn’t even close to being sufficient. Your lactation ducts need to be thoroughly stimulated until they start to trigger your let-down reflex for optimal milk flow. Truth be told, I had wanted to save this for the final step since things could get … messy, but you just had to go and force my hand, didn’t you?”

With a faint click of his tongue, he starts to turn. “No matter. At least now I won’t have to spend quite so much time monitoring your progress to ensure that everything is proceeding as it should. One way or another, that machine will have you sorted out in no time.” 

Gasping, you give a little jerk when he moves to walk away but you manage to catch the subconscious reaction before you can yank on the suction cups and hurt yourself. “Wait! Please don’t actually leave me here! You can’t — nghn! It hurts, you bastard!” 

The Doctor doesn’t even acknowledge your desperate pleas and he disappears further into the lab without so much as a backwards glance, leaving you at the mercy of the machine. 

~*~ 

You’re not sure how long he’s left you like this. All of your careful tracking since that first injection, gone just like that without his clockwork appearances to track the time with. It could have been mere hours or the whole day, a whole night. You never would have known any different. 

Your legs shudder under you, exhausted and sore from standing for the indeterminate period you’ve been hooked up to the machine but the tubes are too short for you to sit. You were effectively tethered to the faintly groaning mechanism with only enough lead to shift from side to side before the powerful suction started to pull and cause a great deal of discomfort. It wasn’t so bad when you just stood there and let it suckle at your raw teats, but that was hardly any comfort to you at this point. 

You’d watched your breasts shudder against the force and slowly, so slowly you hadn’t even realized it was happening at first, let down on the intense pressure that had steadily built in them over the last two weeks. What was initially just an occasional spurt of creamy fluid, shuddering beads sucked up through the tubes and into what you could only guess was a collection unit, had gradually turned into a relatively steady stream of creamy white fluid. Even without any real knowledge on the topic, you still recognized it for what it was and could no longer try to pretend it was something else. You were not only lactating but quite excessively by the looks of it. Whatever he’d been injecting you with had caused such an extreme physiological shift in your body that you were now rapidly producing milk without ever having been pregnant and the output only seemed to be steadily increasing. 

The innate relief that comes with having your tits milked doesn’t do much to pacify you though, and your head slowly comes up when you catch the sound of approaching footsteps. You know it’s The Doctor, so familiar with that slow, confident gait and the unique sound of his boots on the floor that you’d know it anywhere at this point. Shuddering so hard you nearly collapse, you force yourself to straighten from the tired hunch you’d fallen into, hissing when the suction tubes give a stiff jostle over your nipples. You weren’t foolish enough to believe he’d found the capacity for mercy in his twisted soul but a little part of you still hopes … 

“Good morning, Specimen. You look lovely today, don’t you?” He drawls as he comes up behind you, and a hurt little groan bursts out of you when more of the pressure in your tits gives to release a thick, creamy dollop into the sucking machine. You just stare down at the tubes in frozen, slack jawed disbelief. At the sound of his voice? 

He steps up beside you then, startling you, and you snap your attention up to find him grinning under that ugly mask. Waves of deep satisfaction practically roll off him as he halts close enough you can feel his coat brushing your thigh. The two of you just look at one another for what feels like an eternity, your shoulders trembling with every labored breath. 

“I see the machine has served its purpose.” He says at length. 

“Screw you!” 

Clicking his tongue in admonition, The Doctor reaches out and casually — much too casually — slips a gloved hand between your thighs. You jolt so hard the tubes bob with the motion, pulling at your poor tits, but there’s nothing you can do to stop it as he worms his wrist in the tight space even when you try to squeeze him out. Long, blunt fingers find the seam and rudely nudge up into you, nearly knocking you off balance when you give a fierce jolt. 

“My, my, isn’t that interesting?” He croons, baring sharp teeth with a mean, perverse grin as those oppressive digits slip and slide through an obscene amount of slick. You’d been so focused on the continuous suction on your nipples, the stilted relief of pressure, that you hadn’t even noticed how the rest of your body was reacting. 

Your stomach wrenches with this knowledge but you just stand there, thighs quaking around his hand, while he casually pulls soft, wet little clicks out of your cunt with the drag of his fingers. It was horrible and disgusting, and your nausea only increases when you catch a glimpse of yet more creamy white discharge being pulled up through the tubes. 

“Are you enjoying your milking, Specimen? Good. You’re going to be here for a while so it’s probably best if you find some way to entertain yourself.” Chuckling, The Doctor slowly withdraws his hand, much to your shuddering disappointment, but he ignores your quiet whimpering in favor of straightening up. “Dimitri!” 

A sudden bang sounds from somewhere in the lab. Within seconds, the young man rounds the corner at a flustered sprint and you sway unsteadily on your feet when his eyes widen at the sight of you. 

“Lower the settings on the machine,” The Doctor hisses at him, low and dangerous. “Then leave me for the rest of the day. I will oversee the experiment myself from here.” 

He turns back to you as his assistant goes scurrying off to fiddle with the control panel, leering viciously under his mask when he reaches out to palm your hip. You gnash your teeth, chest heaving with fast pumping terror but there’s nothing you can do to stop it when he tugs you closer. Your pelvis bumps his firm thigh and you suck in a harsh breath. He couldn’t be serious … now, after all this time treating you like little more than a slab of meat? 

Seething, you grimace when the suction suddenly lessens to a weak, hollow tug that you can barely feel through your raw teats. The change in pressure is immediately apparent though and your nipples pulse in its absence. You have to fight back the sobs that try to tear their way out of your throat as you watch him slowly reach up to wrap his hand around one of the tubes still clinging to your breast. He doesn’t pull it off though, not yet, and instead just looks at you for a long beat. 

“I suppose you do deserve a reward. After all, you’ve far exceeded my expectations and I’m quite pleased with you, you know.” He purrs at last. “I wasn’t expecting you to take to the drug so quickly, nor did I foresee you reaching this production level so soon. You’ve impressed me a great deal, Specimen, and I always make sure to reward good behavior where I can.” 

He doesn’t warn you before he does it. So abruptly it leaves you reeling in hurt disbelief, he pops the suction tube free with a firm tug and your nipple throbs against the total lack of pressure. It feels like a million tiny pinpricks are stabbing into the sensitive flesh all at once when the air hits it, wafting uncomfortably against hot, swollen skin. Unable to stop yourself, you look down only to instantly wish you hadn’t. 

Not only was the swollen teat so puffy and dark from the suction, fat with milk that beads and dribbles wetly from the tip, it was also humiliatingly engorged. The constant sucking had pulled at the pliant skin for so long that it now stuck straight out in a plaintive, attention grabbing point. Meaty and so starkly different from how it had once looked, you feel bile rise in the back of your throat. 

The Doctor doesn’t allow you enough time to fully process what you’re seeing though, and you helplessly watch him take the remaining tube in hand so he can pull it loose as well. You shudder so violently at the onslaught of sensation that your knees give out but he’s quick to steady you with both hands on your hips. Fingers digging in mercilessly, he pulls your lower body against his own and your mouth drops open at the hard press of his cock on your stomach. 

“That’s a good look for you, Specimen. Much better than all that hissing and kicking you did yesterday.” Casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world for him to do, he lifts a hand from your waist when he’s sure you’re steady enough not to fall and nudges a single finger under one teat. You loose a gutted, broken sound when a fresh bead of milk trickles out to run down his hand and, humming, he idly presses up to make more come out. “Yes, your production levels are excellent. Your let-down reflex seems to be working quite well.” 

You aren’t sure what he’s going to do next when he withdraws his fingers, but the very last thing you expect is for The Doctor to hunch over your chest and seal his mouth around the nipple. Going stock still at the sensation of a hot, wet mouth suckling at your breast rather than the cold, impartial machine, you just stand there and … let him do it. You were horrified with yourself but couldn’t quite find the wherewithal to be disgusted when it felt good. So much better than you could have imagined it would. His tongue laps at the swollen bud to gather the creamy secretion and swallow it down, the suction of his mouth so much less intense than the merciless tubes and yet — somehow far more satisfying. 

A frazzled whimper rattles through you with the sensation of your milk ducts giving out completely, releasing a steady stream into his mouth. The Doctor groans very softly against your skin at the influx of milk and nuzzles deeper into your breast, bringing his teeth down around the puffed up areola to make it squirt at the back of his working throat. Numbly glancing down at yourself, at his face pressed into your chest, you’re more than a little horrified to find a sympathetic dribble coming out of the opposite teat to splatter on the floor below. You didn’t understand how you were making so much milk and you knew even less why your body was reacting to him like this, but all of that seems to get swept up and dissolved in the dreamy haze that slowly comes over you. 

You’d felt it while you were hooked up to the milking machine as well but had written it off as a defense mechanism of some sort … just an old, primal part of your brain trying to make the situation more bearable so it didn’t break you. The physical discomfort as much as the mental strain of watching your body change against your will was taxing enough that it had made sense at the time. But now you knew, innately, that it was a natural response to feeding. As much as the let-down reflex was, this strange sense of peace was just the nature of your mammalian instincts. 

Suddenly his strange questions and even stranger answers made a lot more sense. 

“Goodness,” He groans when he finally comes up off your breast some moments later. A heavy squirt of milk follows after him, splattering across his open mouth but, much to your heaving shame, he just reaches up to wipe it away. “You really are producing more milk than I expected you to at this stage of the experiment. I suspect at this rate you could likely fill almost two gallons in a single day … such a sublime Specimen you are, darling, and a resounding success at that.” 

You can see he’s breathing heavier now, either excited by the results or the act of feeding from your breast, and you bite down on your lower lip to keep quiet as he straightens so he can reach for his slacks. He’d never crossed this line before, had never shown you even so much as a passing interest even when he had you spread out and helpless on his exam table, and you don’t know what to expect. The rigid cock that springs up in the space between you surprises a strangled gasp out of you though, and you try to jerk away from it. He was big. Much bigger than you were prepared to take. 

The Doctor just grabs onto your hips, squeezing so hard you cry out even as he drags your pelvis closer so he can slot himself between your thighs. Wheezing, you shudder uncontrollably when he takes a moment to sedately thrust into the space and drag his stiff length over soaked lips that seem to cling at him. The calm that had mercifully fallen over you while he was suckling is quickly replaced by jittery panic, and you can’t help blubbering like an idiot when he none too gently forces your pelvis into an upward, tilted angle that almost drags you up onto your tip toes. 

You didn’t want him touching you like this. Didn’t want to even think about him moving inside of you, claiming your body for himself. 

But the stiff rope keeping your hands behind your back is unrelenting and there isn’t anything you can do about it as he nudges closer to line himself up with your entrance. “Oh, don’t be like that. I’m sure you’ll like it. Your sweet little cunt is already so very wet and I bet it’s just aching to be filled, isn’t it?” 

Hissing through your teeth, you twist your head around so you won’t have to look at that horrible mask looming over you. But that does absolutely nothing to deter him though, and you cry out when he starts to slowly sink into your hot, squirming guts. Taking him like this is difficult, the slow stretch so much worse than it would have been if you could properly spread your legs. He just forces you to stay upright when you waver, and you let out a hurt little groan as his fingers dig into your hips so hard you can feel bruises blooming under the pressure. Your cunt grants him entry one stilted inch at a time though, welcoming it as much as your mind wants to fight it. 

But you’re completely at his mercy and when he finally settles inside you, as deep as he can reach in this position, you feel something in you snap. Your hips nudge forward of their own accord to weakly rut against the intrusion as you tip your head down, intending to look at where his body connects with yours, but all you see is … your breasts, so swollen and heavy, leaking copious amounts of milk all over your front. Like being penetrated had loosened a faucet and you were now freely dribbling all over the place without the need for any stimulation. The sight alone almost sends you shuddering right over the edge. 

Hunching closer when your eyes start to roll back, The Doctor studies you up close for a long, drawn out beat while your cunt hollowly contracts around him, squeezing his length in pulses. You feel the excited shiver that runs through him as much as you see it, and then he tips his head to just touch his mouth to yours. “Aren’t you being good for me?”

“P - please —!”

He softly shushes you, lips brushing when he speaks again. “You’ll get your reward, not to worry. But tell me something first, Specimen. If you can do that for me I’ll make sure you feel so good you won’t know what to do with yourself.” 

Mewling softly, you sway against his hold while your tits just keep leaking. “What do you want?” 

“Can you tell me your name?” 

You go still, so caught off guard by the question you can’t seem to process it at first. But then a stiff shudder tears down your back and your eyes go big, jerking back as far as you can when he’s got a hold of you like this. A helpless, trapped little animal sound bursts out of you but he just grins at you, his mouth a razor sharp slash under the mask. You didn’t remember. It had been so long since you’d spoken it, since anyone had called you anything other than Specimen … you truly didn’t know anymore. 

Where there once had been a solid, tangible thought there was only ringing silence. An echoing void inside your head, and The Doctor’s leering smile only grows when he sees the horror dawn on your face. 

You weren’t anyone now. 

Just Specimen.

⭐

Crossposted: here

[areislol]

are they an "okokokok" or "lalalala" type of person?

ft— all male characters

warning — just fluff ^^ gn! reader (don't mind the header w the girl)

a/n— i love this trend sm, this is just in my opinion so uhm, yea also this is my take on the "okokok" and "lalala" trend. wrote this in like 50 mins i think cuz i was scrolling through tiktok and all to get some info/ideas.

✧ they're an "okokokok" type of person. (slightly) introverted and calm. they don't mind listening to you rambling, if anything, they love it! if you ever stopped talking because you thought they weren't listening or anything, they would immediately pause what they were doing, their face softening. ✧ they would ask if everything is alright and/or tell you continue. if you don't, they would start with asking what happened after where you stopped and of course, your eyes light up and you continue telling your story, rambling about what happened that day, what you felt and etc.

✧ or, alternatively, you could be rambling about your day, something that happened significantly, and he would be staring lovingly at you, his eyes boring into yours, watching as you talked with your hands... he may or may not have been paying attention to your words, rather, your adorable face—you cheeks began to warm under his intense gaze. and so you stop talking because your brain can't literally function. and he may or may not have teased you about it &lt;3

✧ just because they rather listen to you doesn't mean he doesn't chime in or add comments there and then. he also responds and might even talk more than you, but he still loves to listen to you.

✧ they're logical and serious. never the one to mess around in public (only with you privately). if you ever feel shy to ask for food or anything he's already asking it for you (ugh my heart)

✧ he's exceedingly chill. could care less about other people OR care about them but only thing for sure is that he cares about you more.

— AL HAITHAM, wanderer, thoma, gorou, XIAO, heizou, DAINSLEIF, tighnari, diluc, kazuha, kaeya.

✧ they're a "lalalala" type of person. they LOVE rambling everyday, there is not a day where they don't ramble to you. they're extroverted and have a bubbly personality. they can account many stories to you.. maybe even for a bedtime story!

✧ but being a "lalala" type of person, talking a lot, means that you don't have the time to kiss them </3 i see them as being indecisive and silly. he gets so anxious (or not/slightly) when he doesn't have anyone to talk to like he NEEDS you.

✧ he's your "lalala" to your "okokok"/"lalala", you two are like THE duo!!!! although they do speak more than listening, he will always be there to listen and help you through your hard times!!! their first thoughts is to make you laugh, of course.

✧ just like the "okokok" type of person, if you're too shy to ask for food or something that you really like he's already up and going to the counter AND getting what you want :))

✧ they overthink everything like!! 24/7!! and may be a hopeless romantic!!! i can see them being very caring and loving <33 rambles about anything you could possibly imagine.

— VENTI, aether, cyno (he be telling jokes n everything ALL DAY LONG), kaveh, ITTO, baizhu (?), childe

✧ they're both "okokok" and "lalala" they're serious yet can be silly as well. they love talking about their hobbies or just overall yet still listen to your rambling as well, with much attention.

✧ they can be logical, or not. they can choose what to be depending on the situation honestly. like he can be "okokok" to extroverted people and be "lalala" towards introverted people just to get them going you know?

✧ it can go both ways. him talking about whatever and you listening intensively OR you talking and him listening to YOU intensively. you two are two missing pieces in a puzzle piece &lt;3

— ZHONGLI, ayato, albedo