#like you CHOSE to have him react like that

[temis-de-leon]

Shy gn!reader who has never dated anyone before the Dateables

Characters: Diavolo, Barbatos, Solomon and Simeon (x reader, separately)

Main Masterlist

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3

Romance Anon: You're welcome! I missed you too 🩷 I'm glad you enjoyed writing it because I enjoyed reading it 🤭Did you get a request? It's headcanons for Diavolo, Barbatos, Solomon, and Simeon react to shy gn s/o telling him how they never dated anyone before him. Thanks!

A/N: I'm not entirely convinced with Simeon's part, so perhaps I'll edit it in the future

.

Diavolo

Since trust is a steady pillar in every healthy relationship, what truly cements the fact that you two belong together is, for him, that no one else in all the realms knows you better than he does. Add that to how fascinating he finds you and you will soon see yourself uncovering more layers than you thought you had.

However, he isn’t exactly sure if the subject of exes is one he enjoys to the fullest.

It was well after classes had ended that the conversation took place, nearly the end of the year and both enjoying each other’s company in the empty council’s room, and you were discussing how different it would be to experience RAD’s holiday festivities as a couple, having gone from strangers to friends to lovers. The topic of expectations was unavoidable.

Diavolo, who was raised sheltered, has minimal experience and believes that experimenting and deciding what you both like together is the best course to follow.

Would PDA be okay when you're surrounded by all the other students? If so, at what levels? Would you rather stay with him from the beginning or would it be better to spend time with the brothers and the rest of your friends to enjoy the celebrations before leaving the group for some quality time together?

Of course, the idea of you having expertise on the matter with a potential ex-lover doesn’t exactly bother him; you are desirable and attractive, so it would’ve been completely normal.

As long as you’re happy with him, he will thank whatever came before for putting you in his path.

But… what? Did he hear correctly?

You’ve never had a partner before him?

Diavolo was obviously surprised at the confession and, almost immediately after, also honoured and flattered. How could he not, when his beloved chose him above everyone they had ever met before?

This doesn’t change his perspective on you or your relationship, though.

Since he was already planning on being your last partner, being your first as well doesn’t make that much of a difference.

Barbatos

There’s a lot to unpack with this demon. From his past to his private life and his truest, sincerest feelings about life around him, everything is covered with calculated precision.

Since he is not in complete control of his life (not that he resents serving Diavolo; on the contrary), keeping so much of himself hidden helps him feel at ease. More secure about his moves and at a higher position.

You may ask to satisfy your curiosity, of course. You’re his beloved partner, someone who he wouldn’t date if he didn’t trust; but that doesn’t mean he’ll tell you the whole reality at once. He likes giving you breadcrumbs for you to create theories and, if you amuse him enough with them, he’ll also grant you little head nods and shakes that could help you put together the truth.

Having your whole attention and obvious excitement focused on him makes his heart beat a tad faster.

On the other hand, you are as open as a book. Blame it on your shyness and the stuttering that betrays you when you try to be all mysterious and suave.

And also, Barbatos is highly perceptive.

He already suspected from the early stages of your relationship that he is the first romantic partner you’ve ever had, so your eventual confession on the matter doesn’t change anything; neither your relationship nor his opinion of your persona. 

It doesn’t matter that the sole reason he’s the best… man you’ve dated in your life is because he is the only one.

What’s most important is that he sets the bar so high that you don’t even think about the possibility of ever being someone else; not before him and certainly never after him.

Solomon

Discussing this topic with him might get a bit intimidating. Not because of how he could react, but rather… You know… seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines? Sure, most of them were probably purely political arrangements, but it was still quite the harem.

He calls himself ridiculous on the matter just to make you feel better.

And also because it is ridiculous, but that’s beside the point.

He is immortal, famous for his search for knowledge, his consequential wisdom and his overall vast experience. Thinking he’s had partners before you (some of them not necessarily human) is the logical thing to do. You’re not even his first apprentice either!

However, receiving your affection might’ve been the best thing that has happened to him in the last couple of centuries, something he makes you aware of quite often, so worrying about his romantic history is pointless; there’s no need.

He loves you now and will do forever, even if things go wrong and you don’t let him anymore.

By the time you’re comfortable enough to tell him your harmless secret, not only does he see right through you, but he will also act like he doesn’t.

He’s sitting by his desk in his laboratory and you’re standing right behind him, arms around his neck while your hands mindlessly play with the golden tassels of his cape. You try to act nonchalant when you force the words out.

“Did you know you’re my first boyfriend? I mean, not boyfriend, just my first- you know, my first. Partner. Ever”

“You don’t say? I would’ve never guessed, MC”

You let out an offended gasp, but he can only laugh at it.

Your embarrassment is cute and he wants to see more of it. After all, it wouldn’t be your relationship without a bit of teasing.

Simeon

The way he loves you is so natural and genuine that it makes you feel like you've been together since the beginning of time. You kind of forget this is your first relationship and thinking about your lack of experience simply does not happen anymore; it's a potential insecurity that eradicates itself rather quickly.

.

Of course, the fact that this is also his first relationship helps a ton.

Despite being one of the oldest amongst all your friends, he's the one with least experience. It isn't something he has actively searched for, Simeon is not opposed to romance and love, but family has been (and continues to be) a major plot point in his life.

He has raised and trained other angels, fought and lost his own brothers and poured his heart and soul in a series of books that gained more fame and recognition than one could possibly believe.

While a potential partner was always something he could've had, his interest on the matter was never there.

However, Simeon has never known anyone like you before and probably never will ever again. Meeting you felt like fate and, when the time came, giving your relationship a shot was the natural step to follow.

You're an old married couple, except there's no bickering.

Whether you are someone with more or less experience than him regarding romance is not something he thinks about too much. Each relationship is different and he is more than thrilled to experience and discover what works for you both.

Simeon loves and prioritizes you just as much; being your first isn't something extremely meaningful, just a reminder that your story together starts at the same point.

And that's exactly what he tells you the moment you comment on the topic.

.

Taglist: @ilovecandys2010 @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion @whimsybloom

[kashverse]

okay okay okay, imagine like

Geto has allllll the hair products. but his darling has gargantuan amounts of delicious bodycare.

and his guilty pleasure is stealing those, treating himself like the pretty princess he is

thanks for requesting...!! been kinda lazy with answering requests sorry lolzz 😴 wrote this thinking about @norikuna as usual

your bathroom is a fortress of beauty. an empire built on hydration, nourishment, and glow.

it started out simple—your body wash, a few lotions, maybe a nice scrub. then, suguru moved in, and suddenly, every known hair product to mankind had taken residence. deep conditioners, curl creams, serums, scalp oils, mystical potions that looked like they were extracted from the fountain of youth. the balance? 50/50. suguru had haircare dominance, and you reigned supreme over bodycare. but that balance was now under threat. because one of your body washes was disappearing at an alarming rate.

"this is a violation," you muttered, staring at the nearly empty bottle of your $30 vanilla bourbon body wash that you were absolutely sure had been full last week. you turned, eyes narrowed at the shelves—your shelves—lined with lotions, creams, exfoliators, butters, and at least five different types of shower oils. then, across the room, were suguru’s shelves. shelves he personally built because his hair products started overflowing onto your side.

multiple hair masks from brands only spoken of in whispers

serums that claimed to revive the soul, not just the scalp

a lineup of conditioners so potent they should be classified as performance-enhancing drugs

curl creams in glass bottles, because suguru insisted “plastic is beneath my hair”

a wooden comb set that cost as much as rent

so, with everything at his disposal, why was your husband suddenly dipping into your inventory? you set the bottle down, deep in thought. there were only two suspects.

satoru the retriever, who had been guilty of thievery before (he once stole an entire bath sponge and chewed it like it owed him money).

suguru, your beloved fiancé, who you trusted—but clearly, not enough.

time to get some answers.

you found suguru in the living room, fresh out of the shower, hair loose, curls looking suspiciously soft. “suguru,” you started, holding up the bottle like a lawyer in a courtroom. he blinked. "yeah?"

"are you using my body wash?"

"your body wash?" he echoed, in a tone that could only be described as criminally evasive. you narrowed your eyes. “my vanilla bourbon body wash. kept on my side of the bathroom. looking a little empty. looking a little used.”

there was a pause. a fraction too long. then, from the couch, satoru the retriever let out a dramatic, accusatory yeowl. even he knew. suguru, betrayed by his own fluffy ally, sighed and rubbed his temple. 

“okay, listen—”

“oh my god. it was you.”

he raised a hand. “before you react—”

“BEFORE I REACT?”

“—it’s really nice, okay?” he admitted, unashamed, bold, disrespectful. “it smells good. it lathers well. i was just curious.”

“curious?” you repeated, reeling. “you have an entire product line in there that could single-handedly restore a bald man’s hair, and you chose my body wash??”

“it’s really good, babe.”

“so is your five hundred dollar shampoo but I DON’T USE IT, DO I?”

suguru had the nerve to look smug. “you can if you want.” you let out a long, exhausted sigh, rubbing your temple. “do you even know how rare that body wash is?”

“yeah,” he said, shrugging. “i had to drive across town to buy another bottle before you noticed.”

pause. you stared. suguru was not a man who cracked easily, but right now? he looked like a man with a secret. “suguru.” you stepped closer. “how long has this been going on?”

his lips twitch.

“suguru,” you repeat, voice slow. dangerous.

he sighed. “….two months.”

you nearly dropped the bottle.

“TWO MONTHS?”

“listen, it started as an accident,” he said quickly, like this was a reasonable conversation and not a confession of absolute treason. “i ran out of body wash and grabbed the first one i saw—”

“THE FIRST ONE YOU SAW WAS MINE? NOT EVEN A BACKUP??”

“—and then i liked it,” he admitted, completely shameless. “so, you know. i just… kept going.”

you were devastated. your own fiancé. your own bathroom. betrayed.

“i can’t believe this.”

“to be fair,” he added, completely unhelpfully, “your lotion is really nice too.”

“YOU’RE USING MY LOTION TOO??”

“…just the cocoa butter one.”

satoru the retriever yeowled again like he was personally mourning your loss. “unbelievable,” you muttered, gripping the bottle. “i’m revoking your access.” suguru chuckled, leaning back on the couch. “good luck with that.”

you frowned. “what does that mean?”

he tilted his head, smug and gorgeous, with the softest, most radiant skin of his life, and said,

“i just restocked. try hiding it, i dare you.”

[writingwisterias]

WAITER! WAITER! Need me different era leons reacting to reader starting sobbing during rather chill argument. Idk if this make sense😭😭😭 i mean like if theres no fights or loud talking during the argument, leon is just complaining and being real abt it but it hurts reader bc they are sensitive and they start crying

HIII!

I actually love this, I'm the type of person to cry out of anger and super sensitive LMAO! I hope you enjoy <3

Warnings: Arguments, comfort, GN! Reader

RE2:

You weren't really sure where the argument had come from at first, the day had seemingly turned out okay at first until you both got home

Maybe he was just overwhelmed from adjusting back to normality after the 2 years training

But it didn't mean he needed to pick at your outfit or just get annoyed at you in general

You tried not to let it get to you but after his 3rd comment you broke

His complaints weren't meant to be taken to heart but he forgot about how sensitive you were. How you haven't been through what he has

He's quick to change his tone, one that's more soothing and comfortable as he eases you.

Whispering sweet nothings in your ear, pressing you as close to him as he can in a hug to ensure you calm down with scent of him

He will apologize don't worry

RE4R:

It was barely an argument more of a disagreement over chosing the film to watch

He wasn't listening to why you wanted to watch your comfort film. Why today was hard so watching the horror he has lined up was not good

It was a short comment, one that you wouldn't have been bothered about normally but today you felt extra fragile

When he hears your sniffles he freezes in place it goes straight to his heart

He's smothering you with his love and affection because he feels bad, the comfort film is on and you won't be leaving his arms until he is sure you are okay

Infinite Darkness:

He's stressed at work, it's not his fault he's slightly short with you

And it's not your fault you didn't read his tone very well

He wasn't angry at you rather complaining about an ache he couldn't shake since his last mission

When offering ways to help he snapped saying that he could deal with it on his own

you didn't take offense to it understanding his need to be independent but it struck a nerve causing you to tear up

It only made it worse when he started to apologize and cuddle like you deserved it

You did. It wasn't your fault but somehow you wired your brain to think you made it worse for him

When you start sobbing he's moving faster to make sure you calm down, he knows your over reaction also isn't your fault and he should know to word his sentences differently

Damnation:

He didn't really notice that there was an off tone in his voice so he also didn't notice you were upset until he heard your sniffles

I think he would be confused at first a bit reluctant to give you the affection you needed to calm down but he's genuinely confused

He wasn't angry just annoyed at something and you are acting like he's stabbed your family member

Eventually he does comfort you and it's a long intimite comfort session.

I'm talking cuddling and running his fingers through your hair. He would apologise as well, its only a small gruff one but he knows your reaction isn't your fault.

He find it's cute how much you care, despite it being overwhelming sometimes.

RE6:

Again he relieves Raccoon City again almost within the events of the game

He keeps most of his composure until he gets home

You get the brunt of his anger and frustrations. Having to tip toe around him as he relives trauma.

It's not until you see he only acts this way with you that you snap. You can't help it you are angry with how he's treating you

I feel like hell attempt to come up with some bs that he's just that comfortable with you he shows a different side but he's not even falling himself

Promises to work on it and you have some understanding of his situation

You will get kisses and cuddles after

Vendetta:

He's a mess, you know it, I know it

So he's going to be snappy,short or even just not himself

He's really struggling at this point so when you do snap I think he's going to respond negatively at first

As he sees you grow more sensitive he will start to feel bad and it's actually his apology that makes you cry

The idea that even in his struggles he still cares about what you think is enough to make you cry

He's sorry for being a dick but also just confused at how him simply admitting that is enough for you to cry

Death Island:

Not in a harsh way but he would start to laugh, only because he finds it so cute

He's reassuring you that he's not actually angry his tone just doesn't always match his words or the joke doesn't come out the way he wanted it

His laugh makes you laugh and helps calm you down

I imagine he's very good at distracting you from everything that made you upset. A stable wall for you to use in order to calm down.

[skzdelf]

Now That We Dont Talk | Hwang Hyunjin

⭑ PAIRING: Hwang Hyujin x fem!reader

⭑ CONTENT: angst; ex-boyfriend!hyunjin uni au (based in taylor swift lyrics from the song “now that we don’t talk”)

⭑ SYNOPSIS: After a sudden breakup, university life goes on, but Hyunjin and you start to realize that distancing yourselves doesn’t always mean letting go of your feelings.

⭑ WORDCOUNT: 1,1k (1145)

I had to let him go, to move on with my life even if it hurt, even if it was hard to let go after everything we’d been through together.

After all, we don’t talk anymore.

But going on as if nothing had happened was difficult, especially with our friend groups being so interconnected. Anywhere I went, I ran the risk of seeing him, and it would be impossible not to remember everything.

The night before, there had been a party at the frat house—a party I chose not to attend. To my friends, I didn’t go because I had a headache, but the truth was I was scared of running into him, of facing him and not knowing how to react.

I heard from everybody the next day that Hyunjin had gone to the party. People parted as he walked by, as if he were splitting the Red Sea.

Had he been anxious to see if I’d show up?

Did he wonder why I wasn’t there?

Did he worry about me on his way home?

I guess those are questions I’ll never know the answers to—because we don’t talk anymore.

They said your hair was longer, shinier, and wavier than ever. You presented a whole new, radiant image of yourself. From the outside, it seemed like you were moving on, as if nothing had happened.

I was so glad I didn’t see you.

I miss everything about you. I miss our old routines, I miss the old you, our sweet nicknames, and our late-night outings. You didn’t have to change.

But I have no way of telling you any of that—nothing would come out of my mouth. I’d just stand there, speechless, like a statue about to crumble. But it doesn’t matter, because we don’t talk anymore.

The day we broke up, I called my mom. She said it was for the best. My tears wouldn’t stop falling; I didn’t want to let you go.

But I kept giving you more of myself, and it felt like you wanted me less. I don’t know if my feelings started to overwhelm you, but I no longer felt reciprocated, loved.

Everything reminds me of you—every song, every hallway in the university where we walked hand in hand. Every corner seemed to hold a piece of the story we once were.

I was walking, staring at the floor of the deserted university hallways, lost in thoughts of what we could have been, when I bumped into someone heading the opposite way.

To keep me from falling, the other person grabbed my arm, pulling me close to their warm, comforting chest.

“S-sorry, I wasn’t looking…” The words hung in the air as I looked up to see my “savior.”

It was true, everything they said about you—you looked so handsome. Your hair now brushed your shoulders, your features were serious, but you were glowing like never before. In front of me stood a Hyunjin I hadn’t seen look this dazzling since our first months together.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. Are you alright?” he responded, his dark eyes locked onto mine. How could he hold my gaze after everything?

If I kept looking at him, if he kept touching me, I might melt right there in the hallway, so I pulled away from his grip, fixing my gaze on the lockers to my right.

“Yeah, thanks,” I replied shortly, dryly—a response I’d never imagined giving him, not when we were friends, let alone when we were together.

But no matter how much he wanted it, I couldn’t be his friend, and now I was paying the price for what I’d lost, despite holding onto it with all I had.

The many wounds on my heart wouldn’t let me be his friend.

“Please, look at me,” he said in a choked tone, releasing a sigh, almost like a lament, as if he regretted everything that had happened to bring us to this moment.

Would you tell your friends you were begging me just to look at you?

I looked him over from head to toe. On his finger, he still wore the rose-shaped ring I’d once given him.

Looking at his face again, his new look, new piercings in his ears—still as attractive as ever, but farther away than ever.

I couldn’t pretend this was platonic anymore because we were simply over—there was nothing left.

“I don’t like us being like this. I really wish we could be friends,” he said, giving me a closed-lip smile that I couldn’t return.

I couldn’t be his friend because friends aren’t supposed to have feelings for each other. Friends wouldn’t want to be near you all the time, to tell you how happy their heart feels just when you smile at them, touch them.

Tears of sadness welled in my eyes, and I blinked rapidly to try to make them disappear as quickly as possible. I didn’t want him to see me like this after only two weeks of being apart.

“I-I have to go, Hyunjin. I’m s-sorry.” I fled from that hallway, with his voice echoing my name in every corner, asking me to stop.

I had to remind myself of the way you drifted away until I left, until my heart couldn’t take your cold attitude anymore, until there was nothing left to break.

And it infuriated me to still love you after you tore me apart until I was ashes you then wanted to mold into a friendship.

I can’t be your friend, I won’t be your friend. I’m paying the price of losing you, of losing my heart, and how hard it is to stay standing now that you’re not by my side, now that we don’t talk.

It’s true that I no longer need to pretend to like the things you used to enjoy. But I have to admit, acid rock is a part of me now because of you.

I know I’ll become the strong girl you once knew again—a girl with a heart full of love to give, a girl who never expected such indifference from someone who once promised to give her the moon.

I guess maybe I’m better off now that we don’t talk.

The only path to regain my dignity became a mystery, wrapped up like you were when you pursued me.

When you chased me out of love, and when you chased me today in the deserted hallway, begging for friendship because you still wanted me in your life somehow.

It’s a mystery to me what Hyunjin felt or wanted from me after I left, because I could no longer read him like before. But I guess things have to be this way, now that we don’t talk.

Nowadays that I ignore your presence around me, now that I’ve blocked your number, now that at least I can look you in the eyes.

A/N: dividers are not mine!!

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

Eskel looked to the portal the moment the crimson haired Sorceress summoned it, his medallion going off and Scorpion growing nervous in the presence of the magic. He cast a soothing Axii Sign upon the war horse, before leading him on past the numerous corpses of the darkened chamber and through the glowing orange, magical light. The familiar unpleasant sensation of the portal encompassed them, but he ignored it, deposited on the other side of it, to find himself standing on the sunny docks of Kaer Trolde Harbor, alongside his horse... numerous common Skelligers, guards and sailors stopping what they were doing to look at him and the portal with surprise. Though they didn't react as most folk in the Northern Kingdoms might have, with fear and hostility, more used to oddities than them as a warrior people. The capital of Skellige was around them now, the Jarl's keep visible looming over the harbor amid the rocks up there. The sea air returned, the cawing of gulls, along with the scent of cooking meats from taverns, a cool wind settling over them and shifting his cloak about. He had nearly forgotten what it felt like being here. When Sabrina emerged from the portal after them, it closed behind her, and he turned back the redheaded beauty's way, viper eyes studying her closely when she spoke again, laying out the tasks ahead of them for reaching Darkwater Island. Nodding his agreement, deep, calm voice returning to the Sorceress.

"Sounds like a plan, red. Scorpion and I will see to it. Meet up with you on this spot later. Watch yourself, now. Won't be there to keep you out of trouble."

The Witcher turned on that faintly amused note, leading the horse by the reins away and down towards the docks, breathing in the sea air again. It had been awhile since he'd last come to Skellige... but it was welcome... or would be, if not for the nature of the business that had brought them. It had been here he found Beowulf long ago, his Warg Wolf as a young Witcher... before Deidre. The wolf having accompanied him in the woods of Caingorn to save her father Prince Florian from the Werebbubbs. He took the time to examine the many ships around the harbor, as well as their crews tending to the ships, speaking to each about Darkwater Island. Some reacting more fearfully than others. Of them all, a whaling ship called the Scylla appeared to be the most promising, having been to Darkwater Island before, and fished off its shores. The crew familiar with the place, and not too daunted to go there, as other more superstitious ones were. Even familiar with the island's locals. Although the best choice to get them there, he would have to keep his eyes on them if him and Sabrina chose the Scylla. For all he knew they could have been part of the cult themselves. Always the trouble with dealing with clandestine cults, anyone could be part of its ranks. At last he made his way back to the area of the docks he would rendezvous with Sabrina at. Standing on the spot with Scorpion, he kept his enhanced senses sharp, not only for her, but the surrounding folk, many of whom stared at him. Some he was already familiar with, locals, but most not.

@fallesto

Sabrina nodded, her eyes narrowing in thought. She didn't relish the idea of lying, but sometimes deceit was the only path to the truth. "Alright, Eskel, let's get out of here. I'll prepare the portal." Taking a deep breath, she began to trace a complex pattern in the air with her fingers, the arcane energy crackling and dancing around her fingertips. The room grew colder, and the very air itself seemed to bend and stretch as the fabric of reality thinned. As she would make the spell once more, using and abusing this power, was all well and good, but this was the last time she would be using a portal, unless she wished to drain herself and leave herself exhausted and beyond any usage.

As the portal gateway opened, a portal of shimmering light appearing in the very spot she had indicated, she stepped back, allowing Eskel to lead Scorpion through first. The horse's hooves clattered on the stone floor as he passed through the threshold, disappearing into the blinding orange of the portal. Eskel followed, his eyes never leaving hers, until he too was gone, leaving only the faint scent of sea spray and a salty breeze. Sabrina took a moment to gather herself before stepping into the swirling light. The sensation of passing through the portal was like being squeezed through a tight pipe filled with freezing water, and she gritted her teeth against the discomfort. When she emerged on the other side, she found herself standing on the damp, wooden docks of a  Harbor. The port was bustling with activity, fishermen shouting, seagulls wheeling overhead, and the smell of roasting fish and tar thick in the air. The chill wind off the sea bit at her skin, a stark contrast to the warm, stale air of the ruins they had just left.

Eskel and Scorpion were already waiting for her, the Witcher's eyes scanning the area with a sharpness that made it clear he was ready for trouble. The horse pawed at the wooden planks, eager to be moving. She took in the scene, her mind racing with the tasks ahead. They needed to find a captain and crew who would take them to Darkwater Island, and they had to do it without raising too many questions. "Let's split up," she suggested, her voice low. "I'll start asking around the taverns for information on captains willing to take on a sensitive job. You find out where the best ships are docked and what kind of crews they have."

[universe-of-peoples]

Expanding on my opposition of the idea that “innies die when their outies decide to reintegrate”

On a surface level, I can see where this idea is coming from; the innie, as a wholly independent person, will never exist on their own again. But what is an “innie” and an “outie,” really?

Each is the same person, the same brain, which has been given access to different memories. On the scale of nature versus nurture, they are the same nature, just with different nurtures. They are the same brain reacting to different sets of circumstances. You can’t really “kill” one or the other. Or, more accurately, the only way to effectively “kill” one would be to seal off the memories forever. Which, for the innie, would be retirement. What happened to Burt would be how you “kill” an innie. That brain will never operate using that set of memories again.

So what’s reintegration, then? With reintegration, you’re not sealing off the memories. On the contrary; you’re sharing the memories. But it’s not “the outie gets the innie’s memories and the innie goes away” like some people are postulating. This same brain has been divided into two independent states; one with one set of memories, one with another. When you break down the walls dividing the states, neither independent state from before remains. There is no “innie” AND there is no “outie”. Instead, you have one brain, one person, one “nature,” who is now informed and has been shaped by two different “nurtures.” Two sets of memories, all swirling around in one head. (I think of it kind of like fusion from Steven Universe, except that they can never un-fuse.)

When Mark goes to work now, his thoughts and behavior will be guided by his memories of work, just like he was when he was solely in innie mode. The same brain will be operating off of the same work memories, just with additional context; the context of the outside world and his outside life. When Mark goes home, his thoughts and behaviors will be guided by his memories of home, just as always, but he will remember the context of his work life. If you still want to think of them as separate people at this point, the “innie” will now be able to think outside of work, and the “outie” will now be able to think inside of work.

Innie Dylan wanted to remember the birth of his kids, but that memory is blocked from that side of his brain. The only way for him to remember would be to reintegrate, for both sides of his memory to be shared with one another. Innie Mark wanted to understand why his outie chose to work at Lumon. He could be told by Devon, but he won’t truly understand until he reintegrates. To say that these characters could never get what they want, could never access these memories because they “belong to a different person” and “the innie dies when they integrate” is just not true. They’re not wholly different people. They’re two halves of a same whole that have stated that they want to become whole again.

Who you are is a brain being guided by the context given to it by its memories. Its thoughts and actions are informed by what it knows. If you expand what it knows, you could think of it as that old version of you “dying,” if you want. But you could also think of it as you growing and changing. I think that that same principle should be applied to the characters in Severance.

[segernatural]

ARE YOU??

[sysig]

Two big softies(?) (Patreon)

[wrenwinchester]

When Lucifer killed Cas, and Mary sacrificed herself for Sam and Dean, both of them were heartbroken.

Sam reacted how Cas would have wanted him to (he wanted Jack to get a chance to save the world), Dean reacted how Dean always reacts, emotionally and defensively.

[hsm-sideblog]

You know...you can technically sum up the three HSM films as Troy repeatedly doing things that upsets Chad.

[miraruinada]

interesting that for many, a character who is cruel, brutal, and remorseless for their status or their greed, and written about as people who vie for power to become tyrants, or because they're sticking to a rigid moral code and that makes them believe that killing 'the evil' as paragons of good and honor is justified, it's good shit to explore.

but the moment i introduced a character who is cruel, brutal, and remorseless, but this time fighting for 'the wretched of the earth', for something that he doesn't place morality on, (honor is nothing, love without justice is anemic, my motive is power, i did not come with a flower but with a sword, etc.), and to actualize high ideal standings like justice etc. without simply being placeholders, i got anon hate on some snark ass 'don't put politics into this hobby'.

[satori-runa]

—Come and love me

Summary: Mr.Crawling has different ways to love you.

Tags: Smut, Praise Kink, Cockwarming, Body Worship, Mutual Mastubation, Female reader, fluff, Spoilers for ENDING 04

Words: 1,8k

MDNI, ADULT CONTENT UNDER CUT

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Mr. Crawling is someone who craves the comfort of human touch, but he’s always considerate of your boundaries. No matter how much he yearns for affection, he puts your comfort first, often suppressing his own desires to ensure you’re at ease.

Still, he can’t help but get a bit whiny when you return after a long day outside. On the days when you ask him to stay home, he becomes lonely and restless, waiting impatiently for you. He often lies on your bed with his head nestled on your pillow, inhaling your scent to soothe himself until he hears your footsteps approaching the front door.

The moment you step inside and praise him for being well-behaved, he lights up completely. Mr. Crawling has a serious praise kink, and it’s evident. Mr. Crawling is practically addicted to your praise; it’s like his own personal drug. The second you open your mouth and let a sweet, honeyed word slip out, he’s already trembling with delight. He reacts instantly, a visible shiver of pleasure rolling through his body, mouth going wide as he drinks in every syllable. It’s not just about the words themselves but the way you say them—soft and genuine, like you really mean it. It makes him feel so loved, so needed.

He can’t hide how badly he wants it, how desperate he is for your approval. Even the smallest bit of praise, like a simple "Good boy," can have him biting his lip, his breath hitching as if you’ve touched him in the most intimate way. The effect is almost comical; his face flushes, and he looks like he’s on cloud nine, squirming slightly like he can’t quite contain himself. He craves it so deeply that he actively seeks it out, doing whatever he can to earn your compliments. Of course he deserves a treat for his good behavior.

The treat he prefers most is one he chose himself. Nothing satisfies him more than when you settle into his lap and cockwarm him, taking him by surprise as you sink down onto his length. The sudden feeling of you enveloping him never fails to draw out a choked gasp, his hips twitching up instinctively as he tries to control himself. He loves this position more than anything—the closeness, the intimacy of it. He holds you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded, his arms wrapped tightly around you, clinging as if you might slip away if he lets go. He’s reluctant to release you unless you explicitly ask him to; he’d keep you there forever if he could.

He savors the way your body fits perfectly against his, the softness of your skin against his cooler touch. He buries his face into your neck, breathing in your scent, his lips grazing your pulse as he shudders at the feeling of your warmth surrounding his cock.

He tries so hard to stay still, knowing you need this quiet moment of comfort, but it’s almost impossible for him. His hips shift ever so slightly, his cock throbbing inside you, and he can’t help the tiny, desperate movements he makes, even if they’re unintentional.

He can’t keep his hands to himself either. His fingers are restless, wandering across your body like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you. He takes moments to worship you, pressing his lips to your collarbone, your shoulders, any spot he can reach. His kisses are soft but hungry, lips parting as he drags his tongue over your skin, tasting the salt of your sweat. He lets out a needy, broken moan as his hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples, feeling them harden under his touch. He’s inexperienced, a little clumsy with his movements, but the eagerness behind it is undeniable. He’s trying so hard to make you feel good, his breath coming out in hot, ragged pants as he watches your reactions intently.

It’s not always sexual, at least not in the way he intends. Sometimes he just wants to feel you, to savor the heat of your body pressed against his, to revel in the way your warmth spreads through him. He loves the sensation of your skin against his own, the soft give of your flesh under his fingertips. But he can’t help himself; even when he’s just trying to hold you, he ends up teasing you without realizing it. His hips roll up slightly, and he groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your chest. He’s so sensitive, so easily overwhelmed by the feeling of you wrapped around him, that every little movement you make drives him wild.

He’s not practiced or skilled, and it shows in the way he fumbles, his touches uncoordinated but full of raw desire. He pinches your nipples a little too hard, a whimper escaping his lips when he realizes it, but instead of pulling back, he leans in closer, mouthing at the swell of your breast like he’s making up for it. His hands grip your waist, fingers digging into your hips as he struggles to keep himself from thrusting up into you. It’s like he can’t decide if he wants to savor the moment or chase after more, and it leaves him caught in this desperate, needy place that only you can pull him out of.

When it comes to mutual masturbation, it’s a different kind of intimacy, one that he’s hesitant about at first but quickly grows to crave. He hates touching himself when he’s alone, but with you, it’s different. You’re right there with him, your hand entwined with his, guiding him through the motions. He watches you, excited and breathless, his own hand trembling as he mirrors your movements. There’s something incredibly intimate about the way you both touch yourselves together, a shared vulnerability that makes his heart race.

He loves it when you talk to him through it, whispering sweet nothings, telling him how good he looks, how well he’s doing. It makes the experience bearable—no, more than that—it makes it beautiful. He’s not embarrassed when he’s with you: he’s not self-conscious or insecure. He’s just caught up in the moment, in the way your bodies move together, the way your breath hitches and syncs up with his.

When your hand finds his, coaxing him to stroke himself while you do the same, he whimpers softly, his fingers twitching against your palm. It’s overwhelming for him, the sensation of his own touch combined with the sight of you doing the same. He can’t stop himself from moaning, a needy, broken sound that escapes his lips as he watches you, completely captivated by the sight. "Me like you." You might whisper, and it takes everything in him to comply, the combination of your voice and your gaze making his whole body tremble.

You can tell how much he loves it by the way he leans into you, pressing his forehead to your shoulder as he touches himself with your guidance, whimpering in between. He’s panting, mouth open, like he’s too lost in the pleasure to look at anything else. The moment you reach out and wrap your hand around his, helping him stroke himself, he lets out a desperate moan, his entire body shivering as he clutches onto you. He’s a mess, but he’s your mess, completely undone by the shared pleasure and the feeling of your touch.

Mr. Crawling can be so eager when it comes to pleasuring you in return, that it borders on frantic. He doesn’t always take his time—sometimes, when he’s overwhelmed with excitement and craving you desperately, all of his usual patience flies out the window. He’ll drop between your legs, pulling you closer with a roughness that’s uncharacteristic for him, but it’s not out of aggression: it’s pure, unfiltered need. His hands are trembling as they grip your thighs, his breath hot and uneven against your skin. He’s already panting, like he can’t believe you’re letting him do this, and it makes him that much more impatient.

He dives in without hesitation, his mouth pressing against you hungrily, almost clumsily, as if he can’t bear to wait a second longer. His tongue flicks out, sloppy and uncoordinated at first, but it’s the urgency behind it that makes it so intoxicating. He’s lapping at you like a man starved, the sounds he makes—soft whimpers and desperate groans—filling the room. He’s inexperienced, but there’s something endearing about the way he tries so hard, so eager to please you even if he’s not entirely sure what he’s doing. He’s guided more by instinct than skill, following your reactions like they’re the only thing that matters.

He keeps glancing up at you, his face excited and yet almost pleading, as if he’s searching for reassurance that he’s doing it right. When he sees your pleasure written across your face, it only spurs him on. He loses himself in it, licking at you with a feverish intensity that makes it clear just how badly he needs this. He doesn’t bother with precision: he’s messy, licking you with broad, hurried strokes, his lips sucking at your clit with a desperate fervor. He moans into you, the vibrations sending little shocks of pleasure through your body, and you can tell he’s getting off on this as much as you are.

His grip on your thighs is almost bruising, like he’s afraid you might pull away. He’s whimpering into you, his tongue moving erratically, like he’s trying everything at once, too caught up in his own excitement to settle into any kind of rhythm. It’s overwhelming for him—the taste of you, the feel of your skin under his hands, the sounds you make when he hits a particularly sensitive spot. He’s panting between licks, his mouth never straying far from you, desperate to keep going even when he’s gasping for breath.

He’s a little too rough at times, sucking at your clit with a bit too much pressure, but the enthusiasm in his actions makes it hard to fault him for it. He’s learning from your reactions, his own inexperience showing through in the way he fumbles a bit, but it only adds to the intensity of the moment. When you tug on his hair, moaning out his name, he practically whines, grinding his face into you with renewed fervor. He’s almost overwhelmed by his own need, licking and sucking like he can’t get enough, like he’s trying to memorize every part of you with his mouth.

If you try to guide him, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging gently to slow him down, he lets out a frustrated, needy sound, shaking his head as if to tell you he doesn’t want to stop, doesn’t want to pace himself. He’s too lost in the moment, too eager to please, to care about taking his time. He’s devouring you like he’s afraid this is his only chance, like he’s desperate to prove how much he wants you, how much he loves being here, between your legs, giving you everything he can.

.

[colorful-horses]

I'm about 50 chapters into this story, and there ARE things about it that im enjoying.

But there's a certain super questionable aspect of the romance that they continuously bring up, seemingly for no reason, and everytime they bring it up im like

Found a new series that ha wildly polarizing opinions, ranging from "this is the best thing I've ever read" to "this is the worst thing ever put to paper", which is my faaavorite type of media.

I'll see you guys after I finish reading Lore Olympus.

[roslina-w-bagnie]

i swear to god i want to break the fucking wizards face against a brick wall so much rn. APPARENTLY if you dont actively discourage gale at all points in the game, even if its just once that youre not strictly against it, HE'LL DECIDE TO PERSUE THE CROWN AND BECOME A FUCKING GOD.

i am so fucking angry right now. because its my second playthrough and the first i actually gave a shit about him and actually romanced him.

ok, to be fair im someone who really gets into roleplaying and it can affect me deeply on a personal level, but the moment the love of my durge's live just up and walked away and he made this face????

my heart fucking broke yall. fucking wizards

[pseudowho]

"You know, Nanamin," Yuuji started, between mouthfuls, "when we first met, I thought I wouldn't like you at all."

Kento raised one thin eyebrow over the rim of his paper-cup coffee. He sat with you, and Yuuji, at a dirt road Conbini overlooking Tokyo. The sun was setting, casting the city as a silhouette against oranges, purples. You could smell the earthy petrichor of an incoming storm. Yuuji did not mind, thoughtful as he slurped at an instant ramen.

"Like, really," Yuuji continued, his mouth puckered up, "I thought you were boring. Unfunny, grumpy, miserable. Maybe even a little bit mean." Yuuji laughed now, becoming gradually more animated as he set the scene. "And when you tried to lecture me, while I was fighting that curse? Insane. I was like, 'Who the hell is this guy?'"

You covered your mouth, hiding a smile, eyes flicking between your unreadable husband, and the bubbling boy opposite him. Yuuji finished laughing, wiping his eyes and sighing into another slurp of noodles.

You placed a surreptitious hand on Kento's thigh under the table, and he barely reacted, but to tense and cross his arms. Yuuji rested his chin on one hand, eyes softening as he looked over the ant-like lights, moving in scattered formation across the city.

"But then...I realised. You just cared. I mean, really cared. About me. And if I wasn't being treated right. And if I was gonna be okay." Yuuji swallowed, his voice thickening. "And I...didn't have anyone left like that. The only person I ever did have was my grandad, and maybe he just took care of me because he had to, y'know? But you chose to. Even though I'm...I'm a monster."

You saw Kento squirm within. You knew he'd had his misgivings about Sukuna's Vessel, before Kento knew him as Yuuji. You knew the shame and guilt Kento carried for that. His shoulders ached, a pall-bearer of emotions for so many.

"And you're hilarious. Anyone can see it, really. And you're a rebel. And a protester. And you stand up for the little guy when nobody else wants to. And you don't do it to make us like you. You just...believe it's right. And don't get me wrong, I like Gojo-sensei too, but I love you."

You pursed your lips, closing your eyes and trying not to tear up on Kento's behalf. Kento remained silent, arms crossed and frowning down at his steaming coffee. Yuuji looked at you, uncertain. You gently flapped one hand; don't worry, you're alright, you're okay.

Kento eventually broke his silence, his voice gruff. He pushed his bank card across the table to Yuuji.

"Itadori-kun." Yuuji sat to attention, wide-eyed. "Go and get yourself some snacks. As much as you like. And the other students, too, if you know what they'd want."

Yuuji took the card in confusion, with both hands and a little bow, and disappeared inside the shop, the automatic doors booping behind him.

Kento stood, your hand falling off his lap, and grasped the metal railings overlooking the city, with his back to you. His shoulders were taut, stiff, occasionally hitching with emotion. You felt him, as you always had.

"...Kento? Are you alright?"

A thick swallow and a sniffle before a single gravelly, "Yeah. I'm fine, I...I'm fine."

[katsukimybf]

bc all i think abt is college!katsuki

Katsuki Bakugou is the epitome of the type of friend where you don’t actually know if you are friends.

It started off slow and gradual; a head nod when you sat next to him in class for the first time. You didn’t think much of it at first—just Bakugou being Bakugou, cold and distant as can be. But then came the day the professor prompted the class to discuss the reading with the person next to you. Oh boy.

Distant caves would be jealous of him as he offered impressive silence. He sat there with his arms crossed, glaring at the textbook like it had personally offended him. You tried your best to speak about the text, feeling the weight of his weightless replies, and occasionally he’d grunt or nod, but the conversation resembled your middle school talent show performance. Awkward, yes, but not surprising for a college class.

Still, you found yourself sitting next to him every couple of days, the unspoken rules of college and assigned seating habits pulling you back into his orbit. You tried to be kind, offering small talk here and there, but Bakugou always brushed you off with a grunt or a glare. He was prickly, always on edge, and you figured that was just how he was.

You were like this too on most days. After having your fair share of college-creep experiences you laid off the whole talking to people bit. But there was this exception you made for Bakugou. Not an exception but a curiosity of some sorts. Hell, you also were never good at math but you were on edge to solve the missing variable that is Katsuki Bakugou. Seriously, what's his deal?

Maybe it was the way he didn’t care of how he seemed, it could be the mystery or maybe it was just the fact he looked like he was carved by Lysippos sitting by you at 9 a.m. lecture. Those thoughts were in the back of your mind… you even wonder if Bakugo is good at math? maybe then he could help.

But then there were these odd moments, moments where his usual gruffness gave way to something else. Like the day you mentioned how thirsty you were, sitting there in that old, sweltering classroom with no air conditioning. Bakugou rolled his eyes, muttered something about “are you always unprepared?” (he lent you a pen once before) but then wordlessly reached into his bag and handed you a water bottle.

“Thanks,” you say, trying to match his nonchalant demeanor. Trying to let it go.

But the gesture stuck with you. He didn’t acknowledge it, didn’t say anything more. He just went back to his notebook like nothing happened. Typical. But you couldn’t shake the feeling of slight butterflies in your stomach, even if you tried to brush them off as nothing.

Things continued in much the same way. Bakugou, still gruff and abrasive, but every now and then, something would slip through the cracks. A quiet moment of consideration, a begrudging act of kindness. He never let you get too close, but there was always that flicker of kindness. Of Bakugou. The real him, you think.

It was a rainy afternoon when you found yourself stranded at a bus stop with him. The two of you had just finished class, and the rain came out of nowhere, pouring down in quick splatters. You both stood under the narrow shelter that barely helped. Bakugou was glaring up like he was challenging the sky to a duel while his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

He didn’t acknowledge you at first. And you didn’t think he would.

“You’re gonna catch a cold standing out here,” he grumbled suddenly, his voice low and annoyed.

Before you could reply, he was already shrugging off his jacket and, without looking at you, shoved it in front of you. He urged you to take it but you blinked in surprise, not knowing how to react.

But then, you felt the weight of the jacket warm and heavy on your skin. The scent of him—something sharp and clean—lingered in the fabric.

“Bakugou, you don’t have to—”

“Shut up. I don’t need your thanks,” he muttered, not meeting your gaze. He chose to stare at the rain instead.

“Thank you.”

He rolled his eyes but from that moment, something shifted. The dynamic between you two wasn’t any less tense, and he still barked at you when you got on his nerves, but the hostility had softened, just a little. There was still sharpness in his words, but now mixed in with these brief, unexpected moments of kindness? (for Bakugou, normal for everyone else)

The day before your big exam, you sat next to him in class, anxiety buzzing in your stomach. “Are you ready for tomorrow?” you asked, peeking over at him.

“Yeah,” he grunted, eyes not leaving his textbook.

You turned back to your seat, mentally patting yourself on the back for initiating (yet another) pointless conversation. But then, after a pause, Bakugou spoke again.

“Wanna review the material after class?”

You blinked, a little caught off guard, but quickly nodded. “Sure.”

And so after class, he led the way to the library, not even waiting for you to catch up. He moved with purpose, his sharp eyes scanning the room for a quiet, secluded spot. When he finally sat down and pulled out his notes, you were surprised to see how meticulously organized everything was—color-coded, labeled, every detail in its place. So he probably is good at math? You were definitely getting somewhere.

He started drilling you with questions, breaking down complicated concepts with a precision you hadn’t expected. His intensity was relentless, but it pushed you to focus, to work harder, and slowly, your understanding of the material started to click into place.

Hours passed in a blur, and the sun began to set outside the windows. The two of you were still going over definitions when Bakugou glanced over at you. “You get it now?”

“Yeah,” you said, a small smile on your lips. “Thanks, Bakugou.”

“Good,” he muttered, turning back to his notes, but something about the way he said it felt less harsh than usual.

But all this time of him testing you made you want to test him. Probably because you suspected how sexy he’d look getting every question right…

You smirked, feeling a little bold. “Aw, not you caring if I understand the material.”

He shot you a glare and his face twitched like he was holding back a grin. “I don’t,” he snapped, though his tone lacked the usual bite.

“You just looked so damn scared earlier, it was pathetic.”

You faked a small gasp at that. He wanted to laugh.

“Aww, are you worried about me being sad?” you teased, leaning in a little closer. “It’s almost like we’re friends or something.”

“Shut up,” he growled, his face turning slightly red.

That’s not a no, you think. You laughed, the sound light in the quiet library, and for the first time, you saw a hint of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth, barely there, but real.

Quaint and underneath all his surroundings lied Bakugou Katsuki. Almost as if he were labeled X in some math problem.

So yeah… he’s cold and mean and gruff, but… you know he has your back with exams… and when you’re cold, and when you say you're thirsty, and when you need something nice to look at. Definitely, Katsuki Bakugou is your friend…

That happens to have a massive crush on you.

(… and unashamedly, so do you.)