#i just. what. why would you do that. if you feel a distinct lack of excitement in your life please read a book. watch a movie. go somewhere

[bigthingsforeverintheworks]

socializing is so hard I'm like "yeah i finally got my depression done with forever (for real this time" and then I am in an environment with people and it's like "fuck how do I act i don't have the knowledge of the things should I be listening should I be looking I mean how do like verbal conversations work like they're clearly not oriented towards a goal in the same way emails are but they also just like don't have the same sort of "just kinda say things" that the internet has ok that's not fair I have held conversations, even if the initiation differs which is a big part of it but there is something different obviously like the expectation of latency & just basic woah you can't see them bit but also like it feels less direct. Oh and then now you have to deal with timing like 100x as often idk i think at the third time it's just time to give up. Though ok I mean I'm not incapable of verbal speech I can give answers in english class also why is my head burning and i mean i don't think my hands should be there do people care about that also i can't fathom the depravity of how i look"

[marisolls]

011925. cw | slightly suggestive (?) i hate him (affectionate)

if tsukishima kei learns the full extent of you losing your mind over the minuscule of things with everything he does,

babe, you’re done for.

if he learns that removing his glasses while kissing you makes your stomach do saumersaults, or when he fixes your clothes casually; smoothing down your skirt or adjusting your shirt, hand on your waist. or when he cups your face and squeezes both of your cheeks together, when it shows that he loves the physical touch in ways that feel crude if you say it aloud. in ways that no one else can speak about, makes you so mushy with him. to the point that it makes you sick, head throbbing.

if he learns that you find his jealousy kind of attractive, all cutting and ruthless, snappy. that you're totally not weak in the knees. if he learns that whenever he leans in whenever you speak is the cause of why you feel flustered, when he hums softly in question, tilting his head, or when he just hook you in his arms to get closer.

god. he will take absolute pleasure in pushing those buttons even more—actually, he’d press them with the precision of someone who knows exactly how far he can go to leave you reeling, all while pretending it’s no big deal.

and this is exactly what happens, as expected, but no less frustrated.

when he realizes how much removing his glasses during a kiss messes you up, he’d start doing it slow and methodical, taking his time to set them aside while giving you that piercing look, like he knows exactly what’s coming next. “what, nervous?” he’d ask, leaning in just a fraction, his tone laced with mockery, but his lips soft when they finally meet yours.

those casual touches? forget it. his hands—though he would ask first—roam your body and let them linger around your waist dangerously longer than necessary, you're not making it up now, you know you feel the slight squeezes his does on your skin, letting his fingers graze, just enough to send shivers down your spine.

when he holds your face in one hand, there’s something about how his thumb lingers near your jawline or how he leans in just a little too close. it’s playful, sure, but there’s a tenderness beneath it that leaves you spinning. because he knows. he knows all too well.

it's game over when he finally does this—one arm braced above your head, his whole figure towering over you, casting a shadow which makes him look ten times more insufferable. you cannot breathe.

his lips hover just shy of yours, so close you can feel the warmth of his breath. “do i really make you that nervous?”

"fuck off."

"really? that’s all you’ve got? how original.”

“kei, i swear to—” you start, but the words catch in your throat as his thumb brushes the curve of your jaw, the touch barely there but devastating all the same.

“what? gonna tell me to stop?” the glint in his eyes turns playful, pupils dilated, “you’re all talk, aren’t you?”

your hands twitch at your sides, torn between shoving him away and pulling him closer. “i hate you,” you hiss, but it lacks any real bite.

“sure you do,” he says, his tone dripping with mockery, and then—because of course he does—he closes the infinitesimal gap between you, his lips brushing against yours with infuriating slowness.

he kisses you chastely. it feels so wrong with how he already built so much tension. that this all just a stupid game he can easily control.

there’s a distinct edge of smugness to it, like he’s savoring every second of your undoing. when he pulls back just slightly, his forehead resting against yours, the smirk is still there, lingering at the corners of his mouth.

“still want me to fuck off?” he asks, though he already knows the answer to it.

you can only scoff and roughly smack your lips against his in a solid, and very straightforward reply. your heart pounding so loudly it drowns out everything else.

he relents to you just as easily, this is why he simply can't get enough of you.

my stupid writers block is not making me write properly for the hershey’s kisses mini series so i had to pull this stupid drabble outta my sick ass (coughing loudly as we speak)

[gojoflirts]

FRIENDS FOR FIRSTS.

Practicing kissing with your best friend doesn’t seem so bad. Although you digress, unbuckling his belt does not meet a best friend's terms and conditions.

→ best friend!choso kamo x fem!reader 

WORD COUNT | 7K

WARNING(S) | smut content—minors dni! fluff, mutual pining and frustrating sexual tension, choso is a desperate loser, profanity, jokes ab choso’s dick, choso teaches reader how to kiss from shitty first time experience, praising, unprotected sex (wrap ur willy), body worship, breast play, riding, overstimulation, shower sex for a second round, choso monster cock, first times, and no readers hymen does not bleed, mentions of yuji at the end! (he is not involved btw..)

A/N | first fic releaseeee! a lil straight smut debut before i release the word vomit fics that are pwp and 15k+ so enjoy this little nut i squeezed right out of my brain hehe i love choso so bad :cry: i tried to implement how a first time would usually go so i digress there are some crack ass perspectives to break away the awkwardness and i also tried to mix in a lil romantic aspect bcs ik choso is a hopeless romantic and i will die on that hill!

PLAYLIST | is there someone else - the weeknd, not around - nova, all mine - brent faiyaz, haunted - beyonce, sex money feelings die - lykke li, hotel - montell fish

It felt like forever since Choso last sat on the sagging mattress of your bed, which was seemingly four brooding years ago.

He’s slumping his body at the comfort of your pillow, mouth puckered and body language totally on the brink of greening out. Nothing beats the awkward silence; it had been forever since it was this solemn between the two of you, which was when you both first met. Four. years. ago.

“So..why are we doing this again?” Right, your head tumbles at Choso’s question. “I don’t know, I’m just sort of curious.”

Curious about what seems to sound like the strangest idea to just about anybody with the right headspace, that is.

“Yeah, sure. Curious about… wanting to make out with me.” He chuckles, and you feel it rumble through his chest due to your proximity, or lack thereof. You move your hand to scratch your nape, putting on a clueless act which wasn’t working to your apparent demise. “Shut up, you’re making me sound like a pervert.”

He lets out a sheer giggle, palming the bottom half of his face as his nose rests on the rim of your pillow. “Come on Choso, have you not thought about what it’s like to kiss? I can’t stay a kissing virgin forever, like, honestly... I can’t bear seeing couples eat each other’s faces out every day. It’s sickening.”

“And you want that?” He nudges a brow.

You shyly look down, hands fidgeting on your thighs. “I might as well try kissing the person I'm closest to, so if I’m ever classified bad or whatever, we can guide each other until we’re satisfied.” 

Choso is almost impressed at your pointers on trying to make this whole idea work. He tries to remember the first time he ever laid his lips on a girl, which was the very middle year of high school. “If it helps, I’m not a so-called kissing virgin anymore. I can’t guarantee you I’m an expert at it, though.” 

“As I said, we’ll guide each other until satisfied,” Repeated with much clear intent, you immediately shoot a dirty look at your best friend. “Also, what the hell? How’d you lose your first kiss before me?”

“I don’t even know if I’d count it! It was like a soft peck or two, for a stupid dare, mind you. Not even enjoyable, she reeked.” He sneered, the corner of his lips tugging upwards at the thought of the strong, distinct, and acrid smell of hers that lingered. Choso would like to note that she was awfully bad at it.

“So, how exactly are we going to do this?” 

“You wanna find out?”

Choso props himself in front of you, chuckling at the sight of your knees being so formally situated, and.. how perfect your face looks. God, he defies the right headspace– he wished about doing this just as much as you did. Bringing up the idea felt like being coupled with a revelation.

“Anything you feel uncomfortable with?” 

“No, just.. go with the flow. You’d have to be physical to get in the moment, right?” 

He nods, gesturing for you to come closer to his face. You seem compromised enough to understand his signals, crawling closer. 

The intervals between you and Choso seemed foreign yet comforting, it was almost every day that the two of you were always physically close-knit, but not in a way where that would confuse the both of you sexually and romantically. Not a state where Choso tends to your glistening eyes that were beading with interest, how your hair perfectly wafted away from your face, and your lips so full it honestly makes him lose his mind a little more.

You could bet just the same. You figured that befriending the most handsome guy you’ve ever met in your entire life wouldn’t have its precautions, but you’re just about miles, fuck it, centimeters away from his lips.

Kissing your best friend is an anomaly, but the two of you beg to differ right now that you’d give up anything to kiss each other on the lips with this coercing haze of noticing the intricate features of both your faces.

You had always remembered the comments made by your peers. ‘Both you and Choso look so unbelievably good together, such a shame that you two just ended up as good friends.’ Such a shame. It’s an over-repeated sentence, but you wouldn’t think anything of it.

After all, the two of you really were good friends, the best of friends. Even when you’re about to get your first kiss stolen by said best friend who everyone adores you to be with.

But again, you guys are just friends. 

Good friends. Best friends. 

Choso could sense you were going through some sort of brain fog, puzzled face and all, with an almost tense demeanor. Knowing you well, for years, he’d come just as close to comprehending your entire body language and how you reacted to certain things. As if the two of you have always corresponded with each other's actions.

And so, he finally plants his lips on yours to divert your attention.

The first peck lingered; the shock of having your lips touch his almost gives an unearthly sensation. Choso licks his lips, slowly leaning in to properly give you a passionate kiss. For somebody with an uncalled-for first experience, he’s a good kisser. Not unbelievably, but to yearn for? Absolutely.

The way his lips softly mingle with yours in this temperate motion, not haste, and just the means of savoring the taste. You sort of catch on to his pace, understanding that for a kiss to be pleasant, it needs to be done gradually. Gradually, in a way that makes you need more, crave for it until you go insane. Until then, you’ll be allowed to get ‘sloppy’ or ‘filthy’ all you want, needy in the way I digress.

His hand cups the side of your cheek, the warm temperature of his fingers engulfing your face as the spaces between the two of you get more restricted by the minute.

Choso scooping your waist to allow you to sit on his lap goes unnoticed, totally complacent, as if being hypnotized by the kiss almost. 

There’s no doubt that it’s getting heated. At this point, your bodies are pressed against each other, and Mr. Kamo is holding himself back from touching you anywhere else but your face. He slowly shifts to support his back on the headboard of his best friend’s bed, the room filled with just soft moans and slight sounds of smooching.

The kiss is slightly losing its first form of being gentle, veering to a more passionate and desperate intent, where both of you are hungrily exploring every crevice of each other's bodies.

The two of you pulled away just about immediately to catch your breaths, a string of saliva threading from Choso’s wet lips. “Holy shit.” He huffs, licking his lips as his chest exhales. 

You stayed silent, almost, slightly wiping the excess off your lips.

Choso covers his mouth in awe, exasperated but slow gasps leaving his mouth that just seems to whisper your name louder and louder. 

Nothing beats silence; the air was thick with unspoken words.

Nothing beats the way Choso was looking at you. His gaze bores through your eyes, searching, yearning. You feel your composure yielding, and for a second, your breath gets caught in your throat. “W-was that good enough?” You ask, batting your eyelashes.

“Not sure, I’m gonna need more to know if it is.” His jaw tightens, and his hands snake their way to the back of your neck.

“Show me how good you are.” 

Choso could assert that you wanted more, on a blind note; that you desperately needed him. The bed is vast, but it felt as if the two of you were lying in a preserve that extended throughout, like a land full of nothing but a void enveloped in an ivory white. 

In simpler terms, that was how kissing Choso felt. Everything around you was capacious, but the mere vicinity between you and him was enough to almost suffocate you. Enough to pull you into a pit of brainfuck that makes you think of Choso and only Choso. 

The two of you only continued making out, his hands were more weary of where to hold and where not to, attempting to resist the urge to make your body only remember his touch. The pace slows down to regain composure between you two, soft pecks in between breaks of hasty breaths.

Slithering his fingers under your shirt, he pauses his movement as if emitting a non-verbal question.

You nod. “Please, touch me.”

A nervous gulp shoves whatever lump was inside his throat. The manner of your tone drove him insane, like a kill switch in his soul broke. Like giving enough force to break the scale on a high striker. Choso was beyond saving.

Trailing his fingerprints on your body, his head leans to give little marks on your neck. Soft red marks that ingrained your skin, marks that screamed Choso’s name.

At this point, it didn’t feel like teaching a best friend how to kiss; it felt like a scheme for him to mark his territory.

You always knew Choso was acclaimed as both possessive and protective, even with his blood brothers and his undying wish to serve and protect his family. One thing you knew for certain, is that Choso knew damn well he wanted you all to himself.

He knows all of your weaknesses. To his advantage, he’s known you for so long that it’s almost as if he’s lived in your body. He can pick up each and every one of your behaviours, like he’s got receptors built in specifically for you and your mannerisms and everything else. It was always either information from your mouth or sheer observation from being by your side almost every day.

“I can’t get enough of you.” He exhales, pecking hickeys as his calloused hands reach to fondle your breasts. Choso can feel your breath hitch at the sensation, watching your nipples perk from his touch alone. 

You could almost die from sensory overload. His mouth grazes your skin as he leaves it to commute a tender, dark purple, tongue streaming wet, sodden lines across your bruised neck. It left his hands to caress your breasts, and the other slightly pressing against your waist. 

He leaves your nape to tend to your exposed chest, tongue licking your aroused bust as his fingers continue to touch up the other. Pulling, twiddling, and flicking it to make sure you could feel each tug– both from his tongue and his fingers. 

Your audible moans were loud enough to inform him he was doing a good enough job at making you cock drunk. “You smell so fucking good,” He chuckles, allowing his tongue to play around with your areolas, making you jerk. Your spine tenses up at the feeling, and you don’t know how he’s so good for someone who you presumed had only kissed a girl out of spite for a dare.

“C-Choso…”

He enjoyed seeing your face being so derived from pleasure. Seeing you whimper and helplessly attempt to find a gasp, he was so oblivious of himself, merely getting hard at your voice just uttering his name while your face begged for him more.

He moves his finger down your sternum, making your body twitch at every sensation he flits through your body. “You don’t know how much I need you..” He huffs, admitting that during the period of him pleasuring you, he was on the verge of making himself break. Seeing you in this delicate and vulnerable state, Choso wishes he could just ruin you. Although he wasn’t a man full of resistance— inside, his soul was whimpering for you. He can try to take control but fuck, he couldn’t watch you so impuissant under his touch. You drive him insane too.

Your body reacts to his statement, seeing his eyes blanketed with an intense need, reveling in the sweet state that was in front of him. He’s got you under some spell.

“I need you.” 

It was raw how there were no pet names of the sort, just you and Choso basically yearning for each other in all its bare glory despite the best friend barrier.

“D-do you want to..” You shyly look away, initiating the all-time question usually assholes say at the end of the first date.

Except obviously, your intentions were much different; both you and Choso have gone out on a limb for each other. Memory lane would extend more than a hundred football fields could ever. Choso’s eyes twinkle, “I do,” He chuckles at the thought of the both of you taking each other’s firsts, it sends him small tingles. 

You move yourself away from his lap, clearing your throat as his hands cup his mouth— trying to cover his face that flushed deep red, hair tumbling over his other shoulder. 

It was quiet again.

“I have no condoms..” He mumbles. 

“I can take it raw.” 

Choso’s eyes widened at your response. “S-Since.. when did you learn how to say that?!” His breath hitches, and he’s back to being the timid boy you’ve always known. His eyes look away from your figure, biting his lips as his eyes slightly narrow. You let out a small giggle at the sight of him being embarrassed that his innocent best friend bared dirty words in her throat.

“Okay then..” He leans but appears a little restless, proffering you the signal to unbuckle his belt for him. Never in the four years that you were attached to Choso’s hip would you be pulling down his pants to his knees. So much for being best friends, am I right?

You acquit something you’ve seen online before, pulling strands of your hair behind the shell of your ear– the metal clinking as you loosen his belt, pulling it away as it no longer wovens his waist like a hug. Then there you go, leaning in to tug his zipper with your teeth as your eyes doe up to look directly at him.

What an ultimate move, Choso could feel his dignity stripped away from his body.

You slowly pull down the hem of his pants and boxers to reveal his cock. Something you’d only hear in fiction, it’s swaying from slapping his abdomen. You would have never thought about the dick size of your best friend, and now it’s dangling straight up in front of your face, funny enough. 

He seems sheepish, cheeks still embellished pink. His hands gripping his pants as his huge cock is damp in pre-cum from previously. God, it's so big, it’s almost useless to penetrate a woman. Your mouth could not fit his entire girth and length. You almost wonder how the fuck Noritoshi Kamo birthed this monster.

You sit yourself on his lap again, his hands guiding the flounce of your shirt to take it off. You can sense Choso’s eyes heave an encompassing gaze on your body.

Something about him is that when it comes to being intimate, he swears to feel you like a well-crafted jewel– lifted with care as if you were a rare feather. “You never fucking leave my mind,’ He almost confesses, one hand sweeping down to trace the winding curves of your body. “I’m thinking about you all the time.”

His voice rumbles deeper than rocks thud on the ground, and his words have a more heartwarming lilt to them. 

Your eyes widened.

Your legs tightly wrap around his waist as you lean in to embrace him. It was prolonged, bodies pressed against each other. To Choso, you had started to smell like everything he’s come to associate with safety and home, and hugs he used to be wary of– he let linger a little longer.

“You’re such an idiot,” Your cheeks start to grow warm, face planted perfectly on the crook of his neck. A light chuckle fills the room, watching you pull away to feel his palm on your face. The meld between the warmth of his body and the heat rising to your face felt balmy, at the same time pleasant.

He gingerly caresses your skin, “You don’t know how long I’ve felt this way,’ He mutters, leaning lips that tenderly interlaced with yours. 

You felt your mouth turn cold from inhaling before he leaned in, hands gripping his broad, sharp shoulders as his arms continued to hold your hips to prep yourself onto him better. “Funnily enough, I’ve always felt the same too.” Your eyes crinkled at the edges, and the corners of your lips turned upwards. It never took long for your face to beam when Choso was around. It was evident enough when someone as indifferent as you- whose eyes were so full of void, would laugh every time Choso’s presence graced.

Vice versa. Choso found himself opening up to someone other than family, and you were just about the most important person in his life.

The feeling of familiarity and solace. Both you and Choso confided in each other like no other, and that was what mattered for the two of you.

Which is why you even came to him in the first place, knowing that you would be safe in his arms. As congenial as his presence is, you wouldn’t have felt any mite of regret if it were with him. You digressed. Choso felt the very same way.

“I really need you.” Choso heaves a breath that craves your touch. “Are you ready?..” He huffs.

“A-as ready as you are.”

Choso is a little nervous, given it was the first time for the both of you, and the last thing he would ever want to do is hurt you in any way. His teeth slowly gnaws down on his lips, eyes intensely observing as you try to position his cock into your hole. “Take it slowly, baby. Go at your own comfortable pace.” Choso exhales at a soft tone, attempting to guide you.

The sudden pet name puts your mind in a trance, feeling yourself getting wetter the whinier his voice seems to get. 

You slowly push down on his length, his tip engulfing your tight opening as it slightly stretches you enough to make you jerk. The sheer girth of his cock makes your body slightly tremble, words unable to leave your mouth as short moans come in seconds from trying to adjust yourself to his size.

The more you push yourself down, the more Choso twitches. “Fuck, fuck.. -ah..” He slightly pants, the claws from his fingernails obscurely digging into your waist. The insert had almost no friction; you surmise the build-up (more so, foreplay) had gotten the both of you frisked up to some degree, maybe the highest degree possible. After all, both of you are, or were, two virgins that were concurrently pining for each other– now seeing and embracing each other in such a vulnerable and a disposition that’s in the buff.

Sliding down on Choso’s cock felt impossible almost, you deduced it was because one, he was extremely huge, and two; he was about as hard as a rock himself.

You can feel the web of your hymen with Choso’s cock not even halfway into your hole. “You feel so -mmh.. fucking good…” his moans were in coeval with yours, like mentioned before, since the two of you are extremely correspondent with each other’s actions, Choso could feel the validity from the solicit moans exiting your lips every time you even slightly try to push him deeper into your sodden walls.

“So warm..” He seemed like he was losing his head, discerning as if he was slipped in reverie from the tightness of your pussy enfolding his length. I beg to differ, you weren’t even halfway down- let alone his entire cock? Both of you would sanctify your souls to leave your bodies.

You let your body take control to adhere to the immense pressure his cock rubbed into your walls, feeling your hymen slowly caving in– Choso could feel it well too, especially the warmth of your clit. God, you were so tight, and so, so warm. “Do you feel it, baby? Do you - mmpf.. f-feel my cock in you?” He gasps breathlessly, hips trying to contain themselves from gaining a mind of their own to just thrust deeper until his leaking tip bruises your cervix. So deep you can’t even feel anything but his cock.

You nod, jaw slightly ajar the more you split your pussy apart to his full length. Choso watches as your body shakes merely at his cock, a sinful drawl leaving his lips. He had always learnt that being humble was a great virtue, but growing an ego from seeing you rumble from his massive cock doesn’t sound so bad. 

“You got it baby.. -mmh.. looking so pretty..” You could feel your hymen break its core, losing your virginity minutes after Choso - who lost his the moment he even put his dick in you. You couldn’t tell the difference, but oh, the walls between your ready hole could feel every inch of Choso Kamo.

“Oh f-fuck -ah!” You cover your lips to muffle a scream. Your best friend’s cock is balls deep in you, a thought that would have never crossed your brain until this second. 

In ruly first-time fashion, it was an amalgam of pain and absolute heaven. Choso slightly pushes his hips forward to make sure he’s all the way in, and when he is- his eyes roll back until he could catch a glimpse of heaven.

“Holy f-fuck! - nghh.. your pretty pussy is so ahh.. s-so fucking tight..”  His fingers grip the silk sheets, every confine sticking to the gaps of his hands to avoid piercing your skin with his nails. After all, the amount of pleasure sinking into the surge of his veins was uncontrollable - Choso could feel you, every inch of his soul - and his dick.

You were shuddering, rattled moans and haggled breaths unable to contain themselves to stay put in your throat. Choso watches you unfold beneath him, what a lewd scene, he thought. “Do you feel it?”

“Mmm..” You nod, slowly rolling your hips to quench his cock against your inner walls. It was almost too much, your brain could only focus on feeling him deeper and deeper.  “Ah shit.. keep doing that..” His tone reeked of desperation; he wanted all of you, he needed you. Seeing you ruined, naked and dripping on his cock kept riling him up– although he couldn’t contain himself much either. 

Your flesh mixed with his. He could break at any moment. 

Each squelch produced from the sound of your hips bouncing on his dick, integrated with your juices dripping down your cunt– the surfaces of your skins slapping intimately. Lewd, lewd, it was all so unimaginably lewd. 

The impure rapture of two virgins experiencing rampant endorphins, it’s even better to note that the two of you are simply best friends; the more you’ve suppressed the emotions, the larger they just tend to burst. 

“You look so pretty all fucked up on top my cock..” He lets out a long-winded groan as you repeatedly move up and down, making him twitch with every movement. 

He sort of loses control, hips bucking forward to thrust into you deeper, and his hands roam their way to dig themselves into your skin. “Wanna.. feel you -mmh! d-deeper please…” You squirm, steady moans fleeing your lips with each thrust. 

“Doesn’t it feel so good, baby? ahh.. Fucking yourself on my cock like the pretty girl you are..”  His sentences are cut off by his moans, unable to withstand the feeling of himself buried in you. “Do you wanna change positions?” You abruptly say, stopping in your stirs as your lower abdomen merely trembles at his cock staying still in you. He was so massive, he didn’t need extra work to pierce your spot harder. He looks completely fucked out, “Doggy?” It almost sounded like a plea from Choso, leaving you to nod while you chuckle.

A wet plop belches as you take yourself off Choso’s dick, leaving you to gasp at the feeling. It felt almost empty, you wouldn’t expect that the lack of his cock inside you would drive you crazier for more. 

Choso gets up from his position, seeing you get on all fours. He could dwell on the fact that this position was almost like a drug for most men. Although, he’s damn well near his climax— he tests the waters.

Seeing your ass up all ready for him, he could push you deeper into ecstasy if he promised. “So pretty, so fucking beautiful oh fuck—” his voice strained as he started thrusting into you, slowly and sloppily, as best as he could acclimatise with the newfound experience — just as you were doing. Choso couldn’t believe it, the internet was fucking right. This shit was pure heaven.

Your walls clenched into him so much tighter, seeing your body jerk proved to him just as much. You could finally feel all of his length, the curve of it, and the tip touching your walls as it drags deeper into your cervix. You let out quite a succinct moan, indicating the sharpness and the sudden pressure in your vagina.

“I’ll fuck you like you belong to me.” He was muttering as he adjusted to the further feeling of your insides; he absolutely fucking loved that he could feel you. His hands placed on your hips made it easier to control your body.

“Y-yes!”  You whined out once he pressed deeper, plops becoming louder as he thrusts into you faster than the pace you set for yourself when you first rode him,  “I-I want -mmh!.. only you..” 

He’d thought about you like this more times than he’d ever admit, always feeling guilty every time you’d smile in his direction or peer up at him in question, and his mind would immediately go to the image of you underneath him and panting for air like you were now.

You were driving him crazy with the sounds you were making and the way you were clenching around him, having half the mind to reach his hands down and press down onto your stomach just so he could feel himself inside of you.

The push of his fingers wasn’t making it any easier for you to handle, the familiar tight coil building in your stomach as he continued to fuck into you rough. 

“Please, please.. H-haaa.. faster..” You were begging, your mouth was just moving on instinct, so he didn’t stop under any circumstances.

“I know, baby, I know.” His voice was more gentle than it had been before, but still just as tight and overwhelmed, definitely reaching the end rapidly himself like you were, and trying his hardest to prolong it, considering how good you felt, almost as if your souls were interconnecting. “Squeezing my cock so good, you’re so perfect for me.” He hums, fingers threading to pull your hair. His hips had grown a mind of their own, rocking them into you. 

He was so sure you liked your hair being tugged, seeing your head drop back to meet his eyes.

“F-for you, just for you ahh..” You were quickly responding to the casual possessiveness he had showed and this seemed to affect him more than anything, his hips faltering for a second in their movement before he was fucking into you even harder than you thought was possible. He clearly liked hearing you claim yourself as his own, and you felt overwhelmingly dizzy at the realization.

It was a complete blur now as he thrusts into you, coming undone faster than you ever had before and blacking out for a few seconds from the pleasure of him doing the same inside of you, bending you over, all dirty, just for him.

You can feel his breath behind your ears, “I’m so fucking close..” He huffs, and you cry out a moan. “M-me too, Choso..”

“Say that again.. please.” He whimpers, feeling himself nearing at the way you uttered his name. “C-choso..” You say once more, feeling your hole filling up with your own juices. It ridiculously felt like the after-relief of peeing after holding it in for so long. Feeling the release, you beg with Choso’s name for one more time before he pulls out to cum on your back.

“Haaa…” He breathes heavily, dick twitching at every pearly bead dropping out the tip. “Oh my fucking god..” Weary breaths leave his quivering mouth every time his chest rises, and your back has pools of his semen. “Oh shit, that’s a lot. I’ll grab the towel.” 

You catch a breath yourself, feeling yourself ultimately drop on the bed from sheer exhaustion. Choso is quick with it, taking a nearby towel to wipe away his cum. “Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart.” He chuckles apologetically, picking up your knees to pull you up bridal style– comprehending you were exhausted to get up, legs probably fucked, and shaking like you had the tremors or something. 

You feel your lips bend into a small smile, head gently leaning on Choso’s warm chest. He admires the sight of you cuddling up to him like he were a being that protected you. “You’re just as beautiful like this.” He mutters to himself, softly smiling. 

“Thank you.” You whisper, appreciating him for making love to you. These words are always used in everyday conversations, but hearing them from you felt like a small droplet distinctly falling into water. It was such a gentle feeling. “Thank you.” He enunciates, turning on the heater as rushes of water leave the nozzle of the showerhead. The warm feeling hits your skin as he slowly puts you down. 

Choso cards his fingers through his now wet hair, hands slowly snaking around your waist as he softly peppers kisses on your head. 

Both of you melt into this moment. The invigorating warmth of the water gave ardor, the sounds of minuscule droplets splashing onto the bathroom floor, and his embrace reduced the tension in your muscles. It was soothing.

“Let me take care of you.” He hums, pressing soap into both his hands, rubbing them together to create foam bubbles. He lathers the product onto your body, every texture of his fingers, ensuring your body felt the sensation. This was a rather different feeling from just now. It was so much more intimate, and it makes you shy under your exterior. You were helplessly moaning his name just minutes ago, and now you’re caving at this romantic feeling. 

It was sensual yet so relaxing. Feeling him explore your body just to make sure every part of your body is clean and covered with soap. His hands move from your waist, to your ass, down to your legs, all the way up to your neck– shifting to massage your boobs playfully. 

The feeling slowly riles you up from the feeling, making you turn around to fervently kiss him. Choso is surprised but immediately presses into your lips, hands supporting the back of your head as your hair fills the gap of his fingers. It turns more eager, and he slowly pushes you against the wall. 

The steam shrouds the shower doors that were once as transparent– now hinged opaque.

Your mewls don't get muffled by the sounds of the water, but rather they echo louder. Choso’s hand was stamped to the side of the shower doors that were blanketed with moisture, now a clear imprint of his hands visible from the sheer impact. 

His other unoccupied hand chooses to grab onto your thigh, lifting it as if wanting to carry you into his arms. “Second round?” He pulls away to ask, words slightly quelled by the streams of water. You eagerly nod at his words, surprised he even regained his energy so quickly. “Please.” You plead, smashing your lips into his again. 

Choso digresses that his sex drive is somewhat unusual. Being born differently has its perks, he guessed. With his blood manipulation, he could heal open wounds quicker than sorcerers with similar abilities. He wouldn’t have known it would work in other places as well, healing anywhere else that wasn’t shrouded in blood or flesh. Maybe it was his body; he didn’t know. 

But you were here to help him figure that out.

With his unorthodox strength, he picks you up and makes sure your back is against the wall. Lips still intact, he’s strong enough to carry your thighs with his arms alone— feeling no sign of exhaustion, even after fucking the shit out of you. It’s as if his body went through hours of respite in minutes, and he’s feeling fresh as new again.

Although that’d be a good thing. Every round would feel like the first, every single time.

He positions himself, this time your clit is familiar with the head of his tip, the mere strain of him inserting himself into you. He’s much gentler this time, heading your waist’s to bounce on his cock. He gasps at the feeling once again, feeling his jaw widen at the proximity of his cock flushing against your walls once more. 

His forehead meets yours, slithering droplets running down your bodies. It felt filthier, although it was a supposedly sanitary environment. Maybe it was the wetness of your skin; every touch felt slippery. Looking at your body glisten in crystal drops of water, and this time, he got a better view.

He watches your figure bob against him, breasts bouncing with every thrust and your mouth moaning with every movement being pitted against your dripping cunt. 

Not to mention, your beautiful face.

Even if his body convalesces faster, his drive does go down by the minute. “I-I don’t think I can hold in for long..” He whimpers, his rough exterior also ravaged. He honestly feels like he can’t hold it in further when he sees you fall underneath his embrace. 

The second time goes by more quickly than expected,  a few thrusts and whines, with Choso putting his all into thrusting and ruining your insides for a double. You fret not, enjoying every moment he roughly buries his cock deep in you.

“I’m coming.. I-I can’t..” He huffs, but his hips move quicker than his words, making sure he feels every inch of you before reaching his climax. You could only cry out at his pace. Mentioning again that he’s extremely huge. Even after getting stretched out once, you don’t think you can ever adhere to his monster length. He’s nearly rearranging your guts, and the pit of your stomach feels itself getting full again.

He quickly pulls out once more, testing his game. Panting as he lets his juices flood your body again, but it quickly washes away from the continuous streams of water.

Although after that, the two of you properly wash up this time. Thawing in the intimacy, with soap bubbles and hot steam.

You get out of the shower first, wrapping a towel around your body as you stretch your arms from the cushy shower, and Choso comes out after you, looking hellishly handsome with wet hair slicked back, strands of his long hair clinging to his neck. With the towel dangerously hanging low on his waist? You thought to yourself, if you weren’t so tired from getting your back blown out, another round or two would suffice. Oh, well.

The reflection echoes both you and Choso, how he looks at you so lovingly, even if you weren’t facing him. This face was what you saw all the time, but the more you realized, he always stole glances in this endearing sort of way. He puts his arms around your neck, the crook of his nose resting on your collarbones as he smells your scent. “Awh man, you smell clean now. I loved your natural smell.” He grins playfully, making you jerk a hand to smack his head. “Stop being a weirdo.” Rolling your eyes, you relish the fact that you were still acting like best friends.

That he didn’t care and wasn’t awkward about the fact that you took each other’s first times. 

That was what scared you. Usually, best friends don’t end up being best friends after this. Strangers or less, even. The ‘what are we?’ phase of confusion that usually imbues in the latter, or maybe both. 

You would beg to differ, though. You had no questions or doubts, maybe you were a little afraid, but thanks to Choso, he reassured you well enough; that he’s always felt the same way. The endearing stares, the genuine moments you shared, every laugh, every time he swore to be by your side. It had never been one-sided.

He made sure to make it clear.

“Let’s rest. I’ll take you out on a nice date tomorrow.” He gently emits, planting a soft kiss on your cheek. You felt your inner soul yell in pure bliss; you never once negated Choso.

He grabs your wrist to pull you out of the bathroom, and the night is complete with shared kisses, a late-ordered pizza, warm cuddles, and cold blankets. 

It’s safe to say that you would have never imagined this happening, although part of you wished for it, prayed almost. The latter desired just the same.

This pining could have ended in many different ways, the sole longing of this void that needed to be filled by you, and you only. 

Choso’s eyes are still open, reminiscing about everything. Your delicate snores soothe his ears, any sound you made was his favorite melody, and he would do anything to just make you feel secure around his presence. His eyes rest upon your figure one last time before he closes them to rest himself.

It was a long three hours full of just, everything that amounted to years of being best friends.

Choso even joked to you that he’s finally moved up the chain after being stuck at second rank for so long. You laugh, “What a fucking dumbass.”

“You love me, though.”

“Oh, shut up.”

—

Yuji groans groggily, turning on the lights of the living room as he rubs his swollen eyes that have just awoke. He sees your handbag still sitting atop the kitchen counter, wondering to himself, ‘She’s still here? Huh.’

Shrugging his shoulders, a yawn leaves his mouth as he slouches to the laundry room to find his towel. 

Although he couldn’t find it, at all.

“Did I put it in Choso’s room?” He blinks, question marks visibly popping out of his head like a speech bubble. 

Before he walks out, his eyes sharply peek at the light pink color of his towel.

In the dirty basket.

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, picking it out with two of his fingers. It’s sticking oddly to each other, and it’s got a smell to it. 

“Oh hellllll no.”

disclaimer, i don’t proofread most of my works! all rights reserved © gojoflirts.

[risestarkiss]

Do you know where the headcanon about Leo having an injured knee came from? I see it a lot in fanfics and sometimes in fanarts he has a knee brace

○○○○ Oooo, that one I DO not know...🤔 but I can speculate as to why we subconsciously all give him knee injuries. 😅 It may come down to character design.

They're designs says alot about who they are as people.

But before we look at Leo, let's look at Donnie.

(Humor me. I'm going somewhere with this. 😅)

I chose Donnie first because he has a similar build to Leo but also showcases the thoughtfulness behind good character design (of which the Rise team excels.)

Here is one of his character sheets.

The first thing I notice is that Donnie is protected. He's a softshell, so his back is protected, but it's not just that. He's actually protected from head to toe. High impact areas (elbows and knees) are covered with pads. His battle shell is durable but also carries an array of items for whatever comes up. He even protects his eyes with his goggles when the need arises.

All of this shows that Donnie is the type of person that preplans and who thinks proactively. He's ready for whatever may come, which is reflected in his character. He's an overthinker and leaves no detail overlooked in his planning, so his design makes sense.

Let's look at Mikey.

He is smaller than the others, but he chooses to only have his kneepads and his sash, which holds his weapon (Kusari-fundō, then Nunchaku.) Other than that, he sports decorative stickers. This also speaks to his character; a minimalist when it comes to the essentials, but who also highly values self-expression.

Likewise, his room shows his mindset; the minimal few essentials, with everything else dedicated to expressing himself.

Now let's look at Leo.

There's something about his design that is different than his brothers...

It's all decorative.

He has high socks and elbow length gloves, but why are they all so long? Also, he has a sash and satchels, but have you ever seen him take anything out of them that is distinct to his character?

What he keeps in his pouches are so mysterious that we fans had to ask the creators.

The point is, Leo's design is about him looking good and feeling cool, not about practicality or what he would actually need in battle.

Case and point: Where does he store his weapon?

Donnie has a place for his Bo, Raph for his Tonfa, Mikey for his weapons, but Leo has his Odachi and no where to put it. The lack of a sheath for the first ep makes sense, he just got that weapon. But why didn't he wear a sheath afterwards?

Maybe, he doesn't find the value in wearing a sheath.

He'd rather just carry it.

It shows lack of preplanning, and/or his choice to look good vs be practical.

So, when it comes down to the original question; why has the Rise fandom decided that Leo has bad knees?

Maybe it's because, for a turtle that loves to SLIDE on said knees...

He won't wear kneepads.😂

Therefore, due to either his lack of planning or his internal bid to look as cool as possible at all times, his future knee pain is inevitable, and we all know it.

Thanks for the ask. 😁

[bengals-barnesbabe]

parenthood w/ mrs. burrow ~ blurb

wc: 855 ish

joe burrow masterlist

The house is quiet, which is extremely rare for 2 PM, but by some divine intervention, all the kids are napping at the same time. So you're using this time to catch up on your new hobby, crocheting. You’re not that good yet, but that’s from a lack of practice.

Your husband walks into the room as you're undoing your last stitch.

“I see those lessons from my mom didn’t really work.” He smirks, lying down on the couch with his head on your lap.

You roll your eyes and attempt the stitch again. “For someone in choking distance, I’d keep your mouth shut.”

“Like you’d ever choke me, but I might return the favor if you’re lucky.” He winks, earning a smile from you.

You lean down and place a small kiss on his nose.

“What, that’s all I get?”

“Yup, and speaking of your mom… I saw her on the news making your favorite. I’m not gonna say it because-

“Because it’s on the long list of foods I have to stay away from during the season? Yeah thanks for the reminder.” He groans dramatically, turning his body and smushing his face in your thighs.

“Aww my poor baby…” Putting your failed project aside to rake your fingers through his soft hair and lightly scratch his scalp.

“Mmmhmm..” He relaxes under your touch and hums against your leggings. “Yup, poor me. Poor poor me..”

You snort, continuing the scalp massage. Letting your blunt nails glide along the tender skin and pads of your fingers rub with just the right amount of pressure to induce his light moans and groans of pleasure.

After a few minutes, his body is completely relaxed as you’ve lured him into a light slumber. Reflexively, your fingers part and scoop strands of his hair into small braids throughout his head.

Snapping out of the trance you were in, you have to hold back your giggles as you take in your work. Biting your bottom lip, you reach over for your phone to snap a picture. But the second your hands leave his head, he looks up at you. His face relaxed, eyes half open and pink lips curled into a soft closed mouth smile.

“You know, I was just thinking…” He starts, seemingly unaware of his current hair situation. “You should go on the news and talk about your job.”

Your shoulders untense, and a smile finds your features as well. He understands how much you enjoy working with youth and counseling them on navigating the pressures of adolescence while maintaining a healthy state of mind.

“You’re a great youth counselor, the kids love you… All kids love you, even mine.” He smiles lazily, putting his head back down in your lap.

“Your kids are my kids, baby.”

“Exactly. They love you like I love you.” You have a soft spot for when he gets like this. His tone was loving, relaxed, and almost slurred as if he were under the influence.

“Well, Mr. Burrow, that would mean I have to make something original on the show.” You ponder the idea for less than a minute, then mutter. “The only things I know how to make from scratch are babies.”

His usually boisterous, carefree laughter is muffled by the fabric of your leggings, but you can feel his wide smile warming your skin. “I love doing that with you.”

“I know you do. There’s a reason why we have 3 under 4.” You chuckle.

“What can I say, we make great babies.” He turns to face you once more then leans up to kiss your lips, his lips move slow and almost cautious against yours. He smiles softly against yours when you begin to kiss back, before taking your chin driving his lips more passionately against yours.

Your love for each other speaks for itself as your lips move rhythmically against his. Nothing could possibly interfere with the peace and serenity of this moment except maybe the yells and cries coming from upstairs, from two distinct examples of that love.

You pull away with a sigh, but it’s not of disappointment; your smile mirrors his. “I think our presence is needed.” You chuckle softly.

“Yeah, I’ll go investigate the damage our offspring have caused.” Joe pecks your lips once more, then lifts himself off the couch and jogs upstairs.

He reacts only after you hear the door to your son’s room open. “Oh shit.”

Usually he’s able to handle your munchkins all by himself, but the four letter word he mutters worries you.

“Babe!?” You call out, promptly standing from the couch.

“Uhhhh... Thing Two had a blowout on Thing One’s bed.” He relays as the cries only get louder.

“I just cleaned-” You shake your head, neglecting to finish the thought because this is just one of the joys of motherhood. “You handle bath time, I’ll strip the sheets!”

“Got it!” He replies as you grab an old laundry basket, then join them upstairs in your oldest son’s room.

“At least Princess is okay.” You mutter, pulling off the soiled sheets.

“Mama!”

Nevermind.

“Dada’s hair funny!”

a/n: inspired by the interview @joecoolburrow posted. i wrote this in one sitting, first time in forever for that. so... how my people doing? I'm currently in the finals trenches with 4 different injuries, but I'm doing grrrreat..

[slashersdaddy]

Hey! I hope You are doing Well! Can I Request a Fluff? Slasher x S/O Calling Them "Sweetface" (I was watching the seed of Chucky the other day and it got me wondering). Can i have Jason, Michael, Thomas Hewitt and Brahms? Gender is up to you!

(Sorry if my Writing is a bit Messy, English is not my First Language)

Have A Great Day! :D

Slashers respond to S/O calling them sweetface!

Fluff!

Jason Voorhees

When you first called him sweetface, it was in his cabin, while you both were resting by the fire, he had been sharpening his machete, and froze up.

His shoulders tightened and he looked down at you, tensed like a snake ready to strike.

Though he would never do such a thing.

Finally after a long silence which stretched out around you both, the only noise your soft breathing and the crackling of the fire, he tilted his head.

It was as just about clear a response as you could get out of the mute killer, 'What?'

So when you giggled and spoke again "I said, come here sweetface!" He slowly scooted closer, before quick as can be, he scooped you up into his arms, pulling you into his lap, and burying his face in your shoulder.

He didn't understand why his heart raced so much, or really why you would call a monster like him such a loving nickname, but he couldn't say he minded. The feeling of warmth blooming in his long dead chest made every moment worth it.

Micheal Myers

You had been sitting with Micheal in the living room of the old Myers house, watching some shitty horror film on the old TV set when you glanced up at him, a smile forming on your face before you leaned on him

"I love you, Sweetface"

Were the words that escaped your lips, a soft smile playing on your face as you gazed up at him. You had been with Micheal for a couple of years now, and every moment felt like a dream to you.

Micheal froze, tensing slightly as he gazed down at you through the mask he always wore, his ice blue eyes peircing into your own eyes.

But slowly, almost hesitantly, he relaxed, draping an arm around you, his fingers massaging your scalp in a shockingly gentle manner for one known for his brutality.

You should call him sweetface more often

Thomas Hewitt

You had been sitting with Thomas in the barn, one hot Texas summers day. Thomas was working nearby, focused on the work that needed finished before sundown. When you broke his focus, just a simple phrase

"Tommy, Sweetface, why don't you take a break? You've been working all day!"

He paused his movements, slowly turning and striding over to where he towered over you, looking down at you, head slightly cocked to the side as he waited for you to repeat yourself.

So you did, smiling up at him and repreating the wordsthat had shaken him out of his work filled stupor

"tommy Sweetface, you should take a break, you've been working since sun up"

You said, gently, for fear of his reaction.

But much to your surprise, he simply nodded, reaching one arm out and wrapping it around your waist, tossing you over his shoulder and making his way to the porch.

That's where he sat, settling you onto his leg while his hands began to slowly rub your back, seemingly an apology for having you out in the hot sun all day.

You could get used to this

Brahms Heelshire

You had just finished preparing dinner and setting the table, noticing the distinct lack of Brahms, who usually had already come down drawn by the scent of food you called up

"Sweetface! Dinners ready!"

Then came the familiar sounds of Brahms making his way downstairs, albeit faster than usual.

But instead of sitting at the table he walked up to you, his hands finding your cheeks and lifting your face to look at him, head tilted to the side as he speaks, low and measured

"what?"

It's clear what he is asking about, you had called him sweetface, so with a smile you reach up, ruffling his hair

"I said, Sweetface, dinners ready"

He paused, either shocked by you repeating it, or by the confirmation that you did infact call him sweetface before he leaned down, wrapping you in a tight hug, burying his face in your neck and muttering

"good"

[slasherslittlesimp]

Frigid (TF 141 X Reader)

Cold foggy puffs of air leave your lips as you march through the snowy mountain. Just a few feet behind you is Graves, your unfortunate mission partner. You weren’t expecting 141 to pair with anyone else on this mission until arriving at the sight to find Graves already waiting. And when it came to splitting into pairs, you metaphorically drew the short stick and got stuck with the man you can’t stand. You wish you got paired with literally anyone else, but Price got Gaz and Ghost got Soap. And you got Graves.

You’ve hated him since day once. His vibes… the look he sometimes gets in his eyes that flickers away before you can fully comprehend it. And the fact that he just screams untrustworthy. There’s many reasons you hate him, even if you don’t actually know a damn thing about him.

“You’re being awfully quiet.” He suddenly speaks up, his irritating voice cutting through the silence.

“I’m focusing on the mission.” Your reply is barely louder than a mumble, not wanting to risk your voice carrying and alerting any nearby enemies.

“I don’t quite think that’s the real reason.” His steps crunch through the snow as he walks a bit closer to you.

You huff in annoyance, knowing he won’t shut up any time soon. Spinning around, you find him to be less than a foot away from you, a smirk twitching on his lips as he stares at you with something glimmering in his eyes. Ignoring how close he is, you tighten your grip on your gun and hiss your question at him. “And what is the real reason then, Graves?”

“You don’t like me.” There isn’t a hint of hesitation or doubt in his voice. Like he knows for certain that he’s correct. And he is. When you don’t respond he continues. “You don’t trust me. And I think that’s smart.”

“What?” Your brows pinch in confusion as you stare at him.

He chuckles at your lack of understanding. “I’m not someone you should trust. And I think you have a good idea as to why.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You grit the words out through clenched teeth, lying. Of course you know what he’s talking about. You’ve had suspicions since the second you met him. That he’s going to betray everyone. But without evidence, you can’t really do anything. So for now you have to play dumb, acting like you don’t suspect his betrayal so he doesn’t feel the need to get rid of you.

He steps closer, forcing you to take a step back. He doesn’t stop, continuing to walk towards you for a few more feet until stopping. “There’s no use in playing dumb with me.” Graves tilts his head as if mocking you. “I know what you think. What you plan to do. That you want to find evidence against me. But I’m afraid that will never happen.”

You don’t get the chance to question him further when his hands reach up, shoving harshly against your chest. You lose your balance falling over the cliff edge you were unaware of him backing you towards. Despite losing the ground beneath you, leaving you to free fall through the air, you don’t scream.

When your back slams against a solid surface, it’s arches in pain. Your breath is forced from your lungs, leaving you wheezing as you stare up at the cliff edge where you can see Graves leaning over to look at you. You would try shooting him if it wasn’t for the fact that your gun skittered away the second you hit the ground.

With a shaking hand, you reach towards your earpiece, unmuting yourself so you can talk to the others. “John-“ Your captains name leaves your lips in a gasp, and you’re uncertain for a moment if he could even hear you.

It isn’t until his familiar voice filters through the comms, saying your call sign with a questioning lilt, that you let out a relieved wheeze. You’ve never called him by his name while on missions. That’s his first clue that something is horribly wrong.

“John-“ You say his name again only to freeze when you hear the distinct sound of ice cracking.

That’s when it dawns on you that you didn’t land on the ground. No- you landed on the frozen lake. And your weight combined with the weight of your gear is forcing the ice to crack more and more, the cracks splintering from under your body where they first formed from the impact of you hitting the ice.

You don’t register your captains voice in your ear anymore, purely hearing your heartbeat as you come to the dawning realization that you are utterly fucked. Your voice gets caught in your throat from it tightening in fear, leaving you unable to call out for help or inform your team of your predicament.

Instead, all that can be heard through the comms on their side is your sudden panicked breathing followed by a yelp, then the unmistakable sound of water splashing.

Your teammates call out to you, only being met with silence.

You’re unable to hear them, your comms breaking the second you’re submerged in the frigid water. The coldness seeps into your body instantly, sending it into shock. Incapable of even trying to swim to the surface as the weight of your gear drags you deeper into the depths. Your eyes fluttering as you watch the light filtering through the hole you made slowly get further and further away.

Until your eyes flutter shut completely, your body going completely limp as you lose consciousness due to the freezing temperatures and your inability to breathe.

[humanjarvis]

more sylus vs caleb thoughts

random little musings i jotted down during my workday lol. just my personal ramblings and interpretations, not proofread

preface: i don't think that caleb has an approach to life that sylus can appreciate. and i think that no matter their similarities, their dislike for each other ultimately stems from the fundamentals, which are what lengths are they willing to go to—what boundaries that sylus respects above all is caleb willing to cross. they have been traumatized and persecuted in similar ways but developed clashing ideologies after the fact

appearance: caleb doesn’t worry too much about his appearance as long as you like it. he’ll let you pick out his clothes and dress him like a doll. he keeps himself fit and well-groomed, both for pilot reasons and because he thinks it’s the best shape for him to be in, but that’s about as much attention he spares his own looks. it’s not that he doesn’t care, but as someone with little self-worth, it’s just not in his nature to ~waste his energy thinking about it. if you’re happy, he’s happy. sylus isn’t vain, but he’s more concerned with how he looks and more interested in fashion. caleb will wear whatever uniform he has at that stage in life—aerospace academy, daa, fleet, etc.— with indifference, but i’d like to think that sylus sees clothes as a way to express himself after years of not having the freedom to and is meticulous about his wardrobe. 

spending: now that i think about it, sylus’s clothes and other expensive tastes may be 1) a way to compensate for the lack of access he had to those things as a persecuted youth and 2) just. a reflection of his willingness to spend money on himself. he can surround himself with the finer things without hesitation or issue, without questioning if he deserves it. i feel like caleb is more reluctant to do so, e.g., when mc sent him safety tips because his hair dryer was damaged to the point of being hazardous and he hadn’t bought a new one yet. he’ll lay money at mc’s feet, for sure, but the concept of spending it on himself just isn’t something that really occurs to him. it doesn’t cross his mind much, but when it does, he might even find it wasteful

decision-making: caleb is happy to make choices for you. sylus will leave it up to you, question if you really want his opinion, and subtly give you his preference when you say yes

working together?: they’re both ambitious and goal-oriented. sylus is used to working with people he doesn’t like, and caleb is unwilling to be seen as, and feel like, the lesser man. so i think they could overcome their differences and work together quite well potentially, if they shared a common interest 

how their dislike manifests: sylus’s dislike is more muted, mainly because he’s a more emotionally secure character. he doesn’t actively hate caleb without a specific reason, and he’s too self-assured to feel jealous, really. he wouldn’t trade his life or appearance for caleb’s, but it would be nice for mc to view him with the same outright trust and comfort she views caleb with. caleb actively dislikes sylus (though he may conceal it). he sees sylus as a threat to his relationship with mc (it’s less that he doesn’t trust her and more of his own thought that he doesn’t deserve her), but also to his capacity to provide for her and his duty to keep her safe. because even if he thinks himself undeserving, her satisfaction and wellbeing are still his to facilitate, just as he thinks they’ve always been. which is why i am interested in how he’d react to knowing that sylus was pulling strings and protecting her when they were both children. because imagine the person you think you’ve kept safe for years and your reason for existing is only alive because of another man’s care

thrill-seeking: someone mentioned that sylus and caleb are both thrill-seekers, and definitely yes. in my head though i make the distinction that sylus's approach is more typical in that does it for the actual adrenaline, e.g., when he backflips out of the plane in freefall gambit just for the hell of it. but caleb does it to feel alive—because otherwise he does not. in one of his texts from when the player doesn’t log in for 30 days, he says he was critically ambushed by a wanderer but ended up being glad about it because battle is the only he still feels alive in mc’s absence. 

detachment and experiencing pleasure: i personally think there is something…hollow about caleb. and i’m not saying he doesn’t have the right to be with all that’s happened to him, but there’s this numbness and detachment in the back of his mind (even before the chip, imo). there are certain things he just doesn’t care about, certain social courtesies he doesn’t entertain. he sees an old friend whose name he didn’t care to remember, he speaks a little too harshly to non-mc people, he’ll sabotage others with no remorse if he sees fit. i think sylus is just able to derive joy out of more things, which is impressive considering all that’s happened to him. like watching animals in the park/on tv, reveling in the nightlife of the n109 zone, playing games with luke and kieran—he gets genuine happiness/enjoyment from those non-mc things, while caleb’s pleasure from the same activities would be a bit…stilted? there’s just something missing.

self-worth and motivation: sylus values himself outside of mc, caleb doesn’t. going back to the 30 days text, i truly think that if mc were ever to leave, sylus would recover because he has the intrinsic motivation to. he has hobbies, he has passions, he has onychinus, and he finds those things personally rewarding. it’s nice to share them with mc, but he doesn’t do them because of her. but caleb’s motivation is more extrinsic—he does things primarily because of mc, to win her smiles and avoid her tears. he might have so little intrinsic motivation that the lines kind of blur and his extrinsic motivation becomes that. mc’s smiles become personally rewarding. her happiness and safety become his own because, going back to what i touched on in my white blood cell comparison, he finds it hard to have an identity outside of her. he questions why he needs to. he thinks about himself in relation to her. so without her presence, without an adequate amount of any kind of motivation, without any kind of self-worth, i don’t think he’d last

pity: this one is interesting. going back to the hollowness—the extent to which they can feel and enjoy non-mc things—i think that if sylus and caleb sat down and shared their life stories with one another—gladiating, experiments, explosions, persecution—sylus would pity caleb. be genuinely sorry that he’s lived such a sad life. but i’m not sure that caleb would do the same. i think he’s so jaded from his life never really being his own that he hears about sylus’s misfortunes and he’s just like yeah, that happens. doesn’t even blink. that’s just the way the world is for him. and combined with the resentment and jealousy he already feels toward him i think pity would just be salt in the wound lol, he’d hate it

class differences, ethics, and the origins of power: caleb resents sylus for the ease with which & the extent to which he can provide for mc. but i’m wondering if he’d also look down on the way sylus amassed his wealth & power: crime and killing and illegal dealings. obviously with caleb being installed as the fleet colonel his hands aren’t clean either, but that wasn’t exactly his decision. pre-fleet, caleb was working summer jobs in high school just so he could buy gifts for mc. he also went through a rigorous flight school and excelled in it—which was because of his own love for flying and desire to be a pilot, but also fed by his need to be able to fly mc to safety if something were to happen. so sylus and caleb both spent their lives preparing for potential threats to mc, both dedicated time to learning skills and building what wealth they could to eventually make her happy, but there’s that difference in how they went about it. i feel like, at least internally, caleb would kind of scorn and delegitimize sylus’s success—not because he actually cares about the ethics of it, he couldn’t care less about sylus breaking the law (he’ll do the same if necessary)—but because that success is being used to provide for and protect mc. pre-fleet caleb was trying to make an earnest living and do everything by the book so he could give mc a sense of normalcy, and then sylus just swoops in with his motorbike and blood money and thinks he has the right to do the same? he’s busting his ass every day, but one shady deal and sylus has already exceeded everything he’s worked to attain? he resents that. he is somewhat jealous. but he resents it

hm. they both dream of a world where they can live peacefully with mc. but sylus’s world would have more than 2 people in it

this is too long and has no direction so i will cut it here ❤️

[cevansbrat0007]

The Slam

Summary: Ari has had a enough of your TikTok foolishness...

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Bickering, Brat!Reader, Prank Foolishness, References to P in V sex, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Part of my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Now that you’ve gotten your first TikTok prank under your belt, you found you needed more. It was as if a beast – for lack of better phrasing – had been awoken inside of you. And it demanded that you served the world chaos.

At your man’s expense.

While you’d gone a little bigger the first time around, today you’d decided to dial it back just a touch. Lately you’d been watching videos of women slamming their boyfriend’s and husband’s car door after what seemed to be the most innocent of conversations. 

In retaliation, some of them yelled confused obscenities, or honked horns, others simply appeared content to stew in whatever resentment had already been brewing beneath the surface. 

Regardless, almost all of them were funny. And not only that, but you got the distinct feeling that Ari wouldn’t appreciate it. His truck was precious to him. 

Almost as precious as you. 

This morning you choose to test your luck when Ari is kind enough to drop you by your place so that you can switch out purses and grab your makeup bag before heading out for lunch. You can tell that he doesn’t fully understand the reason you need either of those things. 

In fact, when you told him what you needed, he’d been swift to grunt something to the effect of how you already looked “perfectly good to him as it was”. And although it had made the butterflies in your belly do their special little flutter that was reserved for when you received compliments just from him, you pushed him to make the stop anyway.

In part because you needed those things, but also because you wanted to fuck with him a bit.

“I promise I’ll be super quick.” You tell him, hastily undoing your seatbelt as he pulls up in your driveway. 

“Still don’t get why you needed to come here.” Your bounty hunter was hungry, and therefore also a little grumpy. “You’re already the prettiest little thing I’ve ever set my eyes on without all the extra froufrou shit.”

“You would really have me walk into a restaurant with you with a bare face?”

“Baby, real talk, I’d be proud to have you on my arm if you were wearing nothing but a paper bag.” Comes his quiet, but sincere rebuttal. 

It’s enough to make you melt.

 “You’re sweet.” 

“Uh huh.” He huffs, throwing his truck in park. “And women are weird. Besides, all that makeup looks better on my pillow anyway.”

“Pretty sure you’re not supposed to call us weird. Could’ve sworn you were supposed to be intrigued by the feminine mystique.” You tell him, poking him in the ribs for good measure.

“Weird.” Ari huffs again, clearly not moved by your response.  

“Mystique – you jerk.” Feeling slightly miffed, you decide to steal a sip of his water. 

“Can you please just go get the bag and war paint before I waste away from hunger?” You bat his hand away when he leans forward to open your door and usher you out his vehicle. “My stomach is literally trying to eat itself and you wanna fuckin’ argue.” 

“I am capable of opening it myself, thank you very much.” You hiss without any real heat before grabbing the handle.   

“Then I would very much appreciate it if you did that so we can get this show on the road.”

“Okay, okay.” You finally relent. “I’m sorry. Gimme a kiss and I’ll go–”

Ari’s mouth is on yours so fast it’s almost comical. He cups your face with calloused hands, stroking his thumbs across your temples as he does. But unfortunately, just as you’re about to sink into the kiss, he pulls away.

“Now get.” He growls, before opening the door and effectively shooing you out. 

“Fine.” Climbing out of his truck, you decide that this is your moment. “Be right back.” Closing your eyes, you give it up to the Lord before slamming Ari’s door hard. 

Actually a little harder than you intended. Ah, well. 

Grimacing, you begin to half walk, half run for your front door. After all, there was such a thing as being too brave for this world. And you’d actually felt his vehicle rattle with the force with which you’d put behind it. There was no way this man would not respond. There was no way–

“Aye!” Your shoulders automatically hunch of their own volition when you hear him throw open his own door in protest. You haven’t even made it to the front porch. ”The hell was that about?”

“What?” You try to play dumb.

“Bird. Stop.” 

It’s the calm authority in his voice that has you freezing in your tracks. It’s the same reason your panties are soaked too. Teeth sinking into your bottom lip, you turn around and face Ari.

“What–”

“I’m gonna need you to walk your pretty little ass back over here, baby.” He quirks a tawny brow when your legs don’t immediately start moving. “Now.”    

“Beast, I need to go inside and–”

“Ass. Here. Now. Please.” Ari tacks on the last word when he sees you frown. However, the frown stays in place as you march back over to where he’s standing, or now leaning, against the side of his truck.

“Thank you.” He grunts before cupping your cheek, drawing you forward. “Now, is there a reason you’re out here slammin’ my shit and spikin’ my blood pressure? Does this have somethin’ to do with that whole feminine mystique business again?”

As he talks, you find it hard to resist the urge to run your fingers through his newly shorn beard. You’d hung out in the bathroom with him this morning while he trimmed it, wearing nothing but a pair of panties and one of his shirts. 

“No.” You breathe, your nostrils flaring when that same hand moves, gently lacing itself around your throat.

“You pissed at me for somethin’?” His electric blue eyes search yours for answers.

“Um…nope.” 

“You tryin’ to pick a fight?”

“Also no.” You tell him as your hand comes up to wrap around his thick wrist. “It was a joke I saw on TikTok and–.”

“Christ, I’m gonna stop you.” Ari blinks twice before forcing himself to take a deep breath. “Since you and I don’t have a problem, I’m gonna let you go inside and fetch your things. You have five minutes, or I’m comin’ in after you.”

“To do what?” You can’t help the pout that forms on your lips. Sometimes this man really had no sense of humor. “Because I‘m gonna need more time than that to put on my face.”

The look this man gives you lets you know that you are absolutely trying his patience – every last piece of it. 

“You got five minutes.” Ari repeats, his thumb stroking over your pulse point. “Or I’m gonna come in there and personally take my time making sure all that makeup ends up in its proper place where it belongs.” 

“But that’s not fair!”

“Neither is subjecting me to shit you see on that damned hickory dickory dock crap you watch all the time, and yet here we are.” He leans down to brush his lips against your forehead. “Now go.”

Ari finally releases you before pulling out his phone, and it takes him only a second for him to show it to you, letting you see that he’s started a timer. And it is quickly counting down. 

“You got five minutes, sweetheart.” He winks at you then, before breaking into full blown laughter when you turn to make a break for your front door. “Otherwise I’m comin’ in after you, and it’s gonna be what it’s gonna be.” 

Forget the purse. You decide you’re better off snagging the makeup and beating it back to the truck before the timer strikes zero.   

“Bastard.” You grumble under your breath – which only makes him laugh harder.

“You just lost yourself thirty seconds for that one. Better run, Bird.” 

END

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[doctorwhoandfairytaillover]

Loving Arms (3)

Summary: The children of Viserys I from his wife Alicent Hightower had always been lacking in affection from their parents. They simply didn't realize how much until their widowed aunt was brought into their lives. (AU where Alicent has an older sister and her kids get the love that they deserve, takes place some time after the Driftmark event)

Part III: Conversations over tea

|| Loving Arms Masterlist ||

A/N: Sorry for those of you who saw this before it was fully done! I tried the mobile app and don't plan on doing that again. 😅 P.S I tried a different way with the tag list, and hopefully it worked!

The Targaryen siblings were seated in a semi - circle in the chambers of their aunt, while she sat on the chair of her vanity looking at them with an expression of bemusement.

"Typically, when a child asks to be excused from the table at supper, it is to go and do anything besides seek out another adult" she chuckled.

"It is just.... we hoped to speak with you without our Mother or Grandsire present," Aemond mumbled. "From what we saw at supper, we did not think things would be productive with them present."

"Well... I suppose you are not wrong there," she laughed. She settled herself comfortably on her hair and slowly began to take out the pins from her hair, loosening the tight hold she had placed on it from the style she had it in.

While she did so, the children looked over her features to see if they could spot any similarities between themselves and their aunt. Apart from her distinct auburn hair that she shared with his sister, their aunt looked nothing as they expected of her. But then again, they had such little expectation until they had the opportunity to meet her.

Feeling their gazes, she stilled her hands and met their curious stares. "It would be considered rude to stare at a lady, is there something troubling all of you?"

"Well.... we know so little about you, muña" Aegon said. "We really were not sure what to expect with your arrival, even more now since it is quite obvious that there remains tension between our mother, grandsire, and you."

"I did very little to hide it, didn't I?" she sighed and rubbed at her shoulders to release the pressure settling into her body from the days event.

"Muña?" said Aemond. "Why did you come to King's Landing? And why do you not get along with mother or grandsire?"

Her smile faltered and she cleared her throat uncomfortably, "Let... let me have someone bring us some tea and a comfortable change of clothes for the three of you." She brushed her skirts and fidgeted with her hands. "This... this will be a rather long conversation, if it goes the way that I think this will. I will be... as honest as I can be. Just... give me a moment. Alright?"

The siblings nodded nervously, her own tense smile was a clear enough indication that she was uncomfortable.

Before she left the room to change, Halaena reached out quickly and took her aunt's hand in her own, all the while shaking as she did so as she was so unused to giving her touch freely.

"Muña, we are prepared t - to listen but only what you are w - willing" Halaena stammered. Her gaze dropping down to her feet, plucking and picking at the skirt of her dress.

Their aunt whispered in return, "Thank you."

------------------

When all had dressed comfortably in their night shirts and shifts, they sat once more in their places. A few teacups were placed in front of the children and carefully their aunt poured each of them a steaming cup.

"I am not one for wine before bed," she attempted a laugh. "I hope you all do not mind, I find it can be quite relaxing for both the body and mind."

The children were quiet, nursing their cups in their hands and looking at one another, unsure of how to keep the conversation. But this did not escape the careful eye of their aunt, deflating in disappointment of herself.

"I am sorry," she said. "I suppose it is a bit difficult to really know where to start with this conversation and do not wish to place that burden on the shoulders of you three. You are all far too young to be worried about the mess that is our family and the affairs that come with it."

"Muña, I do not think we can be too young to know about the shortcomings of our family if mother and grandsire already have the intention of marrying Halaena and I soon" Aegon countered.

She scoffed in disbelief, "Surely you must be joking. Our family has always followed the Faith of the Seven, marriage between brother and sister is not permitted. It is absolute madness, no matter what those daft Targaryen ancestors of yours say!"

"I wish it were simply a joke, muña" Aegon said seriously. "But our grandsire says this would strengthen my claim to the throne and that as Targaryens we are within our right to marry."

"No! Absolutely not!" she said. "I will fight this tooth and nail if I absolutely must, but you and Halaena are not getting married. Is that understood?"

"Yes muña," the pair said with equal sighs of relief.

"The old man is going senile if he thinks that I would let such a marriage occur, he might know the ways of this court but the man does not know how the politics of marriage work at times" she huffed as she took a drink from her tea. "He claims that he was the one that arranged my marriage to your uncle, may the seven rest his soul. But I was the one that made my match and no one else, he thought I was a lost cause."

"Because of your... your," Aemond wasn't sure how to word it.

"My disfigurement?"

"I was trying to find the right words to be tactful, muña" Aemond blushed.

"Do not worry about my feelings pertaining to it, my sweet boy" she soothed. "I have had many years to understand that it is best to not beat around the bush when it comes to the topic, alright?"

The one - eyed prince nodded in appreciation.

"But yes," she murmured. "When I was very young, your grandsire did not think I would ever find a match because of my disfigurement. The skin on my face is still puckered and scarred from where I was burned, and my left eye can see nothing but light."

"You say you were burned," Aemond noted. "My eye was cut by my nephews, the sons of Rhaenyra. Who hurt you?"

She grimaced, "I do not think that I should be telling you that."

"Why not? Do I know who did it?"

"Yes, sweet boy and I do not want to be the one that changes your perception of them."

"Simply tell him, muña" said Aegon. "You said it yourself, the topic isn't one that you need to beat about the bush."

She rubbed at her temples tiredly, "Using my own words against me now. I suppose that I should keep my word about it."

"Who was it?" Aemond asked again.

"Alicent, your mother."

All three of the children looked at her wide - eyed, it was incomprehensible to them that their own mother could have possibly done such a thing. The burns took up the majority of the left - hand side of her face, it was difficult to think of how their mother could have done it and for what reason.

"I will tell you all the story another time," she sighed. "I am not particularly fond of how or why it even happened. People say we should forgive and forget, but it is not an easy thing to forget when the reminder looks back at you in the mirror every day."

"But muña, you said that we could talk about all these things" Halaena said. "You are delaying the conversation."

"We can talk about these things. But I think it would be better if that was a conversation that we saved for another time, it is too complicated of a story to tell. Or maybe it isn't, but I do not feel like having it today."

"Do you promise to have the conversation?" the young girl asked. "People tell us that one day we will be told or one day we can understand, but they never keep their word."

Their aunt looked at each of their young faces, hopeful and yet no expectation because of the many times that someone else had let them down before.

"I promise, my sweet loves. And may the seven strike me where I stand if I do not keep my word."

Satisfied, the three finally took a sip of their tea, only to then have varied expressions of disgust.

The elder lady Hightower burst into laughter at their faces, trying to stifle the amusement. "Either your tea went cold or all three of you have not partaken in drinking much tea, have you?"

"I tend to drink wine, not this leaf water that we have swallowed," Aegon stuck his tongue out in mild disgust.

"If tea is solely leaf water then wine is merely grapes that have spoiled," she teased. "But I suppose my gifts for you all will not have much use then."

"Gifts?" they all asked, because for as much talk that they were grown, the siblings were still only children.

"Yes," she laughed. "But now that I think on it, perhaps the gifts had a bit of selfishness on my part."

She stood and walked to the trunk near the foot of her bed, opening it, she picked up three small bundles of cloth and placed each bundle of the hands of her nephews and niece. Quickly Aegon opened his, finding a light purple tea cup with a golden handle and filigree along its rim. Halaena was more gentle as she unraveled her bundle to find her tea cup was a rosy hue and a darker red handle with ladybugs along its rim. While Aemond carefully found a sky blue tea cup with a silver handle and filigree.

"I was not sure what to gift you all, but I thought that perhaps, your own tea cup that we could use every time that we come together for a chat" she said sheepishly. "But if you all do not like tea, they could serve as a decoration and reminder of today."

"I do not mind tea," Aemond said.

"I suppose I could tolerate it" said Aegon.

"If we drink it then I would like some sweets to make it tastier" Halaena said looking over the ladybugs.

Their aunt laughed and quickly wiped at her eyes, "I will make sure that I have some sweet tarts or other treats for our next conversation. I will look forward to it."

The three flushed happily and looked at their tea cups fondly, already looking forward to the next time that they would spend time with their beloved muña.

[ravenstargames]

hello, i just wanted to say that i love the game, it's so beautifully written/drawn/programmed and i cannot wait to play the full version.

i've been following for a while and only realized now that you have a tumblr so i wanted to ask a question i have. i read the most recent ask, at the time of writing this, and it really reminded me just how much power the li's have compared to the mc. as far as i'm aware, the mc is pretty much human or human adjacent.

knowing myself, i would not be able to rest dating someone who could literally kill me if they felt like it cause i would have panic attacks every day worrying about if i upset them or if i'm too comfortable (still playing all the romance routes though lol).

which leads me to my question, would we have the option in game to show our apprehensiveness towards the li's for our own safety? would they say anything if we were trusting one day then ignore them the next? pretty much a hot and cold relationship where we do love them but our fear of them outweighs that love at times.

and also (this could be really heading into spoiler territory so feel free to not answer), is there a chance of the mc ever being able to stand their own in a fight with any of them? thank you for reading, enjoy your day.

HELLO LOVE!! 💜

First of all, thank you so much for trying our demo! AND FOR LIKING IT!!

Alright, your ask is ✨packed✨ (in a good way) so I'll try to answer this avoiding spoilers. Keep in mind this is me replying as the writer, through my perspective. Y'all can disagree, and y'all can choose to explore things differently for your character! In fact, I think this would be something really cool to explore in fanfic :^)

Before we start, I hope I word my thoughts correctly and feel free to point it out otherwise! Sometimes the spanish brain gets too excited :^)

BEWARE OF THE YAPPING BELOW THE LINE!

Second of all! I think this ask would benefit from answering some other questions that are in our inbox rn.

So, I feel like it's necessary to make a distinction between the MC (or a regular human that's not the MC) and a Limbanian.

A Limbanian is born knowing gods exist. At least their gods. They're born in a world where superior beings help rule that world. Someone else asked whether their true forms are kept a secret—and the answer is no. Limbanians know the Sovereigns take on familiar forms to fit in, not only for their people but for themselves, too. Fitting in is an instinct and/or basic need they also experience.

Also, their true forms are not, for a lack of a better word, something you can objectively perceive. Limbo's history has various records and representations of the Sovereigns' forms. They look like what people think they look like, and that's also how they see themselves.

For example, it's "known" Gael's form is the biggest (we're not considering Pride here. its complicated). We talked in another ask about how their powers and therefore their size depends on the faith of their followers. However, some books talk about Gael's form having many arms, and others say he literally looks like a bookshelf. If you think of it, there's no truth. There's only perspective.

Thing is, people regularly interact with them. You can easily forget they're not "human". They do forget they're not "human" themselves. They speak, feel, and look like one. The concern is absolutely valid and they know this; that's why they take responsibility of the power they have in their own ways and don't judge people who don't trust them—generally. They're flawed and are driven by the same emotions as us. That they understand doesn't mean they feel good when they're reminded they're not like everybody else, or are treated / thought as monsters. The two can co-exist!

The power dynamics the Sovereigns have with their people are not the same power dynamics the MC has with them. The MC wasn't born in Limbo and has no ties to Limbo; they owe nothing to the Sovereigns, and so on. They have a choice in that regard. Obviously if Amon decided to torn the MC apart he could. Would he? No. He'd rather die.

Mind-wise, I think that difference is critical. More than being subjected to the power of an individual, Limbanians face the power of a system (or of a natural order of things, even) that is greater than themselves. They don't necessarily fear their monster form; they fear what it implies (and also a bit of lovecraftian mindbreak because it's cool. im not immune to the power of coolness).

would we have the option in game to show our apprehensiveness towards the li's for our own safety?

You can already show disagreement / hostility / mistrust to them during the demo (I hope it felt that way at least, it was my intention lol) and you can keep making that obvious during the initial beats of the story. The extended demo will also improve this, by the way! However, I can't say that will be a regular or central topic for various reasons:

Not all LIs will appear in their true form during their routes or even during the game

For me, as the writer, it's not something I see relevant for all the LIs or something I want to explore at length above other ideas

A matter of script length

River is not a blank slate

That doesn't mean it will never be brought up! In some routes it will, in some it will not—sometimes it will be obvious, sometimes it will be subtle. Sometimes we'll need players to fill in the blanks or assume River has talked this out with the LIs.

i would not be able to rest dating someone who could literally kill me if they felt like it cause

In regards to this (and I hope this doesn't come across as me challenging your thoughts but as me using your ask to address good points or perspectives others may have, which is what I'm trying to do!!) violence is a choice*. Anyone could kill you if they wanted to. I know it's not the same! I know where the thought of being scared of your safety steams from. It may sound like a crazy comparison, and maybe it is, but it's the base in which the whole game rests. That at the end of the day, human or not, the connection the MC builds with the LIs is irrevocably human.

*violence is not always a choice and this has many nuances but let's generalize for the sake of not writing a thesis paper

The LIs cannot choose what they are; they can only choose what they do with it. And you of course have the choice whether that's something you're comfortable with or not. Of course, you don't have to believe they're "universally good" (they're not)—as I said, the MC questions this several times, but eventually grows to trust them and love them like they would anyone else.

In addition—the LIs themselves wouldn't be able to date someone who fears them to this level. That they're not "human" doesn't mean they wouldn't feel a certain way when being presented of a fear of what they are. And this leads me to another ask we got today! The sender wasn't anonymous but just in case she doesn't want me to tag her, I won't reveal it!

Let's say the MC saw the true form of the LI's and now is very wary/uneasy with them (MC not average, they don't go mad :<). How would the LI's handle the situation/try to help the MC?

They know that shit can be scary, better than anyone. They'd be understanding, supportive and reassuring. If further boundaries need to be set, so be it. Of course none of them would be happy at having unsettled the MC, and taking in their true form is not something they do happily or just because.

AND YOUR LAST QUESTION! Jeez, I'm sorry I yap this much!!

and also (this could be really heading into spoiler territory so feel free to not answer), is there a chance of the mc ever being able to stand their own in a fight with any of them?

To answer this without spoiling stuff; an ant can't fight a bear. There's no fight because there can't be. Both contendants are fundamentally in different planes. But the LIs wouldn't fight the MC, ever, and much less in their true form. At least willingly.

That'd be against them. Fighting alongside them—yeah! That happens in the game. And it's cool af! The MC can stand their ground perfectly fine, in different ways :^)

I hope I actually answered your questions! And of course, in case I have to say it again, it's completely valid to feel that way. Feel free to send as many asks as you want, too! We discuss a lot of things in the discord server, so I encourage anyone who enjoys talking about this stuff to join us there!

[whirlybirbs]

i neeeed to know what it's like when moth + the 141 meet konig. is ghost jealous.

5. handler's manual — ghost / reader

desc: kortac makes an appearance. you owe a certain colonel an apology. ghost ain't about it. pairing: lt. simon "ghost" riley / f!reader ; callsign: moth a/n: ghost having one sided beef with birbs-canon soft spoken and socially anxious konig and mess hall meatloaf is the comedic writing i need. [GHOST VOICE] what the fuck did they feed him — edit: if you saw me get konig's rank wrong no you didn't <3 ⇽ prev /

If John Price taught you anything, it's that bringing a gun to a knife fight is fair game as long as you win.

Yea.

You, uh... You shot Colonel Alexander Kilgore. Last week. It's fine, he's fine—

"How was I supposed to know the guy in the executioner's hood was on our side?" you hiss, shoveling another bite of your lunch into your mouth.

Beside you, Soap snickers into the back of his hand as he chews.

"I mean, seriously," you flick your eyes across the mess hall, quickly spotting the handful of KorTac members; they're an interesting group — private military. International. You lean forward onto the table and wince when you spot a certain Colonel sat by himself at the edge of the mess, "What would you have done if you rounded a corner to that?"

Bad timing. Colonel Kilgore — König — is lifting up the edge of his mask to place a delicately cut piece of mess hall meatloaf into his mouth. The fork and knife in his hands look comically small.

"Shite myself, probably?" Soap offers, nudging you with his shoulder, "Then shot tha' bastard."

"Thank you—"

"Shoulda aimed higher."

Ghost's voice cuts through the banter. He swings a leg over the bench beside you and lands with a soft exhale. You note a distinct lack of the infamous mess meatloaf on his tray.

"He's a sociopath," comes the gruff insertion into the conversation as Ghost darts his eyes towards König, "Look a' 'im. Lovin' the meatloaf. Give it twenty an' th'bastard is gonna bloody regret it."

"He didn't get that big not eatin' th' meatloaf, eltee," Soap chirps, leaning around you to punch Ghost's arm, "C'mon, he can't tha' bad."

Kyle's late to the conversation, but ever perceptive. His tray is also lacking the meatloaf, just like Ghost's, Soap's and yours. The four of you are wise. Mess meatloaf before joint-Taskforce PT? No fuckin' way. Gaz settles across from you and takes a bite of his peas.

Through chewing, he nudges his fork over his shoulder towards the KorTac group.

"Laswell pulled his files," Kyle munches, "Apparently he's got the hood because of some pretty severe social anxiety."

"Oh, c'mon," you bay, "Kyle—"

"M'just sharin' what I learned—"

"I feel worse now!" you throw your hands, drop your head back and groan, "I shot him, and he's eating lunch alone, and now you're telling me the whole hood is, like, for emotional support—"

"Join th' bloody club."

The three of you eye Ghost owlishly as he tugs the hem of his balaclava up and shovels a concerning large scoop of mash into his mouth. The joke — it is a joke, right? — earns a hesitant laugh out of Johnny and only Johnny. You're too busy furiously rubbing at your face in an attempt to self soothe.

If you had a dollar for every masked man on base, you'd have two dollars. And that's arguably one more dollar than you're comfortable with.

"I should go apologize."

Ghost scoffs. If you didn't know any better, you'd think his voice was laden with something like malice. "For what? Clearly Austria's Biggest Boy is fine."

(It is malice. And maybe jealousy. Why do you feel bad? The mask thing is his shtick. It's... It's his brand. Not that he sees it like that, but — oh, for fuck's sake, you're getting up—)

"Yea, well," you use Ghost and Soap's shoulders as support as you haul yourself up from the mess bench, "I downed Austria's Biggest Boy and that means he's owed an apology."

It feels a bit like a death march — because the boys watch you weave through the mess with hesitant expressions. Things have been tense with KorTac since the incident; in all fairness, a distinct lack of communication left either Taskforce unaware of the other's role on the assignment. If it's anyone's fault, it's the upper echelon.

Your smile is soft — and the first thing you notice is how blue his eyes are. The hulking figure of the Corporal perks up when he notices your approach, and you note the way his forefinger tense three times against his fork. A nervous tic.

"Colonel—"

"Ah!" he's standing, demonstrating a learned formality, and you know it's a habit formed over the years; he offers a hand — and you think you can see some sort of positive emotion pass through his eyes, "Specialist Moth, how can I help you?"

His voice is dotted with an accent that you can only describe as delicate. His voice, too, is soft. It's night and day compared to the hisses curses and spat barks in German you'd earned when you'd fire a round clean through his shoulder.

You take his hand, shake it firmly, and try to ignore the fact KorTac's lead sniper is massive. Six foot, four inches. Austria's Biggest Boy is fucking right. He's towering over you, even as he leans across the mess table.

He's purposely gentle when shaking your hand. You wonder if that's learned.

"I wanted to apologize, sir," you say as König sits back down and peers up at you from behind his hood. You tuck your hands into your pockets and rock back on your boots, "Truly, I'm — I'm so sorry—"

He's shaking both hands, his eyes shutting — and you can see the corners crinkle. He's smiling, then. All the mannerisms you've sussed out from Ghost seem to apply here to the new masked character on base.

"It is not a problem, Specialist Moth, I assure you," he dotes, "It was a mere miscommunication."

Understatement of the century, but sure.

You ease up, shoulders relaxing. You watch as König knots his hands tightly in-front of him; his mess tray is nearly empty. His thumb fiddles over his knuckles. Anxiousness.

"I appreciate it. You're healing alright?" you ask earnestly, your brows knit.

He's nodding, about to speak, when there's a hand clamping down on your shoulder.

"Debrief in five," comes the gruff drawl; it's Ghost. You slide a look up to him and note the way his dark eyes are trained directly on König. You spot his blonde lashes narrow, and straighten your posture.

"Lieutenant," the nod that KorTac's sniper offers is nothing but respectful and cordial and you swear you see a twinkle of something like kinship in the Austrain's eyes.

But Ghost? Ghost only chirps back a dismissive: "Colonel, sir."

What. The. Fuck.

"Let's go, Moth."

You curtly nod before wrapping your knuckles twice on the table. You offer König a real smile — toothy and bright. It's an attempt to soothe. You can't help it. You feel bad, okay?

"See you in PT later, Colonel?"

"Ja, bis später!" he stutters, unsteady from the intimidation of a certain 141 lieutenant.

You do a double take, blink twice, then nod. Your German is rusty. Atrocious. But, it's an olive branch. "Bis später, König—"

"Moth."

It's stern. Nearly a reprimand.

And fuck, you want to ask Ghost what crawled up his ass and died, but you have a feeling you know exactly who did.

Austria's Biggest Boy.

[loving-daisy]

You Had Me At Hello | Severus Snape x Reader

Young Severus Snape never knew what love was. That was until he met her, his Valentine.

YHMAH Masterlist • loving-daisy masterlist

—————————————

Chapter 1: Valentine

Word count: 1,344

Life was never easy for Severus Snape.

Born to a muggle father and a pureblood mother, Severus was born a half-blood wizard. Truthfully, his father, Tobias, never liked him. He never wanted a child. But much to his dismay, the boy was born, and he hated his wife for it.

On the other hand, Eileen Prince, Severus’ mother, loved the child so much that she told her what he was at such an early age. She taught him useful charms, gave him books that were in possession of the Prince's manor, and even accompanied him when he first got his wand.

Being the loving mother she was, her husband was no exception to all the love that she could offer. She loved him so much, even if he didn’t treat her right. She loved him even if she would start another day with purple spots covering all over her body. She loved him even if he didn’t love their own child.

It was toxic, yes, but love is toxic.

That’s why the raven-haired boy swore not to build his love around toxicity. In the future, once he finds the love of his life, he will only love her, whoever she is, whatever she is.

But growing up in a small and poor neighborhood, growing up with an abusive father, Severus never knew what love was. Well, of course, he knew what motherly love felt like, but he never knew the bond that connected two people in ways that words can’t explain. He never knew it because it was missing in his parent’s relationship. It was one-sided, not completely full.

That was until he met her.

The raven-haired boy was currently seated at the library in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 5 years ago, he received his acceptance letter. He would have been surprised if it hadn’t been for his mother to inform him what he was before that. But a year before that event, he met a girl with auburn hair.

Lily.

She was like him, but she didn’t know what she was. And so he passed his knowledge to her, and they became friends. However, the moment they entered the Great Hall, they were sorted into their respective houses, eventually separating them. Lily Evans was sorted into Gryffindor while Severus in Slytherin.

Life didn’t get better for Severus after he left home. He thought that he was free from his abusive father, but he thought wrong. No one really liked him because of his friendship with Lily, his house, and his blood status. He never really had constant friend,s and he often got bullied because of that.

Shallow, yes, but some people just got mad at the wrong things.

“Hello.” A voice greeted Severus, interrupting his train of thought as he did his homework for charms. Without lifting his head, the boy pierced his cold eyes to the stranger.

It was a girl from his house, seeing that she was wearing the same green and silver colors that he wore.

He didn’t bother to answer the girl’s greeting verbally. He merely raised a brow in anticipation, waiting for what the girl wanted from him.

Despite his lack of words, the smile on the girl’s face didn’t falter. “Hello, my name is Y/N.” The girl quipped.

Severus knew who she was. She was Y/N Valentine, the Slytherin sweetheart. In his year, or maybe in Slytherin overall, she was the nicest. But she wasn’t too nice to befriend other people outside their house. Though, a lot of people wanted to be her friend. A lot even wanted to date her, that is, if they weren’t already betrothed to some other pureblood.

Y/N Valentine had distinct features that only she could model. But she wasn’t really Severus’ type. His heart was set on the ginger Gryffindor after all.

“If I am not mistaken, your name is Severus. Correct?” She continued. Severus only nodded in response.

“Do you perhaps...mind if I sit here? The library is packed and there’s no other vacant table left.”

The boy shook his head. “Feel free to do so.” He breathed. It was the first words he ever said to the girl, and the girl felt relieved to hear the boy’s voice.

She knew who he was. He was Severus Snape, the boy people called peculiar. But she didn’t care. None of those trivial things mattered to her.

For a moment there, she thought that Severus was going to push her away. She was glad he didn’t. She wouldn’t want to go and find a different table. The library was packed with Gryffindors. It’s not like she had a prejudice against the house of Godric, it’s just that she didn’t want to deal with questions and interrogations coming from her own house.

That was the first time Severus Snape and Y/N Valentine met. You could say their relationship started there, yes, but it didn’t end there either. Truthfully, Severus wouldn’t have minded if nothing bloomed in that simple interaction. It’s not like a housemate of his didn’t ask the same favor, but that was really a rare occasion. Slytherins mostly study together in the dungeons. But even if someone asked to sit with him in the library, it was always the same; They wouldn't utter another word more and act as if the boy was invisible.

However, this time, it was different. Severus just didn’t know it yet.

After that event, Y/N Valentine became intrigued by the quiet and mysterious Slytherin. As they were studying that afternoon, the girl couldn’t help but take a quick peep on what the boy was doing. He was scribbling in his textbook.

Y/N thought that was just the way he preferred to take notes instead of wasting a good amount of parchment roll. However, her eyes landed on a crossed out procedure that had the contents to slice an ingredient she really couldn’t decipher. Instead of ‘slice’, Severus changed it to ‘crush’.

Was he making up his own procedure? How does he know if that’s gonna work?

The girl was curious about the boy seated in front of him and she needed to satisfy that curiosity.

She heard a lot about him, but not in the way people talked about Lucius Malfoy or James Potter or the good-looking Black brothers. Severus wasn’t popular, no. He was the boy who hid his face behind his long jet-black hair, the boy whose nose was buried in a worn-out Advance Potions textbook, the boy who had a dark aura around him. Okay, he might not be popular but people do know him. Except, all the words that were used to describe Severus Snape depicted his exterior. Y/N Valentine wanted to know his interior.

But after a lot of thinking, the girl assumed why the boy was quiet and reserved. James Potter and his lot often messed with him, calling him names and sending hexes towards his way. Honestly, the girl didn’t know the reason why the obnoxious Gryffindors bully the quiet Slytherin. It’s not like he’s doing anything wrong.

Being the Slytherin sweetheart that she is, she couldn’t just watch the group of Gryffindors harassing her housemate. She just had to do something about it.

Hidden behind a wall, the girl flicked her wand to point at the haughty Gryffindor, murmuring the incantation of the hex that would disable you to move, coating your body with thick ice.

After seeing the work that she did, she couldn’t help the smirk that took place on her lips even when she grabbed her book and pretended to read.

Severus didn’t know if it was his mind playing tricks or if it was a side effect he got from the marauders’ hexing but he knew he wasn’t the one who casted the freezing spell towards James Potter. The magic came from the side anyways.

If it weren’t for another Slytherin calling her name, Severus wouldn’t have any clue on who could have helped him.

End of Chapter 1

[crescenthistory]

HIIII CARINA!! BIGGEST CONGRATS ON 2K!!! you are so amazing and your writing is so so beautiful!! you are the most deserving of such a huge milestone <333

i was wondering if you could argue regulus black with number 24 from the aus list? he is very dear to me, your honor <33

HIIII SWEET ANON!! thank you so so much, you are just so awfully kind<33 giving you a big smooch and a little bit of reggie xx this will be the "soulmates cannot injure one another" au !

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

i will ARGUE for prompt 24 "soulmate au" with regulus black

carina's 2k celebration

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

cw: gn!reader, black family trauma, implied childhood physical abuse, acid, somewhat sunshine!reader

wc: 2k (i will write short drabbles she said. they will be less than 1.5k she said. girl.)

Regulus knew he should tell you, and he knew he should do so soon – Sirius had even gone as far as to say he had to tell you. 

Regulus knew he had to tell you, but he had no idea how.

Soulmates always felt so foreign to him growing up, some abstract concept he could not apply to the realities he saw around him. Someone who was destined to choose you and to love you, to the extent where it would be physically impossible for them to hurt or injure you in any capacity. No matter what he did, no matter how many nights he laid up thinking it over or how many books he devoured to understand it, Regulus could not make sense of it.

Even years later, when he had at last processed that love in and of itself should mean you could never harm the other, without any cosmic intervention, he had felt as if that was simply not a possibility for him.

Until Potions class.

Until his lovely, warm, capable – though, perhaps a bit clumsy in this instance – deskmate accidentally spilled an acidic potion all over his left hand. Until he was only frightened by the terror in your gasp and not any sensation spreading over his skin. Until he had to shield his hand from view and pretend to go to the infirmary immediately, because he was entirely, wholly unscathed. 

Now he has spent an entire week hiding his hand from view lest anyone see his distinct lack of scarring. He has also spent three whole days hiding from his concerned older brother who at last demanded to see his hand and whose eyebrows shot up farther than they should have been able to when Regulus’ hand remained silky smooth.

Regulus knew he had to tell you, but he could not.

Because out of any person he had ever met in his life, you were the one he would have begged at Heaven’s gates to have as his soulmate if he had believed himself to possess one. For the first few days he wondered if you being his soulmate was perhaps the reason why he felt so strongly about it, but that was not fathomable enough for him. 

You had always caught his eye, with your laugh and your eyes and your atmosphere. Not once in his whole time at Hogwarts had he walked into a room you were in without noticing you immediately. That could not be chalked up to your apparent soulmate bond; not when your intellect, beauty and aura spoke for themselves as clearly as they did. 

Regulus was certain everyone noticed you, because how could they not?

Regulus being Regulus, though, never did much with that warm feeling in his chest. He let you live and admired you from a distance. You once told him you didn’t even know he remembered your name before Slughorn assigned you as deskmates, his face schooled into indifference as always. That never made sense to him either.

As deskmates, whatever connection you had blossomed. Regulus began to consider you a friend, perhaps even one he would dare call dear. You said the same, but he thought you kind enough to embrace everyone as a friend.

It was because of your kindness and his previous determination to admire you from a distance that he felt he could not tell you. It would be cruel, not to mention ironic. He had joked many a time that you should be more assertive of your boundaries, that you should not allow just about anyone into your life – at the time you had both laughed, but he also meant it. Your openness was something he admired, but also feared, for your sake. You might just end up with the worst of the worst because you thought you could rearrange its letters.

Regulus knew his letters needed rearranging, and he feared you would believe it your task just because the universe said so. What did the universe know?

Despite his many minutes of internal monologue trying to gear him towards confessing, he was increasingly deciding not to. The more he let himself think, the further he spiralled, and guilt and selfishness took over his every cognitive ability.

Because if you accepted Regulus’ hand just because you were too kind not to, his heart might break. It would be selfish, but he was selfish, and he could not help it.

“Regulus?”

Fuck. 

Turns out when you hide away in the owlery for bordering on an hour to gather yourself and deal with your thoughts, others might catch on. And who else but you would be attentive enough to catch up on his absence and deduce where he was?

Regulus pulled his robes down over his hands and turned his head around towards the door with a half-smile, still leaning against the windowsill with both elbows. “Oh, hi, love. What are you doing here?”

You stood in the doorway smiling brightly, leaning a head against its frame. “I was about to ask you that very same question. I haven’t seen you at all this week, not since Potions. Are you still certain you’re alright?”

You walked towards him as you spoke and despite the sweetness of your words, something about the intensity of your gaze made Regulus feel like he was being cornered. He remained rigid still, following your movements without ever breaking eye contact. You hoisted yourself up into the wide window sill, thigh dangerously close to his elbow.

He pressed his clothed hands further to his chest and held your gaze steadily, schooling his face as much as possible. “Yes,” he almost whispered. “Like I said, I’m alright, I swear it. Pomfrey caught it early. I really don’t want you to worry about it, it wasn’t your fault.”

You bobbed your head side to side and narrowed your eyes at something outside the window. “It was kind of my fault, and as your deskmate I’m all but legally obligated to worry.” You turned your face back towards him with a blinding, almost cheeky smile. “I, uhm, that’s why I stopped by Pomfrey’s too, actually. After. Legal obligation to check up on you with the matron herself.” 

If it wasn’t for the fire blazing in his face, Regulus was certain his blood would have frozen in his veins. He didn’t blink or swallow, still as a statue as his gaze settled on the space between his elbow and your thigh. 

“She said she hadn’t seen you that day,” you continued, your voice still light and airy. Not accusatory, not upset. Knowing. “Though, you already knew that, of course.”

Regulus cleared his throat forcefully. “Sorry, lo– just, uh, sorry. I didn’t mean to lie to you, I just.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, hating not having control in a situation, much less so over his own words. “I managed to heal up rather quickly on my own.”

It was a weak explanation, but he had no idea how to explain walking scot-free away from that situation without a healer. You seemed to agree with him because you laughed a little, bumping into his elbow purposefully to catch his attention.

When he looked up to meet your eyes, mirth was dancing in them, your lips drawn taut. “See, at first, I wondered if maybe we didn’t make the potion correctly – which would have been odd for us, but you know, it can happen to anyone. That it wasn’t acidic enough to actually make any injury. I only noticed when I got back to my own dorms that the splash was larger than I originally thought. I just saw the potion hit your hand and focused on that, but turns out my own robes were all burnt through.” You lifted your right arm to show how your sleeve had scattered holes from where drops of acidic potion hit it. “So, clearly it was effective enough to make some harm. And I was thinking and turning it over, how we possibly could not have been hurt.”

Regulus cut off your speech with the strangled noise that escaped his throat at the confrontation. “Y/N…” 

Again, he was not looking at you, but you bumped his elbow one more time. With a deep breath, he rose to his full height to look at you. “Have you pieced two and two together yet?” Your voice was gentle, not an ounce of mockery in it, or even expectation. Just wonder.

“It’s the only thing that makes sense.” 

Regulus felt as if it was not him saying the words, as if this was happening to someone else. His movements were slow like they would have been when submerged in water, but there was a flame slowly lighting in his chest. 

Your expression grew a bit timid, small smile spreading. “Does it? Make sense, I mean?”

He understood what you were asking, but he could not understand why you were. Of all the things to react to in this situation, of all the things to be unhappy about. He wanted to say no, he wanted to say “you deserve better” but none of those words passed his lips.

“I– I think so.” An involuntary upward twitch of the corners of his lips. “Or at least, I hope so.”

“It makes sense to me,” you whispered. “If I’m honest with you, I have been hoping for it for quite some time.”

“Is that why you spilled the potion on me?” Even as Regulus spoke he began to laugh a little, trying to lighten the mood despite being aware that it was mostly his hesitation keeping it down.

You pretended like you were about to kick him for it, beautiful laughter spilling past your lips. “Don’t be mean to me, Regulus Black. Just because you can’t hurt me physically doesn’t mean you can’t wound me.”

He furrowed his brows and took a step closer to you, almost standing between your legs where you were sitting on the ledge. “Aren’t you scared of that?” There was more vulnerability in his voice than he would usually allow, but with you, it just felt right. “That I’ll… wound you? I’m not a good person.”

Your smile turned sad. He had a funny feeling that it was for him and not because of him. “I’m not. There is nothing to be scared of.” You said it so matter-of-factly, as if this was a universal truth. “You don’t get to decide if you’re a good person or not, your actions define that for you. And yours have been nothing but kind.”

When he tried to look down at his feet, abashedly, you stretched your hand out in front of you, an offering for him to take.

Ever so slowly he retracted his left hand from his robes and gently placed it in yours, palm against palm. He managed to just barely catch glimpse of the smile that spread across your lips at the sight of his unscarred skin. You squeezed his hand with your own.

“We don’t have to act on it, if you don’t want to.” The tone of your voice had changed, it was much more subdued, uncertain. “Lots of people don’t. I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

“Do you want to not act on it?” Regulus knew it was cruel to turn the question back to you, to force you to be the first to make such a confession. As previously stated, he was selfish. He knew that, even if you didn’t yet.

You held his gaze unwaveringly and spoke the scariest and most beautiful word he had ever heard: “No.”

At last, a full-fledged smile fought to spread across his face as he huffed a laugh. “That makes two of us, then.”

He would have lived through the terror of voicing his feelings out loud a thousand times over for the pure joy he saw light up in your eyes at that. “Yeah?” You pulled him closer by your joined hands, your smile was all teeth.

“Yeah.” He spoke breathlessly, finally stepping in between your legs, faces inches away from each other. “I don’t know how to do this. But I do know that I want to do it with you.”

Regulus had been kissed before, or at least so he thought. He had never been kissed like this, though, and he never would by anyone else again.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Hate Mail (Human!Alastor x Reader)

CW: Rough oral, Dub con Rated: Adult Part 1 of 2 (Part 2 here) Summary: Alastor has been on the receiving end of some nasty letters at the station. With the help of some rather unique penmanship and a stroke of luck, the culprit finds herself in his crosshairs. What sort of lesson will Alastor teach his little hate fan and how will that change when he uncovers the reason why she is sending him the letters? Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers!

Alastor leaned back in his chair, old springs creaking under his weight, letting the dim light filtering in from the closed blinds illuminate the envelope in his hand. He could get a new chair. It wasn’t out of his or the station’s budget, but he liked this one. The way it creaked reminded him of all that he had gone through, sitting in that chair as he worked his way to where he was now, hosting his own evening show. He had taken it from office to office, as he had moved around the station, working his way up. 

The chair creaked its protest and requests for retirement as he shifted again, running the blade of the letter opener under the fold of the envelope. The sound of ripping paper joined the soft noises that filled the small office, along with the ticking of the clock. 

The sender had written the station address on the front of the envelope, above his name. Inside he would find a folded piece of stationary, thin but covered in a distinctive penmanship, just he had found in the last near dozen envelopes just like it. Did you know how uniquely you wrote your As? 

It was only a matter of time before Alastor found the source of this disrespectful dribble and made the sender pay for it. He was determined, and there was one thing that was always true about him; he always accomplished what he set his mind to.

Inside, Alastor found the same filth he had grown to expect. He didn’t bother doing anything more than glancing over the words. It was the same message he got every week, just worded differently. 

Whoever you were, you lacked creativity. Alastor sighed as he pulled open his desk drawer, tossing the paper onto the stack of similar notes. This had been allowed to go on for long enough. 

For each one he received, Alastor was determined to make the sender pay. First, he needed to find you. It was quickly becoming a habit to watch people as they wrote, but he had yet to find that little letter that would give you away. That’s alright. He knew it was just a matter of time. You couldn’t hide from him forever. 

Alastor closed the drawer, chair creaking as he stood. He had a few hours until showtime, but he had time to kill. It hadn’t taken him nearly as long as he had expected to finish the scripts for the week. Glancing at the clock, he elected to take an early dinner break. There was a deli not too far from the station that served delicious sandwiches, and he was hungry.

He shut the office door behind him as he stepped out into the hall. Much to his dismay, he found himself instantly faced with the company of Scotty, the sportscaster who cared more about baseball than anything else. Alastor was fairly certain the man hadn’t picked up a book in a distressingly long time. 

“Al, old pal!” Scotty clapped Alastor on the back in greeting. Alastor smiled wider, thinking about how good it would feel to clap Scotty across the jaw with his fist. 

“You going out?” The man spoke plainly, not bothering with the transatlantic accent when off the air. 

“I am,” Alastor’s voice came clearly, clipped and proper. He spoke the same on and off the air, unless in the private of his own home and even then, it wasn’t unheard of for the accent to be more of a habit than a show. 

“The currier is here, a total doll too.” Scotty gushed, “You should go downstairs and see her.”

“I’m not interested,” Alastor waved the smaller man off. “Thank you for looking out for me, however.” 

“At least stop by, say hello. I bet she’s a fan of our quickly rising star!” Scotty laughed as he walked down the hallway, letting Alastor free of the conversation.

With a shake of his head, Alastor started down the stairs. Today he had lucked out, Scotty hadn’t wanted to linger and chat. Any evening where he didn’t have to pretend to care about the rehashing of the last ballgame as a good way to start the evening. 

“Oh, Mr. Moreau!” The woman who manned the information desk called. She was an eager blonde, curls bouncing as she waved him over. “Come meet my old school friend!” 

~~~~~<3

“Sarah, no.” You hissed, looking between the man walking over from the staircase and your friend. “I need to get back to work.” 

“It’ll be fine,” Sarah assured you, snagging your clipboard from your hands. “I still need to sign this, anyway.”

“Hello, Ladies.” Alastor greeted as he strode up, soft smile reaching his warm brown eyes. 

You did everything you could to avoid looking at the tall man. He was handsome, fluffy brown hair bouncing with each step he had taken. His skin was just a touch too tan for what you had expected, but it was his eyes that threatened to capture your attention. They were the color of coffee, just splashed with the slightest hint of cream. 

“Hello,” you squeaked out, trying to not look at him. 

“Was there something you needed?” Alastor asked, looking between Sarah and you as you avoided his eyes. 

“No,” you said quickly, only to have Sarah talk over you. 

“This is my good friend,” she said, introducing you to the last man you ever wanted to meet face to face. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Alastor said, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles as he purred your name, “quite a pleasure.” 

“Likewise,” you mumbled, reaching for your clipboard, only to knock it from the high countertop around the information desk. It clattered to the ground at Alastor’s feet. 

“Oh, dear!” Alastor’s voice was far too cheery as he reached down, picking up your clipboard. He slowed for a moment, eyes scanning the page before he handed it to you. “I believe this belongs to you.” 

“Yes,” You snatched it from his hands, “thank you.” 

“You have lovely handwriting, my dear.” Alastor leaned into your space, just enough to make you aware he was doing it, but not so much to be improper. 

“Thank you,” you stuttered out, clutching the clipboard to your chest. “I should get back to the office. I’m sure there’s… there’s something for me to deliver.” 

“Oh!” Alastor snapped his fingers, smile spreading wider. “I forgot. I have a package I need to send off.” 

“I can wait-” Alastor cut you off before you finished the sentence, forcing you into silence. 

“Nonsense,” Alastor’s hand came to rest on the small of your back, pushing you ever so slightly to walk along with him, “walk with me. I’ll show you around.” 

“Oh, okay.” You struggled to find a polite way to talk your way out of the situation you found yourself in. Dread balled in the pit of your stomach, not budging as you tried to tell yourself that it was nonsense. 

The pressure of his hand on the small of your back was all you could think about. You tried again and again to remind yourself how much you hated him. Keeping that thought in the front of your mind was a struggle. It was easier to hate him when you didn’t know that he had such a handsome face to go with his smoothe voice. 

You hated him because he was popular. You hated him because he was successful. You hated him because women fell at his feet and he couldn’t bother to even court a woman most of the time. Most of all, you hated him because he had the life you wished you had. 

“Just step inside my office,” Alastor urged you forward with the hand that never left the small of your back, from the moment you left the information desk and the safety of your friend. “It’s just at my desk.” 

“Oh no,” you looked at him, shaking your head. “I couldn’t-” 

“Please,” the pressure on your back grew firmer, leaving you little choice but to step forward. “I insist. It’ll be far easier for you to pick up the delivery if you do.” 

You didn’t understand what he was saying, but you had little chance of resisting. The pressure on the small of your back was firm and unyielding, reminding you of who was in control every step you had taken together. It was hard not to stumble slightly as he all but pushed you inside his office, the door clicking shut behind him. 

“Mr. Moreau?” 

“Alastor, please.” He held his arm out toward his desk. “Now be a good girl and go over to the desk. I have some letters I need delivered rather urgently.” 

Your heart was pounding in your chest, sending blood roaring through your ears as you took timid steps toward his imposing wooden desk . The surface was littered with papers, some having doodles with circled words of commentary. 

Behind you, there was a click that sounded disturbingly like that of a lock turning. Looking over your shoulder, you watched as Alastor took a few steps into the room. His smile spread wickedly wide across his face, a cartoonish grin of mock reassurance.

He didn’t know. You told yourself that again and again. There was no way he could know. You had been careful. You sent every letter anonymously. 

There were no packages on his desk, you realized as your eyes scanned the surface. Nothing hid behind stacks of papers or file holders. 

“In the drawer,” Alastor’s voice came from over your shoulder, nearly spoken directly into your ear. A squeak escaped your lips as you jumped, startled nearly out of your skin. He had crossed the room both quickly and near silently. “It’s unlocked.” 

“Okay,” you whispered, stepping around to the other side of his desk, grateful for the chance to put some distance between you and him. 

Alastor followed you, an ever present shadow looming behind you, standing too close as you stopped again. His breath ghosted over your shoulder as you tried to do your best to ignore it. 

Bending slightly, you pulled the drawer open. It rattled as you opened it, not sliding smoothly along the tracks. It wasn’t a terribly deep drawer, but inside you found a stack of folded papers and ripped envelopes. 

“Take it out.” Alastor spoke softly behind you. He was always behind you, a shadow you could not shake. 

Your fingers trembled as you reached out. “Which ones?” 

“Whichever ones you want,” Alastor said, shrugging, though you could not see it. 

You swallowed as you picked up a few folded papers. They felt the same as the stationery you had back in your house. It felt the same as the paper you had used to- no.

It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. No. 

“Read it.” Alastor’s tone was firm, but his voice was as warm as it had been. You clung to that warmth.

Your fingers trembled as you unfolded the first paper. It shook, making it hard to read the words carefully printed. It didn’t matter; you didn’t need to see the words to know what they said. You had penned the words yourself just a few weeks prior. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “I don’t understand.” 

“Well,” Alastor chuckled darkly, “I have to say you did a very good job!” 

“I don’t-?” You turned to find Alastor standing directly behind you once again, far too close for comfort, let alone propriety. 

“You delivered the package for me, ever so swiftly!” Alastor laughed at his joke. “Did you know you’ve got a very distinctive way to write your letter A?” 

“I beg your pardon?” You stepped away, only gaining yourself a few inches of space as your hip hit his desk. 

“Is there something wrong?” Alastor asked, stepping closer, stealing back what little space you had claimed. “Is there something you’d like to tell me to my face?” 

“N-no?” You looked everywhere but at Alastor and to him, that simply would not do. Slender fingers reached out, taking hold of your chin. His grip was far stronger than you had expected from such thin fingers as he forced your eyes to meet his. 

“Well?” Alastor asked, hand hitting the desk, trapping you between him and his office chair. His other hand quickly followed, properly caging you in. You knew he was close but as you turned to face him, you found yourself nearly chest to chest with him. 

“I don’t-”

“You don’t understand,” Alastor mocked, smile holding a dangerous glint. “You seem to not understand a lot of things.”

“Sir, I- I should go.” You stammered out, clinging hope. Sarah knew where you were. She would surely question if you did not come down the stairs soon. 

“It would be rude to leave in the middle of a conversation,” Alastor whispered into your ear, “and we’re not done talking.” 

“We have nothing to talk about.” You tried to duck under his arm, only to have his elbow fold, pushing him further into your space.

“Ha! We do though!” Alastor’s chuckle was rich, warmer than it sounded on the radio, and yet it sent a shiver running down your spine. “We should talk about how you have a very distinctive way of writing your letter A, for one. Ignoring it will not make me forget.” 

Alastor plucked the clipboard from your hands, flipping it so he could look at your writing. You watched as his eyes scanned over the page. It took longer than it should have for you to realize he had left an opening, though slight, that you could use to escape. 

You took a deep breath and darted out from between Alastor and his desk. Pain jumped through you as your hip smashed into the corner of the desk. It sent tingles down your leg, but you refused to let that stop you.

Oh fuck, he knew. 

You knew he knew. 

It was such a terrible decision. You’d had too much to drink at a speakeasy, dragged yourself home and found the sound of his voice worked you up. Being a good girl, you couldn’t do anything about it. It made you angry, knowing that other women were having what they desired that night and you were alone, wanting. 

So instead of pursuing someone to court you, you wrote letters to the host with the velvet voice. Once you posted the first letter, it was like you had uncorked a bottle inside you that you hadn’t been aware of. You kept having these feelings for the man with the voice.

A man you had never met occupied your mind during much of your waking moments. The sound of his voice haunted your dreams. A man you had never even seen became your personal ghost. There was nothing you could do to exercise it but keep letting those feeling out in aggressive, angry letters. You spewed vile things at a man that sparked things you didn’t want to face in yourself, not expecting the man himself to actually read them. 

But he did. You had accounted for everything, changed how you wrote even, but you didn’t account for one thing. You wrote the fucking letter A weird, even after carefully shaping every letter you penned. 

You didn’t make it far at all. As you rounded the desk, his strong hand wrapped around your wrist. Pain flared in your arm as it pulled back behind you, forcing you to turn toward him. 

Alastor yanked on your arm, harshly, upsetting your balance and sending you to the ground at his feet. 

“Please, don’t hurt me.” You begged. “I’m so sorry. I- I didn’t think they’d make it to you, that you’d read them.” 

“Your mouth is so good at talking the good talk. Yapping. But how are you going to make this up to me?” Alastor leaned down, cupping your jaw and forcing you to look up at him. “Words have power, my dear. Did you know that? That is why I’m so good at what I do. Your words hurt me.” Alastor was lying. He found your letters to be little more than a disrespectful annoyance, but oh, you needed to be taught a lesson. 

You rubbed your thighs together, not even aware of the movement as you did it. Fear was the only thing you were aware of feeling, but there was an undercurrent of something else that you refused to look at. It was that same evil feeling that the sound of his voice coming through your radio speakers in the evenings sparked inside you. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, meaning it more than you had ever meant it in your life. 

“Part of being sorry is making recompense, didn’t your mother teach you that?” Alastor was lecturing, keeping your eyes on him as he spoke each word, squeezing your jaw any time your eyes darted away. You feared there would be bruises come morning. 

“Yes, sir.” It was hard to speak with his grip on your jaw. He had your head pulled up so much that your neck ached and yet, you couldn’t help rubbing your thighs together. 

Alastor watched you, eyes darting over your face and down your torso to where your knees were planted on the hard ground of his office. Oh, he realized as he watched your thighs brush against eachother; you liked this. 

“Tell me, my dear,” Alastor’s grin spread wider. “Why did you write me those letters? Be truthful now. I’ll know if you’re lying.” 

“I-” Alastor squeezed your jaw when you hesitated. “Your voice, it made me… me feel things, and I took it out on you. It was wrong, I’m sorry.” 

Alastor hummed, eyes watching your thighs as they rubbed together. Did you notice, or was your body betraying you? He was fairly certain it was the latter, and that you thought you were just shuffling to keep your balance as he pulled your spine tighter. 

“What sort of things did my voice make you feel?” He leaned forward, elbow bending to ensure you continued be stretched by his grip.

Heat ran up your chest, racing up your neck and bloomed on your face. It felt like your ears were burning. You wanted to lie. You wanted to tell him anything but the truth. The look in his eyes told you that even trying to pass a lie off would be dangerous. 

“Sinful things,” you said, his grip tightening urged you to be more specific. “Lustful thoughts.” 

“From my voice?” Alastor chuckled as shame burned through you. “And you decided the best thing to do with your words was to say anything but that? Spew vile words of hate?” 

“I couldn’t-” 

“You couldn’t write me and say ‘Alastor, your voice makes my thighs rub together.’? or perhaps ‘Alastor, I touch myself to the sound of your voice.’?” As he spoke, Alastor hooked his thumb into his pocket, hip cocking as he rested his weight on one leg. “You wouldn’t be the first to send such letters.” 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Please, I’m sorry.”

“Did you think you could say those things to me and I wouldn’t find out who you were? Did you think you would escape punishment?” 

“No, sir- I-” 

“But perhaps,” Alastor hooked his fingers through where his belt fed through the buckle, pulling it free from where it was secured, “that’s what you wanted.” He finished, letting his statement be punctuated by the clacking of his belt buckle as he finished unbuckling the belt. 

“No, I-” 

“Oh, but you do.” Bending at the waist, he brought his face so close to yours you could feel his breath wash over your face. “You’re just too timid to say it.” 

The buckle of his belt clinked in the otherwise near silent room as he moved, unbuttoning his trousers and working the fly open. You looked up at him, shocked at the brazen behavior. You were not a blushing virgin, but you were also not well experienced in the ways of men. Never had you faced a situation where a man had been so forward with you.

“Please, I-” 

“Yes, do keep begging.” Alastor mused, letting his fly fall open, pants now only being held up by his suspenders. 

You opened your mouth to say something, to express your outrage somehow, but Alastor shoved his fingers inside your mouth instead. When you tried to recoil back in shock, he hooked his fingers into the soft underside of your mouth and pulled you forward. 

“You’re going to put that lovely little mouth of yours to good use.” Alastor said menacing as he pulled his face closer again. “You’re going to make it up to me, every little lie you’ve written, every terrible thing you’ve sent me. It’s time that you pay for them. And you will pay for them, I assure you of that.” 

“Yes, sir,” you struggled to say around his fingers. There wasn’t anything you could say to get you out of this. He was right, you would have to pay for what you had done. His forward actions, his anger excited part of you, that sinful part of you.

“Good,” Alastor said as he pulled his cock from his pants. He wasn’t as hard as you had expected, considering how forward he had been behaving. “Now put your mouth to good use, open wide.” 

Putting pressure down on your jaw, he didn’t give you much choice but to follow his order or collapse to the ground. With his other hand, he guided his half-mast cock to rest on your lower lip. 

“If you bite me, I assure you, it will be the last thing you do. Am I clear?” 

“Yes,” you struggled to say. 

Once satisfied, Alastor removed his fingers from your mouth and pushed his hips forward. 

Never had you done something so lewd as what Alastor was clearly demanding from you. That didn’t stop you from wrapping your lips around his member and sucking. The suction pulled him slightly deeper into your mouth, but with no lubrication, that was as good as it was going to get. 

You stuck your tongue out, running it around his shaft just past where your lips reached before trying again with slightly better results. 

“You can touch me.” Alastor said snidely from above you. “Or are you too dumb to use your hands?” 

Your reply was little more than a muffled sound as you reached up for him. Trembling fingers wrapped around his shaft, holding him steady as you pulled off of his cock, letting it fall from your lips with a pop. He twitched in front of your face, stiffer now than he had been before, but far from what you expected he could become. 

You swallowed thickly, coming to terms with the fact that the price you would pay for your terrible decision was to pleasure the man. You could do this. Eyes flicked up to Alastor, reminding yourself that he was an attractive man. There were worse men in the world to pleasure, even if you were having to do so with your mouth. 

One more deep breath and you leaned forward, sticking your tongue out and running your tongue over the underside of his cock. The skin was salty and velvety smooth under your tongue’s caress. He twitches against your lips, growing harder as you placed soft kisses and kitten licks along the slit in his head. 

Once he was harder and covered with trails of your saliva along his length, you wrapped your lips around his cock again, pulling him deeper into your mouth as you sucked at him. 

Bracing yourself against his thighs, you pushed your head forward, taking in as much of him as you could. When your lips caught on dry shaft, you pulled back, leaving a trail of saliva coating him. When the head of his cock was just kissing your lips, you sank down again. Your lips gathered the saliva that had been cooling on his skin, smearing it lower as you took him as deep as you could. 

You repeated the process again and again, running your tongue around him. This wasn’t something you had ever done before. You were disgusted with yourself when you realized you were enjoying the feeling of running his cock in and out of your mouth. The feeling of his hips flexing, fighting back the urge to thrust, was as intoxicating as the musky smell of him, pure clean man. 

The feeling of Alastor’s hand on the back of your head startled you out of the trance you had fallen into. Your eyes, having fallen to little more than slits, fluttered open to look up at him. 

“Good girl, but you can do better, can’t you?” Alastor laughed as you blinked up at him. 

He didn’t give you a chance to offer any sort of agreement. Hips bucked forward as his hand pushed your head forward. The soft head of his cock slammed into the back of your throat, causing you to cough. A rich moan fell from Alastor’s lips as your throat spasmed around him. 

You gasped for breath as he pulled back, only to have your airway choked off as he thrust into your mouth again and again. Fingers bunched into the fabric of his pants as you looked up at him with wild, tearful eyes. His brown eyes, once seeming so warm, looked into yours with cold desire as tears ran down your cheeks. 

“Swallow,” He said as he pressed the head of his cock into the back of your throat harder. 

You did, though you hadn’t intended to. It was a reflex as you tried not to gag on him. The head of his cock pressed onward, cutting off what little ability you had to breathe. 

“Relax,” he soothed, thumb caressing your head before he pulled you back off him. “Breathe, now.” He ordered as if you needed the encouragement. 

After gasping two panicked breaths in through your nose and around his cock, he shoved you forward again, hips flexing. Again, he pressed against your throat and you knew what he wanted. Battling every instinct in your body, you tried to relax and swallow, allowing him to cut off your airway. 

“Good girl,” you hated how your thighs twitched at the praise. 

Alastor thrust into your throat again and again, each time taking his cock deeper was easier. That did nothing to calm the panic in your eyes, slow the tears running down your face, or relax your grip on his thighs. 

“You’re taking me in your throat so good,” Alastor praised, working his cock past the back of your throat again and again, chasing his release now as he looked down at you. 

Spit gathered, bubbles forming from your gasped attempts at breathing in a ring around the base of his cock. He could feel it dripping down his balls, soaking into his pants. It ran down your chin as well, dripping off in long strings as it soaked into your blouse. 

“You look so pretty like this,” Alastor cooed as he lost his rhythm, release drawing near. “Taking your punishment so well. Won’t do that again, will you?” 

Your throat vibrated around him as you tried to answer, unable to form anything more than a sound smothered by his cock. That was all it took for him to reach his peak, balls tightening as he shoved your head forward. 

He twitched in your mouth, seed spilling down your throat in hot ropes. The curls at the base of his cock tickled your nose as he thrust deeper and deeper, not allowing you a moment to breathe. Seed poured into your throat, coating the back of your tongue when he would pull back, hardly giving you a chance for air before shoving forward again. 

Black swam in front of your eyes as you pushed weakly against his thighs. Only when he no longer twitched did he pull you back from him enough for you to pull a proper breath into your burning lungs. When his hand left the back of your head, you fell to the ground in a heap.

Alastor stood over you, cock softening considerably and yet still standing on display. After a few moments, he knelt down next to you, fingers caressing down your arm. Your body shuddered as you gasped for air, throat raw from the abuse. 

“You did very good for me,” Alastor spoke softly, “Very good indeed. I’m afraid I got a little carried away with you, didn’t I?” 

“Please,” you whispered, looking up at Alastor with red-rimmed eyes, cheeks flushed. 

“I know,” Alastor chuckled darkly, taking in how pretty you looked with your lips red and swollen. His cock, still hanging from the front of his trousers, twitched as he stiffened again. “I’ll take care of you, don’t you worry.” 

[infanttoes]

Flip4Flip! 💥Katsuki & Izuku☘️ HCs

Sorry for my lack of posting. I don’t have an excuse tbh, I just didn’t feel like it :P

This duo as my apology. Idk how I haven’t done them yet, I just realized. They’re one of my faves🧍

☘️ : This has been established before, but Katsuki’s a toddler regressor (4-ish) while Izuku kinda slides around from toddler to preteen, nothing’s ever really stuck.

💥 : Katsuki refuses to ever admit he’s regressed. He’ll literally threaten to uppercut someone in the jaw at the mere suggestion, even though he’s simultaneously fantasizing about going to bed and watching All Might movies with a sippy cup full of orange juice. Izuku’s tactic is often to just subtly watch over him and do simple things like grabbing him snacks or changing the TV channel to cartoons until he stops trying to fight it.

☘️ : Izuku definitely picked up Katsuki’s swearing habit and it’s become a major battle. Katsuki would be making him lunch and accidentally drops food on the floor, followed by a hushed “shit.” But we all know nothing gets past Izuku. That word became his anthem for the next three hours.

💥 : You haven’t seen hyperactive ‘til you’ve seen a regressed Katsuki. Izuku takes him to the park and gives him activities to do regularly, but he never seems to run out of energy. He’s always on the go! This has resulted in very, very frequent hikes and rock climbing trips because that seems to be the only thing that tuckers this kid out.

☘️ : Izuku forces Katsuki to color with him. And gets offended that his drawings look better so he takes away his crayons. Sometimes he’ll shove his paper in the other’s face and make him guess what it is, but God forbid he gets it wrong (even though it’s usually All Might or Katsuki himself.)

💥 : Both have very distinct ways of comforting each other. Katsuki believes in the art of minimalism (he doesn’t know how to comfort someone.) He’ll usually sit with Izuku and rub his back idly until the tears die down. Izuku doesn’t mind since he doesn’t typically wanna talk about it anyway. On the other end of the spectrum, Izuku is like an anxious mom. He’ll destroy all 7 world wonders to satiate the beast we call Katsuki, and most of the time he just needs a nap.

☘️ : Katsuki calls Izuku mama or papa. It’s never consistent, just depends on the day honestly. At first, Izuku tried correcting mama but he gave up after a week of no results. Izuku only ever uses Kacchan, and Katsuki actually finds he’s more comfortable with that than anything else.

💥 : Although they’d both been regressors for a while, Izuku was the first one to make himself known by appearing in Katsuki’s doorway at one in the morning, trembling in fear because he thought the pile of clothes on his desk chair was a monster. Katsuki’s first time regressing around Izuku was after the war. They co-depended too hard and he accidentally revealed his true identity during a sleepover 😔

☘️ : Physical Touch & Acts of Service. They clash very often because Katsuki has very strict physical boundaries and Izuku feels guilty when people do things for him, but they make it work.

💥 : You best bet they still bicker and annoy each other, even when one is little. It’s just a bit different. Katsuki tries to purposefully break the rules and give Izuku an attitude just for the attention. He likes testing his patience. Izuku is the “why” type of kid. He’ll ask why a million times over, even if he already got or knows the answer to his question, just because he thinks it’s hilarious to see Katsuki try not to pop a vessel.

☘️ : They have a shared drawer full of All Might bandaids that they restock bi-monthly.