#Snippet

[strang3lov3]

Dad!Joel snippet

as promised :) sorry for getting too sleepy for dadcest night!! it was the weed.

under the cut - incest, icky, sexual content. all characters are adults and this is fiction.

Joel pulls into his driveway, then shuts off the truck and puts the keys into the pocket of his soft, worn shirt. He’s gentle as he lifts your head from his lap, doing this awkward, careful maneuver as he opens the truck door and slides out. He leans over your body and grabs you in his strong arms, then carries you tightly against his chest. Joel slams the truck door shut by kicking it with his foot, then looks down at you. 

Your sleeping face, knocked the fuck out. Lips plump and pouting, drooling - there’s drool on his jeans, too. Not that he minds any. “Ohh,” he sighs quietly. “What’m I gonna do with ya, kiddo.”

Drives in Dad’s truck always put you to sleep. Joel remembers when you were a baby, and fucking inconsolable. Colicy, you poor girl. All out of sorts. And nothing worked to soothe you - not a bottle, not a story, not being rocked or bounced or anything. Joel didn’t have the heart to let you cry it out, either. You kept Joel awake for days, screaming your little head off. Joel was at his wits end with you and needed a break before he screamed his head off, too. So he buckled you into your little carseat and began driving to Uncle Tommy’s so he could deal with you for a little bit. Tommy owed him one, anyway. 

Joel realized he could hear Nirvana playing on the radio, and not your screams and cries. In five minutes you’d passed out, like a fucking charm.

He grunts when he carries you inside, muscles burning as he brings you up the stairs. “When’d you get so big, huh?” he murmurs, laying you down on your bed. He unties your shoes one at a time and slips them off, quietly placing them on the floor. Wasn’t so long ago that your shoes had velcro straps and lit up when you ran. 

“Dad,” you mumble, voice thick with sleep.

“Shit, sweetheart. M’sorry,” Joel whispers, stroking the side of your head. “Didn’t mean to wake ya. Go back to sleep, darlin’.” 

You shake your head. “Rock me.” 

Oh, Joel knows what that means. And those eyes you give him, fuck. “Rock you, huh?” he asks, feeling his cock twitch in his denim. “Reckon s’a little late for that, kiddo. Got a busy mornin' ahead of us.” 

“Please,” you beg, reaching for your dad’s warm hand and putting it between your thighs, where you're all slick and dripping. “I need you, Daddy.” 

Joel sighs, then bites the corner of his lip. It’s true what they say, about kids making you soft. “Yeah, alright. I’ll rock ya,” he agrees.

more dad!joel

[salty-autistic-writer]

Tommy talks to Maddie. (Spoilers for episode 15, grief)

Evan is asleep. Finally, after hours of shaking and crying, his breaths turned even. He's curled up on his side, the pillow wet from his tears.

After a last checking glance at Evan, Tommy carefully leaves the room and gently closes the door behind him. He can’t sleep yet. His body still caught in a state between agitated disbelief and the urge to do what he can to take care of Evan in his heartbreaking grief.

When Tommy steps into the living room, he sees Maddie sitting on the couch. She nods at him, her face pale and eyes red rimmed from her own tears. While Tommy is here for Evan, she’s here for Chimney.

“How’s Buck?” Maddie asks quietly.

Tommy leans against the table. “He’s sleeping now.”

Maddie nods, sighing softly. “Chimney too. Finally. How are you doing?”

Tommy shrugs. “Right now, I’m feeling pretty numb. I haven’t been able to cry so far, even though my head feels like it might burst any moment. Maybe I won’t be able to stop crying later. I don’t know. I have no idea what will happen. Until now, I only had experience with the death of people I stopped caring about.” He falters, blinking, realising he talked an awful lot instead of answering the question with a short okay or something. “Oh. I’m sorry. I think I just overshared.”

“It’s okay. Everybody grieves differently,” Maddie states quietly, reaching for a pillow and pressing it to her chest. “Thank you,” she adds, looking up at him. “For being here for Buck. And … For helping to save Chimney. I was so scared when … when I saw him. He looked so sick. So pale. So … Close to death. If he hadn’t gotten the antiviral in time …”

She stops, twisting her fingers into the pillow, her eyes staring into the void and filling with new tears.

Tommy knows what she wanted to say. 

If it wasn’t for the antiviral, Howie would have died too.

Tommy swallows. “Howie saved my life,” he says, remembering waking up in a hospital bed, surprised by Howie’s face hovering above him, smiling and holding a sandwich. “He’s my friend. I will always be there if he needs help.”

Or anyone from the 118 really.

“I wish I could have done something to save Bobby,” Tommy admits, his chest clenching. He felt so lost when he was watching it all happen on the monitors. So helpless.

Maddie nods. “I think we all wish that,” she says, wiping at her eyes. “But no one could have helped him. He knew that. It was his choice to die like this. It was his choice to make sure his team, his family, got out of that lab alive. We have to honour it.”

“Yeah. It’s just so hard to imagine a world without Bobby Nash,” Tommy says, remembering the moment when Bobby encouraged him to transfer. I’m sad to see you go, but happy you get to chase your dream , he had said with that honest smile. And then he welcomed Evan to the 118 table. The father I never had , Evan told Tommy once. And now … that piece was torn from the world, yet it’s still turning. It’s surreal.

Maddie gives him a sad smile. “Well, we all somehow have to live in that world now,” she says, getting up and hugging him, which surprises Tommy, but also fills him with a warm glow.

“We should try to get some sleep too,” Maddie tells him. “Tomorrow is going to be tough for everyone."

She slowly leaves the room, running a hand through her hair. Tommy watches after her, his head aching. He can feel pressure behind his eyes. Maybe tomorrow he will be able to finally cry.

(AO3 Link)

[sinister-sincerely]

Chapter 3 Snippet

Rated 16+ | This is Extremely Suggestive CW: Obsessive Behavior, Power Imbalance, Non-Consensual Touch (restraining, cornering, trapping), Emotional Manipulation, Threats, Knives, disturbing imagery

Important :: Chapters 1-3 on the above AO3 link do not have explicit content. Chapter 4 will be the one that is intentionally E - the rest are M. [...]

"Once upon a time, Star," Sun began, his voice erupting across the heavy silence that had settled between you and Moon, shattering the tension with something far worse, "...we had roles, Formal ones."

He paced leisurely back into the living room, footsteps calculated, almost bouncing lightly off the floor like he was stepping onto a familiar stage. 

"Neither of us," Sun continued, tone airy, sing-song if not for the edge lurking beneath it, "could rightfully do their act without full trust that the other was just as... dedicated."

Moon chuckled lowly from where he knelt before you, the sound curling into the room's corners like smoke. His grin stretched wider, eyes brightening with a manic gleam as he watched your expression twist, drinking it in. He rose slowly, easing backward, body relaxed, letting Sun have the floor like it had been preordained from the beginning. 

Sun, still dressed absurdly in his gym attire, obscene neon yellow shorts, and the offensively pink tank top clinging to his body, looked even more out of place now, bathed in the dim, fractured afternoon light slanting through the blinds.

It would have been comical if it wasn't so horrifying.

And then you noticed the addition of thin, delicate white gloves stretched tightly across Sun's long fingers, pristine and almost ceremonial in contrast to the garish color of his clothes. Sun caught you staring and beamed, rehearsed and dazzling. 

From somewhere hidden against his back, he produced four decorative knives, handles polished and cradled expertly in his palms as if they had simply appeared. 

He displayed them proudly, carefully turning his hand outward in a slow flourish, the white gloves catching the light as he moved, framing the knives as precious props for your viewing pleasure. 

"There's a skill to captivation," Sun began, voice clear and loud, cutting through the growing pressure in the air like the practiced performer he was. "It's not all cheap showmanship and flashy lights—"

He smoothly passed the handle of the first knife into his opposite hand, the blade catching a sliver of light as it turned with his words. The silver edge jumped into view as he brandished it, a shimmer of steel timed perfectly with the subtle shift in his voice. 

"You have to evaluate your audience," he continued, tone dipping lower as his eyes made contact with yours. His head tilted like he was sharing a secret.  "No matter how large..." Sun paused, then tossed the second blade high into the air. It flipped once-twice-slicing down through the light in front of his face. "...or how intimate the crowd size is." he purred into the last word as he caught the knife by the handle mid-air, the movement so quickly it nearly escaped you. 

"What will make them laugh," Sun continued, as he nodded once almost imperceptible but Moon moved the instant the signal came, responding like it had been drilled into him from muscle memory.

Moon dropped forward without hesitation, his body folding in on itself with an unnatural, fluid grace; he leaned down until his palms laid flush against the floor, shoulders rolling outward in a way that defied the normal limits of movement.

It looked effortless... but the controlled strain across his body, the coiling of muscle beneath the loose cuffs of his overshirt, made your heart leap uncomfortably into your throat.

Then, with a subtle shift of weight, Moon pushed off his hands and kicked up into a full handstand.

The muscles along his arms and shoulders flexed beneath the fabric, a silent testament to the impossible control it took to hold himself perfectly inverted. His legs lifted and "walked" slowly through the air above him, each step exaggerated, but looked so easy for him.

You had never seen Moon move like this… so precise, and lethal in his strength. The Moon you knew barely bothered to stand up straight half the time, always slouched over an arcade cabinet, intently tapping buttons, or sneaking off behind prize counters for long, secret naps. Sure, he could throw someone out when he had to, prone to short, brutal flashes of anger, but then it always defaulted back… 

…but this? This was different.

Sun's voice shifted with the moment, dipping low and curling at the edges, taking on a cartoon villain's brand of sinister pleasure.  "—or just disturb them."

Moon flexed his palms once against the floor, a simple movement, but the way he launched himself off it into a short, lazy hop made you lean forward to watch.

Then, seamlessly, Moon began to shift his weight backward.

His legs bent as they found the ground again, spine curving into a fluid arc until he dropped low into a crab-like crouch. From there, he moved, intentionally creepily, his body contorting into his own brand of a spider walk. Moon’s red eyes were locked on you, an exaggerated upside-down frown on his face looking like an uncanny smile to taunt. Then, just as suddenly, he rose back upright smoothly, joints unfolding with unnatural ease, shoulders still in your sight, not crowding, but imposing just the same. “Course, back in the day," Moon drawled, cutting in, voice low while his fingers absently brushing over his knuckles like he could still feel the rope there, "I spent most of my time in the air. Lyra, silks… static trapeze if we were short a flyer." He tilted his head back, red eyes scanning the ceiling like he could still see the rigging. "You won't last long in that world unless you trust your anchor..." Sun hummed in agreement. You followed Moon’s gaze and saw them. Metal hoops, half-hidden near the ceiling, easy to mistake for old hardware if not for the way he'd just called them out. "Hard points in every room," Moon said, answering before you could ask. "Useful." He smiled, teeth faintly bared. The hairs on your neck stood up; the implication didn't need explanation. Moon didn't move to get closer to you, just pivoted, letting the shift in air trail behind him as he swung an open hand back toward Sun, who now stood perfectly still, knives balanced once again in his palms, posed perfectly.

"And Sunshine, here?" Moon continued, voice slipping into something performative. "Well… we already know how good he plays a crowd." He let the silence sit for a moment long enough for the tension to press down harder. The room holding its breath. "But be careful where your eyes wander, Star," Moon added, head tilting slightly as his gaze slid to you teasingly. "Sun's hands are... dangerous... Easy to miss the moment you should've been watching." With the attention on him, Sun began to move.

The knives lifted, one, two, three all four, silver arcs spinning into the air, circling in front of him like a distorted halo made of teeth.

The room filled with the soft rhythm of metal slicing through the silence. A faint whistle with each rotation, the audible drop of a hilt landing cleanly in Sun's palm, over and over again.

You couldn't look away.

Even after everything. Even now.

Sun was graceful— too graceful. Every line of his body shifted in sync with the throw, like a dancer moving through a song he'd known all his life. The white gloves standing out stark against the gleam of polished steel, pristine and controlled as the speed increased.

He performed with confidence that bordered on obsessiveness.

Then—he missed.

A blade slipped just slightly. The tip dipped low, and for a split second, gravity took hold, dragging it off-course and away from his hand.

Your knuckles locked until your fingers ached. Your body flinched. It was stupid… and even as it happened, you felt the disgust rise sharp in your throat. You should want him to fail. You should want that knife to fall and cut him. They’d hurt you… so why was your chest full of panic?

Your body didn’t answer these questions, it just moved—jerked forward on instinct, reaching as if you could catch the knife. As if you were still on his side.

And yet... choreographed, planned. Sun caught the falling blade behind his back in one fluid motion, sliding it seamlessly into the spin again. Clean. Efficient.

And you, arm still half-lifted in reflex, stood frozen in humiliation.

Sun laughed, high and sharp, as if your flinching had been part of the show all along. He grinned, smug, teasingly. “Careful, Star, touching may get you hurt…” Your chest ached... not just from the threat but from the sudden, sickening reminder of your own body. The way it reacted without your permission, without sense. It remembered wanting …

You were sitting there, trembling in little more than your underwear, in front of your two bosses. Two men you had once... God. Actually wanted to impress at one point, be seen by.

There had even been late nights where the thought of their eyes lingering on you had curled hot and secret under your skin, where the idea of being the center of their attention had felt—well...

And now you were, weren't you? Just not in the way you liked, not the way you wanted.

Their eyes were not yearning. No. They were clinical, distant, and cold. You were not being admired; you were being assessed and dealt with like a problem.

The shame scalded, far worse than the terror ever had.

Not only because you were exposed, but also some terrible part of you had once asked for this... had leaned into every near-touch, every private joke, every crack in their polished performative distance from the world to feel chosen... special.

And now, all you could think (branded across the inside of your skull) was that it had all been a trick. That the warmth had been bait, you were never special, just a convenient cover and an easy mark to eliminate if the need arose. You wanted to scream, not from dread anymore, but from something hotter, uglier. Something that burned every time you took a breath.

How dare they.

How DARE they touch you, trap you, strip you down, and smile while doing it. How dare they make you feel seen and wanted—only to reveal that all they'd been doing was playing an easily scraped part.

You moved without thinking.

Rage surged, and your body followed. You shoved against the chair, teeth clenched, trying to stand, strike, or do something —but Moon was faster.

Let’s Get Physical

UPDATED 4/22/25

AO3 link update for RATED E FOR EXPLICIT Content continuation of the below.

LINK HERE

Ya know the drill! Inspired by @wyervan and their Slasher DCA AU | This story is about a little black book that should have stayed where it belonged and one curious Reader who gets in a bit too over their head with eyein' Sun and a quiet Moon...

Inspired by the drop dead gorgeous artwork of Sun in his workout clothes HERE Seriously. LOOK AT HIM! I am a shameless simp.

Rated 16+ | This is Extremely Suggestive CW: Voyeurism, Stalking / Obsessive Behavior, Power Imbalance, Non-Consensual Touch (restraining, cornering)

Word count: 3.2K words

Workin' alongside them day in and day out, it was bound to happen. Managing the arcade and the occasional get-together outside of work made it feel like you were becoming... friends.

You had been getting closer to your bosses over the last few months.

Sometimes, maybe more than that.

You couldn't forget that night at their place when you all were drinking together, Sun pulling you against him, his laughter grazing your neck. Moon had leaned down against you, eyes locked on yours, his usual cautious attitude dropping.

Nothing really happened that night, but after that, your opinions of them changed. You'd seen a side that felt real... vulnerable, almost warm.

But reconciling that with your growing doubt was gettin' harder.

The longer you worked with them, the more you noticed patterns...and the more it seemed like they noticed you noticing.

Moon's dark jokes used to feel like teasing, but lately, they felt more like test-watching how much you'd brush off.

Sun, however, would mumble anxiously whenever something seemed strange, fluttering his hands like he was trying to sort his thoughts.

Both seemed to watch your reactions closely as if waiting for something.

Then there were the disappearances, always someone with a dark reputation, someone connected to the arcade.

A bruised child's asshole parent, a partner roughing up their spouse one too many times, or just someone unsettling who lingered too long near the kids.

Eventually, they'd just be gone.

Later, the town would hear about the remains found in woods or abandoned lots. The details were never public knowledge, but it always hit the community hard.

People whispered theories, accidents, and wild animals, but the idea of foul play was quickly dismissed. "Nothing like that happens here."

But Sun and Moon's reactions never matched the mood.

Sun would flash a careful, almost relieved smile, while Moon would mutter about karma, his eyes glinting with something sharper.

It wasn't like they celebrated, but it felt like they were in on a private joke.

You kept telling yourself it was just paranoia, but curiosity got the better of you while cleaning one Monday:

The high school had an unexpected half-day, and the arcade was overrun with teenagers. Sun and Moon were forced to the front, leaving the office unlocked.

You knew you shouldn't, but you slipped inside to 'tidy' up.

Everything looked normal, papers scattered, the computer humming loudly, except for a tiny black notebook. Its plain cover blended into the mess, but you couldn't look away once you saw it.

You hesitated, but your fingers moved on their own, flipping it open.

The handwriting was obsessively neat: names, addresses, schedules, some marked 'Best' in red. Your heart pounded as you recognized some names, people who were now gone.

Worse were the dozens of other names you didn't know...

Whatever this was, it wasn't meant for you to see.

A shout from the front of the building snapped you out of it. You barely had time to run to the breakroom and stash the notebook in a locker before Sun appeared.

The rest of the day, you were an anxious wreck, trying to act like your nerves were from the kids... not the damn notebook searing itself in your thoughts.

By the time you left that Monday afternoon, you hadn't managed to return it...

Now, it was Tuesday morning, and you couldn't take it anymore.

After a restless night, you were on your feet the second the morning light broke, heading into the city to set your thoughts straight.

You decided to return to the arcade, find a way in, put back the notebook, and figure out your next move.

You couldn't risk being caught with it if your worst suspicions were right.

Outside the building, you gripped the splintering wood of the bathroom window ledge that conveniently looked out into the one alleyway that gave you enough cover.

The edge dug into your palms, tender flesh pinched down, the old wood groaning to support your weight, threatening to give at any moment.

You hissed out a curse that fogged in the chill air.

This was the only window you knew for a fact had a broken lock, the one place you could sneak into the arcade that didn't have you smashing a window or forcing a door open.

Getting inside any other way just wasn't an option—well, not without drawing unwanted attention from one of the other shops nearby.

Your sneakers kept slipping against the old brick siding, scraping against the uneven surface and sending pieces of flaking concrete to the ground. The muscles in your arms burnt, every nerve on edge to the real fear of being caught, stuck halfway up the side of the building like some stray cat.

Eventually, your foot caught on a solid ridge, just enough to give you leverage. You managed to push yourself up with clumsy coordination, meaning that your torso pushed painfully against the window's glass.

The window was stubborn, jammed tight from years of weather damage and Sun being too cheap to replace it. With gritted teeth, you forced your fingers between the frame and the dirty glass, trying to wiggle it open.

At first, it didn't so much as budge. Panic swelled in your chest, but you dug your fingers in harder, pulling til your wrists ached. Finally, with a shuddered groan from the warped frame, the window opened, sliding up just enough to give you a narrow gap.

With no time to lose, you immediately twisted your body awkwardly. Ducking your head in first, your hands braced against the sill, nails digging into unknown grime as you dragged yourself inside.

As you pulled, you felt your hoodie get caught by what had to be a loose nail. The momentum had you yanked back briefly, but you forced forward. Then, with one final push, you tumbled painfully onto the floor below, landing ungracefully on your hands and knees with a muffled thud.

You remained on the floor for a second, sucking in shallow breaths, all your muscles tight from a horrible mix of anxiety and ache from the fall.

The building around you was quieter than you had ever heard it before. In your head, you kept telling yourself that your bosses were at home, not here, but that did little to ease the prickling sensation crawling up and down your arms.

Even though you were safe inside the building, the sense of urgency did not let up. You forced yourself to move, pushing off the ground to get onto your feet. Your legs felt shaky as you left the bathroom, entering from the side of the main arcade floor.

It was strange to be there with no one else around- no shouting kids, no echo of Sun loudly reprehending someone for throwing a ski ball into the ball pit while Moon played Contra in the background.

Now it was just the low hum of the claw machines and the endless looped jingles of the game cabinets, playing to an empty room...

A nervous tickle was crawling up the back of your throat, which you forced down with a dry swallow as you made your way through the maze of games toward the hallway before the breakroom.

You eased the door open with your heel as a sudden harsh glare from the ceiling lights hit you head-on, forcing you to squint. It was a jarring shift from the dim arcade to the almost sterile-white light making your eyes sting.

Moon must have forgotten to walk through yesterday to shut everything off.

Your footsteps echoed against the ground as you crossed over to the wall of lockers, dropping to your knees in front of one of the bottom units that never saw any use.

The hinges of its door gave a soft, grating screech as you opened it, the sound cutting through the silence. You winced, but your panic eased the moment your eyes landed on the notebook tucked neatly inside, right where you had left it.

Once it was back in your hands, you flipped to a random page, and there it was again... The same careful handwriting, neat columns, specific notes... Someone had taken great lengths to document other people's entire life.

Even if it was a hobby, it was still stalking, at the very least.

A thread of doubt encircled your thoughts, quiet and insistent.

All you could think of was Moon giving you a smile. It was one of the rare ones not edged with sarcasm or teasing. Sun and that extremely fleeting soft look he sometimes gave when he thought you weren't paying attention.

Neither performative. Just...

They wouldn't do things like that if they were real monsters, right?

Maybe this was all still some twisted but harmless misunderstanding.

You closed the notebook, letting its weight settle in your palms. Dissociated, you stared into the open locker before you as if it might swallow everything.

If you were to put the notebook back, pretend you never saw it... could things go back to how they were—

A sound.

Soft but deafening against the stillness.

Your heart jumped as instincts took over. You shut the locker as quietly as possible before scrambling away, half getting to your feet, half running toward the adjacent hallway.

With seconds to spare, you pressed your body as close to the wall as possible, holding your breath from just behind a corner.

"—Let’s get physical! Physical! Da da da dah dahhh!"

Off-key singing rang out, the sound piercing straight through you.

At the recognition of the voice, your entire body seemed to freeze. A cold, sickly sweat rose on your skin, sliding down your back as you shoved the notebook into the front pocket of your hoodie.

Trembling, you stole a look.

It was Sun.

He came bouncing into the breakroom with that familiar, exaggerated energy in his step, practically prancing on those absurdly long legs, singing like no one was listening (and to his credit, he probably did believe he was alone).

Loud. Offbeat. Completely unbothered.

It wasn't the singing that struck you; it was the fact that Sun was wearing shorts.

Not just shorts—obscenely short shorts, in a garish highlighter yellow fabric that stretched and clung far too tightly against his narrow hips.

Up top was his usual sunflower-print button-down, half open at the chest. An orange gym bag slung carelessly over one of his shoulders as he swayed to the imaginary beat, heading toward his locker in full dance/walk.

You pressed yourself further into the wall, wishing for it to absorb you as you silently panicked, hating yourself for being more terrified to be caught spying vs having just broken in.

The sound of the locker door creaking open pulled your eyes and attention back to Sun.

He was closer now—close enough that you could make out the ginger strands of chest hair peeking from the open collar of his shirt...

Air caught in your throat, a heat blooming across your face as you tried in vain to stop your eyes as they drifted down—down the curve of his neck,

tracing the scattered freckles that led your line of sight to the inward curve of his collar bones.

It felt involuntary like your eyes were betraying you...

Unaware of your struggle, Sun had stopped singing to humming softly as he hoisted the gym bag into the locker. You heard the subtle rasp of a zipper, then saw him pull out a single piece of candy, amber-colored and wrapped in a very familiar crinkly plastic.

Werther's Original, if you had to guess.

The candy looked absurdly tiny in between his fingers. Sun unwrapped it with a surprising delicacy, slow and precise. He leaned forward, lips parted, the tip of his tongue slipping out to guide the caramel past his teeth.

A low, pleased noise purred from deep in his chest as he let it settle in his mouth, blue eyes half-lidded in brief, blissful focus.

You had looked at Sun before, sure... But this felt different.

Alongside the usual curiosity... was fascination...

Not just at seeing him outside the structured chaotic rhythm of work, this was seeing him relaxed, unaware, caught in a private moment.

Layered beneath the intrigue was something heavier—a creeping shame that sat hot in your chest as you released just how closely you were staring.

You shouldn't be feeling these things, you told yourself, fingertips digging hard into the wall beside you as if the pressure could force the thoughts out.

Sun could be dangerous. Might have taken lives—hell, you had a whole notebook of reasons to believe exactly that.

And yet here you were in the dark, admiring the way he sucked on a piece of candy...

"Hmm... not in here either," Sun murmured, the candy clicking softly against his teeth as he leaned deeper into the locker before pulling back out with a soft grunt.

You felt yourself freeze as his fingers began to move to the buttons of his shirt, unfastening them one by one with slow, rhythmic ease. His eyes stayed low, focused on his task, unaware of how his lips pouted in concentration.

The fabric parted down his chest, freckles catching the overhead light, the soft movement almost hypnotic in how casual it was.

You told yourself to look away. Move, blink, do ANYTHING, but continue to watch.

But you didn't. Couldn't.

Drawn further, you leaned in as Sun slid the shirt off his shoulders. It hung loose briefly, clinging to his thick forearms before he carefully slipped one arm out, then the other unhurried.

Your body betrayed you completely, heart skipping a beat at the sight of him bare-chested.

His skin was pale, almost luminous under the harsh breakroom lights, flushed here and there in soft shades of red and pink. Freckles dotted his shoulders in the same scattered constellation you had seen on his neck, confirming what you already suspected: they were everywhere...

Sun folded the dress shirt between his palms, and you watched helplessly as lean muscle shifted beneath his skin. Every movement was smooth, second-natured like his body remembered how to perform even without a stage.

Then he turned, reaching back into the locker, and your gaze followed automatically. His stomach drew in with the movement, the sharp lines of his hips forming a deep V that dipped beneath the waistband of those obnoxious shorts.

A trail of red hair traced around his navel that disappeared with it—too low, too inviting...

Too distracted. Too caught up.

You never heard the quiet steps creeping up behind you until it was already far too late.

A sturdy hand clamped down over your mouth, unyielding and slightly cold. Your brain struggled to realize what was going on as an arm locked tightly across your chest, yanking you off the ground like you weighed nothing.

The pressure constricting your lungs, ribs straining against the sudden force.

There wasn't even enough time to gasp.

"—Naughty..."

The word rumbled low against your ear, more growl than a whisper. The voice was unmistakable, and your stomach immediately turned to lead.

Moon.

Panic flared, sharp and wild in your chest. You did not thrash, didn't try and scream; you knew better.

Memories of him when he was really annoyed popped up in your mind. The way he could shift from seemingly calm to snapping in a second. His patience waned before the way his hands moved without restraint.

"...Are you a rulebreaker, Star?"

Moon's voice was almost too close, curling itself in the limited space between the two of you. The grip on your chest tightened just enough to make it hurt. Your lungs stuttered, fighting for a breath of air around the seal of his palm.

It was no use, though; you could not move or answer.

How long had he been there just watching you?

Moon leaned forward in a slow, graceful pivot, his chin barely brushing the top of your head as he peered around the corner. You could feel his chest vibrate with a low chuckle, a laugh meant only for you, as he pulled you back against him.

"See something you like?" he asked, voice lilting with that taunting sweetness that never meant anything good coming from him.  

Moon loosened his hold slightly, just enough for you to suck in a thin, trembling breath.

"Be quiet." he warned, "Or Sunny might find out just how naughty you are..."

Your blood ran cold as Moon lowered you back onto the ground. His hand kept firm across your mouth, not removing it yet; he seemed to be waiting for something, measuring your body language.

Like a cat playing with its food...

You should have known better.

The thought rang loud through your head, scolding painfully obvious as you stood there frozen: Sun NEVER went anywhere alone. Moon was always close behind.

How long had both of them been here at the arcade then?

Unaware or uncaring of your spiraling state, Moon let go of you suddenly, the absence of his grip so abrupt it knocked you off center. You stumbled a step, body turning instinctively toward him...

It was a mistake.

He was on you again in an instant. Moving with the smooth, practiced ease of a silent showman. You barely had time to register the shift before your back hit the wall hard. The force was just shy of violent—controlled, precise. His weight pressed into you, locking you in place.

Too close to move. Too close to fight back, even if you wanted to.

Whatever your expression, panic, shock, or guilt seemed to delight him. Moon's eyes dropped, narrowing with a strange kind of satisfaction.

You could see it the moment he noticed, though. Something strange between the layers of your hoodie and the way your body was flush against his.

The notebook still carefully hidden in your front pocket.

Moon tilted his head, studying you closely like you were a puzzle he was halfway through solving. His gaze was razor-sharp, calculating, his lips curled slightly, not in amusement, but in recognition of your fear...

A raspy giggle broke his silence as he rolled his hips forward, slow but hard.

You felt the notebook flatten against your abdomen, caught between your body and his.

It was only a matter of time now, wasn't it?

Heat was radiating off your face from humiliation, terror, and... something you weren't brave enough to name.

The air in your lungs turning thick and useless.

"...What are you hiding, Starlight?"

Moon sang, low and rough, barely above a whisper, but his tone was unlike anything you had ever heard from him before.

He caged you in fully, strong arms braced on either side of your head, shoulders pulled in tight as he leaned down.

Moon didn't blink.

His eyes didn't wander.

They stayed locked on yours, sharp and unrelenting... probing.

Stripping you bare like he could peel the truth out from under your skin with nothing but a stare alone.

When you didn't answer... when you couldn't,

...he let one arm drop.

His hand moved slowly, tracing a path down the side of your neck. Fingers cold and heavy, their weight sending shivers down your body as they ghosted over your sensitive skin.

He gave your throat a faint squeeze, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you he could.

Then his fingers slid lower, lower still... and you stopped breathing altogether as he neared the notebook.

You wanted to scream,

to run...

to disappear...

But you couldn't.

Not when he was looking at you like that.

So you did the only thing you could.

With all your desperation, panic twisting hot beneath your skin, breath caught somewhere between a scream and a sob—you reached up and grabbed hold of him.

Your fingers tangled in Moon's hair, thick and soft between your shaking hands, and you pulled.

Drawing him toward you with everything you had left. Not gently. Not sweet.

Raw survival that was driven by instinct and the pounding need to do something at that moment...

And then—you kissed him.

Author's note: I have more but it goes into explicit territory. Still on the fence about posting it to AO3 where I can tag appropriately! If I do I will update to say so. -Sin

Thank you for reading, friends!

[gerardways-mcr]

“Dean! This is the fifth time we’ve watched Batman in a week! Can’t we watch something different?” Castiel pleads.

Dean grows a shit-eating grin and hits play.

[uniquethingtastemaker]

More Rook x Observant Reader:

The Pomefiore leader looks forward to their union. It also gives him an excuse to keep and adopt [Y/N] as a full, honorary member of his dorm. Heartslabyul has done the same. However, they haven’t given the Ramshackle prefect a uniform, so Vil is a step above them.

The queen smirks.

(Ah, yes, our competitive queen wanting to be better than anyone else. We love that. Vil is truly hilarious in this)

[albaricomics]

PAGE 12 OF TNMN "THE SHROUD" SOON!!!

[cilil]

A very late new chapter because Life Happened

Dior appeared in front of his mind's eye — desperate and deluded as it had become — like he'd merely walked in, coming over for a visit. He was above Amras and all around him at the same time, his weight pushing him down and into the mattress, his hands holding his wrists, cupping his cheeks, grasping his chin, his neck — 

"You keep thinking about me, Amras." 

All Amras could do was look up, meek and trusting. In his mind, all was open, every sin and weakness laid bare. Defenseless against the truth of Dior's whispered words. 

"Tell me, do you like what your mind shows you?" 

When Dior Eluchíl refuses to give up the Silmaril and the remaining sons of Fëanor are forced to act, Amras offers to infiltrate Doriath and steal the Silmaril. Unfortunately for him, he swiftly learns that Dior is not easily deceived and ends up being captured and kept as a hostage. While the Fëanorians are desperately trying to get him and the Silmaril back, Amras soon finds himself bonding with Dior's twin sons as well as his eerily charming captor, desperately craving the affection and closeness the Oath and Amrod's death have long taken from him; the very same Oath that may soon force his brothers to sacrifice him.

⟡ "The Silmaril that ever beckons" - Prologue/Chapter 1

⟡ "Plans and Preparations" - Chapter 2

⟡ "Into the Hidden Kingdom" - Chapter 3

⟡ "A Prince captured and a Ploy revealed" - Chapter 4

⟡ "Sibling Bonds and Sealed Letters" - Chapter 5

⟡ "The Hallowed Light" - Chapter 6

⟡ "Faithlessness and other Follies" - Chapter 7

⟡ "Touches that burn" - Chapter 8

⟡ "Dreams and Double Trouble" - Chapter 9

⟡ "Under Twilit Velvet Skies" - Chapter 10

⟡ "Sweet Kisses and Bitter Truths" - Chapter 11

⟡ "Old Wounds and New Bonds" - Chapter 12

⟡ "Touches that tempt" - Chapter 13

⟡ "A faint Taste of Freedom" - Chapter 14

[16scuderia]

might as well be interactive so i’m posting a snippet of my wip from my lestappen pillow talk series 🤫:

He takes longer to reply this time, but when Max sees a video file attached, he understands why.

Charles’ face remains hidden above the camera’s frame, his legs straddling a large bolster as he grinds his hips desperately against the pillow. For the most part, the video is filled with Charles’ pitiful whimpers, his frustrated moans as he drags his cock across the surface in search of friction. Not once does his hands wander to touch though, remaining dutifully flat on his thighs. Max smiles. He can’t help it — it’s nice seeing the fruits of his labour. There’d been a time when Charles had been so impatient, so eager to chase after his orgasms. Max had been quick to put a stop to that behaviour, teaching him the benefits of patience.

Max continues to watch, enamoured. He soaks in each and every gasp, taking sick pleasure at how Charles will speed up, chasing after his climax before tiring out, inevitably failing with a soft cry. Max wishes he could see his face, itching to cup his cheeks and wipe away his tears. He’s so engrossed in the video, he almost doesn’t catch when Charles begins to speak. Almost. There’s a beat of silence as Charles stutters over himself. Then, he hears a quiet but earnest, “Has— Has to be your fingers, Max,” before the video stops.

[tales-of-wocdes]

I already foresee my MC being a garden/forest kid 90% of the time.

Can’t find them? Have you checked the garden.

Yes? What about the forest.

Finding them asleep in a little nook in the garden or even as they grow up; claiming a section of the forest as their own, always there if you need to find them. I envision them being able to create their own shelter, have a water storage system for rain water, and hand make items. (Woven ropes, woven baskets, tools made from rock, etc.) They’re gonna make as many animal friends as possible SHSHSH. (This is me purely being delulu with a side of needing to make an oc; sprinkled with an attachment to this game.)

That's fine :D Though I did not plan for the orphanage to include a real forest so that may take some time. Though there are trees in the gardens, or at least some of them.

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

"Where is that kid now?" Lexia looked around... and headed for the nearest garden.

There in the corner, a small form was ... what were they doing? Hard to tell.

Lexia approached as MC kept piling up sticks.

"Hey kid! What are you up to?"

MC whirled around to see... and went back to their sticks once seeing it was just her.

"So... are you making a shelter or a fire?" Lexia asked idly.

The indignant glare she got in response told her it was probably meant to be a shelter.

[catzz089]

CHAPTER 12 SNIPPET GUYS:

Max would never say he was reliant on Charles, he just appreciated his company.

So when he came into work and Charles wasn’t there by the door, greeting him as usual, it didn’t upset him. It confused him, nothing else.

He grabbed his uniform and got changed, and it was fine. No issue. He didn’t care.

He left the backroom and found Carlos easily.

“Hey Max! How are you?”

“Where’s Charles?” He asked.

Carlos grinned, “Noticed already, huh? He’s not in today, so I’m in charge.”

“Huh,” Max frowned, “Why isn’t he in?”

“Uh, he’s- he’s ill! That’s why he’s not in, he got a really bad cold and now he’s off sick, he’ll be back soon though, don’t worry about it.”

“That’s terrible,” He grieved, “is he okay?” 

“Taking it really well, he wanted to come in but we really didn’t want to make everyone else sick. He’ll be great in a couple of days, don’t worry about him.”

Max nodded, slowly, “Alright.”

Fucking Charles.

Running around helping everyone with everything, he probably overworked himself to the point of illness, and now he was sick alone in a house too big for one person.

That wouldn’t do.

Max would have to go and help him through, Charles had been there for him time after time. He owed him so much.

Max would have to visit him after work, probably with some soup, he could make sure Charles got better.

---

Work just felt off.

It felt boring.

He didn’t feel the usual rush of adrenaline when a man with six fingers on one hand grabbed at his wrist when Max read back the order wrong. He didn’t feel the usual satisfaction when telling him to fuck off, nor the usual comfort when he would go and complain with Charles about it and Charles would wrap him in a nice big hug before getting him one of the desserts.

There were more workers in today, there were often different faces. Kimi came in once every blue moon, even then he would only stay at the bar with Seb, he also stuck to the quietest days with the least customers and workers. So Max was more than a little weirded out when he, and about five other people were in to work.

Despite it being one of their busier days, Max barely had a table to take, he’d served one old pretentious couple, given the six fingered man drinks before Lewis swept in to say that he knew the man- Max would’ve been more upset over the tip loss, but his wrist was beginning to bruise. He’d just finished serving Lawrence, which was unexpected but it was pleasant to see an old face (and a large tip).

“Am I the only one bored out of their mind?” He asked Carlos whilst they were waiting by the kitchens for literally any task to stimulate him.

“God no, you’d think without Charles there’d be more to do, but fuck it’s boring here.” Carlos lamented, gliding a hand through his gorgeous thick hair.

“Do you think Charles would know if I left early?” He asked, only partially serious. He had an earlier shift anyway, he wouldn’t be staying deep into the night, there was no point leaving.

“Probably not, maybe you should.”

“I wish, but I’m not risking my job for an hour or two of freedom.”

Carlos grinned, “I don’t think you need to worry about that, your boyfriend would never fire you.”

“Would you stop calling him my boyfriend? He’s going to overhear one day and think I’m really weird.” Max huffed.

“I don’t know, I think he’d probably get a boner if he heard.”

“Carlos!” Max gasped

“Oh come on, he’s not here, he doesn’t know what I’m saying. We should go to his office, it’s mine for the day anyway, and I’m sick to death of standing around.”

Max followed after him, it felt so odd going in without Charles, but he couldn’t really focus on that when Carlos refused to shut up.

“I mean, I think you’re one lucky guy, I’ve seen the print.”

“Carlos, stop talking about his fucking dick whilst he’s at home dying!”

“I know you think about it,” he continued, wriggling his eyebrows at Max because he was a dickhead and a dumbass.

Max rolled his eyes, “He’s more considerate than my ex, I think that’s all that matters.”

Carlos perked up, “Oh? An ex? Didn’t know you had those. I bet mine was worse though.”

And if that wasn’t an interesting little tidbit.

“What happened there?” Carlos groaned, “Dumbest decision of my life.................................................................................

[briarberrythornedhart]

Dirty Boy

Contains: fluff, fix it, non canon season 4, sitcom energy, Eddie’s canonical fear of ducks, ref to duck reproduction and organs, full actually quite filthy version posted to my A03

“And as for you, Eddie…” she sat next to him and fidgeted some hair around one of her ears and out of her face. To Eddie it seemed as though she was suddenly shy in a way she hadn’t been before when she was telling everyone (kinda bossy but in a hot way) that they needed to cool it on their foolish plans and wait for Eleven. “We need to disguise you a little bit, and then proceed with an operation I call: stitch up Jason Carver.”

Eddie must have looked as surprised because she placed a hand on his arm as if to calm or comfort him. “I know…it’s really Vecna but we can’t exactly explain that mess to the constabulary.” she said, her voice gentle as soft rain. “Jason has motive and all we need to do is get the cops off your back not actually get Jason behind bars. It’s doable.”

She gestured for him to sit forward and then she put her hands in his hair and pulled it back into a ponytail. She handed him a light blue tshirt that said “Uncle Hugo’s Science Fiction Bookstore” on it. Presumably to swap out for his hellfire shirt. He changed quickly, her eyes never leaving him. She looked like she was pleased with the view. Eddie hadn’t been checked out in… well it had been a long time. It felt great but he knew he didn’t look his best right now.

Eddie rubbed his hands on his jeans. Which did nothing for the dirt and demo bat gore on either, just spread it back and forth.

She was so pretty and… clean and she smelled amazing and was touching him, rubbing his arm and offering him her hand to hold. He swallowed on nothing.

“I should… I should wash my hands first. See…” he held them up to her. “… filthy. Been… you know, fighting monsters and crawling around a hell dimension.” It was an apology.

She smiled. “Whaddaru worried about, My hands are dirty too.”

Eddie looked at her quizzically. “Doesn’t look like it.”

“Sorry I was quoting Han Solo. I’m a dork. I mean I don’t care about dirt, but if you want when we get to Dustin’s you could wash up, shower or take a bath or whatever.”

“That would actually be amazing.” Eddie ran a hand through his hair and found some grit - more dirt or maybe cereal crumbs. Gross. The more he thought about it the more he longed to feel hot water wash away days of accumulated grime and horror.

“C’mon.” She stood and offered her hand again.

Eddie put his dirty hand in hers and he swore he felt an electric jolt from his palm to his chest. He also saw her eyes widen and her lips parted in a gasp. She felt something too?

She near- whispered. “I’ll drive.”

—-

Eddie of a day ago thought he’d never unironically laugh again. Eddie of 4 hours ago saw death or imprisonment as his two possible futures.

So being in a car with a hot girl who was making him laugh about things her cousin Dustin had done as a younger kid was not only relieving, but Elating.

“Oh my gawd stop.” Dustin complained. “I was nine, I didn’t know any better.”

“I know, but it was objectively hilarious to everyone else that you said ‘stop fucking with me’ to the Principal on your first day of Kindergarten. Except the principal. He had no sense of humor. But, You can tell Eddie my terribly embarrassing childhood stories if you want.”

“I should. Then you’d be sorry.” Dustin rebutted.

“Go ahead. It’s nice to hear Eddie’s laugh. It’s okay if it’s at my expense instead.” She patted Eddie’s knee. Eddie took her hand again and squeezed it gently. When he released her hand so she could shift gears, she put her hand back slightly higher and rubbed his thigh. So Eddie took her hand and brought it to his lips for a courtly kiss and that made her bite her lip and sigh.

No one had given him this much physical affection since Paige. He hungered for it.

And with Paige Eddie knew just how he’d fucked that all up in the end. He would not make that mistake again.

He’d been guarded and careful and not let Paige know how he felt when he knew she was the best thing he had going. He’d been focused on getting the funds for his rock star plan first and foremost. Yes they’d slept together, planned to start a new life in Cali together in theory, but he’d never opened up. Not fully. He’d never told Paige what he was going through nor what she meant to him.

This time, this gal, he was going to give as good as he got. Match her energy. What did he have to lose?

Death wasn't just something that happened in game, in stories, or to other people. Death had tapped Eddie’s shoulder and said “hello”. Eddie was forever changed.

“Eddie is afraid of ducks.” Dustin blurted out.

“Whaaaat??!!” She turned to Eddie again- eyebrows way up.

Eddie had bigger fears now than ::shudder:: ducks, but he defended his truth. “They are monsters. Have you ever looked in their evil little eyes?”

“I haven’t, no. I have heard about their junk. Being corkscrew shaped and growing bigger in mating season.”

Eddie nearly choked.

“What???” Dustin was leaning forward from the middle seat -hands gripping the front seats.

“C’mon Now you’re fucking with us.” Eddie laughed.

“It’s not the sort of thing I would invent.” She informed him with serious eyes.

Eddie chortled.

“They do!” She laughed back.

“You’ve seen a duck’s dick?” Eddie challenged.

“No!! I read about it in a birding book.”

And Now he was Absolutely laughing his ass off for the first time in so very long. He doubled over and fought the seatbelt and lost. He could hardly breathe. it felt amazing.

“For what possible reason?!?” Dustin’s mind was well-boggled. “Like Evolutionarily, why would that happen!!”

She shrugged.

Eddie considered corkscrew genitalia on his least fav animal to be their least evil trait.

“Well…maybe it helps if ducks get sorta stuck together for longer? To Facilitate the egg fertilization process.” Dustin puzzles.

“Or Maybe it feels good for the lady duck??” Eddie posited. “Ducks could be getting up to all kinds of freaky shit, in the weeds, we’d never know.” He made a quack sound and waggled his eyebrows.

She lost it now. It was half guffaw and half giggle. She wiped some tears away from laughing and gripped the steering wheel.

“Nasty.” Dustin declared. “Thank you both, Now I hate ducks too.”

They were pulling into the driveway for the Henderson house and Dustin offered to check for a clear path to the guest room with no Ma Henderson to interrogate Eddie.

“So I’ll take a shower and then… what’s the next part of the plan?” Eddie asked her. He was feeling hopeful. Things were gonna get better.

“How long has it been since you had a decent meal?” She asked.

“Define ‘decent’.” Eddie shrugged. His stomach rumbled loudly. She took his hand again. Her thumb stroked back and forth against his forefinger.

“Food, priority one then?” She asked.

Eddie shook his head. No. “I just feel like I’m caked in filth. And some of this is blood. Not all of it mine. I’ve never felt this … gnarly.”

“You look pretty Badass. Want me to help you clean off?” She asked sweet as honey.

Maybe things were going to be much much better.

[thosegayoldmen]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tags guys! @elodiah & @insomniaflarrow 😘

A little bit more of the stabbing fic. This will likely be the last snippet of this I share, since the poll ends soon and it looks like I'll be locking in to get it done 🤭💪

Every day he learns something new about the well mannered agent, and every day his curiosity keeps him coming back to discover more. This is by far his favourite discovery yet.

The fact that Mobius has yet to disappoint–every facet revealed keeping him more than interested–is even more of a surprise. And outside of ways this information could be useful, Loki finds himself just enjoying figuring the man out.

He isn't used to having a genuine vested interest in someone, as a person, rather than an asset. And he certainly isn't used to the same courtesy being extended to him. Yet he can't deny that despite the clear role and purpose for him being at the TVA, Mobius treats him well.

Not well like a Prince, or well like a God, but well like a person…like a friend.  So he’ll let himself be curious, there's nothing wrong with knowing who it is you're working with after all.

He's sure there's some Midgardian saying involving curiosity and cats, but he can't recall it right now, his mind thoroughly distracted by the sight below him.

Tags as usual 😘

@blackbirdofasgard @kcscribbler @distracteddream

@boredintjqueen @lokimobius @devilbearingtrouuble @loki-is-my-kink-awakening

@mobiusismycomfortcharacter @wolfpup026 @ghoulehhh @mythical-magik @kusakichan15

@natendo-art @impulsemuppet @mirilyawrites @scifikimmi @silentxsymphony

@ilaytrapsfortroubadours @rin-love-is-green @stillwanderingflame @andthekitchensinkao3 @insert-witty-user-name-here

@dreamycloud @mobius-m-mobius @dilfmobius @lgwilt @tealdropsworld @cha-melodius

[fiahtheteaaddict]

A little bit of what I am currently working on for Xaden - lmk if you want the full post, don't know if I wanna post it just yet

He does love you, you know. Says your dragon Gealach.

I know he does, trust me. You reply.

Do you? Should I?

I do and you should. You say, confidence slightly wavering. Gealach caught on instantly, she always does.

She snorts. Sure.

You turn to look back to look at him and make eye contact. He gives you a small smile. You wouldn’t notice it if you didn’t know him, truly know him. But you did. You could read him like an open book, even if he denies it with all his being. You give him a small smile before turning back around.

I'm not good enough for him.

He is not good enough for you, my little star. 

You say that all the time.

Because it is true, you are perfect… and he is, well, him.

You let out a small laugh before focusing on your meal once again.

“Gealach?” Violet asks. “Yeah. She’s talking shit about Xaden, as always.” You giggle. Violet lets out a laugh before shaking her head. “Does she like anyone that isn't you?” “I don't think so to be honest.” You both continue to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Rhiannon asks as she sits down next to Violet, Ridoc taking his usual seat next to you as he nods “Having fun without us I see, Rhi they hate us. I’m being replaced by Vi and you're being replaced by ___.” 

[oommmmmoo]

Did he like summon mew or did Kurogiri bring them along

Snippet Game: Pokemon Legends Musutafa

The briefest flash of shadowed light bursts into existence inches from Izuku and he stumbles back at the sudden presence of the towering Pokemon looming over him. The moment it apparates into being, the air itself assaults Izuku. His lungs heave from the sudden weight of each chocked gasp. His legs tremble as he gags, barely able to keep himself standing. He can’t even process his classmates collapsing from the pressure behind him.

And the Pokemon hasn’t even attacked yet.

Through sheer will, Izuku forces his eyes up to meet glowing peridot eye. Something about this is hauntingly familiar, like a faded dream. Something presses deeper on his mind, a grip like a vice pressing down on his skull.

“Momma always puts one of these on my hurts!”

The memory sparks in the back of his mind, sending a wave of pain through his head.

A summer breeze from a decade past. The refreshing protection of the shade. A strange new friend. He… remembers that. Or, he remembers remembering it. That it was something he once knew but doesn’t anymore.

The Pokemon rubs a hand along its wrist.

“It is you.”

Their mouth doesn’t open; they don’t speak the words, but they echo in Izuku’s head all the same, in a voice he would swear he’s heard before somewhere.

The Pokemon’s gaze flicks up Izuku’s face. It takes him an embarrassing moment to realize that they’re watching the tear rolling down his cheek.

[writersbloxx]

Body Language

When someone is...

Sad

Face/Body:

Avoidant/reduced eye contact

Drooping eyelids

Downcast eyes

Frowning

Raised inner ends of eyebrows

Dropped or furrowed eyebrows

Quivering lip/biting lip

Wrinkled nose

Voice:

Soft pitch

Low lone

Pauses/hesitant speech

Quiet/breathy

Slow speech

Voice cracks/breaking voice

Gestures/Posture:

Slouching/lowered head

Rigid/tense posture

Half formed/slow movement

Fidgeting or clasped hands

Sniffing or heavy swallows

Self soothing gestures (running hands over the arms, hand over heart, holding face in palms, etc)