#getting the juices flowing

[crappycamille]

Bakugou is against starting his own line of Dynamight sex toys, that is until he decides to make his pretty little product manager try out his products in front of him.

“S-sir?” You fidget, glancing between the open box of see toys you helped manufacture and your boss (the you modeled them after).

His gaze unwavering as he leaned against the front of his desk. Surely his order was a joke. “Don’t we have product testers to do this sort of thing? I’m pretty sure—”

“No.” He interrupts, sharp tone sending a shiver down your spine. “I only trust your word. Can’t have anything in my name be shitty. That’s why you gotta test it and I need to oversee the testing personally.”

[gemsalive]

re: that HEFTY siffrin sweep on id5’s isat favourite blorbos poll — this might sound silly but i do actually think it’s kinda fascinating that isat, as a game so inseparably steeped in (for lack of a better way to describe it) queer fandom culture, managed to so completely sidestep the common Fandom Phenomenon that i suspect was behind the poll in the first place by creating a main character that is also overwhelmingly the fan favourite character for once.

obviously there are any number of factors we could point at to explain the extent to which siffrin nomiddlenames nolastnames manages to grab people and absolutely not let go, but personally i think one of the most interesting ones to consider is the one specific to the medium — that is, how siffrin subverts the “silent blank slate video game protagonist” archetype in such a way that happens to be primo brainrot breeding grounds.

like, when a video game dev makes a silent protagonist it’s usually a bid to maximize immersion by closing the aesthetic distance between player and character as much as possible, right? which is especially true of rpg video games — players find connection in the generic, as that is what gives you the freedom of motion to insert yourself into the story in whatever unique shape suits you best. you are your character and your character is you.

(as ever, post ran long. yall know the drill. tossin in a quick header pic before thoughts on blank slates & blorboification continue under the cut)

and then you’ve got siffrin, who is expressly pointed out to be the taciturn type; who when initially giving the player exposition about their journey so far doesn’t seem to hint at a life or history or even really any motivations outside the journey; whose every thought and action is narrated in second person so as to keep tracing and re-tracing the connection between him and you.

even their design — all darkless and shapeless, bundled up in that big cloak, as if an invitation for you to fill it in with whatever lets you relate to them most! at this point they are their own character for sure, but they also have enough very clear parallels going on with the silent protagonist archetype to feel more than accidental.

of course, as you keep playing you start to recognize that his blankness is much, much more than just a grab at immersion; his apparent lack of backstory, itself a fundamental piece of backstory. this is where he flips dramatically in the player’s perception from “generic vessel for story delivery” to “thoroughly multidimensional character trapped within endless torment nexus custom-built to target and exacerbate all his very specific worst traits rooted in very specific traumas”.

yknow, the good stuff !

but by then you have also been playing enough to be feeling the effects of the thing isat’s design does best of all. i’m talkin bout that ludonarrative lockstep baby. every piece of isat’s gameplay is designed to make you feel what siffrin is feeling — you understand by now that he is not a stand-in for you, but all the same you share in his frustration, his grief, his rare moments of joy and the subsequent heart-in-your-shoes devastation when that joy is inevitably poisoned — and through it all, the desperate grasping for anything new — all as if they were every bit your own.

so in this way the connection is maintained, even if you were someone for whom siffrin’s particular traits & struggles might not otherwise cause you relate to them at all if you had encountered them elsewhere, in a setting where you weren’t actively controlling them as a player. siffrin still gets to carry all the “just like me fr” impact of the blank slate protagonist in the tropes he embodies and in the game mechanics’ design, while totally free to evolve completely into his own character and keep you relating to closely them all the same. now toss back in the fact that said traits & struggles very much ARE of a flavour that a great many people Would Tend To Relate To and just like that you’ve got a perfect storm cookin.

too individual and compellingly written to be an empty vessel for plot delivery. too closely connected with the player’s emotional state to be a story observed impassively from the outside. he has 92 mental illnesses and for the low low price of free u can give him yours to carry too. nobody is doin it like him. congratulations on your well-deserved nose sniffrin nomiddlenames nolastnames <3

[jenzpanderart]

Where it all began

[thebigolbee]

All these two know is smoke cigarettes, run the Robco, be bisexual, eat hot chip & lie

[alnilaem]

you lose your way on the pastures of a hidden farmstead. however, upon meeting the husky owner, being lost quickly becomes the least of your problems.

cw for noncon/dubcon, forced lifestyle puppy play, kidnapping

read on ao3

-

John sees you coming from over the horizon.

He heard the sputter of your van before seeing it. The plume of smoke that follows in your wake, orange and ashy, as you drive down the pebbled road.

He was rounding the house after letting the cattle out when he noticed you. He tips the brim of his hat back and watches, grinding his teeth into the wad of tobacco folded into his cheek, his hackles raised because you’ve decided to ignore the splintery No Trespassing sign in big, black letters pounded into the front of his farmstead.

He wraps a hand around his belt, watching as your camper van slows to a stop in front of him.

The hinges in John’s jaw lock. He’s ready to throw out an expletive, threaten you with the bare metal of his pistol, browned with age, and throw you into the back of his rust-bridled truck. He’d drive you into town and toss you onto the porch of the sheriff’s office, maybe teach you a thing or two about trespassing.

But your engine cuts, and your door swings open, and John’s tobacco turns heavy in his mouth.

He sees your shoes first, pressing tracks into the dirty road as you step out. Frilly socks that end below your knees. You’re wearing tight little denim shorts and a gauzy top that sticks to your chest, knotting your nipples in the summer heat.

You smile.

It’s a little sweet, dewy-eyed. It makes John’s cock chub up, makes him swallow his tobacco on accident, sticking to the spine of his throat.

“Hi mister,” you say. Light and wispy like the breeze that whorls through your ropes of hair. “Sorry to be a bother.”

John perks up. He crosses his arms over his heavily built chest, the hair on his forearms bristling with his newfound flush.

“Just trying to find my way here–“ you unfurl a map and point towards a little dot. “Mind helping a girl out?”

You giggle. It’s coy, John tells himself, just like the flutter of your eyelashes as you hoist your neck up at him, preening.

“Um… sure,” John takes off his cowboy hat and runs a hand through his sweat-matted hair. “Four hours. East. You jus’ follow the road.”

Gooseflesh creeps down John’s skin as you turn around and toss your map into the van, your ass spilling from the bottom of your shorts.

You turn back around and John coughs, averts his eyes to the cattle in the distance. He tightens the reel of his lasso around his knuckles, squirming.

“Thanks, mister,” you grin. “Know anywhere I can top up on gas?”

He gives you another look.

His eyes sweep a trail of flames over your body, making your blood churn. He keens at your nipples and the grain of your denim shorts digging into your cute pussy. He can see the barest outline of it winking back at him. Making his cock pulse.

He decides not to tell you about the gas station a kilometre west of here. Decides that would be too much trouble for a pretty lady like you.

“I’ve got plenty,” John says. Gruff, grizzled, like a bear that’s been in torpor too long. “Follow me.”

All John has to do is snap his tongue against the roof of his mouth to get you to follow him. He takes you into his rustic farmhouse, the place sparse in a red-blooded way, and leads you to the kitchen.

You don’t expect the dog, large with mud-felted paws, that pounces and almost knocks you to the floor.

Its tongue is rough and wet and gnarled against your cheek. You squeal, trying to push it away. It probably thinks you’re playing because it wags its tail, nipping at the divot in your shoulder.

“Aye,” John barks. “Off of ‘er, Dog. Git! Git on out of here.”

John shepherds the dog—aptly named Dog—into his crate by tossing a threadbare toy into it. The golden-haired mutt chases after it, following the toy into his cage.

“No way to treat a damn lady…” John mumbles under his breath. He smiles apologetically at you, his soft wrinkles puckering. He puts his hands on his hips, digging his fingers into his moth-eaten jeans and his sun-bleached flannel. He cocks his head to the side, squints.

“So, sweetheart, how about that gas?”

-

John brings you to a barn out back.

He leads you with a hand split on your lower back, past the stables and the paddocks and the roaming cattle beneath the blaring sun.

He pulls open the large barn doors, his arms flexing with the exertion, and puts his hands on his belt.

It’s an abandoned building. There’s no chicken, no stallions. It’s clear that the barn has been delegated to a storage space of sorts, going by the hay-bales strewn around and the miscellaneous staples of ranch equipment.

John smiles. It offsets his rugged look, makes you disarm a bit.

“Apologies for the mess,” he says, starting to tear through the supplies. “Just wasn’t expectin’ a pretty lady on my doorstep today.”

You stifle a giggle just to be nice, but John, in his time-honoured ways, reads it as coy again. It makes his cock stir against the metal teeth of his jeans, makes his mustache turn hot and wiry against the damp skin above his lip.

John rummages some more. Pretends to nick his finger on a metal steeple. Expels a heavy breath. His stomach paunchy and his chest strong, the hairs pressing against the gauze of his flannel as he rises to his feet and shrugs, hands set on his belt.

“Sorry sweetie,” John grumbles. “No gas here. How do you feel about dinner though?”

The change happens so quick you almost get hit with whiplash.

Your lips pop around stutters, and John’s balls turn heavy. He can imagine your lips parting around his cockhead, all the way down to his pubic bone which is stale with sweat and musky, steel-wooled. It makes him grip his belt tighter, white-knuckled, and undo the first few buttons of his flannel.

“Sir… I really should be getting out of your hair.”

“Nonsense,” John chuckles. “It’s the least I can do for havin’ no gas. I can go into town tomorrow and get some.”

You’re already impaired by the burning, penetrative summer heat. It doesn’t help the way John is looking at you, like a stray predator that made its way onto his ranch and forces him to lock up his animals for safety.

John senses the rumination written into your pretty features. He tacks on, “An old man like me never gets any visitors. None as sweet as you, surely.”

You have to nod, still a little hesitant. You say yes only because there’s a bulky rancher here keen on filling your belly and the sun is beginning to set.

John chuckles and claps his large hands together. He leads you back to the main house and ends up feeding you shepherd’s pie and a cold can of Cola. He pours himself a glass of whiskey and that makes you indignant, as if he sees you as a kid.

Dog stirs at your feet while you eat. Nosing at your ankles and nudging your legs for some food. John flares. He snaps his fingers and snarls, and Dog, moulded by his Pavlovian response, ambles into his crate.

“That’s where naughty dogs go,” John tells him. “You’ll stay there ‘til we’re done.”

You finish not long after that. John gives Dog the plates to lick before soaking them in soap water and shows you your room for the night. His room, actually, but he says he’ll sleep on the couch because he’s a gentleman.

That makes you smile.

But when you wake up the next morning, you’re choking.

Your throat is cinched with nylon webbing. The collar cuts into your windpipe, hindering your sprinting breaths, causing panic to lick up your spine. You sweat and the collar soaks it all up. Makes your skin itchy, flaring, as you chisel at your flesh to try peeling it off you.

You stumble out of John’s bed and hurry outside. He’s herding the cattle when you run towards him for help. Your mind is too scattered to realize he’s the only other person on this farmstead. He’s the one who did this.

“Mister, mister–“ your words come out stifled, cramped against the tight ruck of your throat. “Mister, I dunno what’s happened. Help-“

John puts a hand up and tuts like you’re nothing but a strident, misbehaving mutt.

“Easy,” he grunts around a cigar. “Jus’ calm down, will you? You’re hootin’ and hollerin’ and scarin’ the cattle.”

You choke around your tears. You hang your head, still trying to wrestle the collar off you, your fear ripening into panoramic horror when you look down and see golden fur embroiled into the collar. A bone-shaped tag engraved with a word that makes your blood run cold.

Dog.

It’s John’s name for his pet, but on you, it’s derogatory. Degrades you to a four-legged pup that laps water out of a basin and squats to piss, that needs a handler as rough as John to keep you in check.

He cups your cheek, passes his thumb over your fat tears.

“You don’t like it?” He asks, his voice distorted with a hint of disappointment that, despite you, makes you feel bad. “I took it off Dog. Now he’s runnin’ around the ranch with no collar. I thought you’d appreciate it.”

He curls his fingers under the collar and tugs you close. Your face puckers as he expels a plume of cigar smoke over your face, softly squeezing your bum.

“Good dogs say thank you though. Are you a good dog?” John asks. His eyes darken, eclipsed by something dusky. “Or are y’naughty?”

John forestalls your begging reply, squashing it against your throat as he grips your collar and drags you behind him. Taking his puppy on a walk.

You bridle at the deep-seated embarrassment. John’s other animals seem to have more freedom than you, watching from their pens and pastures as you kick and scream behind him. He pulls you into the main house and takes you to the kitchen. Bullies you to your knees in front of the crate.

He grips the scruff of your neck and forces your head inside. It smells stuffy, stale. The dog bed is moth-eaten and covered in fur.

John pats your ass. He rubs your pussy through your shorts, slowly pulls them off. Kisses your slick clit which is outlined by the dewy gusset of your panties.

“Y’gonna keep cryin’?”

A long cry quivers past your lips.

John’s fingers, although jaded, a testament to working with his hands, make you feel delirious. Makes you curl your pert ass into him, your cunt begging for more.

“Go on, girl,” he grunts. “Go on in. Git.”

He takes you by the collar and shoves you inside the dog cage, since–

“You wanna keep cryin’. I’ll give you somethin’ to cry about.”

There’s barely enough space inside to move around. Dog is a big dog, so you’re able to spin around and face John, but that’s all. You tuck yourself into a fetus position, resting on your knees, the metal grating pressing tracks into your hot skin.

“I don’t reward bad behaviour,” John says. “So for that you’ll spend the night here.”

John clicks his teeth each time you misbehave—clawing at the door, begging him to let you out—his kissing teeth bully the sound of your pleas, until eventually, you quieten, responsive to his clicking tongue.

“That’s it,” John says. There’s a thread of praise in his voice that makes you squirm. “You stay there an’ think about what you’ve done.”

He stands up and prepares his lunch. Eggs on bread and a beer to wash it down. John eats slowly, as if he’s teasing you. Disciplining you further. You don’t think he’s going to feed you, another component of his punishment, until he’s rising from his chair and squatting in front of you, his empty plate in his hands.

Well, almost empty.

Veins of leftover egg yolk are smeared around the ceramic. You look at it, and then at John. He passes his fingers over the yolk and sticks his arm in your crate because the gaps are big enough, waggling his coated fingers.

“Eat.”

You’re shaking. Hesitantly unfurling your tongue, working it around John’s thick fingers, swallowing whatever dregs of food he’ll let you. You become more eager as it goes on—lapping at his yolk-covered fingers as well as the mud and mire crusted into his nails. Sucking at his swollen knuckles, nibbling on his finger hair.

He belly laughs before pulling his fingers out of your cage. John stands up and soaks his plate in sudsy water, turning to look at you.

“Busy day today,” he says. “I’ll see you tonight, pup.”

You find yourself whimpering—not talking—as he turns to leave.

-

That night, you’re woken with a scuffle and John clicking his tongue.

It rouses you immediately. That, and the thin sound of his belt unbuckling.

Sweat sticks to your skin, dewy, when John prods through the crate and gropes you. You can’t see him but you can feel him. Rubbing your puffy cunt, thumbing your clit. Flattening his tongue against your pussy and pulling your lips into his mouth.

“So fuckin’ sweet,” he mumbles against your clit. “Knew you were a sweet girl.”

John’s tongue travels up and wets your asshole. It makes you jerk against the metal, makes the cage rattle.

He pulls away and you moan, thinking it’s another punishment. You push your ass against the gratings, presenting yourself, the metal gridwall rubbing against your swollen clit and making you shiver.

John mumbles something about patience. It seems that he doesn’t have any patience either, soft-soaped by your pussy, because he’s pressing his tip against your opening and feeding you his cock.

John fucks you through the holes of your cage.

Your lungs barely have space to stretch. Your knees are folded into your chest and your collar is still biting into your neck. You’re being split open on John’s cock, your arousal turning your thighs sticky. Drool trickling from your mouth and sticking to your cheek.

You don’t know when it ends. When you come, thighs trembling, or when John paints your walls. You also don’t know when it starts again.

All you know is that it becomes a daily thing, lapsing into a weekly thing. You go to bed in your cage but, sometimes, when you behave, John will let you sleep on the foot of his bed. He’ll clip your nails for you and keep you well-groomed. Brushing your hair, cutting it for you. Bathing you in a galvanized tub out back.

Unlike with Dog, John will even let you eat while he eats dinner. He’ll unzip his jeans and let you slobber at his fat cock while he sips away at his blended whiskey and polishes off his meal with his full belly and his soon-to-be empty balls, mumbling all the while about how much of a perfect pet you are, how he’ll never let you go.

Not that he was planning to, anyhow.

[ren-054]

Tiny AIW Excerpt…

(This doesn’t guarantee a bigger story in the future, have mercy on me pls /lh)

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

(prologue thing?)

They took away everything I had left to hold onto. Everything but them, at least. It almost felt freeing, a relief, in a strange way.

The scent of flowers was thick and sweet to my senses. My thoughts slowly blur together as I drowned in the heavy aroma.

No longer did I have to uphold myself as a person. In this land, responsibility was merely a word. A silly word, at that. I was being offered the chance to be freed from the pressure of my former life on a silver platter by the people who have unfailingly proved their devotion to me again and again. Who would I be to deny them?

Gentle hands of cool metal joints and warm motors take my own of flesh. There is an unspoken promise in our grasps.

Out there, there wasn’t anything waiting for me. Really, I had submitted to my fate long before I came here. Before I met them.

I would miss the surface.. My friends.. My brother..

If I just stayed right where I was, surely I’d be happy. He said so. They both did. And I believe them, as much as they believe in me that I’ll stay. I have nowhere to run, therefore I’d never think to walk.

Here, I’ll be safe. Here, I’ll be happy.

• • • • •

(Main excerpt)

“Sugarcube!~ It’s time for tea!”

I shift as a voice rouses me awake and I groan in protest. I felt so warm… I didn’t want to get up… Get up…

Get up from where?

Eyes snapping open, I sit up, finding myself on a grass and wool-stuffed mattress. A warm blanket made of soft fibers had been wrapped around my body, shrugged off when I began to scan my surroundings.

The room was dimly lit and the air was crisp, making me imagine the walls were made of stone or perhaps bricks. Unfortunately my vision wasn’t the best without my glasses. Candles were lit about the room. There were no windows, but there was a lone door on the far wall. Was I underground?

“There’s my little sunshine!” The same voice from before warbled, followed by the clinking of porcelain. “Come! Come! Before your tea gets cold!”

With bleary vision, I turn toward the voice. At a small wooden table set in the middle of the room sat a familiarly flamboyant red-clad figure with their knees up to their chest as they tried to sit in one of the child-sized chairs. I began shuffling off the bed, brushing myself off.

“M-Mister Hatter?” I mumbled as I walked over. “Wher—“

The Hatter tutted at me before I could finish, placing a delicate finger up to my lips. “Dearest little dewdrop, I told you, you can just call me Sun!”

“Uh, Sun?” I eyed the liquid the bot was pouring into the cups. Yellow flower petals and flecks of green herbs floated prettily along the surface of the unknown brew.

“Hmmm?” Hatter hummed, the swirls in his eyes seeming to glow with warmth at the sound of his name.

“Where am I? I didn’t fall down another hole again, did I?” I rubbed at my eyes. “And have you seen my glasses anywhere?”

“Oh! Those are right here!” Dodging my first question, the Hatter pointed at the other side of the table which sat the other teacup along with the distinct sheen of my lenses against the candlelight. “Come on! Have a sit with this lonely hatter!”

“Ah, right.” I nodded before taking my seat across from the bot, putting my glasses back on once I sat. Ah, vision at last.

The first thing I realized was the room was dingy, dustier than I expected. Before I could really notice any other finer details, Sun piped up once again.

“Very good, my dear,” he praised with a light laugh that made me nearly blush. “Now then, where you are. That’s a simple one!”

I leaned in with anticipation. With a relaxed—almost smug—gaze, the Hatter answered.

“I brought you home.”

[francixoxoxo]

Imagining Billy holding your daughter after she’s born. It’s been grueling, and frankly terrifying to watch just how excruciating birth was for you. But when you say it was worth it, he can’t help murmuring his agreement. He lets you hold her first, obviously, but when he gets to hold her? Oh, tears are wetting his eyes. Billy’s large, strong and calloused hand cradles her little head so delicately, his nostrils flaring as he shakes his head. “Oh, she’s so beautiful.” Is all he can say, he wipes his eyes on his shoulders, laughing breathlessly. He just can’t stop shaking his head in disbelief, grinning like a fool. As you fall asleep, exhausted from the whole ordeal, he stays at your bedside. He wouldn’t dare ask you to move over to give him room, he lets you lay in the middle of the bed, he leans against the headboard with one leg off the bed and a boot on the ground. Holding her strong, leaning a bit over her and hanging his head to stare at his daughter. Billy whispers soft words to the infant, he knows she won’t remember them, but he will. He won’t forget the promises he makes to the baby girl who made him a father.

[happyheidi]

read. write. create. repeat

[etoiile]

CLINGY

starring suna rintaro!

synopsis: when suna pushes your hug off of him, it makes an insecurity grow.

notes: first time writing for hq! def very very ooc for him but wtv im working on it

your possibly biggest fear ever was being annoyingly clingy.

your main love language was physical touch, and you had a very clear way of showing your love and affection. any one of your friends could easily say, "yep, they're really clingy," because you were. you'd greet them excitedly with a hug, cuddle with them during movies, and sling an arm over their shoulders when sitting next to each other.

you knew that you were clingy, and it didn't bother you much. no one around you seemed to dislike it and you knew yourself how much you'd like it if someone paid that much attention to you. you felt most loved when you felt seen, and having someone shower you in hugs made you feel that way, so you did it to other people, to show them how special they were to you.

one of the things that came with being clingy, however, was fear. fear that even though it was something you knew you'd appreciate, it was something annoying to others. the last thing you ever wanted was for someone to find you annoying to be around. that sounded like an absolute nightmare.

so, when you surprised rin with a backhug and he stood there, not reciprocating your hug, and then gently shoved you off, telling you he wasn't in a good mood, not to bother him, and to please, "stop being like a fucking mosquito clinging onto him all the time," you could feel your body trembling as you quickly retreated, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

when he later apologized to you, telling you he was sorry for lashing out at you, you accepted his apology, but the insecurity still lingered.

----

suna was in a great mood.

he'd done really well at practice today, they got let out early enough that the sun was still out and shining, and he practically skipped home at the thought of coming home to your arms.

he unlocked the front door and yelled an, "i'm home," as he pulled his shoes off and set his bag down. you came over to greet him and he found his body tingling with excitement, ready to grab onto you and hold you tight.

"welcome home, rin," you smiled warmly at him, but then turned around and went back to your laptop. he stood there, dumbfounded. what just happened?

he followed you suspiciously, wondering what was going on. you always greeted him with a hug. always. why were you being different today? had you simply forgotten? no, it doesnt work like that. you didn't forget, you chose not to. why?

"...is everything ok?" he asked hesitantly. you didn't seem to be in a bad mood, so why were you acting weird?

you looked up at him, confused. "yeah? why, is something wrong?"

"yeah." he replied, plopping down next to you. "with you."

you frowned, your heart beginning to beat faster. first, you had stopped yourself from throwing your arms around him, which you so desperately wanted to do, in order to be less annoying, but there was still something wrong? what did you do? how were you still annoying him?

"...what do you mean?" you asked, trying your best to mask the nervousness in your voice. you really, really, really didn't want to be annoying. you wanted to be someone rin wanted to be around, not someone who pissed him off when he spent time with you. you really did want to work on the things he didn't like, and improve yourself for him. you braced yourself for what he might say next, reminding yourself that you can't cry just because someone brings up an issue about you.

"you didn't give me 'welcome home' hug." he muttered a little sheepishly, rubbing the bag of his neck. he looked up at you, his hazel eyes making your body feel like jelly. "did i do something wrong?"

you could feel your lower lip trembling as you tried to stop it. "..no! no, of course not. i just...thought that after what you...said yesterday, you'd want some space! i know im clingy, so im gonna work on it, ok?" you mustered out, trying to keep a smile on your face.

suna's eyes widened. he'd lashed out at you yesterday, but he'd apologized for it already, so he thought that meant you knew he didn't mean it. plus, you two were people who joked around a lot and spewed random shit all the time. he knew you knew that, so he didn't think it was on your mind and he didn't think you you thought what he said was true, because it wasn't. at all.

though, seeing as how you were struggling to keep it together, and how you hadn't welcomed him home with a hug for the first time since moving in together, he realized his words had cut deeper than he realized.

"hey," he turned to completely face you. "look at me." he gently guided your chin to meet his eyes, as you were apparently very keen on looking everywhere but him, and forced you to look at him.

"what i said last night... i didn't mean it. at all. you know i love your affection, right? i was just in a bad, bad mood yesterday, and 'm real sorry i lashed out at you because of it. i know i might be shit at expressing it right, but i love you and your clingy ass so much, and i'm sorry if it didn't seem that way. i love your touch and affection, really."

and with that, all of the fear came rushing out of you in the form of tears, and you jumped onto rin as you held him tight, your heart soaring in relief when he did the same. embarrassed to be seen, you buried your face in his chest and just sniffled silently.

"...you really mean it?"

"yeah,"

"it's not annoying? 'coz i want you to tell me if it is, and i'll work on it. really."

"it's not,"

"...you're sure?"

"i'm sure."

you then wiped your tears and giggled as you peppered his neck with kisses, laughing more when he scrunched up from the ticklish sensation.

"i love you," you said, stopping your flurry of kisses for a minute.

he gave you a boyish grin that made you melt and ran his hand through your hair. "i love you too, doll."

𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐈𝐈𝐋𝐄 ©𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 please do not copy or repost my work on any other site. interactions appreciated! 🤍

[bloomynmoon]

Poor frank!!

[melonsharks]

Who's that hiding in the apple tree, clinging to a branch?

Don't be afraid it's only me, hoping for a little romance.

[snail-noodle]

a king's tragedy

i wanna see this guy suffer (lovingly saying this)

[wickedfreakho]

shower thoughts:

imagine one day you’re scrolling through tiktok or ig reels and all of a sudden this video comes across your feed telling you that in 5 seconds your fictional crush (f/c) will be right behind you. you don’t pay it any mind and but you play along anyway and after a few moments you look behind you only to actually see your f/c.

“hi baby” they say in the most soothing voice possible to not scare you.

but BITCH !

the way you jumped up, your heart dropping down to the bottom of your stomach said too much.

“what the fuck!?” you exclaimed, backing up into the corner of your bed. the both of you just stared at each other waiting for the other to make the next move.

“okay this isn’t real, i’m just delusional as hell…” you say out loud. you then close your eyes. “when i count to five you’ll be gone because you’re just a figment of my imagination.”

after a little more than 5 seconds you open your eyes to see nothing but the door of your room wide open revealing your hallway and no one there.

so they were just a figment of your imagination all along, huh ?

[blackcrystalkitten]

Doodle dump-a-roo!

[nounaarts]

Art block is killing me. So it's just this loser