#tilde-heart

[jackredfieldwasmyjacob]

[drednixi]

HERE YOU CAN GET IT

♡ Free to use ♡ Do not sell or edit (you can only change color, if you want)

[wovenstarlight]

hjsghjkskfnf i forgot about the fact that. now that hyj knows its shj back there. he has to look at these cutesy fucking system messages and go. hey. ahjussi. what the fuck.

[pumpkin-pi-e]

Yanderes Aizawa, Hanzo, McCree, and Toji like to pretend you don't know what your clit is for.

I Ain't As Good As I Once Was

“This is your pussy. This is your pretty little pussy. You might have touched her before, but I’ll teach you how to spoil her.”

God, I love sad older men.

Content Warnings: forced cunnilingus (female receiving), overstimulation (female), c*mming in pants, fingering, kidnapping themes, self-flagellation (Hanzo), worship (Hanzo), dirty talk, mommy kink (Toji), implied gambling addiction, your implied age is -26 (Toji), Age gap, neglect on account of gambling addiction, breeding kink, pregnancy talk, (Toji) forced pregnancy? (Toji), dubious consent (Toji)

Not recommended for those under eighteen.

You try and touch yourself to show that you know how to make yourself cum. You've been doing this for years.

Aizawa

Aizawa swats your hand. No, no. You won't do it properly. You won't do it until you shake, cry, and run down your thighs. But he will. He won't overstimulate you if you don't want him to. He will work you through your orgasm, though. No matter how much you claw, beg, and squirm. You'd wanted to get off, and Aizawa will ensure you get every last bit out of this. He'll make sure you come in his mouth, make sure your cum slides down his chin. No matter how angry you are at yourself. No matter how hurt you feel. He can be tender—can make those thighs burn and those tits jiggle in a way you can't. "This is your clit, sweet girl. I'm gonna make it purr for you."

The last remains of his words drive into your ears as his mouth finds yours. The finger in your panties swept back and forth over the smooth, leathery skin of your clit the way a slow tide would swathe and flee a shoreline.

"Nn!" Fizzy pleasure bloomed in warm, scattered waves throughout your pelvis. You twitch forward the slightest amount, subtly humping yourself into a breathy, whining mess. "'s not a cat."

Aizawa draws a lazy circle around its sensitive edges, and your thoughts water.

"It can't—" Ah! "—caaan't purr." Your voice curled. It rose and wavered like a tilde symbol—building high and going all melted butter toward the end as you lurch into the wonderful crest of good he inspired. Your hips obeyed the spasms in your tummy and curled without decision or thought.

"It already is." It's practically vibrating. Singing.

"Can't you feel her purring?" Aizawa made the most agonizing, thigh-shuddering passes over your clit. You arch, arch (uhn, God!), arrrrrrrch into each one. Your clit is ringing, purring.

"Kitty's melting in my hand." She's really showing out for attention, wetting and trickling down his palm. Your small cravings are his responsibility, as were all your larger needs. He's your provider and caretaker. You rely on him for everything else, so why not this? When are you going to learn that Daddy does it better? He can satisfy them better than you ever could.

"Don't—don't call it that."

"But it purrs."

Oh! Oh, oh! It—it—oh, please, god, oh. He's using his nails, teeth, whatever he has. Aizawa sucks a bruise right into your neck. You shiver, squeal, and wriggle. How could a neck be this sensitive?

Aizawa doesn't budge. His heart thumps as you push at him, half-hearted. Enamored with any short amount of contact, Aizawa hums. You twist away from that, too, the sensation foreign on your skin. Aizawa takes a deep huff of your neck (your scent) and falls onto you like a dead weight. The new position traps his hand down the front of your panties and you underneath him.

"If it purrs, then it's a kitty. This cute kitty makes you a queen. And a purring queen means it's time for a litter." He's still working on you—working your clit and mons. You're soaking. You're hot. You arch into his hands, desperate, nearly out of your mind.

"Why do you have to be such a kinky bastard?"

"Because you like it." His stubble scrapes against your neck. Aizawa does it often, notably during 'quiet moments,' so you'll familiarize the sensation with safety.

Or so you suspect.

The brambly term of affection came often, but from what you gathered, it reserved itself for special occasions (you're convinced he stole it from his cats). When cramps left you withered and spent, Aizawa lifted you from the lonely little corner you'd carved for yourself underneath the kotatsu and reoriented you onto his lap for something to lean on—something to wring your grief into, should you need it. Shouta said he could take it—that he wouldn't mind—and had the scars to prove it, namely, the one beneath his eye. It was hard to argue in the face of something so tangible. Yet, it left a sour feeling of worms in your gut.

You're in pain. You don't want to be pain for someone else. You don't want to hurt him—he's never hurt you.

Just because he can doesn't mean he should.

He's pushing you forward, wanting you on your knees. "Because it gets your kitty panting."

It vibrated.

"W-who said I liked it?" Your tummy tremors and sweats as his fingers trace those hidden valleys.

"She did." Aizawa dove in for a quick, lascivious kiss. "She purred so sweetly." He lapped at your clit, hot and moist and delicious. "It must be love."

Calls your vagina 'kitty.'

He talks to it (which perturbs and delights you to no end). Cum for me, kitty. Isn't Daddy treating you nicely?

You know in your soul you aren't the 'kitty' he's referring to. Aizawa only called you kitty when you were topping. He had a habit of going into a deep mantra whenever you did. "Kitty, kitty, kitty, kitty..." Aizawa sighed under his breath, sometimes moaned, and others thinly whined as you rode him and as he watched through sexed eyes progressively getting lower and lower until they would eventually close. He'd seize shortly after. And if you didn't stop, Aizawa gasped it (half-heartedly attempting to shuffle out from under you, gently pushing at your coasting thighs with jittery palms. Outside of that, you were 'kitten.'

When she obeys, Aizawa gives her kisses and licks—so many that you'd stammer and beg him to stop. He attacks with fervor, and with your weak-kneed body, he pins you there, grunts, and gives you mouthfuls of his tongue, which leads you to beg, this time more openly.

Aizawa repeatedly kissed the top of your vulva, where your clit lay beyond its folds. Such an obedient kitty. —kiss— Such a perfect darling. So good. —kiss— So perfect.

He doesn't torture you for too long. Aizawa (generally) won't overstimulate you unless you want him to. He'll even apologize. He just had to give his kitty her due.

The guiltiest (second to Toji) in pretending you're too naive and innocent to know what your clit is for, let alone how to use it. He'll smack your hand away (reawakening memories of your father swatting your chubby little hands when they had something they shouldn't).

You can insist you know what you're doing, and he'll insist you don't.

"Feel these?" You touch your outer labia. Aizawa's hand is over yours, guiding it. "These are your pretty lips." Gummy, soft, and perfect for his teeth. He'd use them for pillows if you'd let him. You wouldn't, though. There's no way Aizawa could get close enough to smell you without getting a taste.

"They'd look prettier curing my insomnia." In other words, he's telling you to ride him until he passes out, or rather, throwing out an invitation. Your lips have erased his dry eye and lifted his depression. Simply gorgeous.

"How would I..." How could your vaginal lips cure someone's depression?

"Simple," He's against your ear. His hair gave you shivers as it fanned your neck. "You sit on my face," Together, your hands rode parted lips. They kneaded love into your skin that settled in your ovaries. "and rut." Your hips went forward with a gasp, unexpected and on cue. No matter the situation, Aizawa never failed to sound like a college professor three years away from retirement. He speaks to you as he would his colleagues and students. There is no bedroom voice, growl, or husk other than his natural warmth—warmth that made you swallow from the very lips he made you touch. Made you restless on his lap.

"If you knead them gently," he says, "they'll make you feel nice." Your knees knock when Aizawa focuses on the entrance hidden in your labia, circling it. "But not as nice as this," Aizawa pats your pussy, sending ripples through your body.

Slap!

Something liquid-warm fires across your hipbones, following a path up your spine, reminding you of when Aizawa kissed you. You call his name in a panic. What is this, and why is it delicious? Unadulterated joy tore through you like a storm in Texas-May. It stole your tongue, and the thoughts it couldn't finish—stole the bones from your body. The ache reverberating in your core was a flash-bang replacing everything but Shouta's name with bright white. It rang like a bell from the ovaries out, telling the rest of your body it was in love. It scares you. "Shouta—"

Slap!

"You're alright, pretty. You're going to be a big girl and cum, that's all."

Slap!

Oh, God.

"Intense, isn't it?" His chin sits in the crook of your neck. Aizawa watched you stutter after his hand and gently convulse.

Slap!

Your body hums like a Ford Mustang at a stop light. It lurched into each tap—tipping over the crosswalk markings in the concrete, eager and desperate for him to take you over the edge. Nervous foot on the petal, it waited for green.

"Come on, pretty girl. Almost there."

Slap!

Your thighs snap shut. Pleasure so soft and sweet spreads throughout your body. The ache becomes ecstasy, and the guilt becomes glee. It swells and sways like storm clouds in New Orleans, easily hitting your lungs and filling you with the finest summer rain.

Did you think for a second Aizawa wouldn't praise you? "Yes, kitten. Yes, kitty." He's agreeing with all your sobbed gibberish, rubbing you out because he knows you won't. His finger is hard on your clit when you buck and shimmy to escape the rush—the pleasure that won't stop knocking. Again, he won't take you past what you can handle, but you're riding that coaster to the end: no stops or pauses. You're getting every single clench, every tooth-chattering, leg-shaking, hip-raising flood of absolute 'God, yes,' that follows.

Aizawa was a decent man—was. It's wrong. It goes against every code, the oath he'd taken with the acceptance of his license. He made excuses for the inexcusable. Every day he went out and fought for freedom while ignoring yours. Swift on his legs when avenging the cries of the innocent, Shouta let yours fall on deaf ears.

Hanzo

Hnng. But forced cunnilingus. Dubcon, only because you're overstimulated, and Hanzo is stubborn. If you haven't squirted, he hasn't done his job. He had his pride as a man to uphold.

Hanzo raises your hand to his lips. He kisses it, clasps it, and restrains it to the bed. "Let me tend to you. So long as you warm my bed, you won't lift a finger." He kissed your neck and collarbone. "Not for your pleasure," Hanzo gently spread your labia. "Not for mine. This time it is for you, my queen."

A shiver runs down your spine. Your mind fills itself with visions of Hanzo taking you. He never has—claimed he could never 'defile' you. That didn't stop him from fingering your clit, drawing you to orgasm, or turning you into a mess of nerve endings.

"You are divine." You're a gift from the gods. Hanzo prayed they would keep him from succumbing to temptation, but it was useless. He had never been able to resist a challenge, and this time would be no different. His prayers didn't stop his cock from sliding against his expensive sheets, wishing it were your body his seed had coated, giving the legacy he'd spent a lifetime chasing.

His queen enjoyed testing him, denying him his duty as a husband. Why trouble yourself with matters such as these when he is so capable? He had solved many puzzles and navigated treacherous waters with ease, yet she seemed to think his skills were limited to a bow and arrow. Do you truly believe he cannot satisfy your needs?

Hanzo fondled your clitoris. "This is a husband's duty."

He moved down between your thighs.

"This is a wife's duty." He said as you whimpered. "To moan as a man pleasures you. To lie back and know your body is in his hands. To take your pleasure and offer your own." His tongue found you. You writhed against the bed, unable to stop your body's rhythm from matching his tongue's motions.

"Allow me." Hanzo touched your clit the way you'd tried to, his tongue deep in your core.

You wouldn't know the first thing about settling your body's aches. That was Hanzo's business. Your hands need only grab onto his hair when it all becomes too much for you.

Hanzo is skilled with a tongue, with a cock, with a razor-edged sword.

"Let me tend to what is mine."

Hanzo kisses your thighs, thighs that a man has never kissed. Thighs that tremble and shake so terribly you fear for your health. You can't breathe. Your heart is pounding, and you feel your mind slipping away. Colors bleed into the corner of your vision, static and buzzing like an old TV.

But Hanzo keeps kissing, licking. Your thoughts slur, and your tongue is no better.

'an...H-han.. c'n.. cn't... Your eyes roll—your back arches. Tears run into your hairline; Hanzo tightens his grip on your hand as your other one blindly scrabbles at his bedsheets. "H-han! Z-z—Oh, my God..." A wash of electricity ravaged your body. Pleasure so raw and sweet your voice croaks out hoarsely, love pouring from your lips in a flood of passionate syllables.

His grasp remains firm as you jerk into his waiting tongue. You try not to. You try and fight your body's natural curl toward the very thing bathing it in pleasure—foolish woman. Hanzo tongued harder and doubled his hold to keep you pinned throughout your cries and gurgles.

Cry for me, my Goddess, my queen, so I may worship you harder. Seek my hand if you are overwhelmed. Cling to me. I promise to be your source of strength and comfort. Security is the least of a husband's duties. Make me strive for the breath of freedom, then deny it to me all at once. Show me with cries that I am worthy, yet prove with the heat in your thighs that I am nothing.

Unable to praise you to the extent he'd like, Hanzo returned your moans from deep between your clenched thighs. He licks harder and faster, and he just isn't stopping. You deserve all this and more—to drown in your own wet and swallow hard enough to see heaven.

So beautiful. —Lick— So generous to me, my queen.

Your body is a waterfall that Hanzo would happily kneel underneath. Hanzo was no Buddhist, but he believed you could purify his wretched soul. In you, he'd find redemption. Your heat could make a blind man see. Surely, it could cleanse the stain of his past.

No matter how many passes his tongue made, you had more to give.

You scratch his sheets, and Hanzo has never been so jealous. The skin of his back tingles at the mere thought of hovering above you, thrusting into you - warm, soft, and perfect as you carve into his back and warm his ear with your crying breaths.

You can feel your breath swelling, becoming a low chant of pleasure as Hanzo continues to lap at the valley between your hips. Hanzo rewards your pussy for each hungry gulp as it comes and comes and comes by flicking his tongue over its pounding entrance. Wildly twitching, it swallowed deep and hungry—a trail of wet escaped. Hanzo licked that too.

"Can't… Hanzo, can't…." You reach out desperately for the headboard, using the bed covers to help propel you forward. When this failed, you mustered all of your strength and used your core to drive yourself forward, shoving his head with a surprising force. With each attempt, you inched closer and closer toward freedom.

His hand grabs at your waist, pulling you towards him as he licks and sucks. You can feel yourself trembling on the edge of something big—an adventure you aren't ready to take.

Hanzo watches you above your knees; he looks you in the eyes as you gasp and wheeze. You plead, and the archer licks your outer lips. Hanzo sucks your clit, hums. Your words gargle in the back of your throat.

The hand in his hair turns into a fist. Hanzo moaned.

At some point, he mumbled in your folds, snippets of "goddess" and "queen" as his hips repeatedly struck the mattress. The groans he's making have your ovaries flushing, your cunt fluttering. Hanzo's panting by the end, but he doesn't stop licking.

Hanzo, for all his dignity and grace, wants you to put him on his knees. Make him work and beg for air. Then, smother him.

Can you imagine Hanzo pinning you to the bed, claiming he's wronged you and needs to atone? You can scream that you forgive him, that it's unnecessary, but he won't accept it. What good is forgiveness if he doesn't earn it?

Or, he goes down on you before every Overwatch mission to "strengthen his mind and body" to better prepare.

"H-Hanzo. Why—" You bit your finger to keep from moaning (squirming). You don't need any bruises. Your hips still bear the thick shape of his fingers.

"Why not just—ah!—just train more?"

"You are the only meditation I need."

Hanzo’s bed once filled itself with women from all walks of Asia. Sojiro filled his bed with women from all walks of Asia. Differing accents, differing traditions. Same economic status. None of them would have been good enough for his father. The thirst for an heir may not have originally been his own, but the need still burned beneath his painted skin. The dragons grew restless, for Hanzo’s desire was their own. The dragon lord had never truly given up on his future children.

Unconsciously plays into your worship kink

Step on him

Physically a virgin, spiritually a whore

Not inexperienced, per se. The terms by which Hanzo lost his virtue weren't his own, so Hanzo ignored them.

Vanilla in theory and theory alone. Missionary, no anal. Ever. But he'd clean his spend from your 'temple' (inside and out) in gratitude and penance. First, for deeming him worthy of such a privilege. Second, for dirtying you and finishing without your consent.

He's kneeled at your feet, kissing them and offering his sacrifice.

It's all amusement and spectacle until he asks what punishment you deem suitable for his transgression.

Is he serious? You came three times in the last forty minutes.

You should be at his feet. You could never cum like that on your own.

Hanzo decides for you

You're shuffling off the bed when he reaches for his bow

He expects you to use honorifics after his name. You are his wife, and he is your husband. You must address him with respect.

Call him 'lord Hanzo' in jest, and the archer closes in on himself. Memories of a life he'd long abandoned close in on all sides. He kindly asks that you don't tease him in such ways. You know nothing of his past. Hanzo doesn't blame you for his reaction to your words; you only meant to play with him, as a wife should. Humor, and not ridicule. (Not that he thought himself undeserving of it. If a divine creature decided he needed humbling, who was he to feel any different?

Hanzo shies from titles that place him above you, "master, King, God, etc."

Jesse McCree

"Now," Jesse stood with his hands resting on his belt, the light from its buckle glinting off into your eyes and reflecting the terror you felt. His hips tilt to one side as he observes you silently. "Why doncha tell me again what you were hopin' to accomplish with them tiny little hands o' yours."

Panic flashed in your eyes because Jesse widened his stance and raised his hands.

You still scramble further up the bed.

"Nah, ya ain't in trouble," Jesse said as he removed his hat and tossed it on the side of your dresser. Always mindful of Ma's etiquette lessons, Jesse knew better than to enter a lady's room wearing his hat. Was impolite. You don't enter a lady's room 'less you come naked. "Pity she didn't teach me to knock," he added with a smile.

Confusion twisted your features. Jesse often said things that you weren't sure how to interpret.

His slow smile told you he was a man looking out after his own. It made your heart beat faster. He wasn't here to hurt you.

"Just show Uncle Jesse what you were up to 'fore I came in." He moved closer, the bed frame squeaking beneath his boots. "Lemme see what you got," he said. Jesse reached out, and you flinched.

But his hands only brushed a finger across your cheek, pushing away a strand of hair. "Ya got somethin' special in those hands," he said gently as his fingers pressed against your skin.

You become aware of the hands covering your modesty. You glance at your bare thighs out of habit when Jesse references the heat between them.

"Come on now, don't get all bashful," He said before you could try to hide under the blankets. You had a way of scurrying off like a little mole whenever he teased you too much. Shy, sweet, and gentle. He could eat you up for days.

"Show me how ya touch 'er when you're all alone."

You pull your cami over your thighs to deter those mocha-brown eyes. Jesse raised a brow that was just as dark. "Ya ain't got nothin' to hide, girl. I already seen it all." He said. Good-natured, southern charm oozed from his every sentence. Yet, you still felt like you were standing in the principal's office and caught doing something wrong.

But Jesse smiled as though what he said was meant to make you feel better. He leaned down, kissing your forehead as if it were the world's most natural thing.

"I'm… I'm loud.." Your knees draw together.

His smile was lopsided. "Good thing all the gunfire and explosions drown out hearing." He said, referencing the hearing aids he wore in his ears.

Did you think a little thing like that would ever be a problem? Bless your sweet little heart.

You weren't sure what to say. 'I'm sorry?' Would he think you're pitying him?

But he just let out a chuckle and shook his head. "Don't sweat it, sugar." A large palm ruffled your hair affectionately. "Now, why don't you show Uncle Jess what you were playin' with?" He asked again, his voice a little more playful this time.

"You..you really can't hear?" You fidgeted with the hem of your cami, not wanting to make eye contact.

His grin widened, "Not a thing." Jessie lied. "I'll even take 'em out if ya want." He started to take off his hearing aids, but you stopped him.

"No, no! That's... That's not necessary." You said quickly.

"Well, alright then." He said, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"How's 'bout you let this old cowboy have that weapon yer holdin'?"

Weapon?

"Oh, she's lethal." Jesse winced playfully. "One could take out a man if it's aimed properly."

"She?" You asked, curious.

Jesse held back the brunt of his laughter. "Yer pussy, sugar. It's a she."

Your expression has him losing his composure. He had the courtesy to turn away and chuckle. The insult on your face had him in stitches.

"Well, shoot." He said after a while, finally managing to compose himself. "I ain't mean to make no fun of ya. Just thought you'd like to know your kitty got a name."

Your body ran hot, and your heart thumped against your chest. You can't believe how Jesse made you feel with just a few words and one little joke. You could see the mischievous glint in his eyes and knew he would make you squirm again.

"Respectfully, I'm gonna need to see those hands of yours." He said, that same southern gentleness in his voice like before.

Jesse whistled as your hands lifted, low and appreciative.

"I'll be damned..." You're sweet enough to top his apple pie. If he had it, Jesse would've held his hat to his chest; those thighs could carry him through the Arizona desert.

"You can take my breath away any day," Jesse said with a grin. He drank those thighs ten times over before they'd self-consciously shut. He was drunk on you as he was on moonshine.

"Hands back on your holster. Show me how you use it."

With his boot planted firmly on the mattress, brown eyes staring you down, you touched yourself. You'd jumped at the first brush of a hesitant finger against the peach fuzz clothing your mons—prickly and on its way to growing—cold fingers startling skin that hardly ever felt a temperature change. You've never been more thankful for those stubborn hairs that always grew back despite your best efforts. It offered a level of decency—privacy—during a private act made public. You map your vulva, getting a feel for it. Your legs spread as you become more comfortable with the movements and sensations that kiss you nightly when the house is sleep—as comfortable as you could be with a man like Jesse McCree looming over you.

You were very aware of him—his presence, his smell. You could feel him in your veins as you touched yourself, and he watched. He dared not move a muscle lest it scared you off.

The situation might be foreign, but the sweetness in your abdomen isn't. The toe-curling warmth made you want to rock and hum into its beautiful calm. It took the stress out of a very stressful situation. How odd to find yourself tense in the middle of your go-to stress relief.

You moved with clinical precision, not for pleasure but to show Jesse you weren't helpless. You felt like the Tin Man—joints stiff, robotic, and locking together when thoughts of what you were doing and in front of whom caught up to you. The need to defend yourself from any infantilism oiled them and kept them going. Your breath gets heavier as the pleasure builds inside of you, regardless.

Could you even cum like this?

Doubtful.

There wasn't anything too exciting about tracing up and down your lips, still wet from the 'exercise,' Jesse interrupted. Your clit still pulsed despite cologne tickling your nose like spice (or maybe because of it).

He was so close.

With the scent of tobacco and leather on his clothes, Jesse Mccree had your undivided attention. You can't look at him, but the thought of staring into those deep brown eyes while you circled your clit and cried the prettiest you could make you swallow down below. Your clit throbs, and you massage it before you can stop yourself. You play with the hood, fragile and unsure. It isn't enough, but you don't want to appear indecent. God, if only you could throw open your legs and—

"That ain't how ya do it. Touchin' 'er like that, bet you don't even know what she's called."

Of course, you do. It's a vagina. Not a 'her,' not a 'she.' You told him so.

"Aw, now. You'll hurt 'er feelings. Tell me what you call 'er, darl.'"

"It… it's my vagina." You emphasize the word 'it.'

Jesse shook his head. Shoulda knew you'd call 'er somethin' dull and childish.

"Move aside, sugar." Jesse motioned for you to stand. A cigarillo was all that was needed to complete the toothy grin as he sat, cybernetic hand hitting his thigh. "Come sit on Papa's lap. He's gon' show ya what she's for. How to touch 'er."

You stood uncertain before him, blanket held to your sex. The red fabric pooled between your legs and onto the floor.

"I don't bite, sugar." He said. It's the softest you'd ever heard him.

Your lips thin to a pensive line.

This is a bad idea. But the prospect of this man sipping you like he did his whiskey was thrilling.

You look past him toward his hat on the dresser, and the blanket drops. So do Jesse's eyes. But that grin? It stretches to something boyish, handsome, and white. He savors, just as you'd hoped; he savored himself so fully your legs ache to cross over each other. He's fixated on your vagina. You hope he can't see it swallow.

"This is your little pussy." Jesse spread you open with two fingers. You squirm on his thick thighs. He's mountainous and warm against your back; you hardly cover two-thirds of his broad chest. He must spray cologne directly on it. Woodsy Pine and Old Spice took you to a campfire with marshmallows and Southern folklore. You don't think about the chestnut hairs peeking out of his flannel. You can't. You'll die.

"This is your pretty little pussy." He rubbed your fatty, wet lips with four fingers—rough and widened in a V-shape.

Your vag—your pussy clenches, tingly.

"You may have touched 'er before," He swiped your clit side-to-side, hitting nerve endings that had you bucking on his tan, human finger. "but I'll teach you how to spoil 'er." He dipped one deep inside.

"And fill 'er up."

Your cries are as helpless as your hips as they help him fuck your pussy open. He stretches her so good you can't recall when you began referring to her as a she. You fuck yourself on his fingers until pleasure gushes from your cunt.

An involuntary gasp escapes your lips as he collects his first load in his fingers. You're there.

"You wanna cum, and I can make it happen, sugar." Jesse held you as you shook. Robotic arm slung over your waist, he let you use his finger to draw out your end. He pumped into you occasionally—lazy and matching your weakening thrusts.

"Ain't nothin' wrong with bein' greedy. Uncle Jesse will let ya have seconds if ya want 'em."

You just keep goin', doncha? You're a lil fighter—pushin' those shuddery hips forward even as you gasp and choke.

Ya weren't lyin'. Yer loud. Not in a cutesy way, either. You're raw, unapologetic.

Jesse loves it.

Nothin' worse than a woman who does all that dainty shit.

You cried so long and hard your voice tapered into a husk.

"These fingers were made for women. Made for touchin' 'em." Any internalized shame blew in the wind when Jesse used his thumb to swipe your sensitive clit. You groan like a cavewoman. Guttural, primal.

"Made for makin' 'em come. You gonna come for me again?"

You're already trembling, unable to get your tongue working as you tighten on his fingers.

"There ya go, sugar. Cum like I'm gettin' it in. Goin' six inches deep and cummin' hard on 'er lips." Jesse pumped his fingers deep again as you began panting, panicking—he was insistent on getting you off—a knot of orgasm tightened in your waist until you snapped like a whip against your backside and seized.

"Ain't nothing wrong with cryin'."

You can't stop shaking. Crying. Tears fall off your chin, and you don't know where they came from. At this moment, you're a helpless baby—wailing and hoping he understands. You need him to fuck the soul from your body. You need him to stop.

"I've got somethin' of a confession," Mccree said, his drawl thickening with each syllable. The thumb on your clit sent his words through one ear and out the other. He's knuckle-deep in your cunt and seated near your pleasure spot as he slowly curls into it. You curl with him, hot and whining.

"I may be aurally challenged, but I can still hear you, sugar." You're drooling in every figurative sense—mentally and emotionally sloshed from the pump of his heavy fingers. "Every time you whisper my name at night." He said, his tone low and warm.

Your thighs clamp around his hand.

Fiery shame swept like lava and left coals on your chest, leaving you with prickly, uncomfortable goosebumps.

Oh, now we can't have that.

You've stopped chasing his hand, chasin' that release you'd wanted so bad.

A gentleman, Jesse puts in enough work for both of you. If you aren't meetin' him, he'll have to try that much harder, won't 'e?

God, what would your family think? They'd shun you. Getting off to thoughts of your captor's big, impossibly wide hands instead of biting them.

This needs to stop.

Oh, but you can't. You're grinding on his finger again, helpless to stop. It's so good. It's too fucking good.

"That's it. Get it, sugar." Jesse starts flying in and out of your thighs. Something coughs from your throat like a drowned victim spitting up water. You grab his wrist for stability and don't make it halfway around.

"That's what I like to fuckin' see," Jesse growled.

Fuck it. You'd let him pull your panties aside and cream your pussy right there on your bed with your family in the doorway for them to see every desperate clench it made, each spasm in the base of his cock as it emptied inside their precious daughter, sister, and loved one. They could watch the conception of their grandchild and niece/nephew for all you care.

"Jesse! Oh god. Feels good!"

"Sounds even better up close." Mccree chuckled. Breathy, strained. As if it'd come through gritted teeth. His cock pressed into your ass—hard and hot. He made no attempts to relieve it.

"You come to Uncle Jesse when your pussy needs some lovin', ya hear?"

He pulled out, leaving you so, so empty.

You quickly nodded. No, no. Please put it back! He'd stopped touching your clit.

Jesse doesn't leave you empty much longer now that he has an answer. "You let ol' Jess handle it. I'll give the lil lady what she wants."

You're too damn polite. Callin' 'im 'sir.' He ain't no 'sir.' Jesse would tell you to stop if he ain't like it so much.

He pretends to hate it, gives you grief about it, but let you come 'round askin' for somethin'. Jesse stops you mid-sentence and tells you to call 'im that thing he likes.

"Come on, honey. You'll make me feel old."

Your name might as well be 'pretty.'

"C'mere, pretty. Wanna show ya somethin' real quick."

Toji Fushiguro

It's one of those days.

Toji stood in your doorway, an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth. He had a can of beer in his left hand and a race ticket in the other. You should be happy to see him. There's no milk, and your stomach could grow teeth and devour. Your heart drops instead. The paper had as many wrinkles as a white shirt straight from the dryer. Crumpled, meaning he'd lost. The one Toji wore was stretched and spent. He hadn't come home last night. A sour odor of alcohol told you why. Toji celebrated his losing streaks with bottles of sake at the bar. Usually, he'd be out looking for a job to 'make up what he lost,' as he'd always promised.

The hunt must've been unsuccessful if he had been back so soon.

Toji was bitter before he'd even come in the door. Catching you with your fingers in your pajama pants put him over the edge.

"What ya doin' touchin' what's mine?"

Toji scoffed when you continued giving him that owlish stare.

"Y'think I'm good for nothin', dont'cha." His posture remains loose and bored, his tone detached. The slip crinkled in his balled fist.

This isn't going to end well.

"Of course no—"

"You ain't gotta lie, Seven."

Toji was more superstitious than met the eye. He set you up in his home like a Maneki-Neko for good luck and fortune, laughable.

You aren't lucky. Trouble raced after you like tin cans on an exhaust pipe, with your situation to prove it.

Trouble stepped further into your room—swept across your floor like tumbleweed, kicking the ground with every slow, drunken step. Trouble knelt on your bed, knocked your plushies off to the side, and snatched your arm when you scurried.

"Y'think I'm a deadbeat." Trouble pulled you under him and ripped your pajamas off your hurling legs. His triceps bulged beneath his tee as his hips rolled into your cunt, wet and bare. He held you still to take each stubborn, mouth-watering rut. "Think I can't take care of ya anymore."

Toji's still beating the headboard into the wall as you quake around his thighs. Frantic hands tear at his upper back, tugging his shirt for him to go harder despite the worrying cracks and splinters of wood.

"'m gon' prove you wrong." Toji put his weight on his elbows and fucked you like he meant it. He'd buck forward and knock your eyes to your skull.

'God, yes,' is all you can think as he presses you into the mattress and shoves into you until you can't get air. 'More, more, more.'

"Gonna make you cum so hard you wet yourself," he growled in your ear. "Gonna make you scream and cry." And he did.

"Oh God, Toji!"

Toji rabbits at the first sign of tears. "I'm gonna fuck you right to hell."'

"Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God, oh—uhn!"

Spleck!

Your thighs squeeze and judder into his cock. Wetness dribbles past your lips regardless of how tightly you clench your legs. You cum hard—the spasms in your cunt deep and violent. So fucking slutty and messy.

"God!" The word tore from your throat in a ragged sob. Feral. Hysterical.

There's no way you should clamp this fiercely. It's been so long Toji let you tighten up. He needed to stretch you back out. This pussy should be loose and sticky always. A constant fullness to fill the pangs and help you forget your troubles.

You wanna be fucked.

You wanna be bred.

"A little girl like you don't know what you're doin'." Toji got between your thighs and licked you from slick perineum to juicy clit.

"Says you." In your head, you're pushing his face deeper into your sex, hand in his hair as you grind on his tongue. 'Show me, baby; show me. Show me what I'm too stupid to do.'

Toji eats you alive.

His fingers brush up your bum while he tongues you into orgasm. Toji piles your juices on his fingers and licks them clean, again and again.

"Lookit how excited she gets." Toji rests on his knees. The crotch of his sweatpants is a darker shade of black and damp from your sex.

"She can't quit talkin'." Spasming, spitting, and wetting.

His cock is visible, sitting on his lower left thigh, right above his knee. A footpath of the same dark shade runs down his left pant leg.

Did he cum? Did he cum just from eating you out? Was that fat, ruddy cockhead drooling over the very hint of your sex when he'd rutted against you before?

There's something so primal about him kneeling over you, your juices on his tongue, his cock jutting out so proudly, hung like a horse between your thighs. It makes you aware of just how filthy this whole act is, how raw.

You can smell yourself on him, and your legs self-consciously close.

"Still think you know how to get this pussy to clamp as she should?" Toji's voice was low and gruff.

"No." You whimpered.

"Then why the fuck are you playing with my clit?"

"I wasn't playing with it! I was just..."

"You won't even squeeze your thighs together without askin' when I'm finished," his lips close around your clit.

Toji licks every slippery skin fold and nibbles your clit until it's throbbing. You fuck his mouth with your hips, desperate. You reach deep, guttural tones no woman should.

Would nut if you called him 'sir.'

Call him 'sir,' and he'll call you 'ma'am.' Especially in bed. It's shamelessly kinky, given the age gap between you. Might just call you mommy if you're okay with it. You're still under your parent's insurance and barely have a driver's license. Your wisdom teeth haven't come in, and here this forty-year-old man was calling you mommy.

And if you are? Agreeable with it, that is? Toji does his best to make you one.

He missed out on Megumi. Thoughts of another child hadn't crossed his mind until he was deep in your green, twenty-something pussy calling you mommy in that aged murmur.

You love everything he's saying. "Gon' fuck a baby into your teenage pussy—get you pregnant." Toji liked to poke at your age. He'd call you a teenager when you're particularly difficult. Little girls can't talk to me like that. Those nights remained the same. Toji fucked you on the floor and bred you until you couldn't speak. Cum ran from your entrance in a thin, constant stream. Milky, thick-flowing, and filthy. You just need some good lovin'; that's all it is—needed attention. You didn't know how to ask for it without pitchin' a fit like a child.

Make-up sex where he'd hold your hands as your thighs shook. Toji made up for leaving the cabinets empty by leaving your thoughts emptier. Cramming you six inches full of excess and relief, Toji filled you over and over until debt became greed. He's slow, thorough—men his age typically were. Toji was no boy. Wasn't in no hurry to finish. Thrusting between your hips, deep and thick in your cunt and inches from your face, Toji murmured, "'m gon' set it right."

You love what he's saying so much your appreciation lands on the base of his cock and lower abdomen as you squirt. "Dirty little girl. Dirty teenage pussy, begging for her senpai's cum." He burns right through your chest.

The words, "What are you going to do about it?" sit on your tongue.

"Gonna breed that pussy good. Gon' get you pregnant. Get you knocked up." Toji tugs your legs up higher, pulling you into his body as he snaps his hips. He thrusts into you, quick and hard.

Give it to me, give it to me. Put a baby in me. Oh, God, fuck me!

"Pussy'll be so sweet with my cum between those pretty, swollen lips. Might just eat it. Might have to. Might be all the sugar I need."

Muscles jump in your lower belly. Toji grinned above you, rotten, when your pussy quivered. Toji is feral when he gets his face between your legs, unlike any man you've met. The enthusiasm for your pleasure as he dug, sucked, licked, and scraped with his tongue (all while his right hand held your slippery cunt open for him to discipline and drink down) was primal and terrifying. It had you there in minutes. He had no direction, no idea, and no technique. All he had was the hell-driven desire to please you—make you come fast and hard 'many times as he could before his tongue gave out.

Every little thing you told him to do. That's all he had. You asked for more, and he gave it. You tell him to scratch that itch between your thighs, and he knows exactly what that means—squeezing his cock into your too-small ass. From there, all you did was tell him what you wanted, and he performed like a dog with a bone.

Toji wasn't above holding you down so that you took your pleasure on his face, fingers, and lips.

No, this dog took every ounce of his strength and overpowered your body to ensure he got his pound of flesh. What sorta man was he if he couldn't please his woman? An embarrassment, that's what. You ain't gonna insult him and walk away with steady legs.

"Gonna ride that pussy, make it mine."

Ride me, baby. Oh, God, yes!

Toji hunkers over you—that thick, heady scent of sweat, cologne, and body heat. He smells good. "Bet this teenage cunt loves feeling like it's mature, getting filled and stretched into a mommy's pussy." He's telling you how you'll look so good with your freshly creamed pussy.

Wanna be slutty for you. Make this pussy creamy.

"Gon' get that cervix wet. You'd better drink up, girl."

God, you'll drink every last white drop of it. You're already spasming.

"There she goes talkin'. Swallowin’. She's thirsty." Toji tilts your face towards him. "Boy or girl? Which one ya like?"

You struggle—feebly pressing his chest with jellied wrists to get him up and off of you. Out of you. You have to keep yourself from melting outward and running onto the sheets when he snatches you up in his arms as if you were nothing and hemmed you to the bed, hemmed you to his chest in a bear hug, and fucked you. He caged you beneath him and held you there. You’re held down and bred. Pre-cum drooled out of you onto the pillow like the real thing. Each thrust sent your hips violently into him, bobbing, circling, and returning to meet him as you rubbed your slick folds against his cock when it slipped out. He had you humping his wet dick like a bitch in heat. That was you on him. He's covered in you. He hugged you so hard that the bed felt like a paper bag under you.

"Ain't no running. Y'gon' take this dick. Take this apology."

"Don't! Don't—" The fight to free your arms was heavy and impossible as he lined himself up just as quickly as he'd left. Eager to fill. Eager to please. Hands trapped between your sweaty bodies, you settle for pushing against his stifling weight despite rising to help him resettle himself. And God, do you feel like home. Comforting, warm. He can already smell Ma's cooking. Slick, like the blood of his bounties. 'Specially when his bosses demanded a trophy as proof of his service.

White. All you see are the whites of his eyes as Toji's cock overfilled you to bursting, assisted by your curved spine and lofted hips.

He does it so gently—sliding into you like a Spanish kiss. Indulgent. Letting you admire the breadth of him, the ridge of cockhead that made your walls flutter and sing as it moved through you like drugs flooding a bloodstream, peddling euphoria throughout every corner of your body until you were floating and light in the giddy breeze of his possession. He looks demonic, possessed. Your cunt groaned from how full it was, glutted. Feel-good chemicals left you gooey and barely conscious as he stroked into you, exactly where you needed him and weren't ready for him. The deep grinds into your G-spot had you losing your breath, but he wouldn't stop. He wouldn't stop fucking you.

Uhhhn, God. Your eyes flutter. Your walls squeeze him against your will. You could kiss him.

"N-noooo, you can't. Don't cum in my pussy." You moaned. "Don't—hnn!—don' cum..." Your arms close around his waist, hips arching and rocking like you couldn't decide what you wanted more, to push him off of you or get creampied in one go. Bred.

"Mommy, ya gotta tell me." Your pussy clamps. Fissures of resistance disappear like they never existed when Toji calls you "mommy" like it's a sin. He's whispering dirty in your ear as if he knew your secrets. As if he knew you were two pumps and one shuddery male moan away from pleading the exact opposite.

"Tell me, Mommy, so I can do it for you." Toji's voice had gone sugary-sweet and deep.

But no...no. Nnn. No. "You… can't...do that." It's cheating. He's cheating.

"Tell me how you want this baby."

God, it just feels so good. You want him to cream you. Breed you. You like the fantasy of it all (it gets you wetter than anything), but he isn't financially stable, and you're no mother.

"We can't! Not 'nough money." Your lips don't sing lullabies. They sang heartache and blues. Emotionally immature and mentally thin, you're no mother. The slightest inconvenience, and you're ready to cannonball off a bridge.

"Ain't what I asked ya." Toji put you in a headlock. Ears hot and pounding, you twist and thrash as best you can underneath him. He doesn't leave you much room to grapple—still bearing down on you with all his strength and thrusting. 'Overwhelming' couldn't begin to capture the wave of shivers washing over you. Toji scratches that itch inside of you so good it nearly hurts. God, it's good—the beating he gives that secret, special place you can never reach alone. Where fingers clench into knots, your womb feels like a fever. You're in heaven. Your thighs burn from all that friction. You're in hell. Your body wants nothing more than to let out a primal scream as you battle to cope with the intensity. It takes you a few moments to realize you are—hollering in absolute hysteria. You unclench your fingers long enough to shove fruitlessly at his chest, claw at his arms and pelvis.

The thick arms caging your head tighten. "Answer. Or I’ll put one in your backside."

"Girl!" You shouted—voice rough and strangled behind his grip.

"A lil princess just like 'er Mama." Toji bucked into you, closing his eyes with a groan. When they opened, they stared down at your hostile mouth. If there was one body part of yours Toji was fascinated by, it was your lips.

He's been staring at them while he fucked you, lust in his eyes. Toji watched them threaten and plead.

"You get off me, or I'll—" Your words clung thickly together, dragged in places they shouldn't as if they were moaned.

"I'll..." Your lashes fall to your cheeks as Toji moves down, nose rumbling softly with steamy breath as he latches onto a nipple and sucks.

Your cunt swallowed and sang; you rose to meet his next push. The way his tongue and teeth work together on that sensitive spot is enough to make you light-headed.

"I'll..."

Toji stared at you, expression unreadable as ever. "You'll what, Mommy?"

He watched 'em gasp and form his name. He needed 'em. Needed 'em more than his own mother's rotted eyes.

"You'll cum?" He ground into you, and you gasped.

"Yes." You wrapped your arms and legs around him. God, your skin was on fire.

Toji released your breast and latched onto your mouth instead, groaning against your lips. His tongue flicked inside, and you opened wide.

"H-harder. Toji, I'm—"

Ughn!

Toji hits it like he couldn't miss—rutting, grinding, and humping into that sacred spot. Your kiss had him rabbiting and murmuring, moaning, and biting. He was gasping. He was growing—swelling at the base of his cock. He was coming apart.

Seeing you thoroughly enjoy yourself and falling apart on his cock has Toji's hips faltering. Mama's never yelled for 'im quite like that before. He had mama screamin', had 'er eyes rollin' back. Had her thrusting on his cock like she wanted her green, little pussy filled—wanted his kid.

"Sound so good, Mommy." He's coming already, eyes shut as the first few spurts escape him. Toji's thrusts deepen each time you moan. He'd shiver, pushing hard into your g-spot. He spoiled it for every hunger pain while he was away.

"Hands." His voice shook with effort—the physical strain of staving himself off.

When you don't immediately respond, Toji's head rests on your shoulder—miserable like an old dog. "y'know I can't cum without 'em. Know I need 'em."

His breaths come in rough pants. "I'm gonna cum, Mommy. Imma go right up your pussy and spill my seed."

"Toji—" You squirm, "Toji, don't!" You'd damn near drooled as the first squirt of hot cum hit your pussy, unconsciously bucking into him for the umpteenth time.

You beg Toji not to cum inside you, hugging him and pumping those hips all the while. Desperately, at that. A man's gotta wonder.

"Let me apologize, mama," he said between labored breaths. "Let me give you this baby." His fingers pry into yours, clutching them against the mattress as he rutted and sighed into you. "Let me."

"No." You fight. "No, no, no, no, no! No. Don't!"

His thrusts pick up as you try and wrangle free.

"I forgive you, Toji! I forgive—"

Toji licked into your mouth, grabbed onto your hips, and emptied himself in a long, thick stream. He shivered in your arms through spurts and convulsions, letting you swallow his shuddered alphabet of husky groans.

You can't help but buck into each warm shot of his seed. You're a whore. And you're tired of pretending you're not.

You're still moaning for him not to cum inside you as he does just that, pushed up against your G-spot, gently grinding you toward an orgasm of your own.

He could've positioned himself at your cervix and got all nice and snug, but then he would've missed the sleepy look on your face. Eyelids hung low, mouth parted—sated, full, and still working that pussy against him, swallowing miserably around him because it hasn't cum. She will. He'll show ya he ain't useless, that he's good for somethin'.

Besides, they'll swim. He doesn't need to be lined up to hit a target. It'll be fine once you're shiverin' against him; you'll send 'em right where they need to be.

"Please don't, sir." You said, still thrusting through the zips and tapering shocks of your orgasm. Your arms are helpless, bumbling, and unresponsive.

'Sirs' nice and all, but he'd prefer 'Mister.'

Author’s Note: This was Valentine's gift for myself and I decided to share it. If this performs well, I'll finish the second installment. The next part will feature Erasermic, Bob Velseb, Daddy Dearest, Mommy Mearest, and a fourth character I haven't decided on.

Tips: Please consider tipping if you're well-fed. It would incentivize me to keep sharing. https://ko-fi.com/pumpknpie

©️pumpkin-pi-e | Do not copy, edit, paraphrase, plagiarize, translate, or borrow from my work. I do not give my consent for any of my works to be reposted. I only write on Tumblr. Should you find this anywhere else, please alert me because it was stolen.

For your listening pleasure:

The title was based on the song below.

Do Not Interact - Writers and blogs who actively write white-coded reader inserts (blush, turn red, a flush of color). I can’t eat at your table, and I don’t want you at mine. You will be blocked. Blank blogs will also be blocked.

[sannasruins]

letters from my love

aizawa shouta x reader

type: angst with some fluff sprinkled sporadically, part two to my letters to you but can probably be read stand-alone as well

warning: major character death, grief

a/n: regular text is present, italics are your handwriting, flash backs have tildes (~) enclosing them. reader is refered to with she/her pronous and as "wife". this turned out way more self insert-y than anything else i've written but not for lack of trying, i just couldn't have things be less specific lol, sorry to anyone who doesn't like rain, bugs, and baking

word count: 5.3k

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, he would wake to find your side of the bed cold. He would get up in search of you and would find you bathed in yellow light at the kitchen table, scribbling away at paper. He would ask you what you were doing, when you were coming back to bed, and you would answer him, writing letters, and soon honey I’m almost done. Content with your answers and much too groggy to ask who you were writing letters to, he would make his way back upstairs and into the warmth of bed. And just as you told him, you would soon slip under the covers and cuddle into your husband’s warm and loving embrace.

Shouta gingery removed one of the sealed envelopes from the box, a small sticker keeping it closed. He turned it around to see the back of the letter and his heart started pounding faster when he saw the scrawl of your handwriting. He tried hard to focus on the words in front of him, though he found it increasingly difficult. He closed his eyes, and took a few deep breaths, then reopening them and trying again to read what was addressed to him.

It first rains after I’m gone.

That was your handwriting, but what could that mean? Looking up, he noticed something he hadn’t in his rush to see the contents of the box. On the lid, cut out of construction paper, were the words OPEN WHEN. 

Open when it first rains after I’m gone.

What were these? He put down the first letter and reached for another. You turn 30. Another. It’s been a year. Another. It’s my birthday. You turn 26. It snows. You really miss me. You notice a beautiful sunset. You turn 45. You get sick for the first time after I’m gone. You loose a battle. You turn 28. It’s our wedding anniversary. You find this box. He paused, was this the one he was supposed to read first?

He flipped through the rest of the box, it looked like you had written letters for all of his birthdays, up until he turned 80. That was 55 letters alone. But there were other letters mixed in with them, letters for the changing seasons, letters for coffee dates and weather. And a few of the letters, it seemed, were ones for him to deliver to others, their friends, their fellow heroes. His brows furrowed and two schools of thought argued in his brain. He was mad, mad that you thought you had to do this, mad that your thoughts had been proven right, mad that you knew there was a chance you were going to leave him behind on this miserable planet without you. But he was also grateful, grateful that you loved him so much that you didn’t want to leave him behind with nothing, grateful that you had left him bits of you to have for the rest of his life, his only salvation trying to spread herself past her mortal boundaries.

Open when: you find this box.

He carefully peeled back the sticker that sealed the envelope closed, not wanting to tear the fragile paper. Inside was nice looking stationery, the design suited you, he thought, folded neatly into thirds, front and back covered in your words, the ink holding just a slight fraction of all that you were. He pulled the paper out of its bindings, and delicately unfolded it, revealing the beginning. 

Dear Shouta, my love, 

If you are reading this, that probably means that I am gone, that or you found this while cleaning the closet, and we will be having a rather embarrassing conversation soon.

He let out an amused exhale, but the breath he drew back in held somberness.

My love, I’m sorry that I was the one to leave first, I promise you I never wanted these preparations I’ve made to ever have to be used, I would much rather prefer if we got to grow old together, retire from being heroes, maybe move out to the sunny country, and live our lives long and peaceful. But we’re heroes, aren’t we? We’ve dedicated so much of our lives, from such a young age, to be able to protect and put ourselves on the line for the greater good. 

I hope I went out heroically, maybe not a blaze of glory but, not on the losing side of the battle when it was all said and done. Maybe even I won in the end? You wouldn’t wanna be married to a loser, now would you?

“You did,” he murmured to himself, having completely forgotten his friend across the table from him, “I’d rather be married to you as a looser than anyone else though, a wife who is a looser sounds a lot better than a wife who is dead.” He continued to read.

I wish you could know how much I love you, my Shouta, how much I wish for you. I would give you the world if I could, heavens know I tried. Please do not let my efforts be in vain my love, do not let my departure be the thing that crashes and burns the path that you have painstakingly forged for yourself. 

Crash and burn he thought bitterly, oh the irony. 

I will be waiting for you, dearest, wherever the soul goes where it dies, I will be waiting for you at the start, so that neither of us will be alone. But please, do not join me prematurely, I won’t greet you with joy if you did that, Shouta. Live a long, long life, make it worthwhile, if not for yourself, then for me, please. You have so much left to do. Maybe try teaching, you were always so great with children, teach them better, teach them the hard lessons we had to learn ourselves so that they won’t make the same mistakes their predecessors made.

With all my love, my whole heart, my soul, and my entire being,

Y/n.

That’s where the first letter ended. He sat back, not ready to process everything it had contained, so he moved his focus to his previously forgotten friend.

“Hizashi, there’s a letter for you, in here too,” he nodded towards the box, “there’s actually a couple not addressed to me.” He pulled the letters, which were for your mutual friends and fellow heroes, out of the box, and handed them to the blonde. There seemed to be a silent understanding that it was now Hizashi’s duty to deliver the letters to their recipients, Shouta probably wouldn’t be ready to do that for a long while, and they deserved to receive their messages in their times of grief. 

Aizawa Shouta didn’t go back to work for a while, instead staying in the house the two of you had made into a home. He wasn’t a useless mound of grief the entirety of his stay indoors though. He had decided to do what you told him, and looked into getting his teaching license, taking online courses while slowly cleaning the home. He was never going to get rid of your presence in the space, it was as much yours as it was his, even if you were no longer there. But he needed to get your clothes out of the shared closest, and your products off of the bathroom vanity, carefully being tucked away. He placed more pictures of you around the house, pictures of your wedding day, of your after-school dates, of late night patrols together, decorated all of the walls and filled many empty surfaces.

 Monsoon season had arrived, and it had been a month since your passing that the first real rain happened, it was now June, and the air was hot, balmy. The afternoon rain brought some relief from the heat of summer, and he knew it was time to read his second letter.

Open when: It first rains after I’m gone.

He sat down in the living room, into the plush arm chair that faced the windows, he reminisced on all the days just like this one, where you would sit and listen to the rain, your book of the week resting in your hands, the only other sounds breaking the patter of rain being you turning the page, and the noises you made in reaction to what new words you were taking in, a gasp, a giggle, a snort.

Hi Shouta, 

Are you sitting in my chair right now? Are you watching the rain? 

Never again will anyone know him as well as you did.

I know you have mixed feelings about rain, it seems to almost always show up in the moments that feel fitting for it, for you at least. I’m sure you know how much I love the rain though, the rhythmic pounding, the flash and crash of lightning and thunder. Do you remember that day in our third year, both of us had forgotten to bring umbrellas, you wanted to wait until the rain had let up, but there was no telling when that would be, and I wanted us to just walk out into the rain.

~ “Come on Shouta,” you called out joyfully, “it’s just water.” You stood in the courtyard of the school, most of the students gone now but those that were just leaving looking at you strangely as you spun in the rain. You walked back to where he was standing under the awning, and took both of his hands in yours, pulling gently on him, to bring him out of the shelter and into the downpour. ~

You were so worried I was going to catch a cold; I was more worried about you though. I didn’t want you to be so cautious in life, over such little things, even if we both caught colds, it would be better than waiting, watching, for something that may never come. Shouta, my dear, I don’t know if you're waiting for a sign, a sign to move on, a sign to live, a sign to die. That sign may never come. So let the rain be your sign, let the rain tell you to come out, to feel alive, to dance under it, even if your clothes will get wet, even if you get a cold. I don't want you to move on from me as much as you don't, but that doesn't mean you have to forget me, my love. I will be in every drop of rain that kisses your skin. 

He lowered the letter and looked outside to the darkened clouds. He got up, placing the letter on the coffee table, before slipping on his shoes and heading out the front door. He stood there, in the rain, for quite a while. The droplets mixing with his tears as they hit his face, trying to feel you in every single one of them. He stood there, until the rain started to let up, the color of the clouds fading to a lighter gray, and the sting of the rain turned gentler. He shook the water out of his hair, and turned around, back towards the house. It seemed to have a new air about it, something, maybe, slightly less heavy, or maybe it was just his imagination. He headed back inside, something different about him too, though he couldn’t see it, maybe the rain had washed away something heavy, maybe you had kissed away some of the pain. 

The Butsadan* he had gotten to place in your home held 2 pictures of you, one that he had taken on that very first crepe date, chocolate staining one corner of your mouth as you grinned at him, and one he had taken on your wedding day, looking so lovely in your dress, a gentle, loving smile gracing your lips as you looked at him with such adoration. He never let the flowers at your alter wither, changing out the water daily and the flowers every week, trying to pick out ones you would have liked, while keeping it mixed up so you wouldn’t become bored with the same thing every week. He would light incense twice a day, in the morning, before he left the house, and in the evenings, while he ate dinner, so you in a sense would still be there, eating with him. It was always one of your favorite scents, he knew you well enough to know, what scented lotions or shampoos you would choose, which candles and waxes you always gravitated towards. It was nice and reminded him of the times where he would get to smell the sweet scents every time you walked past him, the air carrying it faintly to his nose. He would leave your favorite buns and candies on the alter, never going too long without changing them out for something fresh, he didn’t ever want you to have something stale.

He started back at his hero work, and applied at several hero training high schools, and was surprised when his former school, UA accepted his application and hired him on for the next school year. 

It was September when he opened the next letter, it had been 4 months now since you left, and he was walking along the sidewalk of a riverbank, like the two of you often did in high school. He saw couples that looked like the two of you did back then, youthful and full of spirit and hope, he tried not to feel envious of the teenagers, though it was hard . He trained his weary eyes forward, and paused for a moment, and how beautiful the sunset was that evening. He wondered to himself if there were any sunsets as beautiful as this in the days that he walked home with you, that he never noticed because the most beautiful thing in the whole world walked right next to him, and everything else just paled in comparison. He hoped the teenage couples he saw earlier also noticed how spectacular the sunset in front of them way, and that they were grateful to see such a beautiful thing with one another. He headed home, to read his letter.

Open when:  You see a beautiful sunset

Hi Honey,

I’ve seen a lot of people say, when they pass, look for them in the sunsets, that they will paint an especially beautiful one for all that miss them. Please don’t look for me in the sunsets, Shouta, I don’t think that’s where I’ll be waiting for you. I’m not entirely sure where you may find me hidden, my love, so you better keep your eyes peeled. I wish I was there though, to see another beautiful sunset with you, so admire them twice as much, once for you, once for me. 

Maybe I’ll be one of those cool mantises, 

Your lovely wife.

Bemused, Shouta thought back to your class 1A mountain training camp.

~ You had wandered off while most of the group cleaned the used dishes, having already helped by being one of two to cook their dinner. He had just started to wonder where you had gone off to as your group was wrapping up cleaning the dishes, when you came practically prancing back into the clearing and towards your friends, something gleaming in your hands.

“Look! Look at what I caught!” you brandished off your daring find, an impressively large rhinoceros beetle. Some of the group around you screamed, the loudest of them all being Yamada Hizashi, an ear-splitting shriek escaping his lips as he jumped back from the creature and its captor. You giggled slightly but apologized to the blond, it wasn’t your intention to scare him, this was just a really cool beetle. He had a sour look on his face as he shakily nodded at you before backing away slowly, not turning to face the building he was going towards until he was 50 meters away from you, what he deemed to be safe. You looked after him with a face of mixed emotions, feeling bad for scaring him, and bummed he didn’t think your bug was cool. Shouta stepped next to you, getting your attention and distracting you from the disappearing figure of the angry Hizashi. 

“Do you know what kind of beetle it is?” he had asked you, trying his best to seem genuinely curious, he was, but he knew he wasn’t always the best at showing it. Your expression quickly changed as you smiled at the ebony haired boy, launching into maybe one too many bug facts about your interesting find. He didn’t mind though, that was one of the moments he fell for you a little more. ~

P.S. Some large species of mantis in captivity can live up to two years! It’s crazy to think how short their lives are to ours, but to them it is their entire existence. I think though, I would be okay even being a Karner Blue butterfly, which lives for only five days, if those five days I got to spend with you, flying around in a field warmed by the summer sun. 

Shouta put down the letter, and raised his eyes, just in time to see the last slivers of light disappear from the horizon, the beautiful sunset having lived its course and gone, making way for a warm summer night, the singing of cicadas fading with the light.

Time seemed to continue its endless march on into the future, in spite of anyone who begged it to slow, to pause just a moment, and let someone gather themselves, put themselves together just a bit more, just a bit better. And soon it was Aizawa Shouta’s 26th birthday, and the first birthday in over a decade that he would have to spend without you, and your warm little parties and cute cakes you would bake. 

Hizashi came and picked him up, insisting that you wouldn’t want Shouta to stay home, all alone, on his birthday. The two of them headed into the social district of town, and into a popular bar for heroes and sidekicks. Shouta nursed on two beers through the night as he watched his friend mingle with the crowd, though never straying too far away from the birthday boy sitting at the bar. At the end of the night, the dark eyed man had a slight buzz to him, his chest holding more heat than normal, but he wasn’t near drunk, he couldn’t say the same thing about his green-eyed friend though, whose face was flushed and words slurring together in jumbled nonsense. Shouta put Hizashi’s arm over his shoulders as he led them out of the bar, the arm heavy with intoxication and non-compliance.

“Nooooo,” the blond groaned as they the street the bar resided on, “comonnnnnn Shouta, te nightstill youg,” he broke away, and spun on the heel of his toe, twisting under the city lights in the nearly deserted street.

Shouta sighed, “yes, but we’re getting olddddd,” he drew out the last syllable of his last word, in lighthearted mockery of his inebriated friend, he beckoned towards where he stood safely on the sidewalk “come on I’d like to get home now.”

The blond looked at him, with what must to have been his attempt at puppy eyes, “but I don’t want you to be all alone tonight.”

“I won’t be alone tonight,” he mused, “she’ll be there too, in spirit at least, but,” he paused and looked at his heavily drunk friend, “I’ll let you crash on the couch if you promise to not throw up in or on anything.”

Hizashi grinned at Shouta, “mkayyyy,” and started his way off in the direction he thought was your home, only to have Shouta grasp him by the shoulder and turn him a sharp 90 degrees, “wrong way” he chided, Hizashi nodded and parroted his friend “wrong way.”

The second they passed the threshold into your home, Hizashi passed out, leaving his poor friend to pry off his shoes, and drag him to the couch, where he unceremoniously tossed him. He went into the kitchen to get himself a glass of water and sipped while looking at the snoring man on his couch. Pursing his lips, he begrudgingly filled another glass and set it on the coffee table, along with an aspirin, before leaving the ground floor of his home and heading up to his bedroom. He caught himself in his thinking. Was this the first time he had thought of it not as a shared yours but now only his? A wave of guilt washed over him, he didn’t want that kind of thinking to come, he didn’t ever want to stop thinking about you, about your lingering presence in his life. He swallowed, hard, he was a bit too tipsy to be thinking about those kinds of things, he could think about it later, in the morning. The pounding headache he knew he would have might be a suitable punishment for his straying thoughts he decided. It was time to open the letter.

He had saved it for the end of his day, wanting the last bits of his thoughts to be on you, maybe it was partly saving the best, and most painful, for last. The letter just being another form of him having to accept that you weren't here to wish him well. 

Open when: You turn 26.

This letter felt bulkier than the ones he had read before, and when he carefully with hands of practice, though he wished they weren't, opened the letter, he saw three 1000 yen notes, with a small sticky note attached to them. The sticky note read ‘getcha self sumthin nice ;)’. He moved on to the letter.

Happy birthday my love!

He smiled, his eyes already starting to tear. 

You’re 26 now, do you feel any different? Are your bones starting to hurt? Does the rain make your joints act up yet? You know that’s coming up, it’ll be here before you notice. I hope you’re making the best of the time you have before that, though I also hope you make the best of the time you have during and after that as well. Do you like your present? I would have gotten you something better but there’s not much that you can fit into an envelope, besides paper, though at least it’s paper with monetary value! I know! I’ve truly outdone myself! You’re probably going “ohhhh y/n, you know me so well, this colorful paper with a dude on it is just the thing I wanted!”

I’m sorry I’m not there Sho, to spend it with you, I wish I was. I hope it’s not too painful without me, I hope you have a good time on your birthday, maybe go out, have dinner with out friends. I don’t want you to be alone my love.

Sincerely, truly, one hundred percent without a doubt, 

The world’s best gift giver, aka, your y/n. 

The was a soft drip, the sound of water hitting paper, before he realized he was crying. He folded the letter and returned it to its envelope, not wanting to mess it up further, as he cried to himself. He reached out and found the small stuffed animal he had come to rely on in your absence, and pushed his face into the plush of its body, inhaling, trying to calm down. But the thing had long lost your scent, and now, to him, it smelt of nothing at all. 

He fell asleep that night, clasping onto the stuffed creature as if it were his only lifeline, the image of him sleeping reminiscent of not too far in the past, when he had just lost you. 

Time marched ever onwards.

It was 4 days before Christmas when the first snow of the season came. Everyone was joyous and hoping it would last until the romantic holiday, wishing for a white Christmas. Shouta was out on patrol, in the late evening, when it started, getting to witness it along with those going home, from an extra-long days work, from the packed bars in the city, from cram schools as they study for the upcoming finals. He was alone though, crouching on top of a midrise as his eyes scanned back alleys, searching for darting shadowy figures, considering the white flurries only a hindrance as they obscured more and more of his vision, until it became clear that he would no longer be able to stalk his prey with his vision blocked out in the sheets of icy precipitation. His breath fogged the air as he sighed angrily, not wanting to let them get away but not being able to stop the forces of nature, though how he wished he was bend them to his will just this one time.

He decided to go home, that he was ill prepared for this and could try again tomorrow, in warmer clothes and more suitable gear. 

When he arrived home, after he had unburden himself from his gear, past when he padded into the kitchen and set a kettle on the stove to boil, only when he sat down in your chair, a warm mug of fresh coffee in his callused hands, one sugar, no cream, did he look out the window, and see, really see the snow. 

Open when: It snows.

There was no dear Shouta, my love or honey to open this letter. 

Do you remember, our third year of high school, during winter break, that night we stayed out under the stars and snow? I can see it so vividly even now, I think that hast to have been the night I fell in love with you, though of course I didn’t say it then. His Purple Highness had us out patrolling by ourselves, truly by ourselves, no senior heroes notified that we were out without a supervisor on the same streets or back at headquarters, a taste of freedom that we would soon know every day. We started just as the sun had started to set, heading out, our winter costumes to keep us toasty. It wasn’t really boring, but it was mundane, as we strolled around the streets, keeping a look out for any shady behavior. 4 hours in, just before 9pm, you stopped in front of a cafe that was getting ready to close. I didn’t notice you had stopped until I was 10 meters ahead, and you hadn’t noticed that I continued on, because you were staring inwards. I walked halfway back and called out your name, you turned your head, surprised that I was so far away and not directly next to you. You pointed inside and made a drinking motion with your hand. I protested, Shouta we’re on the job right now, and you smiled at me, nose glowing red in the yellow light let out from the homey shop, its fine, you insisted, they won’t know what we don’t tell them. And you took me by the hand and pushed into the cafe. You already knew my order, which surprised me, I didn’t think you were the type to notice and remember those kinds of things, but it filled my stomach with a swarm of butterflies that threatened to come up my throat. We sat at a little table by the window while we waited for our order to be ready, you wrapping both your hands around mine, rubbing and blowing hot air on my frozen fingers, wordlessly. I thought I was going to barf butterflies. Our orders were ready before I knew it, and I didn’t want them to be, I wish they had taken longer to make those little coffees. We left the warm haven of the shop and went back into the cold night. You told me to hold my drink with both hands, I blushed and asked you, did you want to get coffee just so I had something warm to hold? Your face flushed and you looked out, away from me and towards the street. A car passed by as you answered, I almost didn’t hear, but you told me yes. 

~He remembered the embarrassment of being called out, but also pride, that you had noticed, and were happy about his little gestures. He couldn’t hold your hand while the two of you patrolled, and even your winter costume had forgone gloves, so he had watched as the night grew longer, the color of your fingers redden. He watched you occasionally rubbing them together, blowing into them, or scrunching them absentmindedly, trying to keep them warm while unaware of your actions, but he was aware.~

The rest of the night wasn’t eventful, except when we stopped that guy robbing a corner store, though we took him out pretty quickly. The cashier was so thankful that she gave us those little handwarmers while we waited for the police to come pick up the attempted robber. I was so happy that she gave us those because my fingers were returning to their freezing temperature and all the cafes were long closed. After that day though, I started finding handwarmers like those in the pockets of my school bag, in my shoe locker, in my jacket. I knew it was you, by the way, I never told you that. Thank you for thinking of me always, my love. We got off at 1 am, we had ended our patrol by a park, and even though most of the city was dark, and even though I’m sure you were cold and tired and hungry, when I suggested we play in the snow, you bent down, I thought you were ignoring me and tying your shoe, and I turned around with a sigh, that was until I felt the cold splat of a snowball on the small of my back! I whipped around and you were grinning, bearing all your teeth, the look in your eye, if I wasn’t so determined to get back at you, I would have been swooning, at least I still was internally. 

~You quickly bent down and mashed snow together into a messy ball before you launched it at him, trying to wipe that grin off his face before he noticed your blush. The two of you launched into an all-out snow war. Shouta had the upper hand in the beginning, as he had made several quick balls before he launched his first attack at your unsuspecting back, but you rapidly leveled the playing field. ~

He couldn’t remember now who had won that night. That didn’t really matter though, because he could still remember the wide grin that made his heart, even to this day, do backflips.

We played in the snow like we were little again, until we gave out, and lay on our backs next to one another, and looked to the sky, watching as the flakes slowly drifted down from dark gray clouds. Your cold hand, with fingers stiff from snow, reached out and grasped my cold hand, and squeezed. Both of us were still panting hard from all the fun we had had. As we laid there, hand in hand, I thought to myself, I love him. I think that’s the same moment I decided I was never going to let you go. There’s not really a moral to this story, besides me telling you the night I realized I loved you, I think I just want to remind you of happy things, the snow can feel kind of depressing now that we’re older, if we don’t look at it through the right eyes. So, look at it through the eyes of the Shouta who threw a snowball at my back. 

The definite winner of that snowball fight, 

Your love, Y/n.

*shrines used for the deceased in homes, originally of Buddhist origin but now used non-denominationally as well.

there may be a part 3? i was planning on doing all of the letters (excluding the birthdays) that i listed, but it kept getting longer and longer. let me know if you would like a part 3, i think if even 1 person asked me, i would write it lol

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Some extra cute teddy talking with the baby

Teddy half dragged Tilde closer and settled her against his side before opening the book. "Mama is tired," he explained, "So I'm gonna read the bedtime story."

Tilde babbled baby nonsense and Teddy shushed her quietly, "I've been practicing. You'll like it- I'm not as good as Mama. Not yet but. I'm not too bad."

Jason paused outside the door. He'd been about to offer them a story when he'd come inside from working on giving the cars a tune-up to find you absolutely sacked out on the sofa. As if you'd sat down for a moment and immediately crashed into sleep.

But. It sounded like Teddy had things well at hand.

And he was right. His voices weren't quite developed. And a lot of them sounded pretty much the same but- he was learning. And he was pretty consistent.

You had to see this. You just had to. You'd be heart broken if you had to see another cute moment with your kids on video- especially when it was happening while you were home.

So, Jason turned and slipped down the hall, going to wake you up and carry you to listen for just a moment. You'd be proud of him. And Teddy deserved to hear that first hand.

[peevishpants]

u kno u have a very potent crush on someone when they say the absolute most wacky-banal shit like I Have A Spreadsheet For Tracking People I've Met Because I Keep Forgetting Who They Are When I See Them Again and ur rose tinted glasses are SO thick that ur genuine response is like wow... that's the coolest thing ever :3c tilde tilde tilde sparkle emoji sparkle emoji wobbly eyes emoji heart with sparkles emoji

[classpectpokerap]

I believe I understood the rest, but what are !hing and _board supposed to mean?

so this ask (which is in reference to a recent post on my sollux rp blog, @double-ended ) is actually a good opportunity to talk about this.

the names for the other coding languages were all written collaboratively! credit to my friend Luke on my discord server for assembling all the names we came up with. don't remember who came up with what but yeah, shoutouts to the lukemeister. :3

TIME: ~ath (tilde ath = til death)

SPACE: exp& (expand)

HEART: m-> (marrow)

MIND: _board (underscore board = under scoreboard)

RAGE: @tack (attack)

HOPE: slap- (slapdash)

BLOOD: ,nd (command)

BREATH: half| (halfpipe)

DOOM: dis* (dis asterisk = disaster isk)

LIFE: ^cake (carrot cake)

VOID: !hing (not hing = nothing)

LIGHT: lode* (lodestar)

each language in the post actually has the relevant aspect listed, lol.

i really like these silly little faux programming languages. it's a neat lil expansion of the lore.

oh, and ^cake being a language for coding fetch modii was taken from the mspfa Fuck It We Ball by @horsesbones. :3!!

[revscarecrow]

Howdy, Rev. Are you holding up okay? I'm not sure if this was all across Maine, but you having your first snowfall as a Northern transplant and a great seat to the solar eclipse in a few days makes for a wild week.

Maine had been good but the current issue is finding Tilde a job. Apartments in this neck of the woods are more than I can do by myself. Or more specifically they want proof of 2x or 3x rent. I can make rent by myself easy but my income is not $3200-$6000. We can get back to regular business once she gets a gig but that would require someone responding back. The people here are the nicest people and all just radiate golden retriever levels friendliness. The driving is easy and quick and the shops are all local for the most part. I've only seen one McDonald's while I've been here exploring. Every house seems to have a BLM sign or a LGBT flag or a heart in the window (which apparently is in support of Palestine). This place is great and we will be very happy here once we can get our foot in the door.

[all54321]

Secret Life Session 8 Task List

<Previous Session] [Master List] [Next Session>

Each task is directly quoted from the book.

With most of the server red and that number increasing, this will take longer to update, since I’ll have to watch a lot of videos to get all the tasks. If I miss a red task please tell me.

I am now separating each person with tildes because with reds getting multiple tasks it’ll be easier to see what tasks someone has.

~

Bdubs Red Task 1: Kill a green name with a trap of any kind.

~

Etho: You are the silent server hero. You must protect other yellow players from traps and damage. - You succeed if you are able to save a player from significant damage (more than 2 hearts) at least 3 times.

Etho Red Task 1: Get another player to look at an enderman.

Etho Red Task 2: Create a damaging trap in someone’s base. You succeed when it’s unintentionally triggered. If it’s discovered, you must make a new one. You can make multiple until one is triggered successfully.

Etho Red Task 3: Do any amount of damage with a dripstone (Must be placed)

~

Gem Red Task 1: Eliminate at least 3 non-red horses or all of a player’s wolves.

Gem Red Task 2: Mine a big hole underground then spleef a player into taking damage into it.

Gem Red Task 3: Add berry bushes anywhere and everywhere. Cause someone to get pricked by one. You can punch people into the bushes if you need to.

Gem Red Task 4: Cause a Player to take fall damage of over 1 heart.

~

Scar: You must sabotage at least 3 red player’s bases without being seen. You can hide their stuff, destroy farms or burn things. If you are caught, you fail.

Scar Red Task 1: Dig mant 1x1 holes at least 15 blocks deep in high traffic areas until someone falls in one. Hide them with tall grass.

~

Grian: A fallen player is your ghostly angel, they will secretly guide you through this episode, you must do what they say. You fail if anyone asks if you are talking to someone else. They will contact you using ethereal means to set up a means of conversation.

~

Martyn Red Task 1: Find a red name with at least 20 hearts. Take approximately 10 of them in any way you see fit. If there are none, damage any player for at least 5 hearts.

Martyn Red Task 2: Go invisible and punch a green life off a cliff. They must take at least 3 hearts of damage.

~

Pearl: During this session, you must leave conversations in a creative way. You pass when you have successfully left 8 conversations or encounters in a different manner. You can leave conversations as normal, but it will not count towards your al goal.

~

Skizz Red Task 1: Kill a green name by any means. They can fight back once you have initiated combat.

~

Scott: You are a bad spy. You must listen in on red players’ plans, but convey bad intel to your fellow yellow players. You must give at least 3 significant false intel such as incorrect targets or intentions. At least one of the bad intel must be acted upon by another player.

~

Joel Red Task 1: Fire arrows from an unenchanted bow continuously at GoodTimeWithScar until they deflect with a shield. If they die you also succeed.

Joel Red Task 2: Build an explosive under a high traffic area. Detonate it from afar when a conversation is happening. If you deal any damage, you succeed.

Joel Red Task 3: Build a TNT cannon and successfully hit a base from at least 50 blocks.

Joel Red Task 4: You must damage a yellow or green player by firing a bow straight up into the air. The angle can not be below roughly 70 degrees.

Joel Red Task 5: Tame at least 5 wolves and use them to deal damage to a non red.

Joel Red Task 6: Use redstone to damage a non-red player. You can not hit the, with the item, it must be a machine or trap of some kind.

~

Tango Red Task 1: Enderpearl into a conversation, deal as much as you can to as many players, if you are hit or they all run away, enderpearl away.

~

Cleo: From supergratmonkey: You are a secret Santa. You have to randomize who is naughty and nice on the server. You must give a gift to all nice players and pull a trick, damage or steal from naughty players. You can not do the same gift/trick twice in the session.

~

BigB Red Task 1: Summon a mob using an egg to deal any damage to any green

BigB Red Task 2: Strike a deal with a non-red to cause at least 3 hearts of damage to another non-red. You succeed when they have dealt the damage.

BigB Red Task 3: Go invisible and hit at least 5 different people with a sword within 1 minute without being hit back.

BigB Red Task 4: Cause a player to take suffocation damage of any kind.

~

Impulse: During this session, you must enter conversations in a creative way. You pass when you have successfully entered 8 different conversations or encounters in a different manner. You can enter conversations as normal, but it will not count towards your final goal.

~

Note: In tasks specifying a green life, it now applies to a yellow life.

[alexinity]

Pov: waking up beside xiao

xiao x gn reader, basically anyone can read ig

note: i have no idea how to make my posts "pretty" bc im still learning how to use the app so sorry if it looks plain

warnings: none (a few curse words?)

genre: fluff

•

•

•

it was a nice morning, the opened window made the room feel refreshing, the sun had just started showing and the birds were awake and annoyingly singing.

y/n tried to focus their vision after just waking up but decided to give up and turn on their other side instead, where the light wasn't poking directly into their eyes.

"did u sleep well?" a sleepy and a little raspy voice asked.

"h-huh?" y/n said with their eyes closed "oh youre awake...yeah i slept well"

"you can barely even open your eyes" xiao said with a smirk

"well isnt that convenient for you, since i know for a fact that you wouldve blushed if i was staring at you...naked" y/n teased.

"i-its too damn early in the morning for this...leave me a-alone" xiao started hiding his face in his pillow.

"...okay pretty boy" y/n giggled and turned on their other side again, moving away from xiao. "i will bother you later then, now let me sleep" they said.

"h-huh..what am i supposed to do then..i dont wanna sleep anymore" the adeptus grunted and stared at their back that was facing him. "dont even think about falling asleep again-"  too late he could already hear y/ns slower breathing. "are you fucking serious y/n" he glared at them and sighed.

its been a few minutes and the adeptus couldnt do anything but stare at their bare back again while different scenarios from the previous night were repeating in his head again and again. the wonderful night they spend together, their date, the food..y/ns laugh, smile...their-

"what are you smiling for pretty boy?" y/n asked him

"W-when did u wake up again-"

"oh just a second ago..guessed i wouldnt be able to sleep more and i noticed u were staring into nothing and smiling like an idiot...what got u smiling like that?" they placed their head on his chest and traced their fingers around his neck in different shapes.

"nothing y/n...nothing" he hugged them and looked away hiding his embarrassed face.

"is that so? but i think i already know.." they smiled and looked up at him.

he sighed "of course you do" he smiled softly and thithened his grip on them.

xiao could feel his chest burning.. he couldnt remember for how long he was trying to tell them something yet he couldnt find the courage to-

"i love you" xiao suddenly whispered and his eyes widened, seems like his heart and mouth were betraying him and it was too late now.

he closed his eyes waiting for them to answer, deep down he was cursing himself for letting out something like that without wanting to. he wasnt ready for this

"look at me" he heard his partner say.

"xiao"

"cmon please"

sigh.."alright then" he could feel them snuggling closer to him and then placing something warm on his lips.

"mmm y-y/n-"

"shut up and kiss me properly" xiaos face turned red but he obeyed and tilded his head to deeped the kiss. His heart was running fast and he felt dizzy..it felt good.

he loved how y/n could always make him feel like that, making him forget his life and worries completely even just for a few minutes. he felt at peace

still making out and letting out little sounds of enjoyment xiao could feel the air in his lungs running out, but he didn't want to stop.

in that moment y/n pulled away and he finally opened his eyes and tried to fix his breathing. he felt them starting to move again.

"you-"

"shh"  y/n turned on their back and placed him on top of them. they hugged him thith and snuggled into him again in a way of saying 'i love you' back yet with no words. xiao knew that they struggled just as much as him when it comes to emotions.

"you never fail to catch me off guard xiao... i like that about you"

"not gonna lie i kinda surprised myself too" he mumbled and heard y/n laughing again. he could feel his heartbeat going faster again and smiled at the beautiful sight in front him.

"how about we get some more sleep hm? its still kinda early..." y/n suggested

"you said you cant sleep anymore just a second ago.. but i wont mind...liyue can wait today" he yawned and closed his eyes.

"sleep well xiao.."

"you too" if he wasnt falling asleep he could probably feel

y/ns heartbeat running faster than the light right now. they prayed he couldnt feel it.

~AN: if anyone somehow recognizes this, i wrote this ff a few minths back on youtube under a playlist with the same pov

"...i love you too pretty boy"

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i wanted to start writing here and decided to start with fixing this a bit before posting anything else :)~

[ilaw-at-panitik]

This is also how we heal the self: From the cold stone that weighs like a dog to a heart that is warm and light.

J. G. Dimaranan, from "Healing Ceremony" tr from Filipino by Tilde Acuña (Published in Anomaly, Issue #35)

[annaofaza]

Hartwin, "It happened. Yes, it was awful but get over it already!" *evil laughter*

cw for infidelity, Eggsy/Tilde

"We need to talk."

"Do we?" Eggsy squinted through the viewfinder; their target hadn't shown up all fucking day, and his hands were beginning to cramp.

"We do."

"Here? Now?"

"We're alone, and no one can overhear us."

"And we're on a mission!" Might be my last one, he thought.

"So it's the right time to speak of it, because you won't listen to me otherwise. Or did you want me to reveal it at an inopportune moment?"

Eggsy finally turned around, even though he knew the threat as a futile bluff. "You would do that? Really? That ain't very gentlemanly of you."

"Neither was breaking your future vows."

His stomach dropped. They were really fucking doing this, then. "What happened happened. I thought—"

"I was dead, I know," Harry snapped.

Eggsy flushed. It had been a result of too many martinis, a target that looked a little too much like Merlin, their first mission together since Cambodia. When Harry crawled out of the rubble, blood blooming from his temple, Eggsy hadn't thought—just knew he couldn't bear the thought of losing Harry again.

And he hadn't thought Harry would kiss back.

"And we said we wouldn't talk about it. To no one."

"Yes," Harry said, gritting his teeth. "But—"

"The wedding's still happening, Harry," Eggsy interrupted. His stomach churned, feeling the weight of his engagement ring on its golden chain press against his heart. "I promised Tilde. I told Mum and Daisy. The invites are sent, the cake's being made, and Tequila's going to be knighted within a week. And I'm sick of death, Harry; I'm sorry I can't be the Kingsman you want and stick it out, but I can't—"

"No," Harry broke in. "It's because you're too afraid to finish what you began."

Eggsy sucked in a breath. "You calling me a coward?"

"You've always run away from your problems," Harry said icily. "What should I have expected? But you told me that night that you loved me. I can't forget that, or what we shared."

"It happened!" Eggsy snapped. "Yes, it was awful, but get over it already!" Then, immediately, regretfully, "Harry—"

"We might as well leave," Harry said coldly. "They're not coming, and I, for one, think this whole thing was a foolish mistake. Perhaps you were right: we should never talk about this again."

Prompt mean angsty line + fandom/ship!

[peniswizard69]

A sequence of events

Jacksfilms tries to guess movies by their Letterboxd reviews Youtube video

References Zootopia shrew Godfather scene

Remember that Judy met the shrew in a neighborhood marked "little rodentia" despite shrews not being rodents

Search what order shrews are actually in

It's Eulipotyphla. What else is in it? Moles, hedgehogs, solenodons (already knew solenodons). Moonrats?

One genus of moonrats is Hylomys, that's from Greek for tree top mouse, which is neat. What are some of the specific names?

Macarong from Vietnamase for vampire. Now I need to know about Vietnamese vampires.

The English Wikipedia page for vampire has Ma cà rồng listed as its Vietnamese counterpart

Etymology of Ma cà rồng deeply unclear; ma is demon, but cà rồng is confidently listed as different things in different Wiki sources: Vietnamese Wikipedia connects it to Indonesian for mountain, English Wiktionary connects it to a Tai Dam word not translated directly but showing its cognates all mean cage or prison, and Vietnamese Wiktionary connects it to Khasi for rib. None of those things connect and I've learned of two ethnicities.

Afflict Google Translate upon the Vietnamese page on vampires, dreading any possible inaccuracies

A quote from some book says: vampires act like humans during the day, being a servant and doing normal things, but at night they stick their two big toes into their nostrils and fly off to be a demon and drink women's blood as they give birth. Then they come home, put their feet in a bucket of water, take their feet out of their nose, and turn human again. The human doesn't remember what they were doing that night

What was that about the toes?

That's the phrase Google Translate spat out, "two big toes into their nostrils", which is to me both insane and visceral. This cannot be right

By a repetitive process of deleting parts of the sentence and seeing how it affects the meaning, identify the role of each word and run through Wiktionary to verify translation; it checks the fuck out.

Xo hai ngón chân cái vào lô mui would be "insert two finger leg big in hole nose" if xo had a little sideways semi circle on the o, lô had a tilde on the ô, and mui has a tilde on the u. My phone's keyboard has limitations

Fuck it keep reading. Boring stuff about European vampires that I already knew, oh goody more Vietnamese specifics! This guy says vampires have red foreheads and a lot of white in their eyes!

Wrestle Google Translate and Wiktionary in order to attempt to decipger what "a lot of white in their eyes" means. The literal translation appears to be eye much core white. The word for core can also be heart? What is it doing there? Dead end

Says it goes to its grandmother's house? More wrestling. Mistranslation of "midwife", back to women giving birth

South East Asian folklore is deeply concerned with pregnancy. I've learned this. I've learned this in my research

Says their nostrils are extra big to fit the toes. Also says they grab their ears in their hands when they fly off?

Wrestling ole Goog Transl and Wicker Shenary again. Tay xách tai - hand pull ear. Xách tai is actually an example sentence for xách, in the meaning of pull up (derogatory)! So yeah

It is roughly 1:30 AM.

Start writing this post

It is 1:52 AM.

None of this has anything to do with mountains prisons or ribs btw. Or shrews or Jacksfilms for that matter

I woke up at 8 today

I'm so hungry

[lynxmisnomer]

lynx do you know that every time I remember you made tmt I have a heart attack. Thinking tmt just chilling with curse of metropolis slugs just gives me chills

There are two artists inside me.

One draws The Curse of Metropolis.

The other draws Too Many Tildes.

[niceinchnails]

If greg heffley was a tumblr blogger he would be a cis ally or somethign and have a default theme and rarely go on tumblr but when he does he reblogs like vidoes or something youd find in r/interesting. If nikki maxwell were a tumblr blogger she would have a pink aes blog and talk with hearts and tildes and use reaction gifs a lot when responding to asks and have a kpoptwt styled carrd. If jamie kelly were a tumblr user theyd be transmasc and make the funniest fucking posts and youd wonder how youre mutuals with him hes so fucking funny