Latest Posts by m1stm3 - Page 3

alr chat SO. i’m abt to hit 700 (insane btw!!!!!) and i said back when i hit 500 that i would do smth for it and then i never did!!! ssssoooooooo im gonna give y’all a poll so u can vote on a fandom!!!!! it may be a longer fic or a few drabbles or even smaus BUTTTT i’m just trying to establish the fandom for now :333

my dominican family drinks cafe con leche at night w dinner. why. how. ru a masochist.

chat why do ppl drink coffee

chat why do ppl drink coffee

alr chat SO. i’m abt to hit 700 (insane btw!!!!!) and i said back when i hit 500 that i would do smth for it and then i never did!!! ssssoooooooo im gonna give y’all a poll so u can vote on a fandom!!!!! it may be a longer fic or a few drabbles or even smaus BUTTTT i’m just trying to establish the fandom for now :333

hi!

literally jus wanted to say that i love the navigation post you've got pinned. looks really really cool!! :3

IM SO SORRY I GOT TO THIS SO LATE but tysm ml!!!! im vv proud it so im happy u like it ^o^

firm believer touya cries when he cums and i just want to be a frat party with cry baby by megan thee stallion blaring and just smirk so evilly across the room at him

sorry for being a sex pest but i just know tomura sounds so indescribably good when he’s getting strapped. i’m sure he’d be incredibly embarrassed by it but it’d have me going even harder. i just know in my soul ✊😔

he is so LOUD that his housemates tease him over it (they think he's fucking you because you keep going you like that daddy??? you like that??))

AGAJNANSNAKWNKWNAKKW

Mommy kink, piss kink, humiliation, infantilization, mentions of spankings, dacryphilia, dubcon (?) mdni♡

Mommy!Suguru finds immense joy in making you wet yourself.

One long finger slides underneeth your belt to tug you back, your behind softly crashing against his chest, he secures you in place with one big hand over your tummy then starts squishing the flesh gently.

"S-sugu-" you whine, already knowing what's to come, "please d-don't"

Suguru only chuckles, his hand sliding down to rest over your full blatter, he places several feather light kisses along the crown of your head.

"Sshhhh" he mumbles against your hair "don't be a fussy baby" he whispers before placing a wet messy kiss on your cheek.

Your stomach drops when his hand begins to apply more pressure on your bladder. You stumble back, a futile attempt to escape his touch, and both of your hands fly to rip his off of you but to no avail.

"S-sugu-"

"try again" he warns, and you swallow a lump of saliva before proceeding with your words.

"M...mommy..." you quickly correct yourself. as if you weren't embarrassed enough..

Suguru seems satisfied, and you're relieved, you think about how you might have dodged a potential spanking. Suguru is very serious about the way you address him after all.

"Good baby..." Suguru smooths down your hair gently "empty your head, sweetie..." he brushes his hand against your trembling shoulder, then leaves several kisses on the same spot "My silly little baby and their silly litte worries" he shakes his head fondly "let mommy take care of everything, okay?"

And you nod because what other choice do you have? Suguru is sweet, gentle and motherly, and you'd like to keep him that way, even if it means putting up with him when he gets in one of his moods. Because you've tried, and you can't handle him when he's mean.

"Good.." and before you know it, his hand comes down like a verdict, pressing against your blatter in full force, and you come undone, completely wetting yourself and effectively being stripped of any illusion of dignity to desperately held on to. Hot tears start to spill and you don't get the chance to cover your red face because –of course– Suguru is right there to catch them, right there to catch you when you go limp, just as he has conditioned you to.

"Sweetie...did you make another mess? Aww, let mommy clean you up"

I FORGOT I POSTED THIS????

and what if i wrote a drabble abt tomura pissing in ur mouth. what then.

MHA light novel quote that haunts me

'do you think you're superior for not using AI in your work' thank you for asking! yes i do

otp w my best friend nd she goes “hey mist u wanna spoil me :3” and im like FUCK no. anyways.

Thank you for buying me Lunch!◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜ "Chubby Fujoshi Miku!" Todays Lunch Treat by: Quess

srry for the lack of posting today i’m living inside of the song die your daughter by susannah joffe rn

now playing…

stay soft by mitski

↺ |◁ II ▷| ♡

cw’s!!: some angst and fem! reader (reader is referred to as a woman and uses she/her pronouns) :]

wc: 916 (my longest posted yet!!!)

imagining shigaraki who announces to the league that he found a temporary place to stay a few weeks after the base gets destroyed, answering zero questions as to how exactly he found a place for a group of villains to stay after they had seemingly exhausted all of their options (“someone owed me a favor” was all he had said. none of them believed him).

they’re all confused when they arrive at a relatively residential neighborhood. they’re even more confused when their boss walks up to the front door of a random house as if he’s done it a thousand times before (he has. he’d always crawl back to this doorstep, always looking a little small and wounded).

and — not to be repetitive — but imagine their shock when the sweetest looking woman opens the door. you. you’re all smiles and sugar, giving their boss a wide smile before greeting the rest of them and inviting them inside. they’re practically gawking at the way you dote on them as if they’re normal houseguests and not a group of strangely dressed villains.

the blonde girl and the two men in masks are the only ones that introduce themselves (himiko, jin, and ‘compress’. you recognized them from tomuras previous explanations. he thought they were all pains in their own right, you couldn’t bring yourself to agree). the others stay close by tomura, allowing him to guide them through the new environment (as if they had much of a choice). he hadn’t said a word since the nice woman opened the door, even ignoring spinners insistent, whispered questions.

tomura suddenly stops, gesturing to three doors. “we’re taking up these two rooms, the garage, and the living room.” he points to the last door in the hallway. “that’s the bathroom. figure it out amongst yourselves.” he explained flatly, making his way back to the main area of the house with nothing else said. they were left with more questions than when they had initially gotten there.

their boss had settled into a couch by the time they wandered back into the main area, slouched against an armrest with that blank look he wore whenever he was lost in thought. you had taken to the more talkative three, smiling softly as you answered their questions while offering them mugs of something warm (you couldn’t help the softened look in your eyes when you saw the brief shock in their expressions at the gesture).

it was quiet for a while after that. peaceful, even… until you dropped a mug while trying to tidy up your kitchen. it had been a while since the league had seen their boss suddenly so alert, no hesitation in his movements when he briskly made his way into the kitchen. they had braced themselves to hear yelling or some form of harshness. anything to express his displeasure towards the sudden interruption to his thoughts. only, that’s not what happened. at all, actually.

you were a little more frantic, murmuring soft apologies while crouched down and picking up the larger shards of ceramic. only the three at the table could see what was going on, but the quiet way everything was handled was enough for everyone to connect some dots. tomura hadn’t said anything, simply moving down to your level to help you pick up the bigger shards.

when he finally spoke, it was like witnessing a different person. ‘soft’ was an adjective the league wasn’t familiar with. they didn’t have the privilege of really knowing what that word meant… they understood it better now though, with the way their boss was reassuring you in a quiet voice. his words were scolding as per usual, (even you weren’t immune to his small lectures urging you to ‘be more careful’) but he said them with a lightness none of them had heard before.

and then you touched him and suddenly they understood (those who witnessed it, of course). the contact was brief, just a small, grateful squeeze to his shoulder. something so easily overlooked by the general population… but they knew their boss well. they knew the weight of the small gesture. it was so painfully normal, he didn’t even blink an eye at the small touch.

the three at the table — who usually had had so much to say — could only spare each other small, knowing glances. the others that had settled on the couch still looked expectant, as if waiting for the storm that was soon to come pouring down (they could’ve waited years, it was never going to happen).

the league stood at your house for two weeks after that, the interactions between you and the members short but sweet. tomura had bunked in the garage, walking into the house throughout the night with the weak excuse of having to use the bathroom.

they decided not to call him out on his lie.

you remained kind even as they were leaving, wishing them well and softly urging them to stay safe. only himiko noticed the look you and tomura shared as he walked past you. a secret something she was sure only the two of you knew the meaning of. she found herself foolishly hoping that the pretty lady who had taken care of them would be okay.

you found yourself foolishly hoping to see them again (in another life, maybe. things would be better then.)

wtf. this should be counted as cyberbullying.

guys do i give tall or short energy……… pls be careful w ur answers im sensitive……

King For A Day tomura shigaraki x reader

NSFW MINORS DNI ive been doing a lot of loverboy shigs on here so hes kind of an asshole but not in a bad way! i tried to keep reader gender neutral again this is smut MINORS DO NOT INTERACT the block button and I are very close. 2.1k words cw: oral and penetrative sex

The hideout’s a festering pit, as always—a crumbling shrine to chaos and despair. The air’s thick with the sour stench of stale pizza, spilled beer, and the faint metallic tang of blood from some fight he doesn’t even remember. The walls are pockmarked with cracks, the floor littered with cigarette butts and crushed cans, and that flickering bulb overhead buzzes like a dying insect. He’s slouched in his shitty chair, a throne of chipped wood and peeling leather, crimson eyes glowering at nothing. His hair’s a tangled mess, falling over his face, and that grotesque hand sits propped on the table like a trophy. He feels like a walking disaster, all sharp bones and peeling skin, but you? You’re the one thing in this hellhole that doesn’t make him want to disintegrate everything in sight.

You’ve been together for months—long enough for him to stop questioning why you stick around, long enough for him to secretly crave the way you look at him like he’s more than a villain with a death wish. Tonight, you’re here for his birthday, and he hates it. Hates the stupid red velvet cake you baked, sitting there on the table with its lopsided “Happy Birthday, Tomura” in messy icing. Hates how you’ve tidied up the corner of the room, swept away the ash and grime just for him. Hates you playing house. Hates how it makes his chest tighten in a way he can’t stand.

You’re leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching him with that glint in your eye that drives him insane. Your shirt’s loose, slipping off one shoulder, and those shorts you’re wearing cling to your thighs in a way that’s begging for trouble. He scratches at his neck, leaving fresh red welts, and snaps, “Quit gawking at me like some lovesick idiot. It’s pathetic.”

You push off the wall, sauntering over with a sway that’s deliberate, taunting. “It’s your birthday, Tomura,” you say, voice smooth as sin. “I get to gawk at my boyfriend all I want.” The word “boyfriend” drips from your lips like honey, and he scowls, hating how it sticks to him.

“Boyfriend,” he mocks, voice a jagged rasp. “What a load of sentimental bullshit. You’re delusional if you think I’m that weak.” But his eyes betray him, raking over you—your collarbone, the curve of your hips, the way your hair falls just messy enough to make him want to grab it.

You drop to your knees in front of him, hands settling on his thighs, and he freezes, breath catching like you’ve stabbed him. His jeans are threadbare, patched with holes, and that faded hoodie hangs off him like a shroud. “I got you a present,” you say, low and sultry, fingers inching higher. “Guess what it is.”

He sneers, but it’s shaky, his pulse hammering under your touch. “Probably some sappy trash I’ll hate,” he mutters, scratching harder at his neck. But when your hands slide up to the waistband of his jeans, popping the button with a flick, his words falter. “The hell are you—”

“Wrong,” you cut him off, tugging the zipper down slow enough to make him squirm. “It’s better. Tonight’s all about you, birthday boy.” Your voice is a tease, a promise, and it pisses him off how much he’s already hooked.

He snorts, but it’s weak, his hands twitching at his sides. “What, you gonna kneel there and worship me or some crap? Don’t waste my time.” His tone’s venomous, but he doesn’t push you away—not when you peel his jeans down, not when you hook your fingers into his Minecraft boxers, a gag gift Spinner got him months ago, and yank them off too. His cock springs free, thick and flushed, already leaking at the tip, and he hisses, head tipping back against the chair.

“Fuck,” he growls, voice raw. “You’re such a goddamn tease.” He’s a mess—pale skin flaking, scars crisscrossing his arms, that wild hair half-hiding his glare—but you don’t care. You’ve seen him at his worst, and you’re still here, kneeling like he’s some kind of king.

You wrap your hand around him, stroking slow and firm, and he groans, a low, guttural sound that makes your stomach flip. “Happy birthday, Tomura,” you murmur, leaning in to kiss the tip, your lips brushing over the salty bead of precum. He tastes sharp, bitter, like desperation distilled, and it’s intoxicating.

His hips jerk, a snarl ripping from his throat. “Don’t—shit—don’t fucking coddle me,” he snaps, but it fractures when you drag your tongue along the underside, tracing the thick vein that pulses there. His hands fly to your hair, fingers knotting in it, not gentle but frantic, like he’s anchoring himself to you.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you lie, smirking, and then you take him into your mouth, slow and deep, until he’s nudging the back of your throat. He chokes out a curse, hips bucking up, and you hum, the vibration pulling a wrecked moan from his chest. You hollow your cheeks, sucking hard, and he’s unraveling—every twitch, every shudder, every filthy word spilling from his lips is yours to claim.

“Goddamn—fuck—you’re too good at this,” he rasps, voice trembling as he thrusts into your mouth, rough and needy. You dig your nails into his thighs, leaving red half-moons, and he groans louder, head lolling back. This is about him—his pleasure, his breaking point—and you’re determined to push him over the edge.

You pull back, just enough to swirl your tongue around the head, lapping at the slit until he’s panting, thighs trembling under your grip. “Like that?” you murmur, voice muffled against his skin, and he tugs your hair hard, a growl rumbling in his chest.

“Don’t get smug, asshole,” he snaps, but it’s toothless, his control slipping with every wet, messy slide of your lips. You take him deeper, gagging as he hits the back of your throat, and his breathing turns ragged, desperate. “Fuck, you’re—shit—gonna make me—”

He doesn’t finish, doesn’t need to. You feel it—the tension coiling tight, the way he throbs against your tongue—and you pull back just enough to pump him fast and hard, lips hovering over the tip. “Come for me, Tomura,” you whisper, and he snaps.

He comes with a guttural snarl, hot and thick, spilling over your lips, your chin, dripping down your fingers. You catch what you can, swallowing with a grin that’s all teeth and triumph, and he’s shaking, chest heaving, sweat slicking his forehead as he glares down at you. “You’re fucking vile,” he mutters, but his eyes are wide, dazed, like he can’t believe you’re real.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, climbing into his lap before he can catch his breath. He’s still hard, slick with spit and cum, and you straddle him, grinding down just enough to make him hiss again. “Only for you,” you say, kissing his jaw, his neck, the rough patch under his ear where the skin’s cracked and dry. His arms wrap around you, clumsy and tight, pulling you against him like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

“Get off me,” he grumbles, but it’s half-hearted, his hands sliding down your back, gripping your hips. You smirk, nipping at his earlobe, and he groans, shifting under you. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”

“Good,” you say, sliding off him just long enough to tug your shirt over your head. His eyes follow the movement, hungry, and you toss it aside, kicking off your shorts next. He’s still slouched in the chair, cock twitching against his stomach, and you climb back into his lap, bare now, skin pressing against skin. “Ready for round two?”

He snorts, but his hands are already on you, rough palms dragging over your thighs, your waist, up to your chest. “You’re insatiable,” he mutters, but he’s pulling you closer, lips crashing against yours in a kiss that’s all teeth and desperation. His tongue’s sharp, invasive, tasting the bitterness of himself on you, and it’s a mess of spit and heat that leaves you dizzy.

You guide him to the bed, a rickety slab of springs and stained sheets in the corner of the room. He stumbles after you, shedding his hoodie as he goes, revealing the lean, scarred expanse of his chest—pale skin stretched tight over bones, marred with old cuts. He’s not pretty to most, not by any stretch, but he’s yours, and in that moment, you’ve never seen anything more beautiful. You push him down onto the mattress, straddling his hips, and he glares up at you, crimson eyes blazing.

“Don’t think you’re in charge here,” he growls, but his hands settle on your hips, guiding you as you sink down onto him. He’s hot, thick, stretching you with a slow burn that makes your breath hitch, and he groans, head tipping back against the pillow.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you say, rocking against him, slow at first, letting him feel every inch. His fingers dig into your skin, bruising, and he thrusts up, rough and impatient, setting a pace that’s more battle than rhythm. “Fuck, Tomura—”

“Shut up,” he snaps, but his voice is strained, breaking as he slams into you again, deeper, harder. His teeth graze your shoulder, biting down just enough to sting, and you moan, hands bracing against his chest. He’s relentless, all sharp edges and raw need, but there’s something softer underneath—something that shows in the way he watches you, eyes flickering with something he’ll never admit.

The room fills with the sound of skin on skin, the creak of the bed, his ragged breathing and your gasps. Sweat beads on his forehead, matting his hair to his face, and you lean down, kissing him again, tasting salt and smoke. He slows, just for a moment, hips rolling instead of thrusting, and it’s almost tender—almost—until he flips you onto your back, pinning you beneath him.

“Thought you said this was about me,” he snarls, but his hands are shaking as he hooks your legs over his shoulders, driving into you with a force that steals your breath. “So take it.”

You do—every brutal, perfect thrust, every growl and curse that spills from his lips. He’s a mess above you, hair falling into his eyes, lips parted as he pants your name like it’s a weapon. You reach up, brushing the strands away, and he falters, just for a second, something raw flashing across his face before he buries it in your neck, biting down hard.

“Fuck—Tomura—” you gasp, nails raking down his back, and he groans, loud and broken, hips stuttering as he nears the edge again. You’re right there with him, heat coiling tight in your core, and when he reaches down, rough fingers adding to the intensity. You shatter, crying out his name, and he follows, spilling inside you with a shuddering moan that’s half-sob, half-snarl.

He collapses on top of you, heavy and trembling, breath hot against your skin. For a long moment, neither of you moves—just the sound of your mingled panting, the distant hum of the generator. Then he rolls off, sprawling beside you, one arm flung over his face like he’s shielding himself from the world.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, voice hoarse. “You’re gonna kill me one of these days.”

You laugh, soft and breathless, turning to curl against his side. “Worth it,” you say, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. He grumbles, but his arm slides around you, pulling you closer, fingers tracing lazy patterns over your spine.

Aftercare comes naturally, even if he’d never call it that. You slip out of bed, ignoring his half-hearted protest, and grab a damp cloth from the bathroom. You clean him up first, wiping the sweat from his brow, his chest, the mess between his legs. He twitches, sensitive, but lets you, crimson eyes tracking your every move.

“Stop fussing,” he mumbles, but he leans into it, letting you drag the cloth over his scarred hands, his cracked knuckles. You kiss each one when you’re done, soft and deliberate, and he scowls, yanking his hand back.

“Don’t get all mushy on me,” he snaps, but there’s no heat in it—just exhaustion, and something softer he can’t hide. You clean yourself next, quick and efficient, then crawl back into bed, tugging a threadbare blanket over both of you.

“Too late,” you say, resting your head on his chest. His heartbeat’s still fast, erratic, but it steadies under your touch. He doesn’t reply, just buries his face in your hair, muttering something incoherent about how annoying you are. But his grip tightens, possessive, warm, and you know he’s not letting go.

The cake’s still there, untouched, a sad little lump of red and white in the dim light. You don’t care. This—him, wrecked and sated, clinging to you like you’re his lifeline—is the real gift. Happy fucking birthday, Tomura Shigaraki.

this is like 99% smut and I wish I could say sorry but it's not my fault tomura's birthday aligned with my ovulation week lmao.

now playing…

fragile by laufey

↺ |◁ II ▷| ♡

tenko shimura x reader

“mist stop w all of the domestic bliss drabbles!” NO!!!!!! n e ways here’s post rehabilitation tenko :)

cw’s!!: gn! reader, bathing together (nonsexual), not canon compliant!! (he’s in rehab and staying w UR family :]), he is so emotionally constipated i luv him, andddd i think that’s it!! ^.^

wc: 673

“are you sure this is okay?” tenko’s voice is soft from his spot behind you. there’s a quiet sound of the lukewarm — not either of your preferences for temperature, but it was better for his skin — water sloshing when he shifted to hook his chin over your shoulder, his rough cheek lightly brushing against yours.

you know why he’s asking that, but you act oblivious. “it’s late, i’m sure my family doesn’t mind us hogging the bathroom while they’re asleep.” his arms unconsciously tighten around your middle.

“no, like-“ he lets out a small huff, cutting off his own words. it sounds like he’s about to drop the topic altogether just because he can’t find the right words, but he continues. you’re happy he’s learning to grow out of that habit.

“is this okay…? staying here, i mean.”

“tenko, my family really likes you.” he falters.

“i don’t understand how they could…”

“because i love you, so they love you too.”

his lips pull into a small frown at that.

“they can’t just ignore what i’ve done, they’d be stupid to do that.” there’s a lilt of irritation behind his words but you know better than to take it personally.

“they’re not ignoring what you’ve done. they trust you, tenko.” there’s always this annoying adoration in your voice whenever you say his new (old?) name that he has to stop himself from snapping back at. it’s not that he disliked it — not at all — but it just… didn’t make sense to him. it made him feel oblivious, like you were keeping a secret from him despite how vocal your praise always was.

you sigh softly when his brows furrow, your hand coming up to gently smooth out the familiar little wrinkle between them.

“they trust us.” you reiterate.

“well they shouldn’t.”

you raise a brow at that.

“why not?”

his lips pull into an unconscious little pout (a habit you didn’t dare bring to his attention even after all of these years. not out of fear of him getting angry — out of fear of him forcing the small vulnerability away).

“because obviously i’m still evil and you have some sort of weird stockholm syndrome that you refuse to acknowledge.” you have to bite back a laugh at his sudden petulance.

“no, baby, i don’t have any sort of stockholm syndrome.”

“see.” he grumbles, clearly convinced by his own astute observations.

you can’t fight the small snicker that leaves you at that, but you decide to humor him for a moment.

“alright, so i have stockholm syndrome. how exactly are you still evil?”

he thinks on your question for a second.

“i’m mean and antisocial and i dusted your brothers game controller the other day…” your smile grows.

“and i still hate heroes and i-” he continues for a moment only to stop when he sees the widening smile on your face. god, you’re so irritating…

“what?” he grits out, unable to hide the small flush on his face. he’d blame it on the steam from the lukewarm bath later.

“no, nothing.” his eyes narrow in suspicion.

“really, tenko, it’s nothing.” a small laugh laces your words when he continues glaring at you. he doesn’t say anything, expecting you to fold and tell him what’s on your mind with just a look (you would, of course. neither of you were known for having strong resolves against each other).

“it’s just…” you pause, contemplating how to word your thoughts.

“… you’re human, tenko. last time i checked there’s nothing evil about that.”

he pauses, considering your words for a long moment. he’s human. he has preferences and flaws and makes mistakes because he’s human — not because he’s evil. it’s common sense but it still takes him aback for some reason. how irritating.

he brings up his hand from under the water, pressing his wet palm to your cheek to push your face away from his flushed one.

“that’s a stupid thing to say.” is the only thing he says in response. you smile.

“i know.”

i’m 6’5 btw

guys do i give tall or short energy……… pls be careful w ur answers im sensitive……

WAIT OMG I FORGOT TO ADD!!!!! he starts being unbearably nice to you after a while and you’re sooooooo suspicious… when you ask him what his motive is he just smirks.

“‘motive’? i’m offended, can’t you just chalk it up to proper etiquette? i was always taught to respect my elders.”

(you’re only two years older than him. he thinks that’s hilarious.)

omfg i just had such a good au idea waitwaitwait

why r there no tall votes. do u want me to die.

guys do i give tall or short energy……… pls be careful w ur answers im sensitive……

i imagine toji and his wife having the "he asked for no pickles 😡" dynamic idc how big and bad toji is

guys do i give tall or short energy……… pls be careful w ur answers im sensitive……

do u guys see the earth hello kitty in ur head whenever u think abt me…….. what do u see when u think abt me…………….

brows done, lashes done, hair freshly washed nd styled, two online orders on the way, and planning my next nail set.

okokok. chat how do we feel abt prince suguru x jester reader. HEAR ME OUT PLSSSSSS

he’s on the path to become king very soon. you’re his fathers jester because your family is indebted to the throne (im thinking it was for some sort of treason so now the king has your whole family entertain him) and since sugurus gonna take the throne he gets to decide what to do with your family if that makes sense??

he can either decide to keep your family as his entertainers or execute your parents (the main perpetrators in the crime). he calls each member of your family in one by one, watching stone faced as each of them make their own jokes and gags (your sister is in tears as she leaves the throne room right before your turn).

but you interested him. he was completely stoic while watching you, but there was just something he couldn’t put his finger on. he spared your family (he was never going to execute them, he just had a particular interest in making people squirm) and expressed partiality towards you specifically. he wanted you.

(he wasn’t rude about it either, though. it was strange. he told the servants to get you only when your idle and not busy. “if they’re attending to something then disregard my order. i can live without being entertained at any given moment.”)

(some key moments i alr have in my head r u snapping at him nd him seeing u without ur jester getup on for the first time. i feel like those moments would give him a moment to reflect on the fact that ur a human being and not just some sort of cute animal he’s observing obsessively LMAO.)

omfg i just had such a good au idea waitwaitwait

omfg i just had such a good au idea waitwaitwait

Every poll on this blog is about fictional characters only. This request was sent to us and we made a poll in response to it. Send any Blorbo-related question you want to our inbox and we’ll make a poll on which people can vote with their own Blorbos in minds

MY SCRUNKLIESSSSSSS 🫏🫏🫏🫏🫏🫏🫏🫏🫏 LOOK AT THEIR FOREHEHAHSHSHSHSDSSSSS EPEL YOU BETTER SHOW YOUR FOREHEAD ON MAAAAY 👹👹👹👹👹👹 vil has thick ass hair

High-res Assets for Vil Schoenheit - Relaxing In Room

Dialogue, animations, and extra assets can be found on Drive: Link