#and it allows you to research something different from yourself if need be and allows you to learn :3

[mrchoppedslefthand]

Homicipher Random Headcanons/Scenarios [NSFW]

Edit:11/07/2024

I desperately needed to post the random head canons and scenarios of our husbands that my brain kept cooking up (+ some from discord friends), so the list is not organized. Also, since we shape shift, I'm going to assume we can choose whenever we have a cock or pussy (because I want to be fucked and do the fucking) Anyways...enjoy the food thought.

Characters: Mr. Crawling, Mr. Chopped Mr. Silvair, Mr. Hood, Mr. Gap, Mr. Machete, Mr. Scarletella

Warnings: mentions of NSFW, mentions of some canon-typical violence, implications of dubcon, mentions of somnophilia, implied cuckold

Mr. Crawling

He can be submissive top. Constantly asking you if you love him during intimacy. He would ask if you enjoy playing with him as you pound yourself onto him. He would be a moaning mess and probably wouldn't know what to do about it as he clumsily places his hands around your waist.

He would definitely eat you out without you asking once intimacy had been initiated.

Afraid of hurting you, he wouldn't be too rough, instead he would be more tender and gentler when it comes to intimacy.

He definitely would love it when you play with his hair, allowing you to braid it or do whatever as long it doesn't involve cutting his precious hair.

He actually gets jealous easily, but he doesn't verbalize it, instead he shows it through his actions.

He is better with his hands, than his cock. So sometimes you prefer that over his cock. His cock is more on the average/smaller side and it's cute.

He definitely has a praise kink.

Mr. Chopped

He lacks a body, so to make up for it he is extremely expressive and open with his feelings. Which makes him a little fun to bully, to see all those cute expressions he could make.

He probably would be very good with his mouth and tongue, let him be your personal rose toy/fleshlight if you will. He can't fight back and have no choice but to whimper about it.

Imagine getting sick and fainting with him nearby, he can't move or do anything but helplessly cry for you to wake up and starts crying out help for Mr. Silvair to come help him and you.

Maybe one day, for a day of tricks and pranks. Mr. Stitch will allow Mr. Chopped a day in his body, so they swap places, stitching Mr. Chopped in place of Mr. Stitch's head. It had been a very long time since Mr. Chopped felt sensations beyond his head, so he happens to be very sensitive and clumsy with his hands. Everywhere you touch overwhelms him, he melts and becomes a moaning mess, but Mr. Chopped isn't the only one feeling all these sensations. Mr. Stitch can still feel it too. He is intrigued by today's type of play.

He definitely would be more on the whiny and needy side when it comes to pleasure, he lacks a body, but he can still feel lust. He can't do anything about it, which makes him extremely needy and extra pouty.

Mr. Silvair

Definitely would have had intimacy with other ghosts/humans before to research the body and performance during mid transformation if it differed.

Imagine one day he finds a mysterious liquid that fell from the 'other world' and feeds it to you, himself and the other ghosts in your crew. Only to find out it was an aphrodisiac. It was the first time he felt such a strong sensation of lust. At first, he mistakes this strong desire to be violence, so he starts to self-inflict wounds onto himself. You attempt to stop him, but soon find yourself to be underneath him as he bites into your neck, drawing blood. Surprised at seeing the often-composed man, turning into a ravage beast. You somehow manage to find something to tie him up and have your way with him.

He probably likes overstimulation on you...but also himself. He would love to research on how much his body can go and handle.

He would actually be a switch, for research purposes. To take and give he'd do anything for research. It had been long long ago since his body used to be human, and he often forgets about his own experiences if he doesn't write them down, but no worries, he has you by his side now to keep remembering.

Mr. Hood

He is quiet but speaks whenever he finds it suited for. But if you need him, he would be happy to talk with you.

He is a bit insecure about his body, he doesn't have arms or hands or even legs, he is an entity of nothing. The clothes are what shape his form, and well maybe he not entirely a entity of nothing. You had a glimpse before, a small glimpse and sensation of a squishy and somewhat slimy part that had belonged to him. You never mentioned though, but if it was you'd love him still anyways.

He realized that some words had been a bit harder for you to keep in mind and remember and so he thought of a special way to get you learning. Learning with what humans call pleasure. He fucks you and asks you what certain things are, and if you get it wrong, he denies you from coming. You have become determined to learn your words properly even more so now. Because if you remember you get rewarded with the most absolute fulfilling fuck of your life.

Since most of his body is invisible or nothing. If you mouth fucked him you would be able to see that real good, it is strangely erotic watching your cock move inside his mouth.

Mr. Gap

When you're sleeping, sometimes he might just cuddle against your leg or lower half. He loves the feeling of warmth, compared to his hollow darkness.

He definitely seems like the type of person to eat you out while you're asleep. Playing around and waiting for you to wake up to watch your reaction. Of course, he would only do this though if he knew you'd allow it. He values consent.

Imagine taking your backpack to school and you have to take out a pencil for a test. When you open your backpack, you realize it is just an empty void and hear a voice asking for your heart in exchange for the pencil. Yeah... you accepted your fate. You just failed your exam...

When you become a moaning mess under him, he can't understand but he knows that from your sweet voice, and moans, that it's a good thing. He knows to keep continuing.

One day Mr. Gap gathers his usual newspapers that fall from the rubble or somehow manages to grab one from the human realm. He notices a magazine that discusses about marriage and giving rings on the fourth finger. Intrigued about this idea, he asks you for your all four of your fingers, but you misunderstand and refuse to give him your fingers. He's sad but soon you later find out that he was asking for your hand in marriage, literally but also figuratively.

Mr. Machete

We would wonder aimlessly for an eternity together searching for his/your home. But eventually our subconscious would recognize each other as home instead.

He would definitely mock and laugh at how fast you would falter/melt under his touch. Calling you "weak" for coming so fast but would give kisses here and there after the mocking.

He'd probably be into throat fucking and laugh at you looking pathetic, he loves reactions that aren't boring, so seeing you choke on his cock seems like a great idea.

He definitely would come inside most of the time.

When he fucks you, his cock would probably bulge out a little from your stomach, fascinated by it he'd roughly press his hand down near that area.

He is our beefy dumb macho, perfect.

If you mouth/fucked him he would tell you he feels nothing, but his eyes would already be red and tearing. He's a pathetic coward.

Mr. Scarletella

He belongs to you, and you belong to him, together forever, in a hellish world. He loves the destruction you bring into his life and does the same for you.

Oh boy, he would absolutely devour you, his queen, in pleasure. Fuck you stupid to the point you're just a blabbering mess, hands on waist, and long fingers in your mouth, as he pounds deeply into you.

He seems like the type of guy to fuck you during your period.

Definitely gets jealous easily and he makes it know when he gets that way.

Imagine your fucked/fucking another ghost and you hear static within the distance, the sound slowly starts to come closer and closer until you hear the static in the room. Your crimson servant arrives and witnesses your fantastic display of intimacy. Jealous, he kills them and becomes extra possessive and quite terrifying, but you love it so much. How he seems so lost and pathetic without you.

You don't know his name, but neither does he know yours. Despite this disconnect, you still manage to give him some sort of other named to be called. It's connected to your name, but he knows it's not all of it, he can't fully whisk you away, but he's okay with that. You are still bound to him for an eternity anyway.

If Mr. Scarletella went back to the human world with you instead, he would appear to be the one most suited for fitting in. Just slack some foundation on his face, make him wear gloves and he would blend in quite well. Well...except for his odd habit of asking every stranger for their name and laughing and giggling crazily each time.

He would have a praise and degradation kink, he's not a whore. He's YOUR whore. He likes being YOURS.

[hardware-sparks]

Uhhh your pinned post says tell me about things so… I wish we talked about Colon being Dutch more often, it isn’t an important part of his character but it means something to me. Like, Van Helsing (Dracula Famed Vampire Hunter) is ALSO Dutch, and there’s a lot we could do with them possibly being connected. There’s also a lot more cultural differences between the Netherlands and England/America, like, the Dutch swear with disease names and they’re way more comfortable with topics English and American people usually aren’t. Also, every European from a country known for its cheese I have ever met has something to say about American cheese and it’s never good ^^;

Idk, I know it isn’t that important to mention these things,, but it’s also a fun character aspect, and I think it’s neat and wanna do more things with it!

(Toast and Colon bickering during Eurovision…)

I think cultural background is also an important part of characterization! It affects how you speak, think, and dress. Also gives him more words to use because otherwise everyone sounds... too American.

[phantomrose96]

Tumblr can never be my main means of engaging in politics and it comes down almost entirely to Tumblr's pathological need to distill The Right Opinion:tm: from any complicated issue.

It's always the most important thing. Not because it helps solve the issue or helps the people impacted, but because The Right Opinion:tm: is a proxy for you, morally, as a person. And every issue needs to be broken into the language that sets the stances of Make You Good or Make You Bad.

And I don't mean this in any generic statement about echo chambers or virtue signaling. Those are separate but related concepts. What I'm talking about is how people are nervous about a topic until one doctrine is crafted which defines the Sports Team Color of our Sports Team, so we can be identified as being on the Us Sports Team, and absolutely not on the Them Sports Team. Because this issue is actually about you and the proxy for you as a person and how people should perceive you so, really, the sooner we figure out the Home Sports Team Colors the sooner you can stop feeling worried.

The moment something new happens is usually the first and last time you'll actually see a range of opinions on it. And some of that is fueled by misinformation! Some in bad faith! When dust settles and clarity is achieved, this helps combat those things, but it's also the moment when the Loudest and most Articulate voices craft the Zeitgeist Opinion and everyone comes to roost around it.

You get people on this site pissed off at AI models that can diagnose cancer from a research paper in 2019 because The Right Opinion is that AI is bad. If you even see a post trying to articulate good uses of AI, well that's someone wearing Packers colors at a Vikings home game, and if you wanna make a point in the "wrong" direction you better be damn articulate about it.

A well-defined set of actions are transphobic. Another set are actually not transphobic, and you'd be transphobic for thinking so. Are you trans and actually your lived experiences differ? Get articulate real fast or shut up. You might be able to eek an exception for yourself, but it's going to require a 10-paragraph post justifying your claim. If you're REALLY good at it though, you might be able to rewrite the Zeitgeist and now anyone who disagrees with you is transphobic. Teams switch uniform styles every now and then, after all.

And it's such a farce because so often it's not actually about the topic at hand. It's about why you should be allowed to be perceived as a good person while toeing outside the fringes of The Right Opinion, why you aren't actually quitting the faith or committing blasphemy or deserving of exile for going off the written word. Or if someone really IS trying to make it about the topic at hand, the ensuing slapfight in the comments needs to be about whether OP has sinned against the covenant.

It's not helpful.

[dyaz-stories]

JUJUTSU BOYS + PDA

how the jjk boys are when you're in public with them

including: gojo, nanami, choso, yuuji, megumi, maki

word count: 3.6k (500-600 words for one character)

cw: intended as canon compliant, established relationships, fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, kissing, public demonstrations of affection, can't think of anything else tbh

a/n: been reading some fics in this format so wanted to try my hand at it again. it's been years since I wrote short pieces like that, so I hope you'll enjoy them!

GOJO

Gojo has no concept of personal space, and that is something you had to get used to since you started dating — if anything, since before you started dating. Even when the two of you were at a more flirtatious stage, he’d always be leaning towards you to talk to you, face inches away from yours, hands on your hips if he needed to move past you, arm casually around you if you were sitting next to each other. It was all the better if it flustered you.

None of this has changed, except that he’s much more extra about it now. Holding your hand while walking? Nah, that’s boring. He’ll have his arm around your shoulders, even if it’s not convenient given the height difference. He’ll also try to put his hand in the back pocket of your jeans, pout if you tell him not to do it. If you’re waiting in line with him, he has both of his arms around you, is resting his chin on top of your head, and wants nothing more than for you to lean back into his chest, relaxing into his embrace. You can both be doing totally unrelated things — you’re reading and he’s checking his phone — but you’re slotted against each other, and that’s how it is ideally for you.

You’re waiting for him to show up to your date when you feel yourself surrounded by familiar arms, and then his cheek is pressing against yours as he surveys the book you’re holding in your hands.

“Whatch’ya reading?” he asks, breath warm against your cheek.

“Just doing some research on emerging curses,” you say with a shrug as you close it and put it in your bag. “So, did you want to check out that new bakery?”

He hums in reply, and you wait for him to move so you can start walking.

He doesn’t.

“…do you plan on letting go of me?” you ask after a while, turning your head to look at him.

He pouts at you, inches away from your face.

“I haven’t even gotten a kiss yet…”

“We’re in public, Satoru,” you say, feeling your face heating up.

“So? Let ‘em stare. They might as well, if you ask me.”

You want to roll your eyes — one day, you’ll have to talk about that exhibitionist streak of his — but in the meantime, you just have to crane your neck a little to peck his lips. They’re soft, as always, and he follows greedily when you pull away, his hand coming up to tilt your chin up gently as he presses more kisses on the corner of your lips, then on your cheek.

“You’re impossible,” you say, badly hiding your laughter. “Let’s go, or we won’t make it to closing time. You’re late, by the way.”

He lets out a heartbroken sigh, but finally frees you, keeping his arm around your shoulders as the two of you start walking towards the bakery. He keeps his strides short, so you don’t have to run to keep up with him, instead allowing you to keep a comfortable pace.

“Yeah, well, what can I say? I’m just too good at my job, they can never get enough of me.”

“Aw, poor darling,” you say. You grab his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, and bring it to your lips to press a kiss on the back.

He lets out a cough that doesn’t do much to disguise the fact that he’s getting flustered, and you grin, satisfied. Two can play that game.

Fortunately, neither Satoru nor you have any intention of forfeiting any time soon.

NANAMI

Nanami is a private man. There is no reason for the whole world to know his business, and he doesn’t feel the need to put his relationship on display for everyone to see. His softness for you is still plain to see in how gentle his voice gets when he speaks to you, in how carefully he chooses his words, in how fond his eyes are when he listens to you tell him about your day. He knows you like him holding your hand, though, so he’ll indulge you, especially when you’re walking by his side through crowded streets.

That is for practical reasons, of course. First, it just wouldn’t do to lose sight of you. Second, people tend to steer clear of him, his serious expression and his broad frame, and that means they realize quickly to steer clear of you. It has nothing to do with how soft your hand is in his, or how the way you use your thumb to stroke his skin sends shivers down his back.

“That’s a lovely restaurant,” you comment, eyes drinking in the elegant decor while Nanami is examining the menu.

“It had excellent reviews,” he answers, not going into details as to the great lengths he’d gone to in order to ensure that this date was as perfect as humanly possible.

“I’ve been in the neighborhood so many times, and I had no idea this was here,” you say. The place is very small, only a handful of tables, all of them now filled. You’re sharing an alcove with Nanami, creating some distance with other customers.

“There aren’t many tables available, so they don’t advertise much,” he explains as he sets the menu down. “But they’re known for their excellent cuisine.”

You give him a smile, then lean closer to him to kiss him on the cheek. Your lips linger just a little too long, and then you move them close to his ear, which is already turning quite red.

“Thank you for planning all that,” you say sweetly. “It looks wonderful.”

He clears his throat when you pull away, avoiding your eyes.

“Of course,” he answers, voice wavering imperceptibly. “Anything for you.”

And you know he means it, too.

Under the table, his hand finds your leg, large palm easily covering your knee while calloused fingers carefully rub your calf. You bite your lip, welcome the warmth that spreads in your body. You know Kento well enough to be sure that that’s as far as he’ll go, that he wouldn’t dare to do anything more in such a public setting, and that makes you enjoy the intimacy of the gesture all the more.

Later that night, while the two of you are walking out, his jacket is around your shoulder at his insistence — “It’s cold outside” — and he’s getting ready to call a taxi.

“Kento?”

He lowers the phone to look at you, and you push yourself on your tiptoe, hand closing around his tie to pull him down towards you.

It’s late at night, he tells himself. There’s no one around, he tells himself. That’s why he closes his eyes and allows himself to melt into the kiss, regretting it when you pull away too soon and catching himself before he grabs you by the hips to get you closer to him.

“I had a great evening,” you say. “Should we take this to somewhere more private?”

How much more merciless can you get?

“Certainly,” he says. “Just give me a second.”

There is nothing he can deny you.

CHOSO

Choso cannot wrap his head around what he can and cannot do around you. The rules for what is proper, what is acceptable, have shifted so much since he was last around, and he would die before he embarrassed you — or worse, before he did something that would make you push him away. He knows that you wouldn’t, and yet the fear is like a weight that tugs on his heart every time he thinks about it. He walks by your side, glancing at your hand that’s freely hanging between the two of you, and though he brushes his knuckles against yours, he just cannot bring himself to do it. It’s to the point where it’s the only thing he’s thinking about — and he just can’t do it.

Then you see something that catches your eye and you grab his hand and pull him with you in that direction, and he thinks his heart could just fall out of his chest. You make it look so easy, so natural, being with him coming as easy to you as breathing, and he couldn’t possibly ask for more. It takes him many other tries, many other dates, before he can take your hand in his. When he does, you glance down in surprise, then grin at him, and kiss his knuckles softly — and he’s so happy he could die.

“So,” you say, sitting on the park bench, knee pressed against his while you’re leaning into him to show him your phone, your hair tickling his neck, “that’s the movies they have on tonight. Think we should call Yuuji to ask him what to watch?”

“Hm,” Choso says, not really focusing on anything you’re talking about, not when you’re this close to him, “isn’t— isn’t that the one franchise he’s always talking about?”

You burst out laughing, then rest your head on his shoulder.

“No offense, babe, but there is no one in the world I’d go see a Human Earthworm movie for. Even if this one is supposed to have romance in it,” you shudder at the thought, “I’d like to go see something actually. You know. Watchable.”

Choso’s mind is going in overdrive. You’re so close, and he knows he should have gotten used to this by now. He isn’t usually like this, but some passers-by are looking — not necessarily being judgmental, though there was an old lady earlier who scoffed and shook her head, but… looking.

“Then I don’t know if Yuuji is going to be much help,” he manages to say as you keep scrolling on the cinema’s website.

“That’s fair,” you sigh, standing up from the bench, and even if he can now think again, he misses your warmth and your smell right away. “Well, maybe we drop the movie and just go get something to eat, what do you say?

“Sounds good,” he answers, standing up after you.

Hesitantly, almost clumsily, he reaches for your hand, fingertips brushing against your thigh as he does, then tightens his grip around your palm, ensuring that it wouldn’t slip away from you. You give him a fond smile, then take a step to get closer to him, and kiss him gently. His breath hitches, and his eyes dart around the mostly empty park.

“T-there’s people around,” he says quietly, and he hates that you step back to look around.

“Oh, sorry,” you say, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable—”

He takes your hand to pull you with him, and you follow him through the grass as he finds a more secluded spot, behind a tree.

“There,” he says, and you chuckle at how satisfied with himself he sounds.

“Oh Choso,” you coo, leaning against the tree while you grab his shirt to pull him down towards you. His mouth is warm, eager, and his cheeks remain a fierce shade of red as he kisses you back insistently.

You would have missed the beginning of the movie anyway.

YUUJI

The thing about Yuuji is that any type of public demonstration of affection feels so natural coming from him. It’s almost never meant to be suggestive, it’s not something he thinks through, it’s just something he does. You’ll be sitting with Nobara when he appears, and he just puts his arm around you while talking to her, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. You’re walking with him when he lifts his head up like he’s forgotten something, and what he forgot was to hold your hand, silly him.

If you walk by him while he’s sitting, he’ll grab your hips to pull you in his laps, fingers rubbing circles on the skin of your arms, absent-mindedly playing with your fingers as he holds your hand. After all, why wouldn’t he? He doesn’t even realize that it flusters you, and it just feels so natural for him to show his affection like that. He’ll look at you with stars in his eyes while you speak, not seeming to realize that his face is so close to him while you’re sitting in his lap.

No one pays attention to it anymore. You arrive just as Nobara is starting the movie — she’s putting on an action movie, thank you very much, even if Gojo just bought the collector edition of Human Earthworm 4 for Yuuji, with the director’s cut — and with all the students crammed in the room, including Panda, who’s taking most of the space on the couch, there’s nowhere left for you to sit.

“Come here,” Yuuji says cheerfully, waving you towards the armchair where he’s found his spot, “it’s about to start.”

You glance around the room for a reaction, but no one is paying you any mind. You walk over to him, perching yourself on one of the arms, legs over his. He doesn’t seem puzzled by it, just puts an arm around your waist casually.

Of course, you end up still sitting in his lap eventually, just slipping in it at some point in the movie. Can you be blamed? He’s warm and comfortable, and he wraps both arms around you so he can tuck his chin in the crook of your shoulder, nose brushing against your cheek when he turns his head. Not that he seems to notice how it makes your pulse quickens, eyes focused on the movie.

“What are the themes even supposed to be,” he mutters under his breath, eyebrows knitting together in annoyance.

“’Military good’?” you suggest quietly as a guy gets blown up on screen.

“The first half of the movie was about military bad,” he protests. “They can’t just act like that never existed.”

“Would you two shut up,” Nobara shouts from her spot, “or Maki will come beat you up!”

The two of you pipe down, knowing the threat is very serious and not one to take lightly.

When the movie ends, everyone gets up, stretching, but you’ve gotten comfortable against Yuuji’s chest, and you don’t feel like doing that just yet.

“That was terrible,” Yuuji comments, and you let out a brief laugh. Gojo has somehow made a cinephile out of him, and you love how worked up he gets over that stuff.

“Yeah, we should have been watching Human Earthworm 4 instead,” you say.

“Exact— oh, you’re making fun of him.”

You giggle, then tilt your head to kiss him. For a second, he freezes, eyes going wide. Kissing is the one thing he rarely initiates — but when you do, you get to see his gaze soften, before his whole body goes soft. His hold on your waist tightens — and then a pillow thrown with impressive precision hits him, and only him, on the ear.

“Not in public,” Maki shouts from all the way into the kitchen.

“Hey,” your boyfriend protests, “I’m not the one who—”

“You’re such a traitor,” you gasp, struggling to pull yourself free from his arms — but it’s no use against his strength, and he refuses to let go.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he says. “Now, where were we?”

You might have been at fault for the first pillow, but that second one is all on him, as far as you’re concerned.

MEGUMI

Megumi is a private guy. He can be affectionate in public, but there is a side of him that he only wants you to see. He especially doesn’t want any of your nosy friends, or worse, his adoptive dad to see how he can be around you. They would never stop teasing him after, and he doesn’t think he could live with that.

Or that they could live with that. Because he’d kill them.

It does annoy him that he’s supposed to deny himself because of them. If it was up to him, he’d spend most of his time alone with you, preferably in a small house in the middle of a forest with no one around, no curses, no sorcerers, no nothing. That, sadly, isn’t an option though, so he has to find his own way to do things.

“Don’t move,” he says sternly. “You have something on your face.”

You roll your eyes, but tilt your head up towards him, as he carefully runs his thumb under your eye, then over your cheek, blowing on it once it’s done.

“What was it?” you ask.

“Just an eyelash,” he says with a shrug. “You’re good now.”

You study him, waiting for him to give something away, but he doesn’t, just staring at you with the same expression he always wears.

“Should we get going?” he asks. “I thought we were supposed to catch a movie.”

“Sure,” you relent. “We should get moving.”

The streets are quite full at this time of the day, and you have to step aside frequently to let people pass, sometimes losing sight of Megumi. Eventually, with a sigh, he grabs your hand, pulling you with him as he walks, sending murderous glares to anyone who stays in his path.

“You’re going to get lost at this rate,” he mutters as he pulls you with him.

“I mean, worst case scenario we meet back at the theater,” you say, and you grin at the offended look he gives you. He notices it, but doesn’t answer, a light pink dusting his cheek as he glances away.

He hates the idea of being away from you on a day that’s supposed to be about the two of you — but since he refuses to say the quiet part out loud, you get to tease him all you want.

To be fair to him, having Megumi as your scary guard dog does make it much easier and much faster to reach the theater. He gives you a pointed look when you get there, and, to your regret, lets go of your hand quickly, though his touch lingers there a second longer than necessary.

“Should we get a couple seat?” you ask innocently as you approach the register.

Megumi glares at you once more while you give him a sweet smile.

“It’s better that way, right?” he says, clearing his throat. “Otherwise strangers might have to share one.”

“Sure,” you nod, not even bothering to hide your grin. “It’s just more practical, right?”

“Right,” he says stiffly.

Even once you are in the couple seat, he keeps a thoroughly appropriate distance from you, one that you might find a little hurtful if, at the end of the commercials, he didn’t fake a yawn to put his arm around you, in the least smooth way known to man.

“You know you can just do it,” you say quietly as the lights turn off, resting your head on his shoulder. “You don’t have to go through all that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbles.

Reaching for his face, you tilt his head towards you, and push yourself to meet his lips for a sweet, soft kiss. For the first time since you’ve stepped foot outside, his whole body relaxes into yours, and he stops trying to pretend.

“You had something on your lips,” you whisper when you pull away.

He snorts, then quickly goes back in to steal one more kiss from you before the movie starts.

“Liar,” he says.

As if he’s one to talk.

MAKI

Maki isn’t a demonstrative person as a general rule. She does compliment you without hesitation, words falling from her mouth so genuinely that it never fails to fluster you, but physical demonstrations of affection don’t come easy to her, maybe because she received so little of it as a kid. She does it sporadically, and she does very much enjoy teasing you, loves knowing that she can get those reactions out of you.

It’s the more spontaneous gestures that get to you though. She’ll kiss your forehead after a battle that left you bruised, a way of comforting you. She’ll pat your head after you managed to pull an impressive move during training. On one occasion, when you got injured, she carried you in your arms to Shoko, demanding that you be taken care of right this instant. She’d been the one to get flustered after that, hiding her face in her hand in embarrassment when it was brought up later on.

It might not come easy to her, but she does love it when you do it — when you show her your love in that way.

“You’re late,” she scolds you when you reach her for one of your dates, needing to take a second to catch your breath because you’ve been running since getting out of the subway.

“Sorry,” you say between deep breaths, “there was an emergency.”

Worry flashes on her face immediately.

“A curse? Were you hurt?”

She reaches for you, tilting your face towards her as she examines it, then study your body to make sure you weren’t injured. You let her, surprised at first, then endeared.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she frowns once she realizes how soft your gaze has become.

You grin, then push yourself closer to kiss her. You don’t care that you’re in public, and though it wouldn’t have occurred to her to do it, neither does she. The kiss is sweet, gentle. I’m alive, you’re alive, it says. No need for more.

“See?” you ask cheerfully. “All good. Now, I’m pretty sure you were going to buy me dinner…”

She clicks her tongue, but she’s grinning. It’s nice to see her so at ease, so relaxed. It’s a side of her you’d never see within the walls of Jujutsu High, nor on a mission. You’re the only one that can bring it out of her, and man do you love it.

“I’m buying? Again?”

“I did almost just die.”

“Nice try, but you told me you were fine.”

“I’m fine now,” you insist, “but…”

“Well, I was disowned by my family, so I don’t have money. You’re buying.”

The two of you keep bickering, but, as you walk, you reach for her hand. She pulls away at first, years and years of reflexes kicking in instinctively, and once she realizes what you were doing, she’s the one who takes your hand in hers. She holds it delicately, careful not to break it — to be fair, her strength would probably allow her that.

It’s so sweet and light, being out there with you like that. So normal. She hopes it never ends.

You squeeze her hand, and she lets you guide her across the street, content with just following, knowing that she can trust you to fill in her shortcomings in the relationship, like she does it for yours.

The sky is grey, the forecast said it might run later tonight — Maki’s planned an umbrella, she’s sure you didn’t think of it — but as far as she’s concerned, the day is as beautiful as it could possibly be.

this is my first time writing for... pretty much everyone here except gojo lol. i hope you enjoyed it and that the characterization wasn't too off, but any feedback is welcome! if you want to support me and my writing, please reblog/leave a comment or send me an ask, i'd love to chat! i'll see you later for some more jjk writing ^-^

you can find my gojo x reader work here

[waddleonmywaywardducks]

How to get back into your practice after a burnout

Alot of times in our practices, we often just straight up forget. Not going to lie to you I didn't practice much until I got out of my mom's home...which was one year ago. And I also have a theory that since paganism isnt dogmatic and is meant to be ran by a community we fall out really easy, it's natural, paganism is different now. But anyways here is chaos's master guide on how to put on your big girl panties and get back the work.

(disclaimer: just because these things worked for me doesn't mean it's going to work for everyone else, this post is completely upg. I'm just offering advice.)

Starting out small

What never stuck to me is those post that are like: "stir your intentions into your coffee, light incense, pray" because like yeah thats a good way to start off I really dont think itll set in our brains to do this everyday. Instead what I recommend is finding days to practice and sticking to that day. Find a day where you useally do nothing and dedicate it to getting back into your practice.

You could use this day to research on all the things you forgotten (been there)

Or you could just leave offerings out for your deities and call it a day

I think if you uphold a certain schedule your mind will get into the habit of "oh today's witch day, time to do witchcraft" this is basic psychology, and I promise it works 😭😭

Deity work and getting back into it

Little reminder: your gods are not mad at you. They do not hate you. They love you.

I have had so many falling outs with deities because I just couldn't uphold a schedule. Hekate being one of them. Hekate really showed me the way once I moved out of my mother's house, and after so many ins and outs of my worship to her, she still showed me love and compassion. I promise your gods will do the same. They understand our mortal lives more then you comprehend. After all, this is their earth.

Stuff you can do to get back into worship with your deities:

- offerings, big or small

- dedicate days to them, in my schedule Hekate is worshipped on Monday, and Aphrodite on Friday.

- research ways to connect with them more

- don't make big promises that you will get back into your practice and never fall out again, thats just putting yourself in more responsibility, your gods will now expect that responsibility. I've done this before and I definitely got side eyed by Hekate 😭😭

I recommend reading over these lovely post by @/khaire-traveler

Subtle deity worship

I honestly used this alot to get back into worship with my deities 😭😭 these posts go into worship you could do for deities while you are either hiding your practice or just want to do something for your gods. Really helpful post 10/10.

Getting back into witchcraft

I know I kind of went over this already, but I feel like there needs to be some small steps to getting back into witchcraft before we get to rituals, spells and stuff of that sort.

To get back into witchcraft, I recommend meditating, either by yourself or with your deities. Meditation allows you to just focus on the present and let go of all your stresses. I like to meditate with my deities because I get visions from them easily this way, it's easier for me to communicate.

From there you can do research on the basics of witchcraft and work your way up to rituals and spell work... hopefully all of this makes sense

Anyways yeah that's all the advice I have to getting back into your practice, if I have anything else to add I'll reblog this and add more. But yeah! I really hopes this helps at least someone lol.

[princesssascha]

Get all your desires within a week

Have you been having trouble manifesting? Are you sick and tired of waking up everyday in your current reality and it feels like you tried every single possible manifestation technique out there yet nothing seems to work? I have come up with a 7 day challenge for you.

How do I know this works?

The universe doesn't give you what you want, it gives you what you ARE. By doing this challenge you will be matching the frequency of your dr which will allow your cr to transform.

This is a very powerful technique. Please make sure you know exactly what you want.

So, here are some of the rules:

You identify your desired reality as your current reality

You do EVERYTHING you would do in your dr, even if uncomfortable (for example, if your desired self(ds) goes to the gym at 5am everyday that's exactly what you're gonna do. It's only a week.)

Your "Cr" is your past. It is not your reality, it's imagination. Your dr is your only "correct and real" reality. After all you're doing everything you would in your dr, so that makes it your current reality.

You do this for 7 days. No cheating!

Feel free to add your own rules for yourself!

Now for the process

1.Write down your goals

What does your desired reality actually look like? Think about it and write it down. Yes, WRITE it down. Don't just think about it. Whether you do it on your notes app or on a piece of paper, write down clear habits of your ds. Some examples:

Goes to sleep at _ and wakes up at _

Works out

Works on her business/skills

Etc. anything. It doesn't have to be something important. Anything you can think of that you desire.

2.Identify your blocks

Now it's time to be brutally honest with yourself. WHY do you think your desires aren't here yet? What is blocking you from receiving your manifestations. This is the part that most people fail at, which causes them to not get their desires. Releasing those blocks can be difficult, but without it you are literally blocking your manifestations. I suggest you really research this topic, but here are some of the most common ones:

You see your 3D as your REAL reality.

You keep stressing about getting your desire NOW.

You have a lack mindset.

You don't trust yourself.

You check your 3D for your results.

3.Find the difference

Now that you know what you want it's time to find the differences. Now it might seem obvious, but again, you need to write it down. Since you already have what your desired reality looks like, here's how I do it in the easiest way. You write down your desired reality on one side and compare your current reality to it on the other side. For example: (let's just act one is on the left side and one is on the right side).

Dr: Wake up at 7am.

Cr: Wake up at 10am.

This will make it easier to change your habits later.

4.Act like you're in your dr

Now that you know what your goal is and what the difference is you are going to switch. Your desired reality is your new reality. Your current reality does not exist. It's your past. You are now in your desired reality and you KNOW that. Do everything you would do in this reality. From waking up to going to sleep. The whole day. Does your ds wake up at 5am and goes to the gym? Good. That's exactly what you're gonna do because it's your current reality. You are your dream self and your dream self is you.

5.Ignore your reality.

Now it's time for you to decide that your current reality is just a mindset. And you need to switch that mindset. You want the best for yourself and you will get it. You just need to allow it, so, from now on your only right reality is the reality you created for yourself. All the outside noise doesn't change that, because it is your reality now.

Ok, when will I get my results?

Immediately. The moment you start doing this and actually believe and persist that's the moment it becomes your reality.

But when will I see it in my 3D?

Once you accept you really have it. You need to actually believe it, and when that happens, you won't be looking for your 3D to confirm that. That's exactly when it appears in your 3D. It can be the same day, same week, same month, same or next year. You decide when you trust the universe. This is just an exercise to help those who keep stressing about their 3D. And it works magic.

[writer-logbook]

How to get back into writing: a 5-steps guide

As someone who hasn't written anything in a decade, this is what I did to get back into writing seriously.

Identify which archetype of writer fits me better. You may have heard George R.R. Martin saying there are two types of writers: gardeners and architects. Whether you believe in that statement or not isn't relevant per se, but the actual meaning behind that point is that you need to get to know yourself as a writer, how you work, what you need, etc., so you can adapt your environment to achieve your goals. Speaking of which…Gentle reminder : you're a person not a robot. You are allowed to work the way you want to, and not to follow whatever pieces of advice that are linked to these archetypes.

Set a realistic word count/session I can stick to over the long term. When you're a 9-6 office employee, it's not always easy to find time to write and sometime our day at work got the very best of us. Having that in mind, I set my word count up to 200-500 words per session or 1 chapter per week (they're rather small in my case). Gentle reminder : babysteps are better than no-step at all.

If I'm not writing, fine, I'll do some research or anything else. Your story will always require something from you. When I'm not in the mood for writing, there are two options : forcing myself or doing what I call para-writing. For instance it's : reading articles or books about improving my writing style, improving my worldbuilding, drawing a map of my city etc. This are not things that would appear in the novel but it would guide me throughout the process the way a walking-stick would do for an injured man. Gentle reminder : you always find something useful to do but at the end of the day, you still have to write.

Have a general idea of what I want to tell. I won't lie, I've plotted my entire novel from the very beginning to the very end, which means I know exactly what to write and when. If you're against having a defined plot, I'm no one to judge, but having at least the key events or the major points will definitely help you. Like a lighthouse, it will help you navigate through the mists of confusion or hesitation. Gentle reminder : It's better to know where to go even if you end up losing yourself along the journey. Having the map doesn't mean you have to follow it, but rather when you can allow yourself to take a step to the side.

Write something I enjoy. A bit cliché I admit, but it's the best advice I could give. You'll spend hours, days, weeks - even years !- on that story so better buckle up to something you really want to write. Otherwise the risk is to abandon that hard-work you've done halfway through the process. No one needs that frustration and that self-doubting questionnings. No one. Not you. Not even me. Gentle reminder : it's okay to want readers and reviews but I promise you, your writing will be really different on something you trully want to share...Remember how pissful it was to write an essay for class you didn't want to ?

[woso-dreamzzz]

Second Time's The Charm VII

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Summary: A look back to when you were still 'divorced'

You panted as Alexia rolled of off you. "We can't do this," You said," We're divorced."

"Yes, we are..."

There was silence for a moment as you both caught your breath.

You'd only just moved away to London a few months ago. You'd only just gotten settled at the hospital and with your new contract for the Arsenal Women's Team.

You'd only just gotten settled but, still, you felt the need to return home for the week, to be able to speak Spanish again with people that didn't have to stumble over their words to communicate with you.

Somehow, somewhere along the line, you'd ended up in Alexia's bed again.

You wouldn't say it was unwelcome. You wouldn't say that it didn't feel like a piece of home, curled up in her arms as she whispered sweet nothings in your ear.

But, still, the pair of you were divorced.

"Your toothbrush is still in the bathroom," Alexia said as you pulled yourself out of her comforting embrace," And your skincare stuff is still there."

You nodded, making your way through your evening routine.

You hadn't planned on doing that though. You had planned to just pull on your clothes and return back to the hotel room you booked.

Instead, you showered and brushed your teeth and did your skincare and pull on an old pair of sleep shorts and one of Alexia's even older Spain jerseys.

You ended up in her bed again, propped up on the pillows as you read through a medical journal absentmindedly as Alexia typed something on her laptop.

"What is that one?" She asked and you hummed as you turned the page.

"A women's ACL study," You replied, turning another page, scanning through a table of statistics," What are you doing?"

"Brand stuff...I think...I'm not actually sure..."

"Well make sure you read the contract, Ale," You reminded her," You don't want to be stuck in something you can't get out of."

"Oh, right, yeah."

"You send it to Eli. You know she'll check for you."

"You're so right, amo-" Alexia cut herself off.

She was about to call you 'amor'. She didn't think she was allowed to call you that now you weren't together. But she's never really called you anything different.

Ever since your marriage at five years old under the slide, you'd always been 'amor' to her. It was strange to not be able to call you that now.

All of this was strange.

Having you in her bed but somehow not being together at the same time. This was all natural. All normal but not at the same time.

Because you weren't together anymore.

Alexia wasn't quite sure where the boundaries were anymore. You'd never been just friends, not truly anyway. Sure, your official relationship started when you were twelve and you were both married by eighteen but even as little kids, the signs were there.

But you smiled at her now and Alexia forgot all about the fact that you were divorced and your life was now in England and she surged forward to plant a kiss on your lips.

You kissed back without even a thought, letting Alexia slip her tongue into your mouth.

You laughed as she pulled away. "What was that for?"

"Nothing. I can't want to just kiss you?"

"You're so sweet, Ale."

You yawned then and Alexia pulled the research paper from your hands.

"Alexia...I was reading that!"

"You're tired," She said in answer," Go to sleep."

"You're not my wife anymore," You reminded her," You can't tell me what to do."

A deep pit formed in Alexia's stomach at your words.

You were right. She wasn't your wife anymore and she didn't get to tell you what to do.

She was so used to reminding you to do things like that, to put down your research papers and get a good night's sleep, to hop in the shower instead of spending hours pouring through articles and papers and ideas.

She'd forgotten that you didn't need her to do that anymore.

"But it's nice that you still care," You said, curling up on your side.

There was silence for a moment before you peaked your head over your shoulder.

"Do you not spoon anymore, Ale?" You asked, a pout on your beautiful lips," I've really missed my big spoon."

That's all it took for Alexia to throw her laptop to the side, switch off the light and pull you into her arms.

[dollfacefantasy]

Baby Bunny

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!bunny-hybrid!reader

summary: leon helps his sweet baby bunny through her heat.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, masturbation, breeding kink, daddy kink

word count: 3.8k

a/n: i'm not sure how i feel about this one, but let's go with it. again, thank you everyone for reblogging and commenting, it means the world to me <3

tags: @sleepyluxe @kaitkatme @tosuckmyweenis @pupthepokemonenthusiast @bizzarethirst @death-paint @petitecolibri @iron-toxinz @wildest-dreams-at-midnight @nexysworld

In his personal life, Leon never wanted to be depended on. That was his job. He didn’t want that stuff following him home. He didn’t want to be tied down, to be responsible for someone like that. People depended on him in Raccoon city and look how that turned out. Every mission he’s been on for the last few years, he’s responsible for someone. It’s exhausting.

But as he nears 30, he starts to look at it differently. An aching sense of isolation grows in his heart. He starts to think about what it would be like having someone, having a companion of some sort. Suddenly, he’s not looking at being relied on as a detriment. Being depended on means having someone to care for, someone to love. There would be someone at the end of long days and the starts of his currently lonesome nights.

That’s how he finds himself with you scampering around his house. The sweetest little thing he’d ever seen. Your long floppy ears, cute little cottontail, those big sweet eyes. From the moment he saw you, he was a sucker for all of it.

A while back he had briefly heard of human-animal hybrids, but he didn’t think much about it. It didn’t really apply to him. If anything, the idea weirded him out a bit.

That was until he started thinking more about his dilemma. It seemed like one of them might be a good solution. He talked to a few people and did some online research and decided to at least look into it. It couldn’t hurt to visit an adoption center right?

He visited the place and was still a little freaked by the whole concept. He walked through the rooms, watching different hybrids move about and mess around. The lady guiding him throughout asked him different questions, trying to decipher what type of hybrid would best fit his needs. But all of her questions were irrelevant as soon as he spotted you.

You were undoubtedly the one. His baby bunny. Not only did he not want any other hybrid, but he didn’t think he could physically leave that place without talking to you at the very least.

He walked over to you cautiously. You kept to yourself, and he could tell from your body language alone how timid you were. He spoke with the softest, most soothing tone he could manage, but you were still so shy.

You’d told him your name so quietly he could barely hear. He didn’t touch you at all, fearing you may cry at something that personal. But he kept talking to you because while others may have found it challenging, he could see you fitting right in with him.

You’d be dependent, sure, but clearly you wouldn’t be overly needy for affection. It would be a good way for him to transition from being alone into having someone.

He kept getting to know you and trying to get through some of your walls. He talked with you about all sorts of things and let you ask your own questions so you could get to know him. By the end of the day, you hesitantly allowed him to stroke your ears.

It was that exact day he told you that he was interested in you coming to live with him. You were still very reserved, but you seemed receptive. You did a little trial run over the course of a week, and just as Leon thought, you were a great fit.

You had grown more comfortable with him in the months since that week even though your core personality hadn’t changed. You were still generally quiet, never asking for much and being appreciative of whatever he gave you. You’d talk with him openly now, mostly responding to him rather than starting conversations but speaking nevertheless. You slept in your own room, but as soon as you woke up, you’d come find him to hang out. It was a nice balance with you.

But Leon still wanted a little more. He would never push it on you, knowing it would make you withdraw again, but he always cherished the moments of progress with you. You warmed up enough that you came around to enjoy cuddling. Leon couldn’t believe how soft he’d become when you curled up to his side and tucked yourself under his arm. The first time you fell asleep in his embrace, he loved it so much he felt chest pains. Once or twice, he’d gotten you to fully sit on his lap, and he couldn’t stop beaming.

He could give you little kisses on your face now, and you’d give him a sweet smile in return that he couldn���t get enough of. You’d never kissed him yourself, but you would nuzzle his cheek in return which was enough to make him happy.

You were just such a sweetheart, a perfect companion for him. You didn’t complain when he had to go to work, but it wasn’t like you didn’t miss him. He could see the way your ears would slump and your eyes would dim as he gathered his stuff and headed for the door. But you also got so happy when he came back. You tried to seem as subdued as possible, but the way you lit up again in his presence was obvious.

The only thing you were still completely closed off about was when you went into heat. Leon understood what it was, he had been nervous about it since bringing you home, but he had no clue about how you dealt with it at all. Every time it happened, you’d shut yourself up in your room for however many days it took, and then return to him as if nothing had happened.

For your sake, he played along. He got the sense it was a touchy subject after bringing up the possibility of getting you some more toys for it and having you immediately shut it down. Your voice had become higher pitched with defensiveness, and your eyes wouldn’t meet his for the next few hours.

He had only wanted to help, but he couldn’t tell you why. Couldn’t tell you that your desperate moans kept him up at night when they echoed down the hall. Those broken whimpers that made it sound like you were crying, so worked up and in need of release that it brought you to tears. 

He also couldn’t share how it made his cock rise to attention. How those pretty little noises had him fucking his fist, other palm covering his mouth to muffle his grunts, searching for relief of his own. His precious baby bunny didn’t need to know all of that.

Today had been a long day. He was tired after dealing with all the bullshit that came with his job. Although, unlike in months prior, he wasn’t all doom and gloom driving home. The thought of his sweet girl at home waiting for him by the door kept his spirits somewhat up as he made the commute back.

To his surprise, you weren’t in the living room like normal. He walked through the room cautiously, a little on edge from the disruption to his routine. He goes into the kitchen and still doesn’t find you. He starts to walk to the back of the home and that’s when he hears something. Those soft, needy sounds of pleasure.

His eyebrows raise, but he continues walking. As he gets closer, he realizes something that adds another level of shock to this situation. The noises were coming from his room.

At this point, he was more concerned than anything else. He makes his way down the hallway to his room and slowly opens the door, cracking it open to peek inside.

His eyes widen as he sees you on his bed. You’re kneeling, doubled over though so your face is in the blankets, his pillow between your legs, and your hips rocking back and forth violently. You’re nude from the waist down, only wearing a shirt of his. One of your fists is clutching the blankets while you keep your face shoved against them in a weak attempt to muffle those cute noises.

His jaw goes slack at the sight. He wills himself to remain calm and not succumb to some of his own primal urges. He carefully steps into the room, trying to be quiet even though he couldn’t see a way to not startle you with his presence.

“Baby…” he says, using the most gentle voice he could manage.

You shoot up in bed, now kneeling vertically. Your eyes are wide like you’ve had the fright of your life, your expression clearly horrified that he’d caught you like this. And even though he tries not to look, he can’t help but notice that despite your reaction, your hips don’t stop rutting against the pillow.

“Daddy!” you gasp.

That short circuits his brain. He pauses for a good five seconds to grapple with what you just said. You’d never called him that before. Not that he minded necessarily… but it still gave him whiplash.

His reaction seems to cause you to realize what you had just blurted out. In the blink of an eye, you go from visibly horrified to completely mortified. Your eyes fill with tears as you whimper out “I’m so sorry, Daddy.”

Oh god, and now you’re crying. Leon was still silent as he tried to keep his composure, force the heat building inside of him to cool off before he approached you. Looking at you though, that sweet face with tears leaking down those round cheeks… It made him want to bounce you on his lap till you were crying for a whole other reason.

“It’s ok, sweetheart. It’s alright,” he reassures you as he walks to the bed. He sits on the edge, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on your face. “Is it… Are you in heat?”

“Yes,” you say, tone dripping with shame. You bite your lip and try to restrain any further whimpers. Your hips were slowing down but still moving. After a few moments though, another wave of choked cries erupt from your throat and more hot tears of humiliation slide down your skin. Your hands fly up to cover your face. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I-”

“Hey, hey, hey. Calm down. It’s ok,” he says softly. He cautiously takes your wrists and pulls them away from your face. He takes one of your hands in his, soothingly rubbing the back of your palm. You whimper at the touch, but he doesn’t say anything. “It’s ok, honey. I’m not mad. You can’t help it. I just want to make sure you’re ok.”

You look into his eyes with your tearful gaze. Your breathing was a little ragged from crying, but it seemed like he was calming you down slowly. You nod with uncertainty, waiting for him to make the next move.

He was also unsure of what to do. This was so unlike you, he’d never seen you this emotional for one, but he’d also never expected to see you in this position. And the entire time your hips were still grinding on that pillow, back and forth like a pendulum.

“Is it more intense this time?” he asks, keeping his tone gentle to not upset you again.

“I guess,” you whimper, “I just… I wanted you.”

It pained him to see you so uncomfortable and stressed out. He wanted you to be able to come to him with these types of things, to trust him with yourself when you’re in your most vulnerable state. It was clear that you desired that too, to some degree. You were in his room, humping his pillow, wearing his shirt.

“Well… I’m right here, baby. I want to help if I can. If you want me to,” he says.

Your skepticism is written all over your face. But you needed this even if you were a little nervous. He pats his lap encouragingly, and that’s the final push you need to let go of the pillow and crawl into his lap.

“There’s my baby bunny. Sweet girl,” he says softly as he gets you situated. He peppers a few tender kisses on your head and strokes your back.

You had only been there for a few seconds, but your hips were already squirming.

“What do you need, baby? Just tell Daddy, and you can have it,” he whispers. The title rolls off his tongue as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. It had caught him off guard when you said it, but after it rattled around in his head for a bit, it took root. Now, he just wanted to hear you say it again.

You whimper, looking at him through your lashes with those sweet eyes. At this point, you were all but riding his thigh. There’s a pause as you decide how to articulate your desire.

“I need… I need you,” you offer timidly.

“I know that, sweetheart,” he chuckles, “Try to be more specific for me. Daddy only wants to know so he can help you. Give you exactly what you need.”

He reaches up and cradles the back of your head, bringing you in to rest it on his shoulder. His other arm wraps around you and rubs your back. He holds  you as close as he can to give you that physical reassurance he knew you longed for in your condition.

You still hesitate, obviously working up your will to explicitly state your cravings.

“I want Daddy inside, wanna be bred,” you whimper, turning your face against his shoulder to hide your eyes. Your whole head felt hot with the weight of what you said. It was almost dizzying, but he swoops in with his cooing voice and gentle praises to keep you together.

“Poor baby,” he croons, “I don’t know how you handled this alone for so long, honey. That’s so unfair to you, all these big feelings you had to work through by yourself. So frustrating.”

You knew he was being excessively caring now, but you had no complaints. The loving cadence of his voice made your mind melt. All you could do is whimper and nod against his shoulder.

“You could’ve come to Daddy anytime you wanted. I could never say no to my sweet baby bunny, especially not about this,” he says, kissing your head and giving your ears a few loving strokes.

“I know. I’m sorry,” you say.

“Nothing to be sorry about, sweet girl. I’m here now. We’re gonna fix it. Daddy’s gonna make it all better,” he says.

He shifts you around a little so he can slide his pants down and free his hard cock. Your curious eyes dart back to his face after a quick look at the flushed tip and the veins spanning the shaft.

“You ready?” he asks softly.

“Mhm, need it,” you whimper in return, helping him get your hips into position.

He lowers you on to his cock. Both of you let out hushed noises of pleasure as the sensation strikes pleasure within you. His fingers are digging into the flesh of your hips as he slides further into you. Your arms tighten around him and your eyes already start to flutter at the snug fit.

You whine and babble out some nonsense when you’re finally flush against him. His cock twitches inside of you.

“I know, baby, I know,” he hushes you. You could hear the tension in his own voice from exerting so much restraint. “You feeling any better?”

“Little bit, need more Daddy,” you mewl.

“Just give yourself a second to adjust, angel,” he grunts. You were pulsing around him, making it harder for him to not let go. 

But it seems you’re feeling the same way. You shake your head in response to his words and start haphazardly squirming around, trying to move up and down while still in his hold.

“Need it Daddy,” you whine, “Can’t wait. Pretty please.”

Like he’d said, he couldn’t say no.

“If you’re sure, honey,” he says and loosens his grip, “Be a good bunny and bounce for Daddy.”

That’s all you need to hear before you’re bouncing up and down. Wet noises fill the room as your slick pussy takes him in and out. You close your eyes and tilt your head back, letting the embarrassment fade and just feeling the pleasure running through you.

Leon focuses on helping you keep your balance as you ride him. His own belly was twisting with ecstasy as your heat engulfs him over and over.

“That’s it, good baby,” he grunts, “Keep going, honey. Get it all out.”

You whine and continue on, up and down, up and down. More cute noises spill from your mouth as the head of his cock nudges all the right places. You ramble on, mumbling things like “love my daddy” over and over.

“Daddy loves you too, sweet girl,” he says softly.

He notices you starting to cling and whimper more. You were still riding, but your rhythm was becoming more awkward. You seemed more desperate even though you literally had him as close and as deep as physically possible.

He tries to help and do more of the work. He pulls you in close again and holds you against his body. Your face is pressed to his neck while he rubs the back of your head. His hips start to do the majority of the thrusting, bucking up into you fervently.

More incoherent strings of words escape you as you melt into his chest. You press a few sloppy kisses to the base of his neck. Despite him taking over, you were still being whiny and squirmy. He knew you were in discomfort, but it should be getting better, right?

“What is it, babydoll? What else do you need?” he coos.

Your head falls back and a sound of general pent up frustration escapes you. Your hips roll into his thrusts in large, needy movements.

“It’s not enough,” you cry, almost near tears from the ache between your thighs, “Need you more. Closer. Need it.”

You tug at his arms trying to get him to wrap them tighter. There wasn’t much Leon could do though. You were already as close as possible, any closer and you wouldn’t be able to move, which he was sure wouldn’t go over well with you. He felt so bad for you though. His sweet baby bunny suffering like this.

He watches you, your weak attempts at getting yourself off by rising and falling on his lap. He can’t take watching you struggle like this. Doing the only thing that could think of, he boosts you up and quickly flips you over.

You’re now pinned beneath him. His toned body is all over yours, heated skin pressed to you in every way. He spreads your arms out and holds your wrists down. His hips are against yours. He’s just grinding into you now, not even pulling out with his thrusts. He was as deep as possible. If this wasn’t enough, he didn’t know what else to do.

“How’s that, pretty girl? Is that how my baby bunny wants it? Wants Daddy nice and deep, ready to spill his cum and breed her cute pussy,” he breathes.

You nod eagerly, eyes rolling back at the relief you felt. This is what you needed. Feeling his weight on top of you, unable to move anywhere else.

“Mhm, this is what you need, sweet baby. You’re gonna take every last drop. Gonna keep it all in to make sure it takes too. If any leaks out, that just means I’ll have to fuck it back in. We’ll just have to go as many times as we need to,” he groans.

“Yes Daddy. Wanna take it all. Gonna be full of your cum for days,” you whimper.

“Yeah you will be. I think that’s what I’ll do from now on. Whenever my baby bunny goes into heat, I’ll have to stay home, make sure to keep you in bed, keep you plugged up full of Daddy at all times. That pretty little head won’t have to think about anything but being bred,” he says.

You just nod again, unable to get proper words out at the minute.

“I feel you squeezing, sweetheart. You getting ready to cum for Daddy?” he coos and reaches up to stroke your ears. He hikes your thighs up more, giving him a deeper angle to drive into you with. You gasp from the change, and your noises get higher as he rams in as much as he can without it being painful.

“Daddy!” you cry out. It’s all you can say. You had more, but it could only come out in the form of that one word right now. He’s all that was on your mind. Daddy daddy daddy.

“Yes, baby. Yes. Daddy’s here. Gonna fill you full of cum and then love on you for the rest of the night,” he purrs, “My baby was so brave, dealing with this all by yourself. But doesn’t it feel so much better when Daddy takes care of you?”

“Mhm, mhm,” you agree quickly.

Your hips start bucking while your body spasms. Leon knew this was it.

“Good girl, baby. Cum whenever you want. Let it feel good baby, get perfect and tight,” he says.

You do just that. You let the release wash over you. You shudder and dig your fingers into his muscles as the feelings bubble over.

“My perfect little bunny,” he praises softly while watching you let go.

It’s not much longer until his cock his pulsing violently within you. He thrusts as hard and as deep as possible before letting out a loud groan and burying his face in your neck.

“Fuck, baby, baby, baby,” he mumbles.

He spills it all inside you, hips twitching and arms locking around you. In the end, you’re both panting. He pulls back a little to kiss your forehead again. He looks down into your eyes.

“How’re you feeling now, sweet girl?” he asks softly.

“Better for now,” you answer. Your head starts to clear and return to its normal state.

He nods and kisses your head again. He rolls over onto his back, scooping you up against his chest while staying inside you. He rubs your back gently.

“You did so good, baby,” he whispers, “Now you see you don’t have to do that alone. You can trust me, sweetheart. I only want to help you. Keep you happy.”

You nod and look up at him lovingly.

“If this is what you need, this is what you need. We can get through it together,” he says softly.

“Together,” you agree softly and scoot up slightly, kissing him gently on the lips.

He smiles big and holds you closer somehow. He leans in for another kiss and another. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to get enough.

[embrosegraves]

𝕊𝕨𝕖𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕤𝕥 𝔹𝕠𝕪

Paul Aron x Fem!Reader Paul is sometimes shy about asking to touch you. He just wants to make sure he never assumes consent.

Warning: One (1) word in Estonian idk I tried. Mentions (and innocent touching) of boobies *gasp*

1.1k words hihihi

“Kallis?” [Sweetheart?]

You lifted your head from the class notes in front of you to see your boyfriend, Paul, standing at the door of your home office. He looked nervous, as if he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to be in the room. 

“Paul? Did you need something?” You hoped that softening your voice would help him not be as nervous. Having been dating for just over half a year, you were quickly becoming aware of some of his ‘tells’. Things like how his nostrils would flare a little if he wanted to laugh but thought it’d be inappropriate. Or how he would be extra nervous when he wanted to ask you something because he didn’t want to worry you with things while you were doing your coursework for uni. 

“I uh, I can come back later if you’re busy. It wasn’t really important.” Paul stammered a little as he answered you. It intrigued you immensely when Paul got shy, because it was such a difference to his very outgoing personality when he’s around his friends and teammates. 

“Please tell me what’s wrong? I promise you’re not disturbing or interrupting me.” You held your hand out towards him, inviting him to walk further into the room. He was careful as he walked towards you, like he didn’t want to disturb the research papers you had on the desk. You stood up as he reached you and lifted a hand to caress his face. 

“What did you need of me, My Love?” You kept your voice soft and your touch gentle. 

Paul lifted a hand and gripped your hand that was cradling his face. “I just- I really missed you.” 

A smile found its way onto your face. You finally realised that he was nervous because he wanted to be around you but didn’t want to distract you from your studies. Gently, you guided him to sit in the chair you were just in. Paul tried to protest that it was your chair and that he could find another one to sit on but you were having none of it. You sat down on his lap and told him that this way you could get some of your work done while still being around him. He settled pretty quickly after that. 

Admittedly it did take you a while to notice that Paul hadn’t moved his arms from the armrests of your chair,. So when you did notice, you were just a little confused. 

“Are you alright Darling?” You asked over your shoulder. 

“Uh huh.” He replied. 

“Are you sure? Because you haven’t moved your arms from the chair once.” You turned as much as you could to look at him face to face. His face was flushed a light pink colour as you twisted around on his lap. 

“I just wasn’t sure if you wanted me to touch you.” 

“Why would you think that?” You watched as his face slowly became more and more red. 

“I don’t think you ever said if you were okay with it and I didn't want to just assume that it would be alright to.” He moved his eyes away from yours. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

Barely stopping yourself from cooing at his adorably red cheeks, you twisted back around and leant back so you were resting on his torso. Grabbing both of his hands, you moved them to hug you around your midriff. Adjusting your head to look at his face, you whispered and peppered kisses to the underside of his jaw. 

“I don’t think it’s possible for me to be uncomfortable when you touch me. You're always so careful and gentle. If anything I want you to touch me more.” 

“But what if I accidentally overstep?” 

“I will tell you. But for now I want you to do something for me.” 

“Anything.” He left a shy, barely-even-there kiss behind your ear. 

“I want you to hold my boobs.” 

Paul was stunned into silence. Had he heard you correctly? You wanted him to do what? 

“You- Me- What?” He couldn’t get the words to exit his mouth. 

“I want you to hold my boobs. For two reasons. One, to prove that I trust you to touch me and be more casually intimate, and two, because believe it or not I actually find it very comforting. However, I need both my hands to finish typing up my class notes, which means I can’t hold them myself.” You placed a kiss on his jawline before sitting up a little so you could finish typing your notes. You felt as Paul also sat up a bit, presumably to keep the contact between your back and his chest. 

Just before you were about to set in and start on finishing your notes, Paul’s hands began playing with the hem of your shirt. 

“Can I lift it Kallis?” He whispered. 

“Of course you can My Love. You can do whatever you need, to make it easier if you’d like.” 

“Thank you.” He said, nuzzling his face into the back of your neck and leaving little feather-light kisses. His hands moved underneath your shirt and shyly travelled up your body before resting briefly at the apex of your breasts. Seeing as you had given him verbal permission, Paul decided he could easier grab hold of your breasts without your bra in the way. 

You hummed in acknowledgement when he mumbled that he was going to unhook the offending item of your clothing, focusing as much as you could on your notes. You knew that as much as the skin on skin contact was comforting for you, it was also incredibly important for Paul because it allowed him to test how far he was willing to go. He could set the pace knowing that if he accidentally took it too far, he could rely on you to tell him when to stop. 

You sat there on his lap for roughly 2 hours, Paul’s chin resting on your shoulder. Every now and then, Paul would give your breasts a gentle squeeze, making sure not to be too harsh. Occasionally, when you finished a paragraph of notes, you would give Paul a peck on the nose, his smile making your own smile grow with each kiss.  

Neither you nor Paul moved once you were done, except to lean a bit further back in the chair to be a little more comfortable. You were far too engrossed with the feeling of each other to even briefly entertain the idea of moving from where you sat. Too wrapped up in the love you had for each other. 

It was Paul who eventually whispered to you, breaking the silence. 

“Can I do this again tomorrow?” 

You huffed out a tiny laugh, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair as best you could. 

“Oh my sweet boy, you don’t even have to ask.”

I call this ✨ divine inspiration ✨

Aka the collective hivemind that is the discord server coming together to give the strength and inspiration to FINALLY advertise just how much I love Paul Aron.

anyways, started writing this at the end of F2 Quali, finished it at the end of F1 Academy Quali. Decided to gift while I was still delirious from lack of sleep (Aussie F1 fan struggles lmao)

likes, replies and reblogs are always appreciated <3

[m0chisenpai]

Hi, could you do a Louis x Fem!reader x Armand? Like something where they are both obsessed with her and maybe she a little oblivious even tho they give her what ever she wants. I love your others too by the way.🫶🏼

desires of the heart

˚｡⋆ louis de pointe du lac x black!fem!reader x armand

in which she has two immortals wrapped around her little finger

Author note: this sounds similarish to a loumand fic I got previously so I’m gonna build onto that one

Time in the penthouse seems to move slower. The days and nights felt blurred from adjusting your schedule to the ‘vampires’ Daniel interviews. And with each passing day, more and more do the vampires find themselves falling deeper into your heart.

You had their own dead ones in the palm of your hand yet you remained so oblivious to it.

But on top of this you find yourself spending your time less in your room and more in their company.

“Those books, are the older ones right?” You watch Armand hover above in the collection looking for more pictures of Claudia for your personal “research”. In your spare time you’ve begun compiling information from her journals and diaries, looking for pictures to put a face to the voice of the woman trapped in a child’s body.

“Yes, some of these are beyond your time,” he looks down at you slowly allowing himself to settle in front of you. You push your frames back up the bridge of your nose so you can properly look at the elder vampire.

“Can I see them?”

Louis watches amused from his seat as Armand holds you close to show you the books. Slowly he glides back up with you in his arms following your direction till you pick a small stack to sit with Louis and look through.

These are older photographs from his years in New Orleans. Family pictures, pictures from his childhood.

"Aw what happened to the fro?" you pout as Louis pulls a family picture out.

"Times were different," Louis rolls his eyes as you scoff. You page through the album carefully.

"Is that him?" your eyes settle on a duo picture, him and his brother side by side. Louis can only nod, his lips pressed in a line as you stare. "He was handsome. Sweetheart, I can tell by how he's looking at you here in this one."

Before Louis can respond one f the workers has entered. Interrupting your bubble of peace. "Mr.Molloy has requested you in his room."

Armand's face immediately ices over into a glare, his response fiery. "Tell Mr.Molloy if he wishes for his help to return he can come and get them himself. She is not a dog."

"It's alright, the old fart does this all the time in the office." You go to stand stretching your arms overhead and quickly rubbing your forearms for friction. You're cold, Louis observes the goosebumps across your freckled shoulders from the slouch neck sweater you wear.

When you are are out of ear shot Louis speaks to the worker.

"Have the shoppers come in tomorrow morning for Mr.Molloy's intern. The girl needs proper clothing."

Much to Daniel's distaste. you are like a child in a candy shop pointing to sweaters from Ralph Lauren's upcoming fall collection. But he hides his distaste giving you a smile when you happily show hi the sweater that was 'giving Rory Gilmore but I wear it better.' Armand sits watching as you soar through racks and picking your items of choice.

You hesitate when a woman approaches holding a cases of lenses, "we offer these in prescription of course."

"Oh no these are fine."

"Pick one." Armand finally speaks up. When you look at him he is now sitting up, but the way he sits with his legs crossed, an arm draped across the back while the other rests atop his knee. His eyes a show of dominance, as if daring you to say no to him.

You settle on a thick marbled brown pair. But he stands to move in front of you, picking up a few for you to try. You try on several till you are pushing his hands away.

"The jade green ones as well as the golden wired ones for her," you grumble watching as he picks up the two for the woman to box. "We will have your prescription sent as soon as possible."

"Thank you but, this a bit much for a few days stay."

"We have no issue providing you your comforts whilst you work on the novel."

"Ok but-"

He raises a brow that silences any opposition. When you offer no more pushback, Armand places his hand on the small of your back, guiding you to the women who begin to drape you in abayas and scarves for your hair.

You're nearing the end of the interviews. You can tell cause they spend any bit of time of the days glued to your side. You don't bring it up, you accidentally mentioned it in passing to Louis and his entire demeanor once so warm and gentle became...rigid.

He sits beside you on the couch now. Watching you listen and take notes.

These days he's more brazen in his affections. Sitting closer, allowing his hand to linger when he passes your chai, playing with the baby curls at the nape of your neck. But there is something even more intimate as he sits across from you, watching you.

"Gonna keep staring me down like a creep?"

His lips perk up, "sorry cher. Just memorizing your face."

Your fingers stop typing, your train of thought halts for a second till they both return at the steady pace you had going.

"Can a vampire love?"

"I believe we feel immensely. Everything feels...deeper. Almost too much."

"But if your entire being is dead, what is it that allows you to feel again?"

Ah, that mind of yours. Louis loved it deeply. His eyes flicker to his joined palms till they return on you.

"I've heard stories, seen elder vampires that lived many lifetimes take their life because of the loneliness. At times, I myself felt it. Had our feelings died with us, then I do not think they would put an end to themselves."

You nod, pausing for a moment again.

"I feel it too," you pause for a moment, "it's the worst."

Though Louis respects your boundaries, he feels the buzz in your bones. A desire sitting on your lips. “What do you need?” It comes out as a whisper, yet it feels so loud.

And your response is just as quiet, “can you hold me. Please.”

Louis is beside you in an instant. The laptop shut and atop the table, and he is holding you close. Your eyes slowly fall shut as you wrap your arms back around him. He pulls you atop him.

You feel complete again, so whole.

[etherealwitcherys-blog]

Understanding Deity Work vs. Deity Worship and Addressing Common Fears

Over the years of practicing witchcraft, many have come to me with questions and concerns about deity work and/or deity worship. It's completely natural to feel apprehensive, especially when starting something new. In this post I will get into the differences and address common fears to help you feel more confident in your practice!

Remember, working with or worshiping deities is a deeply personal journey. There is no one-size-fits-all approach. Trust your intuition, be respectful, and allow yourself the freedom to explore and grow. Deities are here to guide and support us, not to instill fear.

Feel free to reach out with any questions or share your experiences! We’re all here to learn and support each other on this spiritual path! Blessed be 🤍✨🕯️

-

-

Deity Work:

Deity work is more about forming a personal relationship or partnership with a deity. It can be less formal and more focused on mutual growth and learning. The aim is to collaborate with the deity for personal development, spiritual growth, or specific goals. Some common practices include:

meditation

journaling

divination

dreamwork

personalized offerings based on your interactions with the deity

Deity Worship:

Deity worship involves honoring and venerating a deity through rituals, offerings, prayers, and other acts of devotion. It's a more traditional and structured approach. The goal is to show respect, gratitude, and seek blessings or guidance from the deity. Common practices include:

creating altars

offering food, flowers, incense, etc.

reciting prayers

participating in festivals or holy days

Addressing Common Fears:

Fear of Doing Things Wrong:

Flexibility: Understand that deities are often more understanding than we think. Intentions matter more than rigid adherence to rituals. If you approach with respect and sincerity, minor mistakes are often forgiven.

Learning Process: It's okay to learn and grow. Many practitioners find their path through trial and error. Deities appreciate genuine effort and growth.

2. Fear of Negative Consequences:

Respect & Boundaries: As long as you approach deities with respect and maintain clear boundaries, negative consequences are rare. Communicate openly and honestly with the deity about your fears and intentions.

Protection Practices: Incorporate protection practices into your routine, such as grounding, shielding, or using protective crystals and herbs.

3. Choosing A Deity:

Research: Take your time to research and learn about different deities. Look for ones whose attributes and stories resonate with you.

Signs & Synchronicities: Pay attention to signs, dreams, and synchronicities that might indicate a deity is reaching out to you. Trust your intuition.

4. Fear of Commitment:

There's a misconception that once you start working with a deity, you're bound to them forever. In reality, relationships with deities can be fluid and adaptable. It's perfectly okay to take breaks, reassess your spiritual path, or even change directions entirely. Deities understand that your spiritual journey is personal and ever-evolving. They are there to support and guide you, not confine you. So, if you feel the need to step back or explore a different path, know that it's a natural part of your spiritual growth and development.

5. Fear of Judgement:

Many people fear being judged by others for their spiritual practices. It's important to remind them that their spiritual journey is deeply personal and unique to them. Everyone's path is different, and what feels right for one person may not resonate with another. Encouraging others to trust their intuition and follow what feels right for them, regardless of others' opinions, is crucial. Spirituality is about finding a connection that brings inner peace and fulfillment, and that can only be achieved by staying true to oneself. So, it's essential to prioritize personal beliefs and experiences over external judgement.

[endlessthxxghts]

Hungry

Frankie Morales x afab!reader | W/C: 1.7k

Summary: You decide to go home on your lunch break. You call to see if your boyfriend can join you.

Content/Warnings: No physical descriptions of reader. No “y/n”. Implied that Frankie and you live together. Porn with a sprinkle of plot. 18+ MDNI!! Oral sex (both receiving). Face riding turned 69…Cumming untouched (kind of?). Cum eating. Please do let me know if I missed anything!!!

A/N: HI GUYS I’VE MISSED YOU. I’m on my university campus from 9-5, and I had a particularly rough day, so I went home on my lunch break (which I normally don’t do), and instead of lunch, I did something else. This was that something else. I hope you enjoy.👹

MASTERLIST || NOTIFS BLOG

He picks up after one ring. “Baby? What’s wrong?” 

You don’t usually call him during your work day—the lab being too hectic even on your lunch break to enjoy anything other than the lunch you packed yourself. 

“Nothing, I just- I miss you,” you tell him softly. 

Today, though…Today is different. You’re exhausted and your other team members are also having a slow day, so you decide to call your boyfriend. You also decide that you deserve lunch off-site: in the comfort of your own home. 

“I miss you, querida,” Frankie says, returning your warmth and gentleness tenfold. 

Gods, his voice. The deep, softness of his voice never fails to make the butterflies flutter in your belly. And also… further below. You can’t help the next words that fall from your mouth. 

“I want you.”

Only then does he realize—you’re not at the lab. He doesn’t hear the hustle and bustle of research going on in the background, he doesn’t even hear the air conditioning that’s always blasting in the break room. He’s called you once while you were on site, and he learned his lesson then. So, seeing you call today prompted him to think there was an emergency. And in his realization—yes, this is very much an emergency, but not the one he was expecting. 

“You’re home, aren’t you?” He asks, really not needing the confirmation but obliges anyway. 

“Yeah,” you say breathily. 

“Do not go anywhere. Be there in ten, baby.”

“Make it five,” you whimper, ending the call, not wanting the formalities of a goodbye, too hung up on your dire need for him to handle hearing his voice without being able to touch him. 

Frankie does make it home in five—taking my forty-five! he calls out to his boss as he walks out with no time for extra conversation. Professionally, that really wouldn’t do, but luckily, he’s always been on the good side of his superior. 

“Querida!” He calls out as he enters the front door. 

As soon as he’s through the door, you’re on him, wrapping your arms around his neck as he drops the keys in his hands to fully engulf you. The kiss is needy, desperate. You can’t help the moans already falling from your lips, and he’s just as eager to swallow them up. You do a mini jump, your legs wrapping around his waist, as he walks you two to your shared bedroom.

As he nears the edge of the bed, you untangle your legs from around him so he can sit down. But as soon as he’s hitting the bed, you’re straddling him once again, licking into his mouth as you grasp at the nape of his neck, your needy center grinding into his hard length. 

Frankie’s lips break from yours, trailing kisses down your jaw, passing your chin, and settling on your neck, nipping and sucking the sweet spots that always have your hips bucking wildly into him, begging for more. He can feel the heat radiating from your center, his cock leaking at the sensation.

However, neither of you really have much time before you need to return to your respective jobs, and Frankie simply needs to eat. 

His fingers meet the hem of your bottoms, pulling them down as you move your body around, allowing them to come down with ease. 

Frankie starts leaning back, his hands trailing back to the meat of your thighs, grabbing them tightly and nudging you up his torso. 

“F-Frankie, what-” you stutter, breathless and mind hazy from your makeout session. 

You’re on your knees now, situated above his shoulders, your gaze looking down into his. “Sit,” is all he tells you. 

“Frankie… we’re both on a clock here,” your voice waivers. Hesitant. When Frankie eats you out, he eats, and most of the time, he’ll continue out of his own pleasure well after however many orgasms he pulls out of you in this way.

“Just gonna make you cum, querida, promise,” he smirks, mischief written all over his face.

Without another word, he grabs your thighs, and forces your entire weight onto him, your thighs immediately clenching in the feeling as his tongue glides through your soaked folds. “Oh- Fuck,” you gasp, the pleasure hitting you all at once. 

You can feel his smirk as your breathing grows heavier and your hips start to move on their own. Realizing what your body’s asking for, Frankie lifts you off of him and urges you to turn around. You don’t understand what for until his hands are guiding yours to grip onto his waist—your torso leaning forward at the movement. 

Oh. 

Oh, you like this. A lot. 

In this angle, your pelvis opens up more for him, and you have more support to be able to freely grind against his face. This was Frankie’s main reason for repositioning you, but he didn’t realize what he just did. You now have complete access to the part of him that’s been throbbing for your attention. 

Slowly, you let one of your hands glide upwards to his belt, the twang of his belt buckle making your mouth drool in response. Frankie pulls away momentarily. “What- what are you doing?” He asks, voice hoarse and utterly aroused at what you’re about to do. 

You smile to yourself at his question. “Just keep eating, baby,” you say, pushing your sex back into his face, his nose nudging a particularly sensitive spot making you moan at the contact. You can feel the way he groans into you, the vibrations sending more slick for him to greedily drink up. 

You finally get his cock free from the restraining khakis, and your pussy flutters at the view. He’s painfully hard, his tip red and precum all over. You put him into your mouth, swirling the head with your tongue to collect everything he’s giving you. You lift off him with a pop, a moan and a so fucking good leaving your mouth before you spit on him—watching his cock twitch as your drool drips down his length. 

You pump his cock a few times to spread the mixture of your spit and his precum down his length. Satisfied, you take him back into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and flattening your tongue, pushing him as far back as you possibly can. Your gag reflex triggers then, your throat constricting around where he’s most sensitive, and he whimpers at the feeling, momentarily pausing his attention on you.

Using your gag to your advantage, you don’t stop bobbing up and down on his length, the sloppiness of it all sending him into a horny spiral. He loves having his mouth on you, but the feel of your mouth on him has his eyes rolling back to his head, his tongue slowing in his strokes as his body buzzes in the pleasure you’re giving him. His hips start fucking up into your mouth, and you moan around him, getting spurred on at his desperation. 

“F-fuck-” he grunts. “Taking me- fuck- taking me so fucking good,” Frankie sighs, head falling back into the mattress. You almost made him forget his task at hand—which you genuinely wouldn’t mind because he’s always putting your pleasure first—but as soon as the fact hits him, oh, he’s going in. 

Frankie grabs onto your waist, forcing your entire center flush against his face as he brings your clit to his mouth, sucking and nipping at it with a calculated intensity—the feeling radiating up your spine and down into your toes—hurtling you towards your orgasm within seconds. His cock slips from your mouth at his action, but right now, you really can’t think about anything else. 

“Oh, yes, Frankie-” you gasp, “fuck, I’m gon- I’m gonna cum, please,” you whine, your cunt grinding wildly into his face. 

“Mmmm,” he grunts. Cum for me, querida, you know he’s telling you. 

Your orgasm is blinding, eyes clamped shut as your mouth mindlessly babbles praises to the man underneath you. “Oh my- oh fuck, you’re so-” you pant, unable to catch your breath at the intensity. “Good God, Frankie,” you whine.

Although you stopped paying attention to his thick member, the way your body convulses above him sends him to his own edge, cum shooting out and landing across his lower tummy, nearly half a centimeter away from splashing your face. You don’t realize this until after your breathing has slowed, your eyes finally peeling open and peering at the pooling milky liquid near his belly button. 

As much as you can in your exhausted state, you pull your head up and dart your tongue out, coating every part of your tongue with his cum, a squeaky little sigh escaping you at the taste of his salty musk. 

“Christ, baby,” you hear him mutter when he feels your tongue tickling across his surface. 

You untangle yourself from his body, repositioning so your head is in alignment with his. “That was fun,” you say casually before pressing a lengthy kiss to his lips, tongue sneaking into his mouth, exchanging each other’s flavor. 

“Yeah? Wanna go for round two?” Frankie asks, a shit-eating grin on his face. 

“Frankie!” You scold, slapping his chest. “We’re on a lunch break—no, we can’t go for round two!” 

He pouts at you, bringing his hand up to cradle the back of your head, pulling you into one more kiss before you both have to leave again. As if your colleagues are watching you, both yours and his phone ring right as your lips begin to touch. 

Jumping off the bed, you ignore your bottoms on the floor and run straight to your phone, answering it with your last name. 

“Hey. No rush, but when do you think you’ll be back? Dr. Mowak is ready for your report if you are,” your lab assistant tells you. 

Oh, fuck. 

“Hey, yeah, I’m on my way back now, I accidentally caught up with a last minute… emergency,” you say, a little awkwardly. 

You hear a soft chuckle behind you. You turn around to see Frankie with a boyish grin, winking at you. 

You roll your eyes at him, but the butterflies flutter all the same. 

Or maybe it’s your stomach growling. 

Shit, you’re hungry. 

If you’d like to see more, check out my masterlist or follow @endlessthxxghtsnotifs to be updated on my new stories!! Much love to you all, thank you so much for reading and interacting with my silly little delusional self. 🫶🏼🫶🏼

@pedrostories

[copperpipes]

I spec bio'ed Ultraman from Ultraman:Rising for fun (part 1)

the actual file I've written (and still writing) is now far over 2k words, so I desided to break it down to a series of posts so that it would be easier to digest, but if you don't want to wait for me to get them one by one out you can just go and read that long ass file yourself/lh

I understand that the film wasn't meant to be looked into on this level, at the end of the day this is just fan speculative biology, not an official theory, nor is it law, if you find a scientific inaccuracy i'll gladly hear you out in the comments to this post. but essentially what i'm doing here is having fun in my own silly little way :]

I've done some research into ultra physiology and some things didn't make sense to me, partially because there are more than one iteration all with their own worldbuilding, but I'll do my best to try and piece them all together without losing the source material too much.

[updated ultra Kenji design]

(The rest under cut) vvv

fact no.1

ultras are aliens and before they were ultras they were humans (or humanoids, or human-like, i'd like to believe so and i will do you one better).

not going to spoil much but something happened, and they were forced to build this thing called the ultra-spark to keep their civilization going, and the ultra-spark turned them all into giants, ultras.

fact no.2

the weapons ultraman uses (those buzzsaws thingies, shields, beams and glowing fists) are made out of something called spacium energy, positive running through the right side of ultraman’s body and negative running through the left, with the spacium beam appearing when he connects those energies by crossing his arms.

fact no.3

Ultraman himself is made of spacium energy and its presence is vital for him to exist. the ultra-spark is what gave and gives the ultra species spacium energy, ultras can also produce it on their own using other types of energy (solar energy on earth for example) but are not as efficient as the source material, hence why on earth ultraman’s energy runs out quicker then it would for example in space where energy is more abundant.

What is spacium wasn't completely clear to me, what I understood was that Ultraman has it (I think it was his skin that was made out of spacium?) and uses it to convert solar energy into spacium energy. 

I think spacium is meant to be an original element. and from what a mutual kindly told me (thank you @bazookaboi!!) its atomic number is 133. very very unstable in natural environments and extremely radioactive, so with all due respect allow me to ignore that entirely and let it remain a mystery for everyone’s sake.

fact no.4

ultras as a culture have a very strong sense of justice and moral code. (and I guess very emotionally intelligent? empathetic? but i'm not sure about this part ;-;)

Now let us finally start with the Ultra spec bio:

i'll start from the less obvious half for my own sake, you may skip this part if you're here just for Kenji’s human part (which i won't blame you for the designers cooked with this one) but just so you know there would be parts you won't be able to understand.

general ultra spec bio: physiology and body structure (my favorite part):

Do ultras breathe? was my first question and my answer would be, i don't think so.

down to the cellular level cells use oxygen in order to generate chemical energy that comes in the form of ATP, out of glucose and oxygen with ATP and CO2 as the outcome. (The difference between animal and plant cells is how they get their glucose.)

Now ultras don't seem to eat, and why would they? and breathing is not necessary since they already get the energy they need from spacium converting outside energy into spacium energy, on the outside there’s the spacium, and on the inside there’s the spacium energy just running around. it can be let out in certain areas of the body, but essentially this energy is all held together by the ultra’s skin (also probably why ultras have no openings on their body, so there wouldn't be a leakage of their life soup).

An ultra's internal structure is unknown, or at least I haven't been able to find anything on the matter, but in the movie both Kenji and his dad get injured, which means that there is something to be damaged.

i really like how the film handles injury actually, it shows explicitly the consequences of a serious injury and how it can sometimes be a life changing thing. It has a blatant effect long or short term and I need someone to analyze it more in depth. I know someone will eventually.

part 1

All the people who wanted this, i call thee.

next, part 2

@wtf-a-psychoanalysis @fantasma-espacial @spuuks-s @theviewer @whimsicalloser @m1lf-hunter-69

[astroboots]

Every You Every Me | Issue #7

COLLABORATED WITH @thirstworldproblemss

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You finally get some answers out of Miguel about who you are to him.

Word count: 5,700 words.

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss' Masterlist

[Previous] [Next]

"So let's take it from the top," you tell him, as you sit down and put down the Trenta-sized caramel flavored hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and chocolate syrup in front of the man named Miguel O'Hara.

The two of you are sitting across from each other at a small booth at the nearest Starbucks you were able to find, seeing as you're homeless now, and there's nowhere else you could think of to go.

He's dressed in a large fitted hoodie that drapes down to his thighs. Where he's managed to find something that is oversized in length on him, you don't know because he's not exactly short.

"I'm from a dimension known as Earth-928," Miguel says.

Before he can continue, you raise one hand, and you can see his right eyebrow twitch unhappily at the interruption. 

"Yes?"

"Just to clarify, so we don't have another ‘coffee cake’ misunderstanding. When you say Earth-928, do you mean a different version of the Earth we’re on now? Or is this a habitable planet in another galaxy that happens to be partially named Earth?"

"It's a parallel universe characterized by distinct physical parameters and initial conditions, accounting for the diverse manifestations of our observable universe. So still Earth," he says, sweeping his gaze across the café, nose wrinkling the way one does when there's something off-putting in their vicinity. "Just a little bit less primitive."

Of course he would say that, wouldn't be able to resist the jab would he.

You peer up at him across the table. He is very technical and thorough with his explanations. But as grateful as you are for him finally being willing to answer your questions, you hadn't expected those answers to be quite so information dense. You need to pick your questions more carefully or you are going to have to go down the street to buy yourself a notebook in order to keep up.

"How did you end up on this Earth?" you ask.

"Where I'm from, I'm a scientist, a researcher. One of the things I studied was the theory of physical cosmology and the existence of the multiverse. My work was concentrated on the theoretical ability to navigate between distinct universes within a hypothetical multiverse–”

Ah shit, you should've been more narrow in your question. Should have asked him to simplify it a bit more for you. Because now you're sitting here blinking up at him, pretending you understand half of what he's saying. 

It makes sense that he’s STEM. He speaks like the type. Smart as hell with none of the social skills to gauge whether the other person is following the conversation. 

Listening to him reminds you of that time in college, when you'd walked into the wrong lecture hall, wound up in advanced chemistry instead of your math class, felt too awkward to leave and just sat there drawing doodles with an attentive expression until the class was over. 

And he’s still at it, “– employing advanced mechanisms that manipulate or transcend conventional spacetime frameworks, enabling exploration–"

"Okay, wait, hold on a sec," you interrupt, once it becomes obvious he’s not going to stop any time soon on his own. "Can you... simplify, please?"

He stops mid-sentence, taking a deep breath as he looks up at the ceiling and considers your request, with a serious expression as if he's thinking really hard on it. "I’m a scientist. I study the multiverse. I built a parallel universe traversal device, it allows me to visit different dimensions." Your brain feels insulted that it clearly took more mental effort for him to dumb it down for you than to just give the supergenius version.

“So… a machine that allows you to jump between alternative universes?” 

“Yes.” 

There’s a pause between you as you run through the questions in your mental list you want to tick off now that he’s turned cooperative and talkative. But with everything that’s happened in the last handful of hours, a lot of the questions you previously had seemed outdated. The one question, the most important one, you’ve wanted to ask from the start though remains. 

"Who am I to you?"

Miguel takes the large sized drink in his even larger hands and somehow this big paper cup still manages to look tiny in his grip. "You and I were... involved," he says.

You frown. ‘Involved’ is such a vague term. It belongs in the trash with other useless terms to describe relationships: “situationship”, “complicated”, you hate them all. 

"So I was your girlfriend?"

"Yeah, something like that," he concede, fidgeting with the thin gold chain looped around his neck, his eyes not quite meeting yours, like he's embarrassed to use the term.

‘Something like that,’ you chew on his answer unhappily, sympathizing with your other dimensional self and how the other you seemed to have snagged a commitment phobe. 

Other-you, who isn’t here in this dimension with Miguel. You wonder why that is. 

"What happened to me?" you ask.

His eyes are glued to the table,  not looking up at you as he answers you in a voice so quiet you can barely hear it. "She died."

"Oh."

The revelation shouldn’t take you by surprise. 

Every time Miguel’s brought up your other self, it’s been tinted with earth-shattering sadness. It's not hard to put one and one together and come to the conclusion that whatever happened to you in this other dimension didn't end happily.

Still it's an odd feeling to know that out there, somewhere, a version of you has died. A version of you that was clearly very important to the man in front of you.

"I'm sorry," you tell him.

It feels silly to say. It's bizarre to give your condolences over your own parallel death, but Miguel looks so heartbroken. He’s slumped in his seat, large shoulders rounded until his frame looks so much smaller than you're used to, and you don't know what else to do.

"So what is happening to me now," you start, not sure how to word what the phenomena that you're going through is, "these continuous near-death experiences, is that how she died?"

"Yeah."

"And do you know why that... kept happening to her? Why is it happening to me?"

"I don't, and I don't know how to stop it. Believe me I tried."

He cradles the paper cup in his hands, the grip a little bit tighter now until he's creasing the paper and the caramel liquid oozes and leaks from the top.

"What I do know is that the universe isn’t going to stop trying to kill you, no matter what you do. And with every near death incident you manage to survive, these incidents will escalate in nature, until..." he stops, eyes flickering away from the cup to meet yours, but it's like he loses courage and doesn't want to say the last part.

"Until, what?" you prompt.

"Until your dimension collapses."

The blood freezes in your veins. "Wait, collapses!? What do you mean?"

"I can't guarantee it will happen again. But that's what happened last time. When the other you kept cheating death, the universe eventually started to collapse in on itself."

You slump back in your chair, trying to process what you've just been told. What does that mean? That even if you managed to defy all odds to survive, doing so would doom the rest of this universe as you know it?

"When will that happen?" you ask, and you're surprised you manage to get the words out because there is a hard lump in your throat that makes it hurt to even swallow.

"Judging from the trajectory and escalation of events, you have about three months give or take."

The two of you sit in heavy silence, for the moment you're not sure what else to ask him. Because it feels like you are trapped in a building looking for an exit sign, but all that’s tacked onto the brick wall is your death certificate, waiting to be signed and formalized.

There’s no way out. Nowhere to go.

"Give me your hand," he says, breaking the silence. 

You give it to him without hesitation, watching, puzzled, as he takes off his watch and secures it around your wrists.

"Why are you giving me your watch?"

"It's not a watch," he says, then he presses something on the face of it, and an image of a young woman flickers into existence in the space above your wrist, vaguely see-through. A hologram!

"This is Lyla," he introduces.

Wait, wait? Lyla? As in your mom Lyla? You watch the tiny woman floating above your wrist. Short bob-cut, and flashy heart-shaped sunglasses, with a twinkle in her eye. 

The hologram looks nothing like your mom. You part your mouth, about to ask about the name but you're interrupted by the energetic buzz of a female voice greeting you.

"Boss-girl! Long time no see. Want me to catch you up on the latest multiversal gossip? I compiled an edit of highlights set to Despacito."

"Lyla," Miguel warns, tersely. "Not now."

"Ruuuuude! You're the one who woke me up you know."

"Lyla, go back to sleep."

The female avatar grumbles, but then her image flickers away and the watch turns back into, as far as you can tell, just an ordinary watch.

"Why did you name the watch Lyla?"

"It's not a– " He cuts himself off, sighing with exasperation. "Lyla is an advanced A.I. she's going to be with you at all times. She's an added layer of security, built to protect you."

He didn't answer your question. Completely sidestepped it as if the two of you are having two different conversations.

Built to protect you, he'd said. Does that mean he still intends to do that?

"So you're not going to leave?" you ask him.

He leans back in his seat, eyes drifting towards the table. "No."

You look up at him, stumped. Not sure you're understanding what he's saying. Because not even a few hours ago, when the two of you were in your apartment, this man was adamant there was nothing to be done to save you. That he was going to leave and you were never going to see him again.

Right now though, his actions seem to be contradictory to that. You can't make heads or tails of him. Hot and cold doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

"Why not?" you ask, "I mean, not that I’m not grateful, but you seemed pretty set on the whole ‘I can’t save you’ thing. What changed your mind?"

“You did.” His eyes narrow as he looks down at you, crossing his arms ever his chest, "You told me you wanted to live. Have you changed your mind already?"

“Wha– NO! I just want to know why you changed yours.”

“I–” He hesitates, another wave of sadness passing over his face. “I’m a superhero. I save people… or try to. It’s what I do. I’m not gonna just leave you to die after you tell me you want to live.”

It’s a good answer, even if you don’t buy that it’s the whole truth. 

You look down at your wrist, and the shiny chrome of the not-watch he's just gifted you winks back up at you. "Do you think I have a chance of surviving all this?"

"It's pretty hopeless," he says, and there’s no break in his expression as he continues. "Your chances of making it out alive are pretty much mathematically impossible."

It's odd though. Even though he's outlining the futility of your situation, basically telling you to raise the white flag and surrender, there's something contradictory in the tone of his voice. 

"What do you want to do?" he asks you.

It’s a challenge, you realize. An encouragement. He has faith in you. It's all of these things rolled into one. As if he's telling you to prove the universe wrong.

"I want to live," you answer. "If the universe collapses in three months, then please stay with me. Give me time to solve this and find a way to stay alive."

His mouth curls into a hint of a smile. The very first you've seen from him since you've met. It's bright and boyish, erasing the harsh lines of his stern expression until it gives way for something much softer underneath that makes your heart leap in your chest with triumph.

You grin, a strange elation of happiness buzzing in you as you stretch out your hand to him, in an invitation for a handshake to seal the deal.

"Deal?"

Miguel leans over the table, clasping your hand in his much larger one as he squeezes it back gently.

"Deal." That small smile from before is still there. "So what's next?" he asks.

The thing you never realized, being an ordinary person bereft of super genes or other superhuman powers is just how convenient commuting can be if you have them. 

No longer do you have to brave the Lynchian nightmare that is the NYC subway system. Half-naked manic street preachers giving sermons as you’re held hostage, with nowhere else to go in the carriage. Being chased down by a drunk trumpeting Mariachi band. Instead, all you need to do to get from point A to point B (A: being the Chrysler building and B: the building formerly known as your home) is to hold on tight to Miguel as he swings you both above the city gridlock.

You imagine that this is what paragliding must feel like, except it's so much better because here you don't have to do the safety training beforehand or pay $3,000 for the privilege.

The city skyline is a dark evening blue, dotted with the sparkling lights of office buildings, cab roof lights and street lamps, as the wind ruffles through the fabric of your clothes.

It's such a different sight when you're flying above instead of walking on the streets below, that you don't even clock that you're in your neighborhood, until you see a building with a collapsed wall that's been blocked off, looking like a crash site. Only then do you realize... you're home.

Miguel carefully sets you down on your feet on a small patch of concrete that is clear of the rubble and destruction.

"Why did you want to come back here again?" he asks. 

It’s a good question. Now that you're here, standing in the middle of charred debris and cracked bricks, you're not sure either. You had some vague plans of seeing what you could salvage, hoping for some clothes, maybe your electric toothbrush, or really just any of your stuff. Something that’s yours, no matter how small, to hold on to after the events of today have ripped away life as you know it.

But there’s nothing left. The furniture, all your books and knick knacks, and even your dirty laundry piles have been demolished. Your home as you know it is gone. There's only piles and piles of rubble and traces of white fire extinguisher foam on the ground. The fire has been out for hours, but the pungent smell of smoke and sulfur still pervades the air. 

"You okay?" Miguel asks.

He's still standing at the outer edges of the apartment, close to where your window would have been if a helicopter hadn't crashed through it.

"Yeah... I guess the silver lining is that I didn't have anything expensive. Though it'd been nice if I could've saved my mom's Le Creuset set or at least the nanny-cam so I could return it and get a refund," you joke glibly. 

You nudge aside some concrete rubble with the cap of your shoes. There's nothing under there, no treasured memorabilia that's still miraculously intact. Just more burnt concrete and rubble.

"Why did you have a nanny cam?"

You turn around at his question, to see him hovering close to you, one eyebrow raised with an unhappy set to his jaw. 

From the displeased expression on his face, he's probably misunderstanding something here. Probably thinks you're operating a very unlucrative Onlyfans business, when what you've really been doing is spy on him and his nightly visits. You don't know which is worse to confess to, so you don't confess to anything.

"No reason," you say, ignoring the way his already raised eyebrow twitches with irritation at your lack of an answer.

"Come on, let's go," he says, and he waves towards you in a come hither motion like he's commanding a dog.

"Go?" you ask him. "It's past midnight. My place, as you can see, is wrecked. Go where exactly?"

Miguel shoots you a strange look. "A hotel," he says, like it's the most obvious thing, and– okay, he's not completely wrong in that assumption.

Problem is, you didn't have time to pick up your wallet or phone before your impromptu interdimensional visit. They’ve been incinerated along with all the rest of your worldly possessions, which means you don't have any way to pay for a hotel.

Plus Manhattan hotel prices average $400 a night. Even if you still had access to your debit cards, your budget’s pretty tight right now after all the capital you invested in your unhinged quest to trap the superhero before you. 

"In the city? I don't have that kind of money and it will take months for any insurance payouts to come in."

You should know. As an insurance claims adjuster, you know you’ll be lucky if your claim is processed before the end of the year. And, ugh, just the thought of the paperwork you’ll have to fill out is enough to give you an anxiety migraine.

"I’ll cover the room," Miguel says casually before holding out a hand to you, "Come on, let’s go."

When Miguel said he’d cover it, you expected a reasonably-priced room at one of the Days Inn across the river or the like. Hopefully a place with no rats or bed bugs, and maybe clean bedding over a somewhat comfortable mattress for you to pass out on if you were lucky.

You didn't expect this.

Standing in front of the Midtown Four Seasons, you find yourself on sleek marble so polished you can see your own reflection. You haven't even stepped a foot inside yet and there are two old fashioned doormen, wearing immaculately fitted suits, with an even more impressive posture opening the majestic double-set doors for you as you approach.

It's swanky as hell, and you can’t help gawking like a tourist, eyes glued to the decadent carved ceilings that must be at least 30 feet tall, soaring above you. Honey-colored limestone that looks like it’s been looted from Ancient Rome.

You feel more than a little bit out of place. This is way outside of your budget. You could probably work your job for a lifetime, and not have enough disposable income to stay the night at a place like this.

"Uhm, Miguel... this place is way too–" you start, turning towards him.

But as you were busy lamenting the state of the housing market, he's already walked away from you (for such a bulky guy, he moves swiftly and silently) and as you whip your head around to find him, he's already standing in front of the receptionist.

Damned antelope legged man, would it kill him to wait up for you once in a while? You run up after him and have to tip-toe in order to see over his shoulder because the giant mammoth is blocking the check-in counter.

And wow, even the receptionist here is of a different caliber than the ones you'd find at Holiday Inn. A fashionable bob-cut with razor sharp edges, looking like a model cut out from a Vogue cover.

"Do you have a reservation, Sir?"

You half-expect him to say no, and that the two of you would have to tuck your tail between your legs and walk out of here to the backdrop of a sad trombone playing.

To your astonishment he says your name. The receptionist tip-taps away at her keyboard and then she nods and smiles gracefully at you both. 

"Yes of course. After reviewing your reservation details, I am pleased to inform you that all necessary arrangements have already been made, including advance payment and verification of your identification. Your room is ready for you, we trust you will enjoy your stay."

She flashes you a pearly white smile so shiny it's almost blinding and hands you a hotel key card. 

When you turn around, to your confusion Miguel is no longer next to you. How does he keep disappearing like this? 

"Cielito," Miguel’s voice calls. The nickname doesn’t register at first. It doesn't even occur to you that he’s referring to you, until he barks it out a second time. 

Your head darts up to see him standing by the elevator, tapping his feet impatiently as he waits for you to make it over to him.

"How did you do that?" you whisper loudly to him as you step into the elevator. "Where did you get my ID? How did you make a reservation? How did you--"

He takes your hand, mid-sentence, turning your wrist upwards and taps the watch.

"The computer systems in this universe are child's play for Lyla to manipulate. Reservations, money, ID, she can take care of all of that easily," he explains.

"She can do that?" you ask, and Miguel merely nods at you as the elevator closes behind the two of you.

You tip your head down to inspect your gifted watch. In awe of this technical marvel that would make Siri look like it’s from the stone-ages. You wonder if she can boost your credit scores. She could probably hack any wi-fi password so you'd never have to worry about data throttling again. She could get you table reservations for Libertine! The possibilities are endless!

You turn to Miguel. "Can Lyla get me Beyoncé tickets?" you ask. 

He just shakes his head at you with what almost qualifies as an amused smile.

The room upstairs is massive. 

It’s easily three times the size of your little studio apartment, and the ceilings are twice as tall, with a hanging glass chandelier that’s sparkling bright enough to blind you. It looks like one of those places featured in Architectural Digest. 

Everything is in an art deco style, with expensive looking furniture and even more expensive art hanging on the one spare wall that isn’t covered in floor to ceiling windows. There are large shelves and a sleek looking kitchen, complete with an opulent looking velvet lounge chair of emerald green that looks like something a Roman emperor would be fed grapes on. 

In this colossal space of a room, there is only one bed. One colossal, plush-mattress-topped, goose down duvet and probably 1,000,000,000 thread count sheet covered bed.

You tense up, not sure what the arrangements Miguel had in mind. Did he want the two of you to sleep in the same bed?

Miguel did pay for the room, so you’re not going to start voicing objections. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time in the short time span that you two have known each other to do that. This bed is also a lot wider than your tiny double bed, so it wouldn’t be the cramped disaster it was last night. You’d just have to make sure to use the bathroom before bed this time so he doesn’t jab your full bladder in the morning again. 

Without saying anything, Miguel strides across the length of the room with impatient and determined steps. His hand reaches for the balcony doors and slides them open. 

"Wait wait, where are you going?" you ask him as you run up to the middle of the room. 

“I’m sleeping outside,” he says over his shoulder, and your mind boggles with that. 

“Why? Isn’t it better for you to stay here?”

"This is the 62nd floor. That’s about as safe as you’re going to get. I’ll keep a lookout to make sure no more helicopters come crashing in.” 

You’re not sure if he means the last part as a joke or not, but as you watch his broad back retreating as he walks away from you, a sickening sort of the deja vu twists through your chest. 

I can’t save you, he’d said back in your apartment, Nothing can. 

The feeling clawing at your chest feels alarmingly like panic. It screams that he’s leaving you. That he’s never coming back. That you’ll never see him again. 

You’re being irrational, and you know it. You remind yourself that he wouldn’t have done this much for you only to bail in the middle of the night, but that doesn’t stop the fear that’s festering, sharp and urgent, under your skin, or the way your heart races, your whole body flashing hot and cold at the same time. 

You want him to stay. 

“Miguel,” you call out, and he immediately stops and turns to look back at you, one eyebrow raised in a skeptical question. 

Please stay. 

You open your mouth, but the words won’t come out. You can’t ask this man—this big, sarcastic, rude hulk of a man—to have a sleepover with you because you’re scared to be alone in the dark. He would laugh you out of the hotel room.

“Uhm… thank you,” you say instead, but it’s no less sincere, “For everything.”

His eyes soften, the sharp narrowness of them easing up. “It’s fine,” he mumbles, and despite the cold chill of the evening, you think you can see a faint flush blooming in his cheeks, before he quickly ducks his face from you. “I’ll be right outside if something happens.” 

He turns back around and walks out, closing the patio doors with a gentle click behind him, leaving you by yourself. 

It’s quiet. 

You survey the empty room you’re in. Without Miguel’s large frame taking up space, it seems even bigger than it did before. 

It’s a beautiful room. Something that you’re pretty sure you’ve seen in a movie set. You don’t know why you’re not as excited as you were before. This is you living your Pretty Woman moment. You should be filling up the big jacuzzi tub you saw with bubbles. Heck, maybe ask Lyla to order you a bottle of champagne from room service. 

Instead, your eyes linger on the glass patio doors leading to the balcony terrace. You walk over to the bed, perching yourself down on the edge of the mattress, then flop down. 

Might as well try to sleep, you think to yourself as you climb under the covers and switch off the light. The best thing you can do right now is catch yourself some rest so you’ll be alert while trying to figure out your next steps tomorrow.

3 months… That’s what Miguel told you.

That’s all the time you have left. 

That means you don’t have time to waste, but you also have no idea where to start. The local library doesn’t exactly carry any resources on how to stop the universe from trying to kill you. 

The Universe. 

An infinite cosmos, grander than any human being can possibly comprehend. This vast space containing all the galaxies with its billions of stars and planets, where an individual being does not even register as a speck, and it wants you dead. How can you possibly fight against those odds? 

You lie wide-eyed and awake staring into the dark of the room, and the feeling of dread gnaws into you. 

You don’t want to be alone right now. Turning in the bed, your eyes find their way back to the blank slate of the pitched night outside the balcony doors. 

You really wished he had stayed with you. 

Sitting upright in the bed, you consider your options. You can lie back down. Suffer insomnia and the existential horror of knowing the universe is trying to murder you. Or you can man up, swallow down whatever tiny morsel of your pride you have left and ask Miguel to come back inside and stay with you. 

Flinging the duvet from your body, you get up to walk over to the balcony. You hesitate for a moment before tapping the window pane the way you might knock on a door, giving a polite head's up before you slide the balcony patio open. But when you poke your head out, turning your head left and right, Miguel's nowhere to be found. 

Okay, that’s weird. He said he’d be right outside if you needed him. You walk up to the ledge of the balcony terrace, leaning over the rail and peer down to see him dangling upside down, from the ledge of your balcony. The sight nearly makes you scream. 

"Miguel!” 

At you calling his name, he pulls himself up, one clawed hand gripping at the concrete wall as he climbs his way up and over to you. He makes it look easy, as if gravity does not exist for him, and it’s only a moment until he’s perched on the ledge of the balcony, facing you. 

“What’s wrong?” he demands, eyes concerned, and you’re suddenly aware of how very close he is. His face mere inches from yours, your noses nearly touching.

“What’s wrong? You’re hanging upside down from the 62nd floor! What are you, a bat?!"

“Why did you come out here?” he clarifies, and his words give you pause. You try to gather your thoughts after the bizarre sight you just walked into and remember what you came out here for. 

He’s still looking at you with his full and intense concentration that makes your skin prickle with warmth.

God, it’s embarrassing to ask. You feel like you’re five years old, asking your parents to turn the nightlight on, even though you know you’re a big girl now and aren’t supposed to be afraid of monsters hiding under your bed any more. 

You look down on your hands, where you’re wringing them together, then back up at him, and make yourself spit it out, "Could you… maybe… stay with me tonight?" 

His eyes widen at your question, but he doesn’t actually answer you and gives you no physical indication one way or the other. 

"I feel safer when you're with me,” you admit. 

“I am with you out here,” he counters, because of course he can’t make this easy for you.  

“I can’t see you out here.”

The line of his shoulder eases, and he ducks his head down with a resigned sigh. "Fine. Get back inside, Cielito. You're going to catch a cold like this."

You shuffle back inside to your bed, watching out of the corner of your eye as  he follows you inside and settles himself on the lounge sofa. He’s so tall that his feet are sticking out over the armrests, like a long-legged stork. 

Hiding a smile, you climb back into bed, wrapping the bedding all around yourself.

“Good night,” you call out, and he makes a grumpy noise of acknowledgment. 

Your head drops back onto the soft pillow, and you close your eyes, ready to sleep. It’s such a nice bed. The sheets are cool and soft against your skin and smell of fresh eucalyptus. The mattress is the most comfortable you ever remember resting on, firm but somehow soft at the same time. You feel like you’re sleeping on a cloud. 

Moments go by, and you revel in the sumptuous bed, waiting for the best sleep of your life to claim you. 

Except it doesn’t. 

Somehow… you still can’t fall asleep. Is it… too soft maybe? You turn in the bed, twisting your torso to get into a position you can comfortably sink into, but something doesn’t feel right. There’s no lumpiness like at home, but that should be a good thing. 

Except… despite the decadent softness of the bed. Despite the fact that the sheets probably have a thread count with more zeros than your checking and savings accounts combined. Despite all of the luxury that surrounds you, you still find yourself tossing and turning and wide fucking awake.

The bed is too big. You don’t know what to do with all this space. Your body is not accustomed to this sort of decadence. What if you suffocate sinking into this soft fluffy pillow in your sleep? What if you toss and turn until you fall off this massive bed and break your neck? Maybe that’s how out of all of the universe’s attempts to kill you, you end up dying? 

Fuck! 

You can’t sleep. 

You turn to your side and stare into the velvet lounge chaise on the opposite side of your room, where Miguel is. 

Quietly, you pad up to his still form until you’re standing in front of him and hunch over, trying to decide how rude it would be to wake him up again when there's nothing he can do about your stupid insomnia anyway.

In the dim light, you spot something glinting at you. Looking closer, you notice that the thin chain looped around his neck has escaped his shirt to pool on the fabric of the sofa cushion under him. You gently drag the loose end of the necklace toward you, and find a smooth golden band threaded onto it.

Picking it up cautiously, you flip it in your hand and find that there's something engraved on the inside.  It's hard to see in the darkness, but when you lean closer and squint your eyes, you can just make out what it says.

'MO'—undeniably the initials of one Miguel O'Hara.

Twisting the ring slightly, you find a tiny plus sign followed by your own initials, and your heart drops into the pit of your stomach.

Oh.

The memory of sitting across Miguel at Starbucks returns to you, when you had asked him who you were to him. You think of the avoidant gaze and how he couldn't look you in the eye.

‘Something like that,’ huh?

Guess the other you wasn't just his girlfriend after all, you think, chest drawn so tight it’s painful.

Holding the wedding band in the palm of your hand, you slide down to sit down on the floor with your back pressed against the chaise lounge.

Your heart aches for the man in front of you and everything he's lost.  You really, really hope you're not going to end up as just another regret on his list.

~ Next Issue

Dedication & Credits: As always to my best friend @thirstworldproblemss I am half asleep and running on fumes. I'm wording things poorly but I just want you to know that I am very happy I have you. Thank you for being my friend and for the time we get to spend together. I have the most fun when I'm with you.

Also to @guruan who is my muse, my source of inspiration. This chapter is dedicated to her because have you seen this beautiful piece of artwork she did for EYEM?!

[haerni]

심재윤 ✶ 𝑮UESS WE’RE 𝑴EANT TO 𝑩E

𝒞ontent . fluff ﾉ strangers to lover ﾉ meet cute ﾉ down bad sim jaeyun ﾉ love at first sight ﾉ attempt at crack ﾉ layla is the greatest wingdog ever . minimal proofread ﾉ 1.2k words .

ℒove notes . erm.. smth about jake this week has me whipping out my phone and typing all this this is literally so self indulgent & just cute layla (my bb)

wherein a cute dog suddenly comes out of nowhere, and you just can’t really help yourself and get to know her handsome dad.

having a dog has a lot of benefits.

for one, they reduce stress according to a research by just simply petting them it lowers the cortisol hormones, or whatever that was.

two, they stave off loneliness—if someone were to ask jake how he is after having layla, he definitely would say how amazing he’s been and how happy he is. after all, layla is just the cutest. unlike some dog his friend has, but that’s beside the point—sim jaeyun doesn’t need anything else.

and for the last one, is that they provide companionship! layla is a smart dog, just like jake. like father like daughter, some would say.

who knew that a simple detour from the dog park and layla’s incessant want to go to the nearest neighborhood has jake left with no choice but to comply. who could say no to that cute face? layla has been a good girl, right? so why not take another thirty minutes walk? sure it might be a little weird that she specifically wanted to go there, but it is probably nothing right?

but when sim jaeyun said they provide companionship, layla had a different idea about it.

jake never knew there was this side of the city, the wind blew just a little colder, the aroma of the flowers that were displayed outside hangs in the air and not far from where they came from, a small quaint bakery shop comes into view. layla who is visibly ecstatic as if she had walk down this road numerous times, which jake has suspected that maybe when the dog walker—his mom—has been taking his baby all this time.

not much is there to work in your little humble shop, as expected on a wednesday noon.

the bell chimes with its usual rhythm, there’s not much customer at this time of the day. usually, you would be greeted by a beautiful classy woman who seems to be middle age, but has a young heart with her cute little dog, whom she called layla.

but you supposed mrs. sim is pre-occupied as of the moment, because why the fuck is there a cute guy at your shop with the same dog who you give free treats every wednesday at noon, instead of mrs. sim who smiles warmly and orders her favorite blueberry cheesecake with hot tea on the side?

oh my gosh. there’s a cute guy at your store and he is obviously new — you would’ve definitely remembered that face anywhere — and you have to act normal now. you straighten up as you ready your usual greetings to any customers.

a soft ambiance wafts through the air as jaeyun walks in. as layla basically drags him in faster and further into the shop, not really noticing upfront because he was too busy looking for signs and posters if pets were even allowed in here. not really wanting to cause any trouble or pay any fine — though let’s be real, he is more concerned if layla were to have a record than to pay a measly fine that wouldn’t put a single dent in his bank account. though the amount of few pets that are scattered across those tables tells him that it’s fine.

before he knew it he was right in front of the counter, with disheveled hair and a little breath and layla wagging her tail swiftly with shiny eyes as if expecting something.

“hi layla!” a soft voice suddenly spoke and as if on cue layla barks and tilts her head — so layla knows you?

his eyes now meet yours.

as if the world is getting a little faster, is this what they say in the movies? though, he thinks it was a little different. your eyes are pretty — you are pretty. it’s absolutely breathtaking — you are breathtaking. does the light give you a different kind of glow? you were absolutely beautiful with your apron a little tattered on the side — he can definitely buy you a new one if you let him — your little hairs astray to your face is perfect, can you get anymore amazing?

is he going insane? was this normal? is any of it normal? is he even normal at all?

because why is jaeyun seeing you in the kitchen with the same apron you wear right now, a small smile on your face, a spatula in your hand, the aroma that permeates through the entire walls of the house, your house. and he doesn’t know what you are cooking, but right there and then sim jaeyun knew. why was he fantasizing your future? together?!

he’s definitely gone insane.

why is he looking at you like a deer in the headlights? is your hair okay? is there any dirt in your face? are you really going to embarrass yourself first before you even have a chance to get to know this cute guy?

gathering yourself, mustering up to talk to this man — who you think is probably the prettiest you’ve ever seen? hello? — you really need to get yourself together.

“hi? i’m yn, can i get you anything?” you cringe slightly from your voice.

a minute passes and the atmosphere grew to be more awkward than you had initially anticipated.

you try again, no matter how embarrassing it is and how much you want the ground to swallow you up. “uhm—”

“can i get your cake?” what.

someone please strike down jaeyun right this instant. why the fuck did he say that to you? great. now you think he’s a creep.

now how did he even mess up between asking you for your number that was supposed to be later and also asking for that carrot cake that looks so tasty in your menu?

“pardon?”

jake panics at that, “no, omg i’m so sorry! that’s not what i meant- wait no! i meant it, but i mean it differently, but i also mean it.”

wonderful. now he’s rambling and fumbling in front of you, what more can be worse than this?

and then he hears you chuckle. oh god now you’re laughing — how can someone laugh as gracefully as you? — but no, wait are you laughing at him? you sound so heavenly though. wait no, focus sim jaeyun!

jake lets out a sigh, a shy smile hanging on his lips, a hand coming up to his neck. “—i’m sorry, i don’t know what i’m doing.”

“no, you’re fine! i should be the one who’s sorry for laughing, that was totally unprofessional of me.” you frantically waved your hands in front of you.

jake finds your mannerisms adorable, “you’re okay,” he reassures you, feeling a little sorry. “let’s start over, shall we?”

“yeah,” you breathe out. “i would like that very much.”

the smiles forming in your faces are contagious.

“hi, i’m yn. would you like anything?” you start again.

surprisingly enough, jake didn’t mess up this time. thank goodness you were willing to start over — he might as well die from the utter humiliation he just felt a while ago — but he’s glad he didn’t.

“hello, pretty. i’m jaeyun, can i get that carrot cake?”

and if he’s lucky, your number will find its way to his contacts, just like how he found your quaint shop.

he’s glad he let layla drag him all the way to you.

𖹭 likes and reblogs are highly appreciated! this was so rushed omg