#been wanting to draw this out for a very long time | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kxsagi · 2 days ago

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this is very specific but wtv, can i request bllk boys (kunigami, bachira, shidou, ness, and whoever else) with reader who has hipdips? readr sint insecure or anything but yeah jsjsjsjs

this mainly stems from the fact that i have them and i wouldve had curvy hips if it wasnt for them lol

“𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐯�� 𝐞𝐧𝐯𝐲”

a/n: HIP DIPS ARE BEAUTIFUL AHHHHHHHHH

ft. kunigami rensuke, bachira meguru, shidou ryusei, ness alexis, kaiser michael, isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, mikage reo, nagi seishiro

kunigami rensuke

kunigami notices your hip dips immediately the first time you wear leggings around him. he blinks, glances, then immediately looks away like he’s been slapped by god.

he doesn’t understand what they are at first. he just thinks they’re cool. “do those lines mean you’re strong?”

you explain what they are and he looks so offended. “what do you mean some people are insecure about that? they look like… like battle scars or something.”

he now thinks they’re elite. will walk behind you like your personal knight, keeping a hand on your waist like he’s guarding royalty.

sometimes you catch him zoning out and lightly tracing the curve with a finger. “sorry,” he mutters. “it’s just… you’re shaped like poetry.”

kunigami.exe has crashed.

bachira meguru

“they’re like little parentheses on your hips!”

he’s obsessed. like full-on obsessed. draws doodles of your silhouette like some renaissance artist in his sketchbook.

“they’re like– like dance hips! i bet if you start walking to music your body makes its own beat.”

he pokes them sometimes, just out of nowhere. then dramatically gasps. “hey! your hips are missing a scoop!! someone stole a scoop of you!! was it rin???”

he’s your #1 hype man when you wear anything that hugs your hips. starts clapping when you walk out of the room like “HIP DIPS. ICONIC.”

will absolutely try to balance tiny plushies or snacks in the dip. “it’s a snack shelf, babe.” you let him because he’s funny and gives you chocolate afterward.

shidou ryusei

“damn. you got the kinda hips i wanna bite.”

he’s never normal, let’s just get that out of the way. shidou doesn’t just like your hip dips, he wants to start a religion around them.

drapes his arm around your waist like he owns you and uses the dip to rest his thumb. he calls it his “emergency grip.”

when you change in front of him he stares unapologetically, like he’s trying to mentally etch the shape into his brain.

he’s the type to loudly tell other guys, “don’t look at her like that. those hips are custom-made. handcrafted. artisan. you ain’t qualified.”

his favorite thing to do? grab you by the waist and lift you just to prove he can. “shaped like sin and dipped in heaven,” he says smugly while you hit him with a pillow.

ness alexis

ness is too shy to bring it up at first. he notices, definitely admires it, but keeps it classy.

when he finally mentions it, it’s so soft. “i really love how your body curves right there… it’s beautiful.”

will offer to help you lotion your hips after a shower like it’s an act of divine service. super gentle and reverent.

“hip dips” is now his favorite phrase. he’ll say it with his lil accent like it’s a fancy dessert: “mein engel, you and your hip dips…”

if someone else even glances at your body too long, he turns so scary. hand on your lower back, smile fake. “is there something we can help you with?”

secretly loves watching you dress from behind. may or may not have accidentally walked into a wall while admiring the view.

kaiser michael

oh this bastard notices immediately.

“hmm,” he says the first time you change in front of him, leaning against the doorframe like a smug little devil. “so that’s what perfection looks like.”

you roll your eyes, and he comes closer to wrap his arms around your waist. “i’m serious. you’ve got dangerous curves. like you were designed to be the blueprint for seduction.”

gets super possessive. like wraps a hand around your hip dip whenever another guy is even breathing in your direction.

“look at that,” he murmurs with a cocky smile, “your hips fit right under my palm. made for me.”

posts a pic of you on his private story with the caption: eat your heart out, peasants.

his new favorite insult? “he probably doesn’t even know what hip dips are.”

if you tease him about being obsessed, he’ll raise a brow. “i am obsessed. you should be flattered.”

isagi yoichi

he didn’t know what hip dips were until he dated you. literally thought it was like… a dance move.

one day you’re walking around in biker shorts and he stops in the middle of brushing his teeth like: “wait. is that… muscle?”

“they’re just hip dips, yoichi.”

man immediately googles it. becomes an overnight scholar. “actually, it’s the shape of your pelvis, and it’s totally normal–”

cue you having to tell him: “love, i’m not insecure about it.”

he’s still hyperfocused though. will pull you into his lap and wrap his hands around your waist with his thumbs perfectly fitting in the dips.

always hypes you up. “you look so good today. like unfairly good. are you trying to ruin my day on purpose?”

isagi gets flustered when you call him out for staring. “i wasn’t!! okay, maybe a little. they’re just really nice okay?? shut up–”

itoshi rin

rin stares the first time you wear something tight around your hips. like he doesn’t even try to be subtle. he’s glitching.

the worst part? he refuses to say anything about it.

like you’ll literally catch him red-handed staring at your hips, and he’ll look away and go, “shut up. i wasn’t.”

but oh, he loves them. loves how your hips curve when you stretch. how they dip in just right when you wear low-rise jeans. he’s dying.

sometimes when you two are sitting on the couch and your shirt lifts a little, he’ll silently rest his hand right in the curve and pretend like he’s not melting inside.

refuses to let you catch him being soft about it. until one day, you’re in front of the mirror and he just blurts, “don’t let anyone tell you that isn’t beautiful.”

goes stiff. “i mean. objectively. shut up.”

he’s so awkward it’s cute. he probably whispered “hip dips are hot” into your neck when he thought you were asleep.

itoshi sae

sae is just so annoyingly casual about it. like he’ll say something ridiculously hot in the most deadpan tone ever.

“you’ve got nice hips,” he says one morning as you get dressed, sipping his coffee like it’s the weather report.

“hip dips, actually,” you say.

“okay. well, i like them… a lot.”

if anyone dares say anything weird about them, he’s eviscerating them on the spot. “you wish your girl looked like mine.”

secretly takes mental notes of outfits that accentuate your hip dips. casually hands you clothes like, “wear this. it’ll look good.”

lies with his face when he pretends he’s not into it. then grabs your waist with both hands and pulls you in like you’re gravity itself.

“you know what’s crazy?” he murmurs in your ear one night. “you don’t even try and you’re still the hottest thing i’ve ever seen.”

yeah okay SAE.

mikage reo

instantly fascinated. takes one look and says “is this a fashion thing or are you just built like that?”

when you say they’re natural, he grins. “of course. only luxury models have those kinds of details.”

he insists on buying you custom jeans and dresses that hug your hips perfectly.

anytime you bend over in front of him? he makes a sound like he’s just been spiritually enlightened.

if you let him take photos of you (tastefully, of course), they always feature your hip dips. “these are art. we should hang them in a museum. or my bedroom.”

reo tells you every time you dress up, “you better warn people. those hips should come with a caution sign.”

nagi seishiro

the first time he sees you in shorts he pauses his game mid-match. like just goes afk and stares.

“woah… you got dents in your hips.”

you’re like “yeah they’re hip dips” and he just shrugs. “they’re cool. like little scoops… like if god took a spoon and was like ‘mine now’.”

loves sleeping with his hand resting right in the dip like it’s a designated nap zone.

will absentmindedly trace circles into the spot while half-asleep.

doesn't say much, but you catch him taking sneaky pics of you on his phone when you’re walking away in leggings. caption: best shape in the game.

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thistle-wrote · 3 days ago

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Tattoo Artist

CW: oral sex, small descriptors used for reader when I felt it necessary i.e. the tattoo artist having tattoos. reader is referred to by a nickname. Authors note: And before you ask, no I do not condone the tattoos price has on the homecoming skin, as an American traditional tattoo GIRLY those are simply an insult to tattoos.

The song I was listing to whilst writing this

Despite what most think, John has tattoos. Mostly hidden in places you can’t easily see. Truthfully, he probably would have had far fewer had it not been for Little Petal.

It’s just when John’s dad died he wanted a tattoo to commemorate his life, you know how middle age men get when their fathers pass. So he booked a session with a local artist, the shop had great reviews; it was clean and busy, and he figured now was as good a time as any.

Never in the entirety of John’s life has he been so instantly captivated by a woman. Covered in tattoos and piercings, she was gorgeous and immediately incredibly friendly. He learned she owned the shop and had gone to art school. For what it was worth she absolutely knew what she was doing.

All in all, it took her barely an hour to draw his tattoo, make his stencil, and have it permanently etched into his muscular thigh. I mean how long could two dates possibly take anyway? And that’s really how it started. Before he even knew what he was doing, he was booking another appointment a few months out, with the promise of allowing her to actually draw him something this time. He could have taken her right there, just seeing the way her face lit up at the prospect of mild creative freedom.

When he returned for his next appointment, this time with a brand new scar and an embarrassing amount of excitement for a grown man, he settled in her chair. She flipped through drawings she’d made for him, drawings she thought would “fit your vibe” all traditional style but not the kind that bored; a street lamp with moths circling it was the one he ultimately decided on.

John was a very tough man. Hell, the man gets shot at for a living, but he didn’t expect the little petal to be able to inflict so much pain. Of course, he was tough about it, barely flinching.

“Does it hurt, then?” She asked him amidst her stabbing color into his side.

“Not bad.” He remembered murmuring to her as her needles dragged across his skin.

“Doesn’t hurt me one bit.” He chuckled at her cheesy joke, but the little smile on her face was enough to make his thoughts go awry.

It wasn’t long before he wasn’t just tattooed, but was one of her regulars. After a few years, his entire left leg was mostly covered. Apparently, when you become good enough friends with your tattoo artist, she starts to tell you things like, “I’m not doing that, John, that’s ugly.” And “No, that fits better over here.”

At some point, he also started receiving unexpected and sporadic text messages from her. Texts like, “I saw this cute cigar shop in London, made me think of you.” Or “I drew you this, thought it would fit perfectly on your knee.”

John has had his fair share of women in his life, he wasn’t exactly sure just why he was so into her. Maybe it’s the sweet, soft way she spoke. Maybe it was how she was so passionate about her work. Maybe the way she joked and teased him, or possibly it was just simply how incredibly herself she was.

John made his way into her shop one Saturday afternoon, the door chiming as he stepped through the threshold. The scent of patchouli filled his nose. She was an eccentric little woman, from the black walls to the leopard print furniture.

He stepped up to the front desk, eyeing the little trinkets she had sat atop it, listening for the soft patter of her platforms against the hardwood. When she poked her head from the back room, she offered a sweet smile.

“Hi, hon.”

“Hi, petal.”

They’d done this dance time and time again, proper etiquette and professionalism were long gone. He watched as she turned back into the room, a wordless request for him to follow. He did, his boots clattering on the floor as he made his way through the shop. He immediately sat in the corner chair, watching the bird flit through her stack of drawings.

“Okay listen,” She began, holding out a hand to silence him as if he’d been about to interrupt, which he hadn’t.

“You don’t have to get it if you hate it but, I drew this pinup.” She pulled out a white sheet of paper and held it out to him. John reached for the sheet, looking it over. He wondered for a brief moment if she’d done it on purpose, if she’d even realized exactly how much the cartoon woman on the page looked like her.

“It’s great, love,” He hums, still looking it over but letting his eyes meet hers for a moment. No, there was no way she’d done it intentionally, she wasn’t the egotistical type to brand someone with a picture of herself.

“Cool,” she mused, already planning. “thinking on your inner thigh. We can do it high enough that people won’t see her when you’re in shorts.” That girl was always thinking ahead. She has a real knack for this, not just the drawing or design process but the placement too.

“Yeah, okay, pretty,” John said simply, leaning back further into the chair. He let her run around the shop, scanning her drawing, then printing and cutting out the stencil. When she returned, stencil in hand, she looked at him with that cute little frown she sometimes got.

“Take your pants off, John.”

God, she didn’t have to tell him twice.

“Right to the point, huh?” He chuckled. She'd always taken his jokes well, so he felt no need to apologize for the comment.

She gave him an eye roll, one more of amusement than anything. He unbuckled his belt, pulled off his boots followed by his jeans, setting them on the chair. He plopped himself onto the table, and she, completely comfortable by this point, started pulling him into the position she wanted, moving his leg to her desired spot.

John liked his tattoos, he really did. But in that moment, he was instantly reminded why he kept coming back. It was the way she pushed the leg of his underwear farther up his thigh, making marks on his skin to correctly line up his stencil, or her casually commenting “You’re so hairy,” as she ran the pink disposable razor over his inner thigh.

“I’m a grown man, petal,” he responded, with a small chuckle.

This tattoo, the one she seemingly didn’t realize she’d drawn of herself, the one he was allowing her to permanently mark on his skin. This might be the worst decision of his life, he suddenly realized, not because it looked like her, or because he’d regret it; he’d learned over his almost forty years of life that regrets were worthless.

No, it might be the worst decision simply because he hadn’t thought about how high up it was, how close her hands and her face would be to his crotch, and how he was absolutely going to get hard whether he meant to or not.

After she’d shaved his thigh, applied the stencil, and properly sanitized his skin, she began to tattoo. She chattered away as she always did, John nodded along, trying to listen. But the man might as well have been fighting demons, not because it hurt, either.

John just hoped she wouldn’t mention the bulge in his underwear, or better yet, maybe she was too busy to notice. After she’d finished the outline, she stopped her machine, moving to change needles and pour her caps of color when she spoke.

“Got a pain kink, John?”

He was momentarily stunned by the way her eyes gestured to his cock. He would never have expected a joke like that from her; sure she teased him but this was a first. He laughed.

John had half a mind to tell her to go screw herself, or sarcastically agree. But he figured if she could say something that should be considered inappropriate for a professional, he could say something incredibly inappropriate for a client.

“No, bird, got a pretty girl's face inches from my dick kink.”

She smiled. No way she thought that was genuinely flattering. She had to trust him more than he’d realized not to immediately get upset. So, like the civilized adult man he wasn’t, he kept going.

“Got a thing for their mouths round it too.”

At that, she didn’t squirm, flinch. Or even make a grossed out face. She laughed, the kind of laugh a girl gives when she knows she’s about to get some.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

John thinks he must have, at some point, been some kind of saint in a past life, because that is the only way he could possibly imagine something so great happening to him: his tattoo artist stopping mid tattoo to wrap her lips around his cock.

The entire afternoon was a haze. When his tattoo was done, her breath now smelling faintly like cum, he let out a satisfied sigh, admiring his fresh ink in the mirror.

“Looks like you, ya know.” He mused, meeting her gaze. She looked momentarily shocked, as if she seriously had not intended that.

“Good,” she replied with a smirk finding its way to her lips. “Marking my territory.” Oh, she had no idea how right she was.

CoD Masterlist

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whisperedmeg · 3 days ago

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ELEPHANT BONES ⋆˚꩜｡ spencer reid x situationship!reader

summary: spencer loved someone once. and the bones of that love still live here — in the way he holds you, in the things he never says. this is what happens when you try to love someone haunted by the ghost of an elephant in the room.

genre: angst

w/c: 2.2k

tags/warnings: mentions of maeve, references to sex/a sexual relationship but nothing explicit, situationship/fwb, written with an afab reader in mind but I don’t think there’s actually any gendered language, depressed spencer, unhappy but open/ambiguous ending, tw for situationship forehead kisses (the evilest thing ever)

a/n: I know I know, there are approximately one zillion angst fics out there about post-maeve depressed spencer. do we really need another? nope. but I’ve never truly written angst without leaning hurt/comfort so I figured a tried & true theme would be a good place to start. plus I’m currently rewatching s8 and it inspired me, soooorrry! p.s. — my requests are open 🫡

It was always quiet between you and Spencer at the start of your nights together. That was part of the draw of this dynamic — something about the hush of his apartment at night, the way he brewed tea like it was a ritual, the comfort of knowing he’d sit close but not too close. You’d come to expect the silence, to find a kind of warmth in it. But lately, the quiet had started to ache.

This night was like any other with him on the surface. Unassuming. Minimal conversation, soft music humming in the background, a cup of tea shared on the couch. Eventually, inevitably, things would shift. A glance would last too long, your legs would brush, and he’d kiss you like it was the first time. Then you’d end up in his bed, skin against skin, tangled in sheets.

But it was never just sex. Not really.

The moment you looked up from the pages of your book, you felt it — that same ache that had begun to settle into the spaces between you and Spencer. It had always been there, quietly simmering beneath the surface.

He swore that this couldn’t become anything real. That he didn’t have room in his life for more. And yet in the dark, when he thought you were asleep, he would trace slow, absentminded patterns on your back. He’d press a kiss to your forehead with aching reverence. He’d run his fingers through your hair and twist it into messy braids. He’d hold you like he didn’t want morning to come.

In those moments, his actions let it slip — how much he felt, how much he feared. You just didn’t know what scared him more: loving you, or losing you.

You’d met him nearly six months ago at a small café near your apartment. He’d helped you pick up scattered papers when you’d accidentally knocked them off the table in a caffeine-deprived haze. It had started innocently enough — a shared laugh, a tentative friendship. But within a few weeks, that friendship blurred into late-night calls, lingering touches, and a relationship that was carefully unlabeled.

Spencer had made it clear from the beginning that he wasn’t looking for anything serious, setting boundaries that had seemed reasonable at first, even though you’d felt something deeper brewing from the very start. You’d told yourself it was enough, that you could handle being close to him without truly having him.

But every time his eyes softened when he looked at you, every time his fingers brushed your arm with tenderness, your heart betrayed you, yearning for things he’d never promised.

Spencer was across the room now, standing near his bookshelf. His fingers traced the spine of an old, familiar volume — The Narrative of John Smith.

The copy with Maeve’s inscription inside.

He’d mentioned her once, in vague terms, during a late-night conversation that had turned unexpectedly quiet. You’d pieced the rest together on your own — through the way he hesitated around certain topics, the book on his shelf, the sorrow that clung to him when he thought no one was watching, the obituary you found online. Maeve was the elephant in the room — a quiet ghost he never spoke about, yet whose haunting presence seemed to shape everything he did.

You cleared your throat, the soft sound carrying across his living room. Spencer turned, startled, hand dropping from the shelf as though caught doing something forbidden.

“Hey,” he said softly, forcing a quick smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Did you want some more tea?”

He’d already made your favorite — earl grey with a splash of vanilla. He always remembered exactly how you liked it, and each cup felt like proof that he cared, even if he’d never let himself admit it.

“I’m okay,” you said, setting your book aside. Spencer’s gaze followed your movements carefully, almost cautiously. You felt the distance between you more keenly than ever.

He crossed the room, sitting beside you, careful not to touch. But then he sighed softly, leaning in just enough for his shoulder to brush yours. Fleeting warmth. You remembered a night weeks ago, laughing softly as you lay tangled in sheets, how he’d pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his fingertips tracing idle patterns on your back as if mapping something precious. It had felt like more. So much more.

But there was one moment that never left you.

A month ago, you’d had a nightmare — vivid and shaking and breathless. You hadn’t meant to wake him, but the panic clawing at your chest had been too much to hide. Spencer had, without a word, pulled you into his arms. He’d cradled you like you were breakable, like you mattered, whispering things into your hair you pretended not to hear.

“You’re okay.”

“I’ve got you.”

“I’m here, baby.”

And then, softer:

“I can’t lose you too.”

You never asked him about it afterward, and he never brought it up. But you’d replayed those words every night since. Because for one fleeting moment, the fear and love in his voice wrapped around you like truth. Like maybe, deep down, he knew he wanted more.

You turned to him slightly, your knee brushing his. He looked at you then — really looked. There was something behind his eyes that made your breath catch: reverence, affection, maybe even longing. And then, he leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn’t hungry or rushed. It was soft. Thoughtful. The kind of kiss that asked nothing and gave everything. For a moment, you let yourself believe it meant something more. You felt your chest tighten as he pulled back, his gaze still on you.

But he didn’t look away. Even after the kiss ended, he kept watching you like he didn’t want the moment to leave. Like he couldn’t bear it if it did. His eyes flicked from your mouth to your eyes and back again, searching, waiting, almost afraid to speak. And for the briefest second, you could see it — everything he wasn’t saying. The ache. The need. The apology. The want.

You felt your pulse spike with something dangerous — hope.

He started to lean back in, and that’s when you asked.

“Spencer,” you said quietly, voice tight with a hesitation you’d held back for months. “What are we doing?”

He blinked, then gave a small, deflective smile. “I mean… we’re on the couch, drinking tea, kissing… hopefully about to have sex?”

You didn’t laugh. You didn’t even blink. You just looked at him, your gaze steady.

“No,” you said. “You know what I mean. What are we doing?”

His smile faded. His eyes lifted sharply to meet yours. There was a brief flicker of something raw that vanished almost instantly. He withdrew his hand, turning slightly away.

“You know what this is,” he said carefully, voice steady and calm. Too calm. “We agreed from the beginning—”

You cut him off, your heart hammering. “Yeah. We did. Trust me, I remember. No expectations. No feelings. Just… sex and comfort.”

He stayed silent, and you could see the tension creeping into his shoulders.

“But it stopped being just that months ago,” you said, your voice cracking. “Don’t pretend I’m the only one who felt that shift.”

He shook his head, quietly. “It hasn’t changed for me.”

You stared at him. “Bullshit. Then why did you start holding me after? Why do you kiss my forehead and call me baby? Why do you look at me like you—”

You stopped yourself, but the words were already there, hanging in the air between you.

“You don’t get to look at me like that and pretend this doesn’t matter,” you finished softly, the pain making your voice tremble. “You hold me like I’m precious and kiss me like you mean it and then act like I imagined the whole thing.”

His jaw tightened, the muscle jumping. “It’s complicated.”

“Why?” you pressed. “Because it feels pretty fucking simple to me.”

He closed his eyes briefly, drawing a measured breath. You saw it then — the weight he carried, the fear he never admitted.

“Is this about her?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer froze, eyes opening to stare blankly at the floor. The silence stretched painfully, each second deepening your ache.

You thought back to the time when the lines first started to blur when he’d brought you out onto his balcony late at night, sharing constellations through a telescope. You remembered how his fingers had wrapped around yours as he pointed out each star, his voice low and reverent, and how he’d paused, just once, to say your name like it was a lifeline. It had taken everything in you not to tell him you loved him then.

“Spencer,” you said again, gently but firmly. “Is this about Maeve?”

His shoulders slumped, and when he finally spoke, it was almost inaudible. “It’s always been about her.”

It wasn’t anger in his voice, or bitterness — just unbearable sadness. A sadness that had built walls around him, brick by brick, until even you couldn’t break through.

You swallowed hard, fighting the tears that suddenly blurred your vision. “I’m sorry you lost her. I really, really am. But Spencer, you think you’re protecting me by keeping me at a distance, when really, all it’s doing is hurting me more.”

He didn’t look at you. His voice was quiet, shaking slightly.

“Everyone I care about gets hurt. Or leaves. I can’t—” He broke off, shaking his head.

You waited, your chest tight, watching the way he folded into himself like he was trying to disappear.

“Spencer,” you murmured, reaching out to cup his cheek gently, turning him toward you. His eyes were glassy, haunted. “I’m right here. I’m not leaving.”

“You say that now,” he whispered. “But something always happens. It’s not safe. Loving me — it’s never safe.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” you said. “And pushing me away doesn’t make either of us hurt any less.”

He looked at you then, deep and lingering. There was a look of desperation in his eyes, like he was trying to memorize you in case this was the last time. His voice was hoarse when he spoke.

“Every time I get close to something good, I lose it. Or it breaks. Or it gets taken from me. And I don’t know how to stop believing that it’s me. That I’m the reason.”

You blinked against the sting in your eyes. “You’re not.”

“I don’t know how to be sure of that,” he said. “Not anymore.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he was already moving. Gently. Deliberately. Putting space between you like he always did.

You remembered other nights, quiet moments after intimacy, when he’d stared at you just like this — like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. Now he rose from the couch, gaze lingering on you once more.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

You rose too, heart heavy but no longer quiet.

“Why do you even keep doing this?” you asked, voice sharper now, raw with frustration. “Why do you keep calling me and wanting me here if you don’t actually want me?”

He flinched, just slightly. “Wanting you isn’t the problem.”

“You don’t get to keep me this close just to push me away whenever it scares you,” you said. “That’s not protecting me, Spencer. That’s control.”

His expression hardened. “Control? You think that’s what this is?”

“I think you don’t know what to do with something good when it’s handed to you,” you said, breath shaking. “You wrap it in fear masquerading as bubble wrap and then act like you’re doing everyone a favor by holding it at arm’s length. And you’re keeping me in your back pocket, expecting me to come over and hold you and fuck you anytime you call, all while refusing to actually let this be what it really is.”

Spencer stood frozen, breathing hard. His jaw clenched like he was swallowing everything he really wanted to say.

“You don’t understand what it’s like,” he said finally.

“You’re right,” you replied, quieter now. “I don’t. Because you won’t let me.”

The silence that followed wasn’t cold. It was worse — it was hollow, bottomless, the kind of silence you didn’t come back from.

You grabbed your coat and your keys, your heart splintering a little more with every step. He didn’t move. Didn’t try to stop you.

At the door, you paused.

“Goodbye, Spencer.”

He opened his mouth like he might beg you to stay, but the words never came.

So you left.

As you stepped out into the hallway, the weight of it all caught up to you. You walked slowly, like your body already missed the feel of his, tears rolling down your cheeks. Your chest ached with the echo of things he wouldn’t say. You thought about the way he kissed your forehead, the way his hands memorized your skin like a map. You had wanted so badly to believe those touches meant something. But even if they did, none of it mattered if he couldn’t say it out loud.

Behind you, the door clicked shut.

—

The next three nights found you curled on your own couch, wrapped in a blanket, trying — and failing — to read. Your thoughts kept drifting back to Spencer, to the sadness in his voice, to the quiet way he’d looked at you like he wished things could be different.

Your phone buzzed beside you on the cushion, jolting you from your thoughts. Your heart leapt into your throat as you stared at the unopened message hovering there, bright and hopeful and terrifying all at once. Your thumb hovered over the screen, uncertain.

You took a deep breath.

And then you made a choice.

ᝰ.ᐟ

masterlist

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permanentmess · 14 hours ago

Text

bob reynolds headcanons (including romantic x reader !)

GIF NOT MINE

a/n: i have completely let this hyperfixation consume me to the point where i quite literally think of bob or the thunderbolts most of the day. it's debilitating, but that means you will get some very passionate fics from me (literally have been in the middle of writing one thats why this took so long)

this is written with a female reader in mind, although could be easily read as otherwise :)

also let me address a common worry: absolutely NONE of this is meant to infantilize or baby this character in any way. anything i wrote was with a lot of consideration and i was using my logical thought processes to develop these. i recognize that this is a major issue already and i am not attempting to contribute to it

warnings: mentions of sex/sex life and activities so MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY, mental illness (obviously), food/lack of eating, SPOILERS FOR THE THUNDERBOLTS* FILM INCLUDING POST CREDIT SCENE

like i said in the thunderbolts one, its practically canon/accepted fanon that bob loves to read

i also feel like he might just...forget to eat (this basically comes from the bag of food and full shake he had in the post credit scene too lmao)

is trying to learn to cook but can really only cook like mac and cheese or scrambled eggs

but since he has a lot more free time, i can imagine after a bit he'd get pretty good at it (can you imagine ben grimm teaching him how to cook oml)

relationship wise, i think he's not exactly inexperienced, but he doesn't really remember anything

it says in his file his drug addiction and juvenile record started in middle school

so any romantic relationship or anything in that realm is just like...not familiar to him at all. or he just simply doesn't remember, like i said

i feel like he really likes physical touch but due to his past + the void, he's just a bit scared to touch anyone at first

but once he trusts himself and others more its easier (like towards the end of the movie/with yelena)

i think he likes the comfort of the baggy clothes that cover most of him, and thats why he wears them even though he "runs hot" (totally not projecting here) ((also its like teenagers w their hoodies -- weighted blanket style))

something tells me he likes arcades, specifically claw machines. idk why

also stuffed animals. yelena and ava definitely bought him one of those weighted ones

he seems like he would want to sleep with a nightlight at least, if not one of those aurora borealis light thingys (i have one 10/10 very calming)

i know everyone writes him as stuttering a lot, but i think he really only does it when he's anxious (i think im an expert, ive seen this movie 5 times don't come for me 🤚🏼)

like he can get really confident, especially on his better days

other than reading, i feel like he'd get into drawing or photography. something creative that can distract him but provide an outlet

(also this is actually canon but) he does the chores and dishes because he wants to feel like he's contributing to the team since he can't control his powers :(

this is maybe me projecting a little, but i feel like he ends up finding a lot of solace in nature. he went to malaysia to try and figure stuff out, so i have no doubts that he likes to get out of the city

more x reader based [romantic, some could be platonic]:

he loves his hair being played with. like you want him to pass out easy? let him stick his head in your lap, run your hands through it, massage his scalp. he'll be OUT in like 5 minutes

washing his hair? oh my god he is literally in heaven

your relationship is very slow but honestly both of you are okay with that

you two are also that couple that doesn't argue. you may disagree or want to talk to each other about stuff, but you never raise your voices [think: holt and kevin in B99 "arguing"]

he kinda does seem like the jealous type to me, but not in the toxic way. he'll just squeeze your hand extra tight or do that behind hug where he puts his head on yours or your shoulder and you immediately know

(its very hot when he gets possessive)

other than physical touch, i think he's an acts of service man. anything he can do to share his love, he wants to. and he likes little things you do for him

when i think of being with bob i just think of that quiet relationship where you're really in sync, soft mornings with the sun streaming in through the window, cute candid photos on each others phones

but i could also see one with like a slightly more talkative/expressive reader who really brings out bob's confidence. i don't doubt that he loves to yap too (some/most days at least)

he will try to cook for you but it might not turn out well (he's banned from the kitchen one week for burning water. he got distracted cause you were so pretty)

on a bit more of the sexual side, i feel like he has a praise kink. like he likes being told how he's doing, if he's treating you well, etc.

i feel like your guys' sex life starts really slow. just kissing, then moving up, until one day something in you both just kinda snaps and you can't keep your hands off each other

and maybe when its like very passionate or maybe he's a bit jealous that day, sentry comes out a little 🤭

despite being a god, sentry will straight worship you, idc, its canon

not that bob wouldn't

but sentry does on another level

at the end of the day, bob wants what you want, and you want what he wants, so it all works out well

bob is the type to have a note on his notes app of just your favorite things (all your typical orders, favorite books/movies/music, etc.). like its not that he doesn't remember (he has it memorized) but you know just in case Void takes a lot more of his memory

he'll bring a jacket with just in case you forget, he'll open doors for you, pull out your chair, he just gives off pure sweetheart and gentleman energy (not in the infantilization way)

just imagine a really peaceful relationship all around with such a genuine, sweet guy (i need him so bad)

as with the thunderbolts one, let me know about your own! kinda short but i hope they are enjoyable

#bob reynolds x reader #mcu #bob reynolds headcanons #thunderbolts #sentry x reader #void x reader

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itzahazbinwriter · 1 day ago

Text

Too Hot in New Orleans

(Human!Alastor x f!Reader)

CW: GRAPHIC SMUT. Alastor being a tease, referenced death, referenced violence

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT (one day I'll have a pretty banner thingy like other people do) - THIS IS AN 18+ STORY

(CRAZY thank you to my girl @degen-fics for betaing this for me and making sure i didn't use the same words/phrase 50+ times <33)

If you enjoy this, want to talk about this besides on Tumblr, or just want to - maybe come join the VoxTech discord server where I'm feral as fuck. And also there are some other amazing artists, writers, and fans! https://discord.gg/e6GXYCwqtu

-----

Hot. It was just too hot. Every inch of you dripped sweat in the unrelenting summer New Orleans heat. The thought of even the littlest of clothing made you too warm. Even your slip had been peeled away in a desperate attempt to cool down. You laid on the cooler wooden floors of your home, a silk robe discarded nearby. There was nothing on this planet that could move you from this only mildly cooler spot.

As if summoned by the very thought, there was a knock at your door. You groaned, hoping they'd go away. Opening the door would mean more heat and you couldn’t handle even just the idea of that. You closed your eyes, just wanting to be cool. Please go away, you pleaded with them silently. But some things were not to be.

After a moment, there was a pause in the knocking and you imagined they'd be listening at the door to hear if anyone was home. Thankfully, your bare form was tucked out of sight from the door. It'd be a scandal if anyone could see you lying naked in the parlor of your home. No proper young lady would dare!

The knocking resumed and you groaned again. Wasn't it obvious that no one was home or didn't want to answer the door? You startled when you heard a familiar voice call out your name. Alastor... good gracious, how could you have forgotten about your plans? Quickly, you sat up, calling out, "Be right there!"

Standing, you quickly draped your robe around your form before answering the door. You opened it and instantly greeted Alastor, your smile matching his own. Before he could say anything, his smile faltered.

“Hello, Alastor! I--” You started to speak before you saw his cheeks start to turn pink as his eyes darted down your form then quickly back to your face.

"Perhaps I should come back some other time since you are.... Ahem… indisposed." He averted his eyes, something he never did, favoring eye contact. You glanced down and let out a soft startled noise akin to a squeak. The silky robe you put on was falling off one shoulder and open down to your navel, showing one of your bare breasts to the famous radio host.

"Al, I am.... oh my God, I'm so sorry!" Gasping, you clutched the silk robe closed so as to not expose yourself any more. Your cheeks burned as you fumbled over another apology, tears stinging at the corner of your eyes out of sheer horror.

There was a long moment of silence that scared you more than anything. “Cher..." Alastor's voice was lower, more gravelly than you'd ever heard before, notably without his usual radio perfect transatlantic accent. A moment passed, as if he was trying to decide what to do next.

You watched him with wide eyes, feeling your skin prickle under the scrutiny. Was this the end of your pseudo-friendship with him? You opened your mouth to speak but never got the chance. He pushed forward into your home, making you stumble back. The front door shutting behind him sent a chill down your spine. It felt so… final, but you had no idea what to expect.

For a moment, the only sound between the two of you was shaking breathing and eerie silence. Then, Alastor leaned forward, one hand softly cupping the left side of your face as he delicately pressed his lips to yours. You let out a small gasp before pressing your lips against his, scared but too enthralled to draw back. He pulled back for a moment, eyes seeming to search yours for something. You didn’t know what he looked for, but you nodded before he closed the tiny gap between the two of you.

The second kiss sent another unexpected chill down your spine. Kissing Alastor felt so dream-like; never had he expressed interest beyond friendship with you. The faint early attraction you had to him never fully faded, but you were content enough with the situation. For him to now kiss you like this, react like this… it was a fantasy come true. You couldn’t believe this was real, but if you were dreaming, you never wanted to wake up as you moved your lips against his.

Carefully, Alastor placed a hand on your hip and closed the gap between you, pressing against you lightly to make you step backwards into your home. You let him guide you as the two of you continued to kiss, too distracted to care where Alastor took you as long as the kissing didn’t stop.

It didn’t take long for your knees to press against the couch and you eased yourself down, finally breaking the kiss and his hold on you. Breathing hard, you stared up at the smiling man hovering, hesitating over you. “Do you want this?” His voice was barely above a whisper. Despite it all, he was still a gentleman.

Instead of answering verbally, you reached out and fisted the fabric of his shirt, having abandoned his usual suit in the unforgiving heat. He used one hand to hold your wrist before you could try to pull him down on top of you. “I need your words, cher. I… I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop once we…” His voice trailed off, leaving you a little breathless at the implication of you making him lose his careful control, making him crack from his perfected radio persona simply by showing him your body.

“Alastor,” his name sounded like a prayer from your lips as you tugged his shirt despite his grip on you, “I want this. I need this.” Something behind the radio host’s eyes seemed to change and it sent a spark of desire through you as he let go of your wrist, leaned down and closed the distance again, biting your bottom lip before kissing you.

You released your grip on his shirt as he closed the gap between you. Instead, you slide your hand over his shoulder and the nape of his neck, his hands wrapping around your waist. Thick brown curls tangled around your fingers as you tugged lightly. Alastor growls into the kiss, nipping at your bottom lip. Breaking the kiss, he pulled back long enough for you to get a good look at him. His eyes were wild, but stern. “Don’t tug, darling. I’ll have to tie you up otherwise.” Oh. That sent some thrill straight through your body. Your heart raced as you stared at him, mouth open and chest heaving. “Oh cher, you look good enough to eat.”

Alastor leaned back down again, kissing you even deeper than before, using his tongue to push past your lips. It felt like he was going to consume you, and you wanted nothing else. You arched your back to press your upper body to his; the silk of your robe teasing your nipples into hardness, sending an electric pulse to your loins. He swallowed your moan before sliding his hands down your back, gliding over the silk robe, to angle your hips against his. Arching into him, you moaned again when you felt firmness against your inner thigh. He broke the kiss and pulled back enough to stare into your eyes, and you whimpered. Another smile tugged at his lips, before he licked his lips. “I’m going to savor you…” He promised in a whisper before pulling away slightly. “But not on your couch, cher.”

Alastor stood, pulling his arms from behind you. His eyes scanned over you and you could only imagine the picture you painted, panting and staring at him with your robe barely covering you anymore. Despite the heat, you shivered and bit your bottom lip, tearing open the tender flesh. Blood started to spill from your lip and his eyes focused on it with a sharp, thrilling intensity. Shakily, you took in a deep breath and felt the silk robe start to slide down your shoulder again as you started to sit up from the couch. “Alastor…” It was hard to recognize your own voice, low, gravely and breathy.

He extended his hand to help you up. As you grabbed his hand, it felt like he was on fire, just like you. It took barely a tug of his hand for you to be pressed against him completely again, barely balanced on your feet. Quickly, he pressed his lips to yours again, tongue swiping at the blood from your lip. A wave of arousal crashed through your body again as you pulled away, hand still in his, and pulling him towards the stairs. His lips were stained a faint red as you stared at him.

To you, there was nothing in the world but you and Alastor. Not even the oppressive New Orleans heat could compare to the desire burning in your heart and loins. You led him through your home, up the stairs, and to your bedroom, glancing behind you every few steps to make sure this wasn’t a fever dream. He followed, grin still in place.

As soon as the two of you reached the bedroom, Alastor closed the door behind himself. “Darling, I simply must taste you.” You gasped as he spun you to face him, the light silk of your robe flying open. His eyes trailed over your skin, slowly moving from your lips to your neck, down to your exposed breasts and tightened

nipples, tracing over your soft stomach and down to your most private area. Nervous, you bit down on your bottom lip and tried to move your arms in front of your body. Him being fully clothed… it felt surreal to be bare in a way no one but perhaps your mother had ever seen. Having forgotten you held one of his hands in your own, it startled you

when he pulled the arm away from you. “No, cher. Let me see you. Let me worship you.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Please, my darling…” Hearing the proud man beg for you, your knees nearly gave out beneath you. You moved your arms out of the way and released his hand to shrug the robe completely off, breathing hard.

“Alastor…” His name felt like a prayer falling from his lips. “Alastor, please…” you begged him breathlessly. He didn’t hesitate to close the gap between your bodies. One hand reached up to cup your cheek as he kissed you again. You felt the soft cotton of his shirt brush against your skin, teasing you even more. Shifting your legs, you could feel moisture between your thighs - the moisture that previously only came when you touched yourself.

Alastor’s other hand drifted to your waist and pulled you completely against him, chest to chest, hip to hip. You shuddered at the feeling of him straining against his pants, opening your mouth to let his tongue move against yours again. His hand moved from your bare waist, up your side with the softest of touch so goosebumps formed, slowing down along the sides of your breasts. He pulled away to stare into your eyes, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re lovely, far too lovely for this lowly sinner… but I will cherish you as you’ve never been cherished before. Is that alright, my love?”

You didn’t have a chance to answer before he reclaimed your lips for a passionate kiss then moved his lips down to your neck. He pressed delicate kisses to the column of your neck, moving down with each one. “Alastor, please… I, I don’t know if I can stand much longer.” You barely recognized your voice, breathy and desperate as it was. He pulled away from his kisses, grinning as both of his hands moved to your hips, gripping the fat of them tightly.

“Of course, cher. I’ll take care of your every need.” He lifted you with ease and moved in such a way for your legs to be wrapped around him. The very core of your being pressed into the hardness in his pants and you let out a breathy whimper. “Oh, you make the best noises. I wonder what others I can get from you.”

There was no way he didn’t feel your wetness seeping into his trousers and the thought made you blush and try to hide your face in his neck. He chuckled before he took a step forward and then leaned down. “Let go, darling,” he ordered once you felt the softness of your neatly made bed against your back.

You obliged and fell back onto the bed, sprawled out so he could see every single inch of your body. His stare felt like electricity running through your body before he slid onto his knees. He hovered over your naked form, looking intensely at you as your flushed chest heaved. “Do you still want me, cher?” The whisper felt heavy in the moment and you knew he’d stop if you asked, but that was the furthest thing from your mind.

“Yes, Alastor, please.” You reached up, lightly tugging him down on top of you, him having to brace himself with his arms to not fall completely on you - it was one of the few times he seemed just as off balance by this as you. Your lips met again. Intoxicating was the only way to describe his kisses - every move made you warm like whiskey, just as addictive on the tongue. He obliged you a few kisses before starting to kiss down your neck, each spot tingling for a moment after every time he pressed his lips against your skin.

Once he reached your collarbone, he switched from soft kisses to playful bites. His teeth scraped lightly against your bone and you shivered at the intense feeling. “Al…” He hummed in response before switching back to kisses as he kissed down the center of your chest, trailing towards your breasts but stopping for a moment as he reached the skin in between them. His eyes darted up to meet yours before he moved to begin kissing and nipping at the mound of your breasts. An animal-like whine escaped the back of your throat at the sensation of his mouth on you; the whine turned into a keening noise as he slipped his tongue over your nipple before dragging it into his mouth. He started to suck lightly against your breast, making your back arch towards him. His hand slid behind your back, your nipple hard between his lips as he held you close.

A light graze of his teeth against your nipple made you moan louder than you ever imagined. You felt him grin against your breast before he sucked a little harder. Your hands clawed at his clothed back, needing desperately to touch him, to let him know how good he made you feel. His chuckle against your back made your nipple

vibrate, sending another sharp flash of arousal to pool in the bottom of your stomach, maybe even leak out of you with how you were spread out underneath Alastor. After a few more moments of sucking, he pulled away; a string of drool stayed connected between your nipple and his mouth as he moved to the other breast to give it the same attention. His hand on your back flexed, nails starting to press into your skin and trailing down in claw marks down your spine. Instead of pain, the pressure made you whimper again. “Alastor, Alastor, please.” You chanted his name, desperately wanting him to do more; whatever that was.

The clawing down your spine stopped right at the small of your back and he pulled away from your nipple with a tiny last lick as he looked at you. You could only imagine with mild horror how you must look. Completely bare to a man that was fully dressed, not even one courting you as your breasts heaved after having your nipples teased even further.

“Beautiful, cher. Simply beautiful.” He praised as he slowly drew back to kneeling on the bed, pulling his arm from behind your back. You smiled at the compliment before watching with rapt attention as his hands came up to his neck before he started to untie his bow tie. Letting out a shaky breath, you watched as his nimble fingers moved. He

started to unbutton his shirt once the tie was tossed to the side. It was a sin, what you were doing. But as the first button came undone, as you saw more of his chest, the less you thought of heaven and hell. No, your eyes stayed on him, flicking up to his face to see him watching you with hazy eyes.

Before popping the second button on his shirt, he stopped. His smile turned mischievous as he instead took a small step back from the bed before falling to his knees. The change in angle made you gasp as you moved to stare down your body to see Alastor staring at your bare sex. Instinctually, you tried to close your legs but strong hands grabbing your knees kept you bare to him. “Now, now, cher. I did want to taste you…” He trailed off as he used his grip on your knees to pull you to the edge of the bed, bringing your sex only inches away from his face. You let out a gasp at how close he was as he moved his eyes to meet yours. “I just know you’ll be the sweetest thing I’ll ever taste.” He cheekily winked at you before leaning closer, still smiling.

Your head fell back against your blankets when you felt his breath against your bare skin. His hands slid from your knees up the front of your legs until he grasped your hips again. A whimper escaped you and he chuckled before pressing a tender kiss to the inside of your left thigh, your right thigh, then just above your wet slit. It felt like forever and an instant all at once as he slowly licked his way into your slit. His low groan seemed to reverberate against your skin; your back arched at the intense sensation.

Alastor took no time licking further into you, lapping at the wetness that he caused. Immediately, you had no thoughts in your head besides a chant of his name. The only thing you could look at was the white ceiling as you made noises you didn’t think anyone was capable of making. His tongue moved against your lower regions, dipping in and out of you and his hands slid from your hips down to your thighs, gripping the flesh hard enough to leave bruises. The idea of him leaving marks on you, a physical reminder of the intense pleasure he was giving you… You moaned loudly again and he paused in his tongue motion to look up at you.

“Eyes on me, cher.” He commanded and you obeyed without question, propping yourself up so you can watch him devour you. His grin widened before he moved back in. But instead of going directly back to your slit, he licked his way a little further up until it felt like live electricity was running through you. You desperately tried to keep your eyes on him, whispering his name at how ethereal he was making you feel. “Ah, there she is…” He focused all of his attention on the nerve, sucking it into his mouth and pressing his tongue against you.

“AL!” You screamed his name, eyes clenched shut . He didn’t pull away, instead choosing to continue lavishing attention on the sensitive nerve ending. After a moment, he stopped sucking and instead just gave it the tiniest licks. It completely escaped your notice that one hand slid away from its resting place on your thigh and moved in between your legs. The lightest bit of pressure from his fingertip against the entrance to your body made you whimper his name again. “Al… Alastor, Alastor… please…”

“Shhh, darling,” he cooed in between licks. “I have to prepare you. You don’t want me to hurt you, do you?” The questions made you shudder, arousal overwhelming you. A moan came from the back of your throat as his tongue pressed against your clitoris and the tip of his finger started to enter you. You clenched your muscles as Alastor continued to push his finger in and out of you while his tongue worked against the sensitive spot. It felt like time stopped as he slowly licked and fingered the place that was only meant for your future husband, but all you wanted was Alastor. Nothing but Alastor. Slowly, you felt a second finger join the first, stinging at first but slowly he worked you open. He started moving faster than before; the squelching sound obscenely loud besides your panting breath. “Al… Al…” It felt like the only thing you could say was his name.

Slowly, he pulled his mouth away and you saw the way your slickness coated all around his mouth, shining obscenely in the daylight. If your mother wasn’t already dead, you’d send her straight to the grave with how you were acting. You whimpered as he gave you one of his charismatic grins and then pressed a sweet kiss on your thigh. “You’re doing so well, darling,” he praised you easily before curling his fingers against a certain spot inside you. Spots danced in front of your eyes at the intense feeling, your whole body tensing up at each touch. He hit again and again, making sure to keep his eyes locked on you as he gave you ecstasy. “Do you want another finger, sweetheart? Can I prepare you to take my cock?” The only response you could manage was a long whine of his name as his fingers found that spot again and pressed, holding there until it felt like you were about to lose your mind. He pressed a kiss to your lower stomach, just above where his fingers were working in and out of you, as a third finger joined the first two.

The stretch hurt more than you thought - it’d been so good until now. You tried to pull away but Alastor’s other hand moved to your stomach and pinned you there as he moved in and out of you. “I…I…” You struggled to get the words out as he kept you in place with his hand and his eyes.

“Does it hurt, mon cher?” Amusement tinged his voice. “Poor thing… what if I just…” His words trailed off as he pressed the spongy spot again, making your back arch. The pain faded as he continued to move his fingers inside you. “There she is… my pretty little thing… such a darling, taking me so well.” Hearing his praise made you roll your hips against his hand. “Oh? Does she want more?”

You didn’t finish nodding before he slowly pulled his three fingers out of you. Your throat went dry when he licked his fingers to clean your wetness from his skin. “You really are delicious, cher.” He stood again to his full, towering height and you felt so bare and vulnerable as his eyes raked over every visible inch of your skin. “But to really savor you… I’m going to have to ruin you.” It sounded like a promise and you nodded in agreement, reaching for him.

But, Alastor didn’t let you reach him before he started unbuttoning his shirt. His dexterous fingers moved quickly, button after button falling open and baring his skin to you. Scars marred his skin, light indentions against his darker skin, and you made yourself watch the man’s hands as they dropped to his trousers. “C…can I?” You finally managed to speak, biting at your bottom lip. “I… I want to… you know.” Raising a hand to your lips, you hoped he knew what you wanted without you having to say the scandalous words. His fingers never stopped moving as he took off his belt, carefully setting it off to the side, though leaving his shirt open and fluttering around his chest.

“No need, cher. I much rather have all of you.” He gave you a charming grin and wink as he slowed down but still started to unbutton his trousers. Your mouth went dry as he pushed the pants and underwear down to the floor, revealing himself to you as intimately as he was seeing you. Head swimming a little, you wondered how he’d… fit inside you. He looked much larger than three fingers and that was painful at first. “Don’t panic, darling. I’ll take good care of you,” he promised, drawing your eyes from his narrow hips up to his face. “Now be a good girl and move so you’re completely on the bed.”

There was a pause before you complied, moving to lay across the bed properly as it felt like there were a thousand butterflies in your stomach. You glanced quickly at the vanity that showed you how flushed you were, how debauched you look. A chuckle drew your attention back to Alastor as he moved closer to you. His warmth radiated from his skin as he climbed onto the bed next to you before positioning himself almost on top of you. The silky skin of his cock brushed across your thigh as he moved, drawing a breathy noise out of the back of his throat, one of the few noises he’d let slip during the whole time.

The two of you met eyes and you felt like you couldn’t look away; he must have cast a spell on you to make you feel like this, to make you want him this badly. Alastor leaned down to kiss you again, his teeth grazing your tender lip. Not wanting to be an inactive participant any longer, you wrapped your arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. His tongue pressed against yours as you felt him adjust on the bed before you felt something brush against the bundle of nerves he’d found before. It took you a moment to realize that it was his… He greedily swallowed whatever mewling noise you made before prodding the tip against your entrance. “Relax for me, my love. It’ll hurt less.”

Alastor distracted you with another tender kiss as he rolled his hips forward, using one hand to guide himself. His tip caught on the edge of your entrance before sliding in. The pain struck like lightning. “H…hurts…” you whimpered and he tensed for a moment before stopping moving. Closing your eyes tightly, you wanted to move away from him but his weight kept you on the bed.

“I promise, cher, it gets better, just relax.” He shushed you, pecking you between each word he whispered against your lips. “I’ll make you feel so good… just…” His hips moved forward, pushing him further into you. Your body stretched around him, clenching against the intrusion. He hissed out your name as he stilled his hips again, moving the hand from his cock to hold onto your waist.

The touch made you open your eyes again, taking in the wild expression of the man on top of you. Alastor’s eyes looked predatory as he gave you a smile with a shaky exhale. “Just a little more,” he promised before moving his hips more. You felt his hips press against yours and you never felt so full and whole, even with the pain of stretching around him. “You’re mine now, cher,” he promised in the stillness of your room. “I’ll never let you go now.” The possessiveness made you shiver and he hissed at the feeling.

Another moment passed before he looked deep in your eyes, looking for something. Whatever it was, he seemed to find it as he started to move his hips back. The movement made you whine a little, the pain fading a little as he moved out. You could tell Alastor was starting to lose control because he wouldn’t stop talking - babbling, really, about everything he was feeling. “You’re so tight, so perfect for me…” Overwhelmed at the praise, you captured his lips in a kiss, desperate to find the pleasure he promised.

As soon as it was just the tip of his member inside you, he started to push forward again, a little faster than before. The air seemed to be pushed from your lungs as the pain returned, though not as sharply as before. Alastor shifted his hips slightly to the left and the tip pressed against the spongy spot he’d previously found with his fingers. It felt like fireworks were going off in your head as pleasure shot through you. Was it possible to feel this good without him inside you? You doubted it and never wanted to try. Moaning, you moved your hips against his, wanting more. A choked laugh escaped him as you wiggled underneath him. “Shhh, cher, I’ll give you everything you want and more.” He promised, pressing his forehead against yours and exhaling as he pushed back into you sharply, hitting that spot and stretching your hole against the base of his cock. “Do you trust me?” You didn’t even need to think before nodding. His ever present smile turned a little sharper, a little more dangerous. It sent a thrill through you, knowing this man was all yours.

Moving his hands, he intertwined his fingers with yours gently. He guided your hands above your head, all the while slowly fucking himself into you with a ferocity that should have sent you running but it was too late; he ruined you, just like he promised. “Keep your hands here,” he ordered before pulling his hands away. The backs of his hands trailed down your arms, along the sides of your breasts before pausing to squeeze them and flick at both nipples at the same time. He punctuated the movement with another hard thrust that was almost too deep, a touch of pain coming back but the pleasure never fully ebbed away.

Your hands twitched as you tried to keep them where Alastor told you as his hands moved down from your breasts, tickling along the soft roundness of your stomach before clutching at your hips with bruising force. He nuzzled his face into your neck, pressing kisses to the soft, tender skin; you could only imagine the number of marks he was leaving on you. A tiny groan escaped you as he thrust his hips into you again, moving faster. Pressure was building inside you and you were only vaguely aware of what was happening to you. It never felt like this with the few innocent touches you’d ever given yourself. “Al… Al, please…” You didn’t know what you were pleading for; all you knew is that you wanted - needed more from the radio personality turned your lover.

“You want more?” Alastor spoke mostly into your neck before biting down a little harder than before. You cried out his name as he started to suck and lick at the tender spot. “I’ll give you everything I have and more, cher.” Your heart fluttered at the promise and you could almost imagine being married to him, having him take you like this every night. Whimpering, you arched your back and moved your hips against his as he moved faster and faster within you. He hit that magic spot within you with each thrust and you felt your everything tightening as you seemed to near a peak, closer and closer to tipping over from the sensations he was stirring inside you.

Alastor squeezed tighter on your hips and hissed into your neck. “You’re so soft, so good for me, my darling. You squeeze me so well, making me want to give you a baby.” A gasp escaped you before you could stop it, quickly thinking of you being round with a child, his child, and him giving you as many babies as you wanted. “Is that what my girl wants?”

You couldn’t stop yourself from whining what someone could only assume was a yes. He grunted and with a sharp thrust, it felt like a dam within you broke. Your whole body trembled at the overwhelming pleasure, fireworks shooting behind your eyelids. It only took a few more strokes of his hips before you felt Alastor collapse gently on top of you, face still buried in your neck.

Several moments passed as you laid on your bed, drenched in sweat and trying to catch your breath under your lover. He pulled back and pressed a small kiss to your forehead, following one on your nose then lips, more chaste than any other you’d shared in the afternoon. You moved your arms down from where you’d been holding them to brush a hand over his sweaty hair, laughing lightly as you realized he’d never taken off his glasses, leaving them askew on his face.

Slowly, Alastor pulled out of you and you blushed as he stared at where you’d been joined. You could feel his seed spilling out of you, making you blush as you tried to cover yourself. “It’s a little late for that, darling,” he cooed as he moved off the bed. With him standing in front of you, you took a moment to admire him as you sat up. “I hope it was… satisfactory for you?” The formality of the question made you laugh louder than perhaps you should before nodding.

“You’re wonderful, Alastor,” you assured him as you slid to the edge of the bed. He offered you his hand and you took it, standing next to him, feeling the slick of his release beginning to slide down the inside of your thighs. “I’ll run us a cool bath. We should be able to cool down.” Standing on your tiptoes, you pressed a kiss to Alastor’s cheek before going to the bathroom to run the two of you a bath.

----

It hurt. When you realized that Alastor left while you were in the bathroom, daydreaming of a future that would never be. The news broke a few days later - Alastor, famed radio host and darling of New Orleans was the Bayou Butcher. Rumors said he died while cannibalizing his latest victim. You threw the paper away as quickly as you could, avoiding the radio entirely. That day… he could have killed you as easily as he fell into your bed. And then he vanished into the afterlife before you could even ask him why.

#alastor x reader #reader insert #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #smut #no plot whatsoever #just smut #hazbin smut #i wrote something #human alastor #female reader #hazbin hotel #i regret nothing #how do i even tag this #praise kink go brrrr

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jacksamiras · 3 days ago

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visiting hours

abbot/mohan, ~2k words est. relationship & fluff & phone sex & masturbation & jack fell first AND harder vibes also on ao3

Samira dials Jack's number the second she's home after four long, long days of twelve-hour shifts.

In lieu of a greeting, she hits speaker and tosses her phone to her dresser, stripping out of her scrubs. "We've been on opposite shifts too long."

Jack hums, thoughtful. "Have we?"

"You know we have," she counters, closing her eyes and letting out a sigh, rolling her neck. "This is why I should work more doubles."

"Yeah," Jack snorts, "run that by Gloria, would ya? Record her reaction for me. 'Hey, Chief. Thoughts on letting me work doubles so I can see my partner more often?' I'm sure she'd support your reasoning."

Samira sniffs primly, running her fingers through her hair. "I mean, I am very convincing."

"That you are, my dear."

Samira can hear how amused he is. Pictures him as he rubs his palm over his stubble to hide the grin she can't see, anyway, the sound of sandpaper over the line. There's a jolt of pleasure that runs from her belly down to the core of her, a phantom press of his lips against her cunt and his cheeks scratching her thighs. "Oh, c'mon, don't do that."

"Don't do what?" he asks.

"Tease me," she whines, sitting on her bed in her underwear and getting comfortable, grabbing lube and her vibrator from the bedside table.

He laughs; a soft, easy thing. "Tease you? Samira Mohan, I would never."

It's been weeks since the last time they managed to see each other outside the pitt. Still, his pre-work routine is as familiar to her as her own. She knows exactly what he's doing by the distant echo of his movements over the phone line.

Honestly, she'd had his routine memorized after one weekend together.

Watching him after a shower, the harsh lighting of his bathroom bright on the pale, freckled skin of his shoulders. Listening to the buzz of his razor as he tidied up the stubble on his cheeks and over his chin. Watching his fingers swipe curl cream through his hair (a jar he'd gotten as a Secret Santa gift from Ellis years ago, she knows, and hasn't stopped using since).

The number of steps it takes for him to get back to bed from his bathroom, the quiet thump of his crutch against the hardwood every other step. The sound of him humming to himself as he tugged on scrubs for work and checked his pockets multiple times, lips moving as he went over his mental checklist no less than three times before leaving for his shift. The soft grunt he'd breathe out as he tugged his prosthetic on, quickly and well-practiced, always testing the weight of his leg on it before standing fully and grabbing his watch from his bedside table.

When she's caught watching him, he just smirks, shooting her a wink and laughing softly when she immediately rolls her eyes.

He's handsome and he knows it — more than a little fucked up and knows that, too. It's part of the reason why Samira cares for him so deeply.

He wears his heart on his sleeve no matter the cost, bleeding and arrhythmic and so, so goddamn open to her.

"You gonna stay in bed all day?" he'd asked on her third day there, eyes sparkling like he knew exactly where she'd be twelve hours later.

(Where he wanted her to be.)

Samira had simply arched up for a kiss, swiping a thumb over the corner of his mouth before pulling back. "If you want me to leave, just say so, Jack."

"Don't want you to leave," he'd murmured, lips plush against hers when he'd kissed her again. "Promise I'll try to line up my days off with yours one of these days."

Samira had shrugged, twisting one of her curls around her finger and smiling softly. "I'd rather we line up our work days. You know that."

"That's my girl," he'd grinned, smacking one last kiss against her cheek. "See you soon, Dr. Mohan."

Jack's voice is soft when he draws her back to the present. "You missin' me, Samira?"

"Certainly missing parts of you."

He laughs. "Oh, now I know what kind of call this is. You've got some post-shift adrenaline to burn off and need a little — encouragement."

"I was calling to commiserate, actually," she replies, but lets her breath catch in her throat as her hand slips underneath the elastic of her panties. "About the reason I know we've been apart too long."

"Go on, then," he says. "Share it with me."

"When I come like this," she starts, grinning at the muttered curse he breathes out, "all alone, y'know? When it's just me and my toy and when I just — well, I'm sure you remember. You've watched me do it enough."

"Tell me, anyway," Jack cuts in, insistent. "Tell me what you're doing to make yourself come."

Samira pulls her bra up and over her tits, pulling at one nipple and breathing out a hum as she works two fingers down between her folds, slicking them up and then rubbing them over the hood of her clit again. "Two fingers," she tells him, swallowing back a quiet moan. "Slow circles on my clit 'til I'm wet. Keeping my hand trapped in my underwear, my thighs open. Nothing inside, just — mm, just this. Rubbing myself and thinking about you."

"You're fucking beautiful," he breathes.

She smiles. "You can't even see me."

"I've seen every inch of you, Samira."

There's a twisting in her stomach that tells her she could be close already if she wanted to be, hips rolling upward. "Fuck, Jack," she rasps, turning her face into her pillow. "I wanna come. You've got time to help me, right?"

"Maybe. Thought you were commiserating, though, babe."

"I am," she huffs, fingers slowing between her legs. "I — fuck. I was saying that — coming like this starts to ache when you aren't here. I get home and I'm too tired to do more than just get off as quickly as I can."

"Which means you're touching yourself, but there's nothing inside," he says. "Right?"

Samira lets out a sigh. "Right. But I can feel it, Jack. I think about you and I come and it's so fucking good at first, and then — then it isn't. The last orgasm always aches. Muscle spasms from my stomach down into my thighs and nothing for me to clench down on. And it only starts to happen when I've come more without you than with you."

Jack clears his throat. "You're gonna be the death of me, you know that? I'm gonna spend my entire shift thinking about you now."

Samira tugs her panties to the side, slicking up her fingers and grinning at the realization that she won't even need the bottle of lube against her thigh. "We both know that's a lie," she teases back. "The second you're there, you'll be in full Dr. Abbot mode and you'll forget all about me fucking myself until I come so hard my thighs shake."

There's a loud thump over the line. "If I had toes, they'd be stubbed right now. Just so you know."

She lets out a bright laugh. "Silver lining, then, huh?"

"You're a menace," he replies, "But I fucking adore you."

Samira swallows, sliding the head of her toy between her folds. "Goes both ways, Jack," she breathes, spreading her thighs wider. Then, "You'll really spend your entire shift thinking about me?"

"Samira Mohan, I am always thinking about you."

The head of the toy slips inside her and she moans, tongue wetting her lips. "Flirt."

"Mm," he agrees, the sound of his car door opening and closing. "Is it working?"

Samira opens her eyes, looking at the picture of them on her bedside table — one that Santos had taken of them at Robby's birthday eight months ago. "Yeah," she grins. "Seems like it is."

"Five minute drive to the hospital," he says, the engine starting in the background. "How many times are you gonna get off while I'm listening to you, Mohan?"

Samira rolls her neck again, turning on the vibration of her toy. "Let's find out."

He wakes to featherlight fingertips dancing over his shoulders.

Sleep is still heavy in his bones as he stretches his arms over his head, hugging the pillow beneath his cheek a little tighter. The last few hours come back to him in waves — Samira inviting him in after his shift, kissing him and riding him until she'd taken every bit of pleasure she'd needed from him. He cracks an eye open and sees dark, curly hair against the satin of her pillowcase, the evening sunlight caressing the side of her face as she watches him.

"Hi," he rasps, voice rough.

Samira's fingers don't stop moving, thumb brushing back and forth over one spot in particular. "I really missed you," she says softly.

"Long couple of weeks," he agrees, reaching a hand out to brush her curls back from her face, thumb dragging gently over the edge of her brow. "M'here now."

"Yeah," she agrees, eyes shifting to focus on his shoulder. Her fingers move again, poking and pressing with a little more intent. "Can I get this blackhead out?"

"What? You — what?"

Samira pokes again at the same spot on his shoulder. "It's a good one. The pore's huge. Lemme get it out."

"Were you being sweet and counting my freckles or trying to wake me up so you could search for blemishes on my supremely perfect body?"

Samira bats her lashes, smirking. "Can't a girl multitask?"

"Brat."

"Lemme do it. I can't not do it, now, it's just staring at me."

At the first press of her fingers, Jack winces. Immediately, Samira stops.

"Are you serious."

"It's like getting pinched! No one likes getting pinched, Samira."

"You pinched my ass in the shower earlier."

"I don't have nails."

Samira pffts. "I don't, either. There's no way this hurts."

"Well, It doesn't feel good."

"Didn't you, y'know, get your leg blown off?"

"If I say that was less painful than you squeezing the shit out of what's definitely just a mole, will you think less of me?"

Samira sighs, sitting up and straddling his back, carefully avoiding the scar tissue over his side and the pinched nerve at his tailbone that she knows bothers him every morning. "Buck up, soldier. I'll be done before you know it."

Jack grits his teeth, but the next few pinches are — gentler. Focusing on the picture of them on Samira's bedside helps. Still, he isn't convinced that —

"Got it," she says triumphantly. "Oh, and it's gross. You wanna see it?"

Jack huffs out a laugh, sinking into the bed a little more. "You're such a fucking nerd."

Samira bounces lightly on his back. He lets out a dramatic oof just to hear her snort. "And?" she presses.

Jack sighs, rolling over underneath Samira's thighs so he can look up at her instead — the proud smile, the sparkle in her eyes, the flush of her cheeks.

The finger with the damned blackhead resting on top.

Insanely, Jack thinks you're fucking beautiful and I love you and this is the most intimate we've ever been.

Jack slides his hands up over Samira's thighs and squeezes them, huffing out a laugh. "Yeah, yeah. And I obviously wanna see it."

"Knew it," Samira says happily. "Cause you're a nerd, too."

Jack lightly pinches her thigh, grimacing as he sees the size of the blackhead she'd pulled from his shoulder. "Respect your elders."

"What's more respectful than orgasms and skincare?"

Jack snorts, lips pursed as he fights back a full laugh. "Now who's the flirt?"

Samira leans down, brushing a kiss against his lips. "Is it working?"

Jack thinks about the key to his place that he wants to give her.

Thinks about the ring he's had hidden away in his dresser for weeks.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "Yeah, I think it is."

#the pitt #mohabbot #jack abbot #samira mohan #jacksamira #abbotmohan #the pitt hbo #mywriting #tp fic #reiverreturns #usertina #userlolo

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snakes-in-mirrors · 3 days ago

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heyo! I'm not here for long but i really love your style! your characters emit so much personality i cant help but look at the art for a while! idk if you said this before but, how did you come up with them? Did they just appear or did you consciously want to make new characters? was there something that inspired you? (idk if these questions might be weird ;; i just like "behind the scenes" esque facts)

Thank you! First of all, I have to say that Matthias is not my character, he belongs to my co-author @sinealas! Next, I will answer on my own behalf and about Lucian in particular.

Lucian as a character appeared a long time ago, but he was in a state of "half-existence". Initially, I had another story about another character, and Lucian was his uncle, his father's brother. His fate was simply very sad and I didn't know what to do with him - he was alone, having lived most of his life first with an abusive and cruel father, then taking care of the old estate (still alone), then selling everything and moving closer to his brother to spend money on dubious places, dubious connections and in the end slowly going crazy and losing himself from his mediumistic abilities. Even the Mirror Prince didn't exist at that time, he had no name, no personality and had a completely different role. I didn't want to add a character to the story whose only existence was to be miserable and then die without ever getting anything good out of life. I'll be honest, I hate it when writers in different media do that to make the story "more realistic, more brutal and more mature".

Anyway, Lucian was hanging in the background as a potential character for a while, but then my co-writer came to my rescue. That's how Matthias was born! Their story was also different initially (+ it was in a fantasy setting), but many things remained or just changed a little. It's been about 7 years since we first wrote them, so their characters and history have grown a lot in that time. I don't even know how to describe the process when we come up with stories and characters. They just appear in our heads, we can jokingly discuss some interactions and then BOOM, it becomes part of the plot.

Actually, I've always created characters. At first, it was animal characters (you know, inspired by Lion King, Balto, etc.). Then came human characters, around the time I was about 10 years old and my inspiration was "Heroes of Might and Magic III" game. I was too little and didn't have the brains to play even one campaign, so I just played random maps and made up my own stories lol. It was never some kind of "make characters and write their story" intention, they just appeared in my head, acquired character, history and the smallest details. So now some of my characters are already 20+ years old. I don't know how interesting this train of thought was for you, but I tried. :D

Also here are some first drawings with Lucian:

#ask me #story info #blablabla for oc

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muzzlemouths · 15 hours ago

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Hey!! I read your sunshine station piece and it was awesome!!! I know you mentioned Moon briefly, is there a second part with him in it by chance? Thank you! Have a great day!

As a matter of fact...

"Evening, dozers. That was REO Speedwagon's 'Can't Fight This Feeling', a classic for the ages. We're all fighting for something, facing our own demons these days. Maybe you're juggling a schedule that just won't let you rest, maybe you're struggling to balance your home and work life, or your heart is trapped in a game that you can't seem to win, maybe...you're fighting to stay awake."

Laughter pours from Moon's voice-box, hazy and quiet. "Whether you're toiling through a graveyard shift or just can't seem to lay your head to rest, I'm here for you. I'll be your voice through the dark, the bedtime story that puts your mind at ease, the friend who stays up with you all night."

Neon red illuminates the soundboard, drawing his focus to the familiar silhouette standing just outside the booth door. His copper cage heart ba-thumps in place.

"This next one goes out to those of you burning at both ends of the fuse,“ he continues. “These timeless flights might feel lonely, dozers, but I'll be here until you come back down. Here's 'Rocket Man.'"

He slides the Elton John track into place, smooth metal gliding over vinyl, and queues "Just the Two of Us" at its tail, granting him just under twelve minutes to stretch...at least, that's what he'll tell Eclipse.

Moon cracks the booth door open and peeks just outside of it, glancing around. "Bedbug?"

"Here," you call at his back. Watching him jump ought to be funny, but you can't help but find it endearing. "Sorry, didn't mean to spook you."

"You didn't," he lies, grinning from cheek to cheek. "What brings you here at this hour?" He nods towards the clock, its hands pointed accusingly at fifteen minutes past four in the morning. "Your shift doesn't start for another two hours. If you're here for Sun, he hasn't even come in ye—"

"I'm here for you." The words jump from your mouth like a sneeze, surprising both of you. "I mean— I-I'm here to bring you a coffee," you insist, thrusting the lidded paper cup towards him. Normally. "Eclipse asked me to. Since — since you've been working so hard lately."

Moon blinks at the cup strangely. He's still trying to calm the steam rushing through his vents when he reaches for it, not daring to look you in the eyes until his heart settles down. It isn’t every day that you – or anyone, really – wants to spend their time with him. Not when the brighter, louder, better Sun is always there to cast him in shadow.

He takes comfort in the warmth soaking through the cardboard sleeve when he takes it from you, lingering for only a socially acceptable length of time when his fingers brush against yours.

"Did he, now?" That telltale grin of his returns. His shoulder slumps against the door frame, all worries forgotten. "Well, that's very thoughtful. Maybe I should head down to his office and thank hi—"

"Don't!" Your protest is loud enough on its own to draw attention even without Moon ratting you out, and he is nothing if not amused by it. You clear the humiliation from your throat and try again. "It's just, you know how busy he is, a-and I'm sure he wouldn't appreciate being interrupted over something so trivial, you know? He doesn't even have to know I was here!"

Dopey laughter bubbles from his voice box. You wish he wouldn't look at you like that; like he's hanging on your every word.

"Couldn't sleep, could you, bedbug?"

Your stomach somersaults, pouring blood into your cheeks and heating your ears, and you stammer. "I— It's just that I was already in town, is all, a-and—"

"I don't think it's trivial." He brings the cup to his lips and takes a long, thoughtful sip, eyelashes resting against his cheeks as he indulges in the taste.

"You..huh?"

"The coffee." His gaze settles on you like fresh snow, quiet and slow. His smile could melt through even the coldest winters. "I don't think it's trivial," Moon echoes. "You made it just how I like it, too. Must have had to sneak past Eclipse to get to the break room, then again to bring it all the way here, to me. What's trivial about that?"

If your face gets any hotter you're going to catch fire right where you stand.

"It— it's nothing," you insist, struggling with where to put your hands now that you no longer have the cup to distract your twiddling thumbs. "So...does that mean you won't tell Eclipse?"

Moon looks past you, towards your collective boss's office, then strains his neck to see into his booth, noting the time that remains. He hums.

"Want to join me?"

The question startles you into a hiccup. "I'd love to, but..." you cast a glance over your shoulder, peering down the hall yourself as though you're expecting Eclipse to pour from his office any moment now. "After the 'stunt' Sun pulled yesterday — his words, not mine — Eclipse will have my things in a box by morning if I get caught in the booth again."

He pulls away from the wall, perfectly composed, and straightens the cardigan sleeve that had slipped from his shoulder. "That's a shame," he murmurs. "I'd have let you pick the next song."

"Wh— Really?"

"Mhm." Moon steps over the threshold and into his booth, hand reaching for the doorknob with purposeful delay. "Well, I have to get back to work." The door begins to shut. "Thank you for the coff— oh."

He doesn't bother stifling his chuckle as you dart beneath his outstretched arm and into the booth. If anything, he finds it all too charming for your liking.

"Change your mind after all?"

"I can't stay for long," you tell him, trying (and failing) to sound firm about it. "You...you aren't going to make me talk on air, are you?"

"'Course not, bedbug." He gets your chair for you like a gentleman, then easily slips into his own. "In fact, if you're to stay with me, I will need you to be very, very, quiet," he tells you, whispering the last part. "Can you do that for me?"

You take your seat with an eager nod, deciding against trusting your voice already.

"The records are in that basket," gestures Moon. He reaches just past you and plucks the vintage headphones from his desk, a spare set, and wordlessly fits them over your ears.

He unwinds a separate wire for himself — a device you have been enthusiastically banned from referring to as ‘the AUX cord’ — and plugs it into a port that sits directly behind his faceplate. You've since learned that the innovation was created to combat the issue of how to keep a pair of headphones on a face shape like theirs, but honestly, it just looks like a glorified earring.

"Ready?" He asks.

It's a trick question. His finger lands on the button before you have the chance to answer, and just as soon is his voice in your ears.

"Welcome back, dozers. You're listening to Starshine Station, and that was 'Just the Two of Us.' We've got more groovy tunes coming up here in a moment, but before that," and he taps the record basket again, returning your attention to the task at hand, "I want you to take a moment to come back to yourself. I know you're tired, you're exhausted, your mind is racing and you just want to unwind. Put your phone down, close your eyes, and breathe. I know it's silly — I know, I know — but place those worries aside and just be here, in this moment with me. Breathe in, take all of that stress, all of that weight you're carrying, and breath out. Let it go. You can pick it back up later, you can carry it again in the morning, but for now, set it down. Let it rest."

You draw a record from the basket and hand it over, smothering a yawn with your hand.

"Good, just like that," Moon purrs into the mic. "I hope you feel a little lighter after that, listeners. And if you're out on the roads right now, well, I hope you didn't listen to a single word I just said." His laughter threads through the radio waves like smooth jazz, every word curling around a smile. "Either way, thank you for letting me keep you company tonight. We've got more cozy classics ahead, so tune in and turn that dial to ten... here's 'Unchained Melody'."

When had he taken the record from you? One moment it was in your hands, and the next it was on air. So, too, do you feel on air — that is, lightweight and floating, all your troubles swept away by sixties pop and the unspoken lullaby of Moon's hand smoothing circles over your shoulders, hardly remembering when he even got there.

Your head lands on your arms, slumped against the desk.

You aren't going to sleep. You can't sleep. You still have to drive home and be back here again in an hour, well rested and ready for whatever demands Sun has for you that day, saying nothing of what will happen if Eclipse finds you here. You can't afford to rest your eyes for even a minute. Maybe you should have poured yourself a coffee, too.

"I hope the night is kind to you," says Moon.

His voice rolls over you like cool, ocean waves. He sounds so distant already. You can't remember the song ending, or the next one beginning, just the sound of his voice guiding you through the dark.

"This next one is very dear to me." His words breeze over you, disappearing into a hazy fog. "Wherever you are right now, whatever your situation, I hope you have someone special to hold close tonight."

Foreigner's "I Want to Know What Love Is," courses through your headphone speakers, but you aren't awake to hear it.

Moon unplugs himself from the soundboard just long enough to stand, shrugging off his wool cardigan. He stretches, arms raised above his head, exhausted steam whistling through his vents, stress marking every creak in his joints. Then he looks your way, and all the weight melts from his shoulders in an instant.

His cardigan drapes over your shoulders like a hug, still warm from his body. He brushes the hair from your eyes and lingers, selfishly this time, until the song comes to an end and he’s forced to pull away.

"Nighty night, bedbug," he whispers still. "Thanks for listening in."

#starshine station #radio host au #i really need to combine those two tags lmfao #Thank you for compliment anon!! i'm so happy you liked the fic ✨and sorry it took me so long to see your ask #hope you have a great day too!#drabbles #DCA fandom #sun fnaf #moon fnaf

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runforthehillsbestie · 3 days ago

Text

Sympathy For The Devil

Part 4 - hunting season

Pairing - Thomas Hewitt x Female reader

Read the story context and warnings here

You wake up to the cold barrel of a gun patting your cheek. The craggy, grinning face of Sheriff Hoyt hovers over you.

"I see you survived the night in one piece! That's never happened before."

You sit up on the thin mattress and wince. You're sore all over from last night, especially your jaw and throat. You hadn't been expecting to get a place to sleep, so when Tommy took you over to the stained, worn mattress in the corner of the basement, you curled up without complaint. It was hardly as comfortable as the bed you'd slept on the night before, and that said a lot. You wonder if it was his sleeping spot you had occupied.

"Where's Tommy?" You rasp.

"What, want me to call him?"

"No!"

Sheriff Hoyt laughs. "Then let's get you upstairs before Mama starts hollering at me."

Hesitantly you follow him up the stairs, eyeing the holster at his hip. He rests his hand on his gun as if he can sense what you're looking at.

"Oh, child, you look a fright!" Luda Mae says when she sees you. "Charlie Hewitt, what on earth did you do to her?" She strokes your hair away from your face, clucking like a hen.

"Mama, I told you, it's Hoyt. Sheriff Hoyt. And I didn't do more than what needed doing," Sheriff Hoyt says. "She'll be fine."

Luda Mae smiles at you. "We don't only eat meat," she says. "We have ourselves a balanced diet with what humble bits and pieces we can rustle up."

The early morning sunlight streaming through the kitchen window feels good on your skin after your long night in the basement, and it casts a warm glow over the room. If you don't look too closely at the dust in the corners and the stains on the walls it looks almost cozy. You inch closer to the stove and warily peer into the pot, relieved to see it's just oats.

You sit at the table. Monty comes rattling in on his wheelchair with the dog trotting after him. "Hey Mama, you got any of that balm left over? Think I got myself a pressure sore again."

"Because you sit in that damn wheelchair all day," Sheriff Hoyt says.

"Well you cut off both my legs, what else am I supposed to do?" Monty shoots back.

"Why did you do that?" Your voice draws the attention of both men.

"Eh, he was shot in the leg. We had to do something," Sheriff Hoyt says with a shrug.

You grimace and make a mental note not to get seriously injured unless you want to lose a limb or two. You eat your oats with relish. It's enough that there aren't any human parts in it, but Luda Mae has heaped it with plenty of brown sugar and cream too.

"What about Tommy? Is he going to have breakfast?"

"He comes and goes," Luda Mae shrugs. "Can't rightly guess when he'll come around for something to eat." She turns to the Sheriff. "Drive us down to the shop, will you? The place needs tending."

"Why? What's wrong with Henrietta?" Sheriff Hoyt demands.

You perk up at the mention of a new name.

"Her baby's got a cough," Luda Mae says.

"You think taking the girl with you is a good idea?" Uncle Monty pipes up.

"She'll be good. Won't you?" Luda Mae turns her kind but firm eyes in your direction.

You nod. The thought of staying with Uncle Monty isn't very pleasant.

"Take my pistol just in case she makes a run. Tommy likes her but he'll understand if you have to use some of those bullets," Sheriff Hoyt says.

"It's not like I have anywhere to go," you mumble.

"Atta girl! Then we shouldn't have a problem!" Sheriff Hoyt says before hunching over his bowl of oats and scooping the rest into his mouth.

"This was once a lively town, you know," Luda Mae says to you.

You have just enough time after breakfast to change the bloodied rags out for fresh ones and wash your face before you leave. The car ride is awkward. The interior of the vehicle is ripe with the scent of salt and blood. Luda Mae doesn't seem to notice. You look out of the window and watch the scenery go from farmland to abandoned houses.

"A damn shame," Sheriff Hoyt adds and hocks a wad of spit out the window.

The shop turns out to be a low, squat building with a sign above the door that says "General Store". There's an ancient-looking gas pump outside. You both get out and you pretend not to notice the Sheriff pressing his pistol into Luda Mae's hands. You step into the shop and a bell tinkles overhead. Cobwebs inhabit every corner and the shelves are mostly empty, save for a few canned and packaged products. Luda Mae bustles in, humming to herself. She puts the gun behind the counter and then sits down.

"And now we just wait for some travelers to stop by for gas," she says, picking up a yellowed newspaper and beginning to read it.

You fidget for a moment before you blurt out, "Can I clean up a little? For something to do?"

She looks at you over her glasses, her eyebrows raising. "You can try," she says. "The floor will need multiple scrubs before you can even make a dent in the grease. I just couldn't keep up with it."

She supplies you with a bucket of water and a scrub brush and you get to work. It brings back memories of your mother who would make you scrub and mop and polish until your fingers ached and the shine of the floor could be spotted from a mile away. When she grew sick and began to cough up blood she'd spit on the floor and yell at you if you missed even one splotch of it. You could never hate her because she had it just as bad as you, head bowed to her husband.

Her only way of releasing steam was to take it out on you. Even on her deathbed. I could've run away earlier and left her to wallow in her filth. The darkness of the thought startles you. It's the thing your father hated about you, the demon he tried and failed to exorcise. You blink and realize you've been scrubbing the same spot for ages. The stained tiles are as clean as you're going to get them and the water in the bucket is the color of mud. Sweat rolls down your forehead and you wipe it away with your forearm before it gets in your eye.

"Where do I throw this out?"

"Shame on you, Jeremy Shaw!" Luda Mae cries out. "You get out of my shop!"

Luda Mae points you to the back of the shop. You pass through a cluttered backroom and step out the screen door. The grass growing at the back of the shop is sparse, and the ground is blackened and greasy in some places. You pitch the water out and watch it soak into the soil. There's no fence, nothing to stop you from running if you wanted to. Luda Mae is slow and probably not a good shot. You stand there for several minutes, holding the empty bucket.

There's nothing for me out there, same as here.

The thought is black and bitter. You've never been the adventurous type. All you've ever really wanted is a place where you belong. You can't say you feel like you belong here with a family of cannibals, but at least Tommy wants you. You've never been wanted before. Maybe you'll have to settle for that. The sound of breaking glass brings you out of your thoughts.

You pull open the screen door and poke your head into the main room. There are diced apricots and pieces of glass all over the floor you just scrubbed so nicely. A man stands in the middle of the mess. He looks to be in his mid-twenties, with a slightly crooked nose and squinting blue eyes. He gives Luda Mae a devilish grin.

"It's been a while. How's that freak show of yours doing? Thought I saw him down by the old slaughterhouse the other day. Reliving his glory days, I bet."

"You let him alone," Luda Mae snaps. "He's not a little boy anymore, you know. He will get you, and you'll be sorry."

"Oh yeah?" Jeremy snorts. "He never cried, you know. We'd bully him, throw rocks and call him names, even pissed on him once. Not a single emotion on that torn-up face. He's got nothin' between those ears of his."

"Get the hell out, or so god help me, I'll blow ya to pieces," she says, her voice eerily calm.

Luda Mae bristles. Her hand slips under the counter and she grabs the gun and points it at Jeremy.

"Shiiit. That's some weapon alright. You know how to operate that thing, Gran?" Jeremy picks up another jar and tosses it carelessly from one hand to another.

"I could shoot a beer cap off a bottle back in the day," Luda Mae says. "I think my aim is still good enough to get you right in the dick, tiny as it is."

Jeremy hurls the jar onto the floor and Luda Mae pulls the trigger and clips him on the ear. An inch closer and it would've been his head.

"I was being generous that time," she says.

You barely hear her over the dull ringing in your head. Jeremy's face pales as he clamps a hand over his bloodied ear. Before she can pull the trigger again, a voice behind you says,

Before you can react a pair of burly arms lock around you. Jeremy forgets his fear and his eyes light up when he sees you.

"I'd think twice about that if I were you, Ms. Hewitt."

"Wow, Gran, where'd you get this hot piece of ass?"

"Didn't know there was a Hewitt this pretty," the man behind you says, stroking your hair.

"You let my girl go!" Luda Mae shouts, her hand beginning to waver.

A warm feeling blooms in your chest at that. My girl.

"I'm not a Hewitt," you mutter, shuddering violently when he nips at the shell of your ear.

Luda Mae shoots him for that. The bullet grazes his arm and he spews curses, rounding the counter and backhanding her across the face. She topples into the chair and the gun falls out of her hand.

"Damn," Jeremy says, licking his chapped lips. "She looks like she'll be tight. Maybe we should take her for a ride, Matthew?"

"Shit," Jeremy curses again, grabbing the gun. "Fucking hell, her aim isn't bad. Not good enough, though. Looks like I'll live."

He hits her with the gun, which makes a cracking sound as it smacks against her face.

"No!" You gasp.

Luda Mae's head lolls to the side and a trickle of crimson rolls down her cheek.

"Thomas," she mumbles, looking dazed.

"He ain't here, and he ain't coming," Jeremy says.

Luda Mae's eyes fall shut. Jeremy strides up to you. You're imprisoned in Matthew's arms, so you wait till he's in range before you lash out, kicking as hard as you can. Matthew drags you against his chest but your foot still manages to make contact with Jeremy's groin. He doubles over with a screech and grabs at his junk.

He rears back up and punches you in the stomach, knocking the air out of you. You spit in his face even as you wheeze. He wrenches you out of Matthew's hands and throws you on your back on the ground. His face is red with rage as he straddles you and grabs your hair, lifting your head. You know from experience that he's going to bash your head against the floor and you struggle against his hold, a cry slipping from you.

"You scream like a girl," you taunt.

"Cool your tits, Jeremy," Matthew grunts. "I want her wide awake. I want her to feel everything."

Jeremy groans as you buck underneath him.

You look up at him. He looks a lot like Jeremy but older, with a buzzcut and a scar that cuts across his left eyebrow. They're brothers. You curl your lip and struggle under Jeremy's weight, desperately wishing you had your razor blade. You'd stick it in his stomach and open him up.

"Bitch!" He points the gun in your face. "I'm gonna fucking thoot you," he lisps.

"They're hot when they fight," he says, grabbing your jaw and leaning down to kiss you.

His breath is thick with the scent of cigarettes and his tongue bitter with the taste of stale coffee. You open your mouth to lure him in and then you bite down as hard as you can. You feel your incisors poke through the fleshy muscle and come together with a click. Jeremy howls, yanking back as his mouth fills with blood.

"Stop fucking around," Matthew says. "If you're not gonna spend your time wisely then I want her."

You reach blindly for a piece of broken glass. It cuts into your palm but you ignore the pain and slice it at Jeremy's face. It misses by mere centimeters and he looks surprised.

You headbutt him and scramble to your feet as he falls to the side, gripping his nose. Matthew grabs you but only catches the sleeve of your dress, ripping it clean off and exposing one of your breasts. You run because your life depends on it.

"You're out for me, aren't you?" He laughs painfully. "Wild cat."

Which way is back to the house?

Maybe you can lose them in the trees. Jeremy's brother gives an appreciative laugh like he's enjoying the chase. You chance a look over your shoulder. It's just you and Matthew, Jeremy is falling behind. You can just about make out his voice, cursing shrilly as he complains about his wounds. You trip over a tree root hidden in the grass and fall hard, scraping your hands and knees. The weight of a fully grown man crashes on top of you and you scream.

You dart down the road. You're good at running and you think you might have a chance at getting away but you're also concerned for Luda Mae. She's already hurt and you know the two men won't have a problem going back to rough her up some more, just for fun. You stumble when you hear a gunshot, bracing yourself for pain that never comes. It's just Jeremy messing with you, wasting bullets, whooping with laughter. Matthew comes up fast behind you, his long legs eating up the distance. Your blood rushes in your veins and your heart pounds madly to keep up with the demand. Come on, just a little further. Instinct drives you to get off the road and out of the open where Jeremy can easily shoot you, plunging into the ditch and scrambling up the other side.

"Go ahead, darling. That's the fucking beauty of ghost towns. No one will hear you," Matthew says.

He smells like cigarettes and metal and grease.

"Tommy, huh? Have you been openin' your legs for that brainless animal?" He growls in your ear.

"Tommy will hear," you say, attempting to throw your head back into his nose.

He's smarter than his brother and keeps well out of range. His calloused hand grabs your wrists and pins them behind your back. You moan in pain and discomfort at the vulnerable position, gulping in breaths as your heart flutters in your chest like a wild bird.

A stick pokes painfully into your ribcage.

"Fuck you, asshole." you hiss. "Do you have to force girls because no one will say yes to you?"

"Jeremy likes to talk, but he'll never know what to do with the likes of you," he says, bunching your dress over your back and letting out an appreciative whistle.

Matthew chuckles. "Hey now, you have it all wrong, sugar. This is my guilty pleasure."

He drapes himself over you and you kick your legs at the clinking sound of his belt unbuckling, but other than that you can barely move. He rips your panties off, using his body to keep you still as he wedges himself between your legs. He grunts as he rubs the head of his cock against your pussy.

"You're wet," he says. "Oh, it's that time of the month, huh?"

You grit your teeth.

He hums. "Just more lubrication."

He nips your earlobe and you can't help but shiver again. His cock digs against your entrance and he starts to slide into you. You let out a stifled shriek into the dirt.

"Fuck yeah," Matthew groans as he seats his cock deep inside you.

It has been months since you slept with anyone, and the sting of him stretching you out makes you whimper.

He knows better than to try and kiss you, settling for mouthing at your jawline and the back of your neck instead, sucking a bruise onto the spot between your neck and shoulder. You have to turn your head sideways to breathe, and that's when you notice a familiar broad figure standing just a mere few feet away by a tree.

"Come on, cry for me," Matthew groans. "That'll be so fucking hot."

"Tommy!" His name escapes your mouth in a breathless squeak.

You tug your wrists out of Matthew's loose grip and brace them against the ground so you can prop yourself up and get a better look at him.

Why is he just standing there?

Tommy's head is tilted to the side, studying the scene playing out in front of him. Matthew groans and huffs into your hair, his body rippling against you. Eventually, he senses your distraction and looks up. Instead of fear at the sight of the man in the filthy apron, he laughs.

"Thomas Hewitt, long time no see. Getting a good show?" He sneers, fucking into you so deep that you shriek. "Bet you've got no clue how good it feels to sink your cock into a hot cunt, you bastard."

He flips you over so he can paw at your breast through your ripped dress. "Maybe I'll even let you have her when I'm finished."

"Hell, I'm close," he pants. "You're going to take all of my cum, aren't you? Like the good Hewitt whore you are. Ngh--"

With the way he's holding your legs open you have no doubt Tommy is getting an eyeful. You can picture what he's seeing, your body being jangled up and down against the ground, your bouncing tits streaked with dirt and sweat. And below, your pussy is rammed by Matthew's throbbing shaft, blood, and precum squelching lewdly with each thrust. You can hear it yourself. You moan at the feeling of Tommy's heavy gaze on you, his eyes flicking over your form like he's learning something new, putting the puzzle pieces together. Matthew feels your pussy clench and thinks it's for him.

Tommy bends down and picks up a chainsaw from the ground by his feet, yanking on the cord. It comes to life with a roar. Matthew's head jerks up and his jaw drops, hips stilling against you.

"What the fuck?"

"No, Tommy," you croak. "Put that down."

Those are his last words as Tommy steps forward and sweeps the chainsaw through the air with practiced ease. Blood mists all over you as the chainsaw detaches Matthew's arm right above the elbow, making a grating sound as it saws through the bone. Matthew tries to scream and only manages a wheezing sound. The saw sinks into his torso next, in an arc that starts at his ribcage and swoops down to carve into his stomach, grinding and splattering. You shove Matthew away before his unzipped innards land on you. Shiny, stinking coils of shredded intestine splat into the grass, and the rest of Matthew follows landing in a wet, steaming pile.

You scrabble backward. Tommy turns to you with wild eyes filled with bloodlust. He's erect, straining against the front of his pants. His shoulders heave with each ragged breath he takes. The muscles in his arms ripple as he holds the chainsaw like an impatient horse chomping at the bit. You scramble to your feet, cupping a hand against your sore cunt.

He takes a menacing step forward. You've already seen the effortless carnage the spinning serrated blade can do, and you don't want that to happen to you. You spin around and force your legs to carry you, bursting into a run. Tommy lets out a wordless roar that is almost drowned out by the noise of the chainsaw and chases after you. Your skin is hot and sticky with blood and other fluids. Leaves and dry blades of grass stick to your arms and legs as you tear through the trees and into a field of wild wheat. You're sobbing noisily, Matthew's savaged body fresh in your mind.

Tommy crashes after you, drawing closer by the second. Up ahead you see an abandoned building that has been boarded up and locked with heavy chains. A weathered sign on the wall says Lee Bros. Meat Processing Plant. You spot a hole in the chainlink fence and run towards it and wiggle through. The sharp edges cut into your legs but you ignore the pain and press on. You pull yourself through just as Tommy bursts out of the field. The murderous darkness in his eyes scares you just as much as the chainsaw he carries. You get to your feet. Luckily the door is cracked open, the padlock hanging loose and broken from a chain. You run into the building.

The interior is dim, the dusty atmosphere cut through with thin beams of sunlight. The air reeks of iron and meat. There are vats filled with bloody liquid the consistency of thick soup. Animal and human parts drift in there, and the portions that are above the surface of the liquid are clumped with flies and squirming maggots. You gag and back away, searching for a place to hide. The chainsaw has gone quiet. You hear the door squeak open and quickly duck behind some old machinery, curling in a ball, hardly daring to breathe in case he hears you. His boots thump against the ground as he pads around. From the intermittent shuffling sound, he's checking the vats. You'd never in a million years think of hiding in one of them, though. The contents alone would probably cause you to contract some horrible disease.

The thought makes your stomach turn and a small gag escapes you before you can stop it. The footsteps pause. You press your hand over your mouth, your heartbeat so loud in your ears that you can't even make out if he's continuing to walk around. Maybe he spots a piece of your dress or the dim light glinting in your hair because his shadow suddenly falls over you. You leap to your feet.

He grabs you by the throat and slams you against the wall, stunning you. You feel all your bones rattle from the force, and when he releases your throat you slide to the floor. Your face presses against the ground, dirt and grit coating your cheek and lips. You spit the dirt out of your mouth in disgust. Tommy sets the chainsaw down with a clank and presses his grimy hand between your breasts, flattening you to the floor.

"Please--"

You're bloodier than he is, which is quite an accomplishment. It's all Matthew's blood, except between your legs where your uterus continues to shed, unbothered. Tommy's big hands tremble slightly as he yanks off the shirt underneath and you get to see his bare skin. His gaze flicks downward and he pauses almost bashfully, displaying himself for you. His torso is pale compared to the tan of his forearms and neck. There are fewer scars here, and his skin is patchy with dirt and ripe with the scent of sweat. He's thick with muscle and fat, built like a bear, and as strong as one. Hair scatters across his pecs, meeting in a whorl at his belly button and thickening into a trail of leads down.

You flail until he squeezes his hand around your throat, a warning for you to stop struggling. You let yourself go lax and look up at him pleadingly, feeling like a rabbit caught in the jaws of a wolf. He rucks your dress up high on your belly and looks at your scratched, bleeding legs. The worst scratch is on the side of your knee, beaded with blood. He hitches your leg up and leans over you. You wince at the feeling of his warm, slippery tongue laving over the wound. He grunts at the taste of your blood and drops your leg, looking at the rest of your body, poking and prodding like you're a prized cow bred for slaughter. He pinches your hip hard enough to leave a bruise then shoves your legs open crudely to get between them, his breathing growing heavier as he studies you closely. His thick finger runs between your folds, gathering blood and cum. He rubs it between his fingers and then wipes it on his apron before shucking it off.

"Thomas!" You shriek, slamming your fist against his shoulder.

He stands to shove his pants down and you swallow hard. The mask remains, but you doubt you'll ever see him take that off around you. When you make a move to sit up he presses his muddy boot down on your thigh. Stay. Your thighs twitch at the sight of his cock, swollen and thick with veins, which has been rock hard ever since he caught Matthew fucking you, It bobs heavily when he falls to his knees and pries your legs open. Your hip pops from the force and you grimace. He falls on you like a hungry animal and you squeal when he yanks your ripped dress out of the way taking your nipple into his mouth and biting.

He pulls away with a pop. Your nipple is hot and swollen but at least it doesn't look like he's broken the skin. He roughly kneads the other breast, shoving your hand away when you try to stop him from squeezing so hard. It hurts, but it also makes your body come alive. Your nerve endings are electrified by the feeling of his body, his hairy thighs pushing into yours and forcing them open to make room for him. He supports his weight with one hand, grabbing your face with the other, squeezing your cheeks together so your lips push into a pout. You're certain he would kiss you if he knew how. Instead, he rubs his calloused fingers over your lips and presses them into your mouth to catch your tongue, tugging on it slightly before he lets go and presses the pads of his fingers to the velvety texture of your tongue.

"Tommy," you whine urgently. "Wait, it's too much!"

His cock, trapped between your bodies, oozes hot precum against your stomach. He pulls his wet fingers out of your mouth and rubs them against his cock, pausing only to spit on his fingers and lubricate his shaft some more before he grips it and angles between your legs, prodding around. He's entranced at how silky your pussy lips feel, rubbing his cockhead in wide passes that tap against your clit now and then. You feel yourself giving in, arching your hips to chase the pressure. The rocking movements you make cause his cock to catch against your entrance and he leans forward and begins to push in. You're not surprised to discover he's much bigger and girthier than Matthew as you shudder at the burning intrusion.

Overwhelmed by the sensations you begin to cry, ragged sobs that burst from your chest. He leans over you, his belly and chest pressing against you as he licks the tears from your cheeks, petting your cheek with the backs of his fingers, almost comfortingly. You tangle your fingers into his damp hair and pull on it, angry at him and yet growing wetter. Tommy's first few thrusts are clumsy and uncoordinated and he keeps pushing your legs open wider until your hips ache from it. When he finally gets the hang of it he sets a brutal pace, slamming into you so hard you have to clench your teeth to keep them from clicking together. You wail his name but you're impaled on his cock, unable to get away. All you can do is bear with it instead, clinging to him.

He's fascinated by the wet, addicting clasp of your cunt squeezing down on him so tight. He rocks his hips into you, pushing past your resistance and forcefully making room for his cock. He groans when you scratch his arms and chest, close to crying from the deep ache. He isn't listening to you. In a last bid to catch his attention, you reach up and hook your fingers against the mask, trying to yank it off. You briefly feel divoted scars and mottled skin underneath before he drags your hand away, his grip crushing against your wrist. You cry out as he growls at you. It almost sounds like the word no. He draws back only to slide in again, his body working like a well-oiled machine to reach into your depths and unravel you. You're not proud of the sounds you make.

A hint of pleasure lingers somewhere on the edge of the pain but he's overwhelming you, taking far more than you can give, uncaring of your attempts to push him away as he plunges into you again and again, addicted to the feeling. He ruts into you like an animal. You know he's close when his breathing gets even more ragged and his hips punch into yours, becoming sloppy and uncoordinated again. You hear the faintest rumble of a low whimper catching in his throat.

"No--wait, you can't cum inside me. Tommy!"

One last grinding thrust and you feel his hot cum bursting into you, painting your insides, filling you up, and dripping out. He hovers over you for several seconds as he spills into you, breathing hard. A bead of sweat rolls off his forehead and drops onto your cheek. You sniffle, bleeding from all your stinging scratches, leaking between the legs, utterly undone. He finally hauls himself up to his feet and leans heavily against the wall, just observing you. You don't have the energy to get up and you hurt all over, so you simply lie there quietly and let him watch.

There is no remorse in his eyes, just a deep, yawning, tender hunger. As though he's found something he can't get enough of, and he wants to savor it and make it last.

Part 5 - still beating heart (Coming Soon!)

@typicalchaos, @slut4acotar, @lovelymindescape, @dabisnympho and @thetoastghost222 asked to be tagged! I'll add anyone else who asks <3

@runforthehillsbestie

#my writing #the texas chainsaw massacre #leatherface #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt fanfic #texas chainsaw massacre #texas chainsaw massacre the beginning #slasher x reader #x reader #reader insert #slasher #slashers #slasher boyfriend #fem reader #fanfic #fanfiction #fanfiction writing

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doctorpotatomd · 2 days ago

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this is gonna sound like redpill/PUA nonsense, but, I think there's some truth to the idea that straight women are attracted to jerks because being a jerk demonstrates that you're "high value" enough that you can get away with being a jerk. Like, pretty much everyone agrees that confidence is almost universally attractive, right? And stinky steve's jerkiness looks close enough to confidence that it hits the same buttons

I also think that a lot of straight women aren't really dating their boyfriends, they're more dating a constructed ideal of a Boyfriend that they project onto their partner. And I think this hits it on two fronts, like first they've got ideas about what Boyfriends are like, and that cultural idea they pick up from their friends and family members and the media is very stinky steve. Like, when you made this post you were drawing the archetype from the same place that they are. And so when stinky steve does stinky steve things, it's sorta Right, because that's what Boyfriends are like. Your other post about not doing the dishes, that almost becomes an attractive trait because everyone knows that Boyfriends don't do the dishes, so if he doesn't do the dishes he's more like a Boyfriend, y'know? And to fill the role of a Girlfriend she has to try and train him out of it because that's what she's supposed to do. Something like that. Humans are kinda hardwired to help other humans, and I think "I can fix him", like, combines that helping/caregiving drive with the attraction to confidence/jerkiness.

And the other way I think the projected Boyfriend works in stinky steve's favour is that stinky steve has no real personality, so it's easier to project the Boyfriend onto him. And negative jerky aspects of his personality get kind of compartmentalised as more things she's supposed to train him out of, as do some neutral and positive things that don't fit the ideal (how many times have you seen a, like, reddit AITA or whatever where the guy's been clear and consistent about something like not wanting kids for the entirety of a long-term relationship, and the girl's gone off the rails because she thought he'd "grow out of it" or something like that?)

And the attractiveness of the billionaire or the vampire isn't that different imo. Christian Grey and Edward Cullen are both stinky steve in many ways, the billionaire/vampire stuff is mostly just dressing.

Last thought: another PUA/redpill thing so take with a grain of salt, but I always thought the idea of the "emotional rollercoaster" had some truth to it. Just feeling happy and secure all the time is kinda boring, so the PUA idea is that to make yourself interesting and attractive to a woman you should make her feel a whole spectrum of emotions. Like how you might wanna watch a horror film one day, a romantic comedy the next, and a tragic coming-of-age movie where the kid's friend fucking drowns 30 minutes in on the third. Stinky steve's jerkiness sometimes makes the girl feel bad sometimes, but that almost makes him more attractive because it creates light and shade in the relationship. That's why 50 shades did so well tbh (apart from being a mainstream novel that overtly features bondage), it's a poorly written book but Grey's characterisation is very strong, and he rockets between "obsessive predator", "poor tortured soul", "emotionally unavailable", and "abusive slaveowner" so fast it makes your head spin. The book is actually quite engaging if you can get past the clunky prose and suspend your disbelief a bit.

So I don't exactly have experience dating like Normal Straight Girls but like, ok. There's the stereotype that they often go for douchebags, right? And I get that this is a stereotype but also I think both gay men and lesbians are often horny for douchebags and straight men seem to have their own sorts of ill-advised attractions so. A priori I doubt there's nothing to this, it just seems like a human tendency.

But what I want to understand, what I actually don't get, is the specific appeal of the douchy straight guy. Like. Pill me. Make me, uh, make me understand what is hot about, you know, you know the type, that type of douchy straight guy. Not like the billionaire or the brooding vampire or whatever. Like. Scraggly beard possibly unemployed steve who uh thinks he's really cool and refuses to text you more than once a day on the grounds that that would be gay. You know this type of guy.

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myreia · 3 days ago

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—for birthday shenanigans

Hello! Hi!

So, here's the deal: for a lot of different reasons, I have been unsubbed from FFXIV since June last year. Which means that I haven't seen my WoL Aureia in a very, very long time, and I also haven't played around in gpose for an equally long time. And I miss it!

My birthday is at the end of the month 🥳, and I was thinking that it would be fun to do a gpose for art trade.

I am a very new artist, but I like drawing other people's OCs for practice and for fun. You can see some of my art here. I am going to offer colour busts, something along the lines of my galaxy hair series. ✨

I'm still developing a style, so don't expect it to be exactly like this, but it's the vein of what I can currently do.

—Let's Trade!

Open to anyone, it doesn't matter to me if we're mutuals or not 💖

Message me via DM or an ask. My tumblr DMs only allow messages from blogs I follow to keep spam out, so if you can't reach me that way, send me an ask! You must be off anon so I know who you are. You can also DM me through Discord, if you have mine. Alternatively, if none of these work, reply to this post and I'll contact you!

I will send you the link to a folder with Aureia's .chara file and the single mod necessary to make her her (she's half-elezen/half-Midlander, so she needs her ears!)

Make whatever you would like! I am really easy going, I don't mind folks messing around with my OCs. This is her gpose tag for her general vibe, as well as her character tag and my fanfic tag.

Send me your WoL or FFXIV OC's gpose tag, and a couple good screenshots for refs. Something with neutral lighting is ideal, just so I can get their hair colour and skin tone right! If you have Hrothgar OC, I'm sorry but I probably won't be able to draw them since that's outside my skill level right now.

No Dawntrail spoilers, locations or gear please! I haven't played the expac yet and I'd like to stay surprised for when I do play it.

Aureia's usual vanilla hairstyles are Head Hound (Hilda's hair), the Bold and the Braid, and Great Lengths. I'm 100% open to modded hairstyles, too, if you have something that you think would suit her!

If you want to throw other mods on her, go for it! I have no idea what is current in the mod scene, and I'm very easy going about sticking her in different things.

We'll share what we've made during my birthday week, which is June 22 to June 28! 🎉

Post yours and make sure to tag me in it! 🩷

I will post my half of the trade and tag you in it! 💜

If you have any questions or would like to trade, please message me!✨🖤

#ffxiv #ff14 #ffxiv gpose #gposers #art trade #i am SO nervous posting this since it feels so silly and a little needy #but i want to do a trade!!#i miss gpose!!#i miss my baby i haven't seen her in so long 😭#if i'm a little slow replying to you don't panic! i'm not on tumblr a lot during my work day #and i'm not always signed in so sometimes it takes me a little bit to respond #aureia malathar #oc tag

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appalachiancowboy99 · 2 days ago

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hello lovely M 💕 i just wanted to check in and see how you're doing, and hope you've got plenty of inspiration and time to do what you love. i was rereading that delicious snippet of Cure for the Common Cold, and enjoying your gorgeously sensual writing, and had to say hi. i hope you're well, dear!

Hi, my lovely Ari! 💕 Thank you so much for checking up on me! I've been doin' well- mostly busy with some tasks that needed to get done now that spring is in full swing and summer is fast approaching! I'm so glad that you've enjoyed the last snippet of A Cure for the Common Cold! I'm an atrociously slow writer, so what little updates I have given have been far and few between (my apologies for that 😭). BUT that's to say I've been working very hard on this piece and making it absolutely perfect for y'all! 🤗

So, if you'd like to give it a read, posted below is another little snippet of this piece that will be posted much sooner than I'd like to say 😉 (Also, thank you to @pinescent-and-gingerbread, @photo1030, @grymghoul, @wipidek (thank you again, Ari 🤗), and @cassietrn for tagging me in their WIPs 💕)

- WIP Wednesday (But not really Wednesday)

Photo from Pinterest and dividers from @olenvasynyt

"Ah.." An audible sigh escapes your lips as relaxation passes over you for, what feels like, the first time in weeks.

Blackness crawls from the recesses of exhaustion and opens its mouth wide to consume your vision in the nothingness behind your fluttering lids. There in that darkness every sound is heightened like the shrillness of a hat-pin clattering against the floor in a silent room. Crackling embers inside the burning hearth catch wind and pop wildly with the smallest whine and simmering fizzle. Droplets of water trickle out from the stretched faucet’s neck, long and craned over like a beautiful swan patiently waiting for a dip in the lake of milky warmth below. Even the soft pads of Arthur’s feet tap rhythmically against the cold tile as he flits around gathering up things you care not to look at in your comfortable position. A loud scrape, followed by a creaking wooden-groan, echoes to your left where he reclines in the vanity chair that was once nestled away beneath the mirror. Yes, it is a blissful kind of rest here behind your eyelids where sleep is fast to encroach on the dying threads of consciousness. Only… if it weren’t for the sudden knocking rapture at the front door willing you back to the world.

“Who’s that?” You stare at Arthur, wide-eyed and fearful of what dangers may lurk beyond the confines of this room, though he soothes you with an air of confidence only years of self-defense can attain. “You jus’ wait here, Darlin’. I’ll be right back.” He waves a careful hand in your direction and quiets himself with precaution.

He leaves you there, silent and wishful that no trouble has come to claim either of you. Had someone managed to see his poster plastered someplace along the way to Saint Denis? Was he spotted racing you into town? Thoughts race wildly with the beating of your heart. Blood rushes to your ears, deafening any sounds coming from the other room, until the distinctive low hum of Arthur’s voice reverberates its way back to you.

“What do I owe?”

Again, thank you so much for checking in on me and thank you so very much for expressing interest in this little drabbles of mine! 😌💕

To others that have also expressed interest, thank you very much!

Please check out these other people’s works, since I also draw creative inspiration from them and the others I have already listed! @emerald-ranch @zae-heeyyy @coltermorning @twola @subpopizzy @amorgansgal @tortureddpoett @moeitsu @rivetingrosie4 @dilf-luvr-4evr

Love each and every single one of you! And remember, you matter 😌💕

#current wip #I promise it’s coming soon!#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead redemption community #rdr2 community #rdr #thank you from the bottom of my little appalachian heart <3

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underdogs-if · 3 days ago

Text

UNDERDOGS

DEMO. TBA. LORE AND CHARACTER APPEARANCES coming soon. YAY!!

18+ This interactive story contains: strong language, drug use, violence, unhealthy relationships, Age Gap relationships ( not for your characters), child neglect, physical abuse, death, and more.

Note: if there’s any spelling errors, please contact me. I have dyslexia and horrible with words, but I’m trying.

-Inspired by the hit TV shows like The Boys, Gen V, and Invincible.

Hey you, yes you, are you 14 years old and have superhuman abilities? Why don't you come to the back alley of one of the most famous superhuman teams, Super 6, between 10:00 a.m. and 3:00 p.m. to see if you have what it takes to join a top-secret project? All superhuman abilities are welcome! Come and try out for this once in a lifetime opportunity!!!!!!

UNDERDOGS BOOK 1

After accidentally trying out for a top-secret project hosted by one of your favorite superhuman teams, the Super Six, you are selected to be a part of the first-ever teen superable fighting squad, the Underdogs. As years pass, you find yourself drunk and high all alone on your 23rd birthday, as you split apart from the team a long time ago. What happened? Live out your glory days in the team and see what went wrong.

Play as a man, woman, or non-binary.

Master your power of Mimicry, and have a wide variety of powers under your belt.

Grow up with other superable teens

Be the leader of your team

Find your found family within your team, or secretly despise each other

Find secrets with the Super Six team and expose them to the public, or keep them for blackmail.

Have a perfect image or be a troubled child star

More to come soon!!!

Watch Eye (DJ aka Dorothy Harris)

Invisibility (can create invisible bubbles and heal with her powers)

Teen years

DJ grew up in New York with her aunt and grandmother. After her dad passed away, she made it her mission to be one of the most famous superhumans. She is a very level-headed person and determined to prove to herself that she can be on the team. When she is not fighting crime, she is quiet, often hiding in the corner, reading, or drawing on her hands and sketchbook.

Fighting style

When Dj fights crime, it’s like she is in her element. She is the most experienced member on the team, since she has been training since she was six years old and specializes in hand-to-hand combat. DJ gained some popularity and a small fan base from teleporting the mayor to safety after a wildfire broke loose at the age of 8.

Adulthood

[ redacted ]

Besides fighting crime, Dj mostly spends her time volunteering at a local art museum and is in a relationship with her former team member, Static.

Violent v (Victoria Lee)

Super speed [redacted ]

Teen years

Voted the most stubborn person in the group. Victoria grew up in a small town in Washington as an only child. [redacted ]. Victoria has always wanted to help people and wanted to help fight crime at a very young age, but her parents didn’t agree with her dream .They tried to distract her from her dream by putting her in as many sports as humanly possible. But that didn’t stop her from trying out to be on the underdogs team. When she is not trying to pursue her dreams of one day being the leader of the underdogs, she is playing sports with her friends or volunteering at the soup kitchen.

Fighting style

When Victoria is fighting crime, it's almost like she's back at her local boxing ring. Her punches is precise and accurate. Every move is calculated to confuse her opponent, and with her quick speed, she achieves victory every time.

Adulthood

[ redacted ]

After getting out of rehab, Victoria started her solo career of fighting crime under the management of the Super Six.

Static (Lucas [ redacted ] )

Static Electricity Manipulation (can create static electricity with his hands )

Teen years

Lucas came from a rich and powerful family in New York. Being a superhuman hero was not his first option, but he needed to get away from his family's high expectations and create his own path. Of course, growing up in luxury has its perks. Lucas loves flexing and posting expensive jewelry, cars, and designer outfits to his millions of followers and knows a guy who knows a guy who can get him anything he wants. When he’s not flexing online, he is cracking jokes and being the class clown. Lucas loves making people laugh and will do anything for laughter in the best of times, but definitely in the worst.

Fighting style

Thanks to his family's connections, Lucas has been going to the best superhuman boarding schools and has partially mastered controlling his power of creating electricity through his hands. But after Lucas got expelled three times from the three best superhuman boarding schools, his father banned him from using his powers. As an act of rebellion, every night Lucas trains in his private gym, practicing his strength and agility so that one day he will be able to use his powers free from his family's eyes.

Adulthood

[ redacted ]

Maybe out of love for the craft or just out of money, Lucas stopped fighting crime to pursue acting. When he’s not at work, he is hanging out with his girlfriend, Watch eye.

Demi (Daisy)

Hallucination Inducement

(comes in the group when you are 16)

Teen years

Demi was brought onto the underdog's team after a scandal caused a wave of negative publicity. Their addition was meant to clean up the team's image and make the Underdogs seem more family-friendly, but management didn’t realize just how scandalous Demi’s life is off-screen. Known on social media as a modern day hippie, Demi is a popular influencer best known for their opinionated vlogs and harsh commentary about the underdog team. On weekends, you can always find Demi at a trendy bar or club, using their powers to send their friends on intense, psychedelic trips. During the week, when they’re not editing their vlogs, they help out at their parents’ psychology office, using illusions to guide people through confronting their trauma.

Fighting style

Demi is a very athletic person but chooses not to fight. The underdogs team managed this by having Demi as the Plan B. If all else fails and the original underdogs team can’t defeat the enemy, then Demi will jump into the fight and use their hallucination powers to make the enemy go to sleep or get scared and run away.

Adulthood

DEAD

More to come soon!!!

Super Herc (Jacob Parker)

Leader of the Super Six

age 29

Jacob was one of the first superhumans to market his likability and create the Super Six, with his friend Adam and his fiancée, Amber, helping him along the way. Jacob markets himself as the All-American boy, the boy who could stand up to injustice, but with his quick-tempered ways, he is now seen as a fallen star. After a public breakdown, Jacob has not been seen in public ever since and has taken a leave of absence from the team.

Fun fact: his childhood best friend is the Super Six CEO Adam Ashford.

Random fact: Every Wednesday, he goes to couples counseling with his fiancée, Amber, and hates talking about his feelings.

Angel Light (Cassidy Roth)

Member of the Super Six

Age 27

Known as the heart of the team, Cassidy has been the glue holding the team together. With her perfect smile and signature shiny honey blonde hair plastered on every magazine, billboard, and TV show, you would think she would be the leader of the team, but thanks to the Super Six marketing and the fact she has been the only woman on the team for so long, she is just portrayed as the sexy girl next door.

Fun fact: She was in a fake on-again, off-again relationship with her team leader, Super Herc. The public wonders how they can even work together with such a messy history. Little do they know it’s all fake, or is it…… OR does she have feelings for someone else?

Silly fun fact: her hair is full of secrets....SHHHHHH.

Nightwalker (Henry Grant)

Member of the Super Six

Age 30

Henry has a lot on his hands. He never thought he would ever be in charge of the Super Six, but because of Super Herc's leave of absence, he’s the boss now. If he were younger, he would celebrate this big opportunity. But now, at the age of 30, he feels like he’s just parenting around adults in spandex. Between leading the team, raising a six-year-old at home, and trying to keep up with everything life throws at him, Henry is just doing his best to roll with the punches.

Silly fact: has matching bear onesies with his daughter.

Fun fact: worked with Dove at a supermarket and have been good friends ever since.

Dove *like the bird * tweet tweet*

ex-Super Six member,

Age 26

Dove has a way with people that's so unique to comprehend; perhaps that's why their fan base is so loyal to them. They're a people person, a dream against reality, a gentle and patient god helping humanity get better with one charming smile. Compared to the other teammates, Dove does not belong in the Super Six yet; for so long they stayed, but Dove knew they had to fly away from the group sooner or later before fame corrupted them.

Fun fact: met Clover Holiday when she was 19 at a Super Six party and yelled at her for drinking underage.

Super fun fact: They recently left the Super Six team without telling anybody and wrote a best-selling book about their experience in the group and their struggles with being a minder (someone who has the power to control elements of the mind).

Firecracker (Clover Holiday)

Member of the Super Six

Age 23

Fame is all Clover Holiday knows. Her life has been under surveillance for the past 18 years because of her former career as a child star, and now it’s been her mission for the public to think of her not as an actress or a former party girl but as a serious crime fighter. Her image change was taken lightly; the media criticized her for trying to be taken seriously when every night the paparazzi found her blacked out drunk at a popular club or taking her walk of shame out of a famous bachelor's house. Fans suspected that Clover would clean up her act when she was announced as the newest member of the Super Six, but her appearance on the team has been a burden on her teammates, with her using social media to spread rumors and lies about them. One honorable mention that she said during her online crash out was when she called her teammate Angel Light a "two faced bitch." After her breakdown online, she has been reported to be in a rehab facility.

Scandal's fact: slept with two Super Six members.

Fun fact: loves postcards.

Tiny mighty ( Arthur Wellington )

Age 30

Ex-Super Six member, now a famous rom-com actor

There's nothing special about Arthur besides him being British and the first member of the Super Six to leave the team.

Fun fact: He is a big asshole.

Fact number two: Arthur and Adam still communicate with each other and regularly go golfing.

Amber Gallagher

Age 29

A part of Super Six management

You know the saying, Behind every great man is a great woman. That sums up Amber's relationship with her fiancé of 10 years, Jacob Parker. She has been at his side ever since she found out he had powers at the age of 13. There's not a lot about her in the media, and she rarely shows her face to the public without Jacob's presence. And when she does appear, she never talks, just tries not to draw attention to herself, averting her eyes from the camera or politely smiling before rushing off from public view. When the two were rumored to be taking a break from the relationship, Amber did her first-ever photoshoot without him, draped in his cape, naked, with heavy black eyeshadow and smudged lipstick for a famous fashion magazine called Imagezz. Although it wasn’t much of an interview since Amber kept dodging the questions. Instead wanting to praise her fiancé, saying, "Who wouldn’t want to date a god among humans? It’s every girl’s dream."

Scandalous fact: “Well, there were three in this marriage.”

Fun fact: has a big sweet tooth.

Adam Ashford

CEO of the Super Six company

Age 29

Known as one of the sexiest bachelors of New York City in Imagezz, Adam has accomplished a lot of notable things at a very young age. Now, at the age of 29, all he wants to do is make up for his younger days of hustling to party his pants off.

Fun fact: Loves messing with Amber and getting under her skin.

Fun fact: rumor has it he secretly dated Angel Light but dumped her.

Younger Brother Theo

Age 11

Theo has always been your shadow, always looking up to you. Before you were famous, you were his bright star in a dark night, his hero in the middle of the fire pit that was his life. At a young age, he was always fascinated with death, maybe because of the sickness that plagued his body. No one really knows what’s wrong with him. Some days he’s alright; the next day he’s in bed, weak, unable to move every muscle in his body. But that doesn't stop him from trying to be a normal boy, no matter how much your mom worries about him.

Fun fact: Theo loves the band the Smiths, and his favorite song is still "I'll and Suffer Little Children (kind of ironic).

Fun fact: He loves burgers and prefers to eat them while watching movies.

Your Mother

Never ask a lady her age!!!

As much as your mother keeps assuring you she loves you, deep Down, you know she never really liked you. In her eyes, you’re the one who ruined everything, from her marriage to her career to the worst of all, her body. She will do anything in her heart to not be with you; that's why she is always with your brother, because you will never be the favorite child. No matter how hard you try, she will always despise you.

Super mega fun fact: Your mom insisted that your dad take three DNA tests to prove you were his child. All because he became suspicious and thought your mom was cheating on him. Why would your father come up with this conclusion? Was it due to him finding scandalous text from another man on her phone or getting caught in the act with a lover in bed? Neither!!!! Two years of marriage down the drain, all because you have powers linked to a gene that is only possible if you carry the H chromosome, something that your parents do not have. So, how do you have powers?

#if wip #interactive fiction #choice of games #superhero #interactive novel #hosted games #dashingdon #choose your own adventure #Choose your own story #superhero-if #cog #interactive games #if

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