#but in a ''you're as much as source of strength for me as I hope to be for you'' way

[transform4u]

I've been working out at the gym trying to grow my ass and shape my body for this really cute gay guy I've been trying to attract. I heard him say once how much he likes the 'big jock butt' look, but it doesn't seem like he'll ever give me the time of day no matter what I do. I don't understand what is so special about those sweaty, farting straight douchebags he keeps drooling over. Please, I just wish he would finally start giving that attention to me!

You're at the gym, eyeing the squat rack with determination, hoping to catch the gaze of your crush. As you count through your final set—“99… 100”—a sigh of relief escapes your lips, but it’s quickly followed by an obnoxious faaaaaaaarrrrrt that echoes embarrassingly through the gym. You wince, nostrils flaring as the odor hits you, and your face flushes with mortification.

Suddenly, an odd sensation washes over you. Your nose begins to spread wider and wider, and as your face transforms, you realize you’re getting taller. A deep grunt escapes you, a mix of confusion and surprise. Looking down, you notice your butt starting to swell outward, filling with muscle and fat, creating a perfectly rounded bubble butt. You can’t help but giggle at the absurdity of it all—only for another faaaaaaaaarrrrrrt to escape, your newly enhanced rear jiggling in response.

PFFFFFFFFFFFT

In disbelief, you watch as your twig-like body begins to expand. Your biceps swell to the size of small watermelons, bulging dramatically whenever you flex. Veins snake along their surface, accentuating the sinewy striations that tell the story of your relentless effort. Your triceps form a thick horseshoe shape, swelling and tightening, showcasing a level of definition that seems almost too extreme.

Your chest expands, thick pecs resembling slabs of granite, rising and falling with every breath. They push against the fabric of your shirt, each muscle sharply defined with deep grooves separating your pectorals. When you flex, they pulse with impressive energy, demanding attention.

Glancing down further, you see your abs becoming sculpted, each six-pack tile standing out with startling clarity. The definition is so sharp it looks almost carved, the ridges of your obliques flaring impressively. Your shoulders broaden, deltoids jutting out like armor plating, creating an imposing silhouette that radiates raw power.

And your quads—massive and powerful—now rival tree trunks in size, bulging impressively when you stand. Each muscle group is distinct, deep separations highlighting the effort you’ve put into leg day.

Your face becomes rugged and defined, with a strong jawline and prominent cheekbones framing an expression of confidence and intensity. Your eyes glint with fierce energy, reflecting your newfound strength, while a five o’clock shadow adds to your masculine appearance.

You stand there, a towering figure exuding raw power and intensity, every muscle exaggerated to a cartoonish degree, commanding attention and respect. You’ve become a living testament to the extremes of bodybuilding, showcasing both the allure of physical prowess and the commitment required to achieve such an extraordinary physique.

As you continue your workout, you start to notice a pungent odor lingering in the air. Curiosity gets the better of you, and you take a moment to sniff around, eventually burying your nose in your armpit. The realization hits—you’re the source of this overwhelming stench. At first, disgust washes over you, but then a grin creeps across your face. After all, real men sweat, and today you’ve really pushed yourself. The smell divides your thoughts, draining you of anything other than working out and fucking.

You dive back into your routine, cranking up the intensity. Each rep feels powerful as you lift, the weight pressing down but fueling your energy. You let out loud, determined grunts, each one echoing through the gym, a testament to your focus and strength.

You start to forget about your crush entirely; the gym becomes your arena. You throw yourself into the workout, muscles straining and bulging with every movement. Your voice rises above the clatter of weights, hollering encouragement to yourself, “Come on! You’ve got this!” The sound reverberates off the walls, drawing attention as you embody the essence of an alpha male, fully absorbed in the moment.

You notice the way your body responds to the challenge. Each squat, each lift, feels exhilarating, and the sweat drips down your brow, mixing with the scent that now seems oddly affirming. You flex your arms, feeling the biceps swell with every contraction, and let out a hearty laugh. You revel in the sheer power of your movements, forgetting everything else. Your focus sharpens, and you become a force of nature, driven by the primal urge to push your limits and prove your strength. This is your moment, and you’re owning it.

After an intense workout, you find yourself eager to linger your sweaty clothes. Your skin glistens with sweat, a sheen of moisture that seems to magnify the curves of your body. You can smell the intense musk wafting off your glistening body- the sheer volume of perspiration dripping down your chest and back is undeniable. Rivulets stream steadily over your defined pecs, abs and butt crack, leaving damp streaks on your taut, lean muscle.

As you lean forward, arching your back slightly, you release an earthy, obnoxious fart. The wet rippling sound echoes obscenely through the air as the hot gust rumbles out of your shapely rear end with authority. Your cheeks clap and jiggle from the force of it. "Hoooo weee, that one definitely was a rank one lordy!" you remark gleefully, giving a proud little wiggle.

You strut throughout the gym, feeling confident and self-assured. Your chiseled physique is on full display, muscles rippling beneath your tight shirt. You make sure to flex at just the right moments, drawing the eye to your impressive physique.

Every set of eyes in the room is drawn to you. Women of all ages and sizes can't help but stare, admiring your good looks and oozing charisma. You preen under their attention, reveling in the power you have over them.

As you walk by, you catch snippets of conversation from nearby gym-goers. "Did you see that guy? I'd totally fuck him." *"He's so hot, I bet he's great in bed." Their whispers follow you, a trail of lustful admiration in your wake. You saunter over to the free weights, determined to show off even more. You start doing bicep curls, grunting with each rep. Then you notice him. This pathetic faggot dude ogling you from across the room. He's been following your every move for months, and you finally caught onto him. You remember him coming up to you in the locker room a few weeks ago, trying to grind against you. But at the time, you brushed it off as another wannabe trying to get into your pants. Little did you know he would become obsessed with you and your sweaty fucking ass, stalking your every move in this place.

You continue on your routine, pushing weights and doing pullups as the faggot trails behind you. You catch glimpses of him peering over his shoulder at you, biting his lip in anticipation. It pisses you off, seeing someone so desperate for a piece of you. Why would they waste their time chasing something that's clearly out of reach? You finish up and head towards the treadmill to warm up for the next set of reps.

As you approach the treadmill, you spot a gorgeous blonde woman running on it. Her toned legs are glistening with sweat, and her sports bra clings tightly to her ample breasts. You can't help but stare at her jiggling tits as she runs, imagining how soft and supple they must feel. She catches you eyeing her and flashes you a coy smile, arching her back slightly to accentuate her curves. You feel your cock stir in your shorts at the sight of her. She's just too fucking hot.

Unable to resist, you saunter over to her, your eyes never leaving her body. "Hey there," you say with a smirk. "Love watching yourself run?" She turns to face you, her cheeks flushed and chest heaving. "Mmm, maybe you should join me," she purrs, giving me a once-over. You step closer, reaching out to grab her ass and give it a firm squeeze. "Yeah, this'll do" you say with a smirk.

[pianokantzart]

That look Luigi gets whenever Mario implies just how much he needs him.

[rockingbytheseaside]

omg, I am quite literally in love with your work.

pls I cannot tell you how frickin ecstatic I am when I read your stuff 😭 like I’m Fr Rolling on the floor and stopping every five secs bc of the butterflies-

AND! I saw that your asks are open!! (If I misread/misunderstood then I’m so sorry and just ignore this) I was wondering if you could do Harbingers x reader when they find reader quietly weeping- like reader thought they were alone and didn’t wanna burden them :3 romantic if you would !!

no pressure ofc!!!! fr I love ur stuff sm like I’ve been reading ur stuff OVER AND OVER😭😭😭

(bshdhsgdhagjds Okay, let me just hold in my tears- that’s so kind of you anon! Sorry for making you wait, I hope this is something similar to what you wanted) 

✦ How they comfort you when you cry

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Childe

Sometimes, your days might feel bitter, and sometimes the weight of your inner struggles can accumulate into a somber heap of self-doubt. Whether it was a minute inconvenience that resulted in your dampened mood, or stressful memories of the past – the reasons behind it fade into insignificance. Because next thing you know, you feel your shoulders slightly shaking, and your hand reaching to conceal your silent weeping. Thus, when talking becomes a burden and your breath runs short, your beloved is the first to listen to your sniffles.

✧ Pierro’s already icy gaze becomes unreadable. Is it fear? Is it astonishment? Or is it the readiness to unleash hell upon anything that compelled you to shed these silent tears? He sees you hugging yourself, trying to shield yourself away from him. His gloved hands cautiously reach for your form, like a blanket wrapping itself around your shoulders. 

“My divine one, why hide your tears away from me? Why conceal the sadness in your eyes when you silently weep? Please, grace me with your gaze and look at me.” 

His voice is careful despite its deepness, suppressing his boiling temper at the sight of your sadness. He reaches for you tenderly, and when you turn towards him, you allow yourself to cry further into his chest. He cradles you silently, never once wasting breath on simple shushes or admonishments to cease crying. No, The Jester will hold you, let his lips press softly to your forehead, and let you cry as much as you need. He'll personally worship and wipe every teardrop off your cheek. 

Yet despite his gentle arms, you sense him shaking. His gloved hands hold you securely, yet subconsciously gripping. Because pray to the archons above, he will not rest until the source of your sadness is annihilated. 

✧ Il Capitano never saw you cry before. He saw you as an equal in matters of battles, duels, and personal life. Through ups and downs, your best and worst. And yet the imposing, mighty Captain never witnessed his beloved’s face slowly scowl and emit those saddened sobs as you're doing now. 

“No… who bestowed such sadness onto you, my cherished? What sorrows are you fighting?” 

He asks, half in disbelief and worry. The Captain kneels down, the back of his armored hands gracefully meeting your face. He makes sure you’re not physically in pain, his touch asking permission for the simplest caress. You might feel embarrassed to explain why you're crying, but the Captain will coax you to talk only if you bestow him this honor. Otherwise, he never mocks or admonishes you for crying – “This is not a sign of weakness, but a sign of humanity in your strength.”

To soothe you, he'd drape an arm around your shoulder, bringing the side of his coat to shield you. If you desire, he'd immediately discard his coat entirely and wrap it over your shoulders. And if you desire neither this or that, he'd silently kneel, asking for permission to pick you up in his forearms, so you may rest on his shoulder while he carries you away. 

✧ You cannot conceal your sorrows from Il Dottore. He suspects you are feeling dejected before you even realize it. Should your shoulders quiver and tears well in your eyes, he'll be the first to perceive it. His already tense countenance will harden, and in short, murderous intent, he’ll ask:

“Who did this to you?”

His first suspension is that someone foolish enough dared to hurt you, and his next task is to seek out that moron. And stars above, if someone did ruin your day, the Doctor will have a new cadaver on his lab table. You'll have to physically restrain the Harbinger in front of you by putting your hands on his shoulder and explaining hurriedly that no one did anything harmful. 

Il Dottore won't quell his inner rage so easily though. As you shake your head, and rub your eyes, it will require much persuasion to convince him that it’s not as dire as he suspects. Nonetheless, Dottore will keep a tight hold on your form. If he won't murder someone in rage, then he'll prepare a soothing beverage and wrap you up in a comfortable seating so you may rest your weary head. He’ll have to personally drag you to sit by his lap so you won’t desolate yourself into a depressive fit again. 

“Wasting your breath and energy on crying is a futile endeavor. You'll only tire your body out… so rest in my arms before your mind starts weaving more puny sentiments.” 

✧ The ever-prideful and strict Scaramouche would find himself faltering into silence when the unfamiliar sound emanates from your being. The hiccupped sounds of choked cries are not foreign to him - he recognized them very well and was personally acquainted with the physical pain of crying. But seeing the closest being, the one he calls most cherished, to unexplainable weep was a new form of pain he had never experienced. 

“... Are you-? What's wrong, are you hurt? Did something-!”

An expression of shock and fear bestows the Balladeer, his hands are reluctant and afraid to cross your boundaries when you cry in front of him. His first instinct is to believe that he has erred, that he has hurt you or spoken insensitively. Anguished, his fist tightens, dreading your stern rejection. Yet, all it takes is a gentle shake of your head and a soft reassurance - no, he hasn't actually done anything wrong.

His brow will remain furrowed, and only under your permission, he would glue himself to you in a reassuring embrace. It's only after he's assured of your safety and well-being that the Harbinger begins to ease up and scoff. Maybe, just maybe, he will go and bring your favorite sweets afterward. Regardless, his hands kept cupping your face, thumbs gently wiping your tears.

“Ha, you’re that sensitive that you’d weep at the most minor inconvenience? Fine, I’ll stay here. But don’t get too comfortable. And you better stop apologizing for crying. You should never say sorry for something like that. It’s in your right to cry… Just come to me when something’s troubling you, alright?”

✧ You cannot recall a single instance when Pantalone's captivating smile ever wavered. The man has perfected his charismatic, million-mora smile that only you can discern if he’s being genuine or not. But to witness it dropping completely in a cold stare while you cried was chilling. You felt scared, as the Harbinger grew eerily silent with each slow step, he demanded:

“... Give me names and I will make sure they will disappear permanently.”

You jolted. This was bad, and it sure didn’t quell your sobbing as you hurriedly shook your head. Pantalone took a deep sigh, his brain forced to flip a switch and change to a more tender tone so he wouldn’t scare you further with his sinister rage. He will deal with the causes later. What mattered now was your shaken state. Hence, like the dotting lover he is, he softly inquired whether you wish to talk or have some privacy. 

If you willingly welcomed his physical touch, then prepare yourself for a day filled with him enfolding you tightly. He will draw you near, letting you cry your frustrations out until you get fatigued and rest against his lean chest. The Regrator always fulfills his pledges, gently rocking you back and forth. He will vow to spoil you on the next shopping spree and purchase everything you desire - luxuries, clothes, perfumes, or fancy meals, all of it is yours with a snap of his fingers (even if you reprimand his indulgence). His embraces are tenacious, endless kisses raining down on your face until you plead and whine to be released from his insistent hugs.

"My heart, how can I possibly release you when you should be adorned with kisses instead of tears? I am afraid I won’t be so easily reassured until I see your smile again."

✧ Tartaglia’s highlight of the day is mirroring your luminous smile; hence when he first heard your sorrowful sniffles, it felt like a sudden dark cloud washed past him, pouring cold water to wipe his smile off in an instant. Without hesitation, his hand found itself on your shoulder as he guided you to sit first.

“Hey, hey… What’s wrong, darling? I’m here, it’s alright.”

He observes your attempt to explain the root of your troubles, but as you try to elaborate, your tears only intensify against your own will. Kneeling in front of you, his gaze was resolute - he now had a mission. He will immediately soothe your mood with tender words of endearment, lighthearted banter, and the occasional joke here and there, anything to make you crack up with that sweet smile he so adores.

Tartaglia will remind you that first and foremost, he is your Ajax - the one who will bring laughter through his playful teasing and delightful humor during your times of melancholy. The one who will cook you the best Snezhnayan Bliny better than any pancake restaurant. And the one who will always be there so you can lean your head on his shoulder and just feel his heartbeat as he embraces you deeply. In any other circumstances, he is the 11th of the Fatui Harbinger who will work and bloody his fists for your safety. However, for now, you shouldn’t occupy your thoughts with such concerns.

“Hey, it’s alright… You don’t have to feel embarrassed for crying. We all have bad days from time to time. How about this, leave today’s dinner on me. I shall cook your favorite even better than you could imagine! Or else what sort of boyfriend would I be if I’m not spoiling my darling.” 

[ghoulsbounty]

Hi! I wanted to request a TH/fem reader and RZMM/fem reader

Maybe like a how would they show possessiveness over someone? A little angsty bc they're big guys and they would definitely manhandle their so in the heat of the moment

How Thomas Hewitt and RZ!Michael Myers Show Possessiveness Over You

Warnings: smut (18+), aggressive sex, slight mention of dumbification, manhandling, bruising/mark making, angst, obsession, stripping, stalking, slight yandere i guess?, possessiveness, canon-typical violence, control.

Words: 2.7K

A/N: Anon, thank you so much for my first slasher request! I love these boys so much and wanted to delve into their intentions behind their protectiveness a little, cause I think it would be very different for both. This is my first time writing a headcanon, I hope I've done you proud. I’d love to know what you all think to this, and feel free to send me more requests 💌

Thomas Hewitt

→ Thomas's struggle with social norms makes his possessiveness glaringly apparent. He perceives everyone outside the family as a potential threat to his happiness, particularly when it concerns you. His demeanour shifts abruptly at the slightest hint of danger; his typically measured movements become swift and aggressive. Despite his efforts to restrain his emotions in public, such as at the Cele Community Centre where you and his mother work, Thomas often finds himself instinctively drawn to your side. His hand firmly grasps the fabric of your shirt, his protective stance evident to anyone who dares to look at you. His gaze sweeps the surroundings with a discerning eye, meticulously assessing each customer until you gently remove his grip and convince him to wait in the back.

→ Thomas's overprotectiveness occasionally acts as a double-edged sword, simultaneously shielding you from harm while subtly restricting your freedom. As a man of few words, he struggles to articulate the depth of his need to keep you safe, resulting in actions that may be misinterpreted as possessiveness rather than genuine concern or fear of losing you. He means well, but it can feel suffocating.

→ Preferring to keep you within his line of sight whenever possible, Thomas's protective instincts often clash with the demands of daily life, leading to occasional conflicts with Charlie over the use of his time. The older man's frustration with what he perceives as your bad influence over Thomas' attention to his work further exacerbates tensions within the household. 

→ Certain areas of the house are off limits to you. The basement serves as a sanctuary for Thomas's work, and he is adamant that you are shielded from the horrors that happen inside. However, he still insists on your presence nearby, perched on the steps that lead down to the space or listening to the radio in the dining room upstairs. Your proximity seems to offer him a sense of security and focus, enabling him to delve into his his task with unwavering concentration and produce some of his best work.

→ Thomas finds solace in words of affirmation and constantly seeks reassurance from you. Despite the intimacy you share and the countless times you've assured him otherwise, he harbours an unshakeable fear that if he loosens his grip even for a moment, you might slip away from him. This nagging insecurity gnaws at him, overshadowing moments of connection, leaving him perpetually haunted by the possibility of losing you.

→ Physical gestures become one your languages of reassurance. You hold his hand tightly, intertwining your fingers as a silent promise that you're there for him. Running your fingers through his hair as he nuzzles into you becomes a comforting ritual, soothing both him and you. Your touch on his chest, just over his heart, keeps his anxieties at bay.

→ Words also become a source of comfort for Thomas. You express your pride in him, highlighting his strengths and the ways he makes your life better. You tell him how happy you are to have him by your side, emphasizing that he's not just your protector but also your partner. Sometimes, the simplest affirmations have the greatest impact on Thomas. Hearing you call him "yours" fills him with a sense of belonging and purpose, and when you tell him that he's been good, he can't help but prove just how good he can be by filling you with his fingers, tongue or cock.

→ Thomas feels most valued when you grant him your undivided attention and allow him to reciprocate. He revels in spending hours between your legs, skilfully coaxing orgasm after orgasm from your willing body until you're left a whimpering, trembling mess beneath him. Despite his efforts to maintain control in your relationship, you always seem to hold the upper hand, which is why he finds solace in reducing you to a thoroughly fucked-out state on his bed. In those moments, with your mind blissfully empty and your body consumed by a primal hunger for his touch, he feels a sense of power and satisfaction unlike any other.

→ Despite this, the mounting tensions within the household, particularly with Charlie, often leave Thomas grappling with pent-up aggression. As the demands on his time intensify, with Charlie clamouring for more of Thomas's attention and you taking on additional shifts at the community centre to assist his mother, Thomas finds it increasingly challenging to maintain his composure.

→ You've become attuned to the subtle shifts in his demeanour, recognizing the tell-tale signs when he's received a stern tongue lashing from his uncle or had a particularly taxing session in the basement. Thomas' simmering rage begins to permeate his interactions with you. His touch, once tender and reassuring, now carries an undercurrent of tension. The few words he mutters in your presence are laced with frustration and discontent, rather than devotion.

→ Despite your best efforts to sooth him, there are moments when Thomas's volatile emotions threaten to overwhelm him. In those instances, you find yourself walking on eggshells, navigating the precarious balance between offering solace and inadvertently stoking the flames of his anger. You are never fearful of Thomas, but these are the times when you remove yourself from his presence when possible. That is, until you learn that the best way to calm him during these storms is with your body.

→ Thomas's heavy-handed nature becomes even more pronounced during these moments of heightened emotion. He handles you with a forcefulness that borders on brutality, moulding and contorting your body into painful positions that elicit tears of discomfort. While he typically refrains from spanking you unless requested, in these instances, his large hand comes crashing down upon your flesh with punishing force, leaving behind welts and bruises that you carry for days. Unlike his usual attentiveness to your pleasure, Thomas's focus shifts solely towards finding an outlet for his frustration, using your body as a means to an end in his quest for release. He bites, scratches, and fucks every inch of you with an almost desperate intensity, seeking solace in the physical connection between you.

→ Yet, there are fleeting moments of clarity when the clouds in his eyes dissipate, and the gentle giant you know and love re-emerges. It's in these moments of vulnerability that you offer him comfort, reassuring him that he can take what he needs from you, and that you will still love him.

→ After the intensity of the moment subsides, Thomas retreats into the solitude of the basement, locking himself away as a form of self-imposed punishment for his mistreatment of you. Despite your efforts to coax him out, reassuring him of your well-being and offering comfort, he remains secluded until he feels ready to face you once more. When Thomas finally does emerge, you're quick to envelop him in the warmth of your affection and reassurance. With a soft kiss to his leather-clad cheek, you convey your unwavering support and understanding, letting him know that you harbour no resentment towards him.

→ In the aftermath of the encounter, Thomas's protective instincts kick into overdrive as he tends to any wounds that adorn your body, his touch gentle yet purposeful. It's in these moments that his true nature shines through—he may be heavy-handed and prone to bouts of aggression, but above all else, he possesses a deep-seated desire to care for and protect you, to make amends for any harm he may have caused.

RZ!Michael Myers

→ Michael's possessive nature over you begins with an intense and inexplicable fixation. From the moment his eyes land on you, something primal within him snaps, and he becomes singularly obsessed with making you his own.

→ He can't quite explain what draws him to the Red Rabbit Lounge that evening, but as he leans against the wall, trying to catch his breath after a harrowing escape from Smith's Grove, he is immediately captivated when you emerge from the back door. Unlike others who shrink away from him in fear, you meet his gaze with a calm demeanour, lighting your cigarette and casually pointing out his papier-mâché mask. Your nonchalant remark about liking the orange because it reminds you of your favourite holiday only adds to the intrigue, sparking something deep within Michael's psyche.

→ Following that initial encounter, Michael becomes an omnipresent presence in your life, a shadow that lingers at the edges of your awareness. You sense him in the periphery of your vision, catch glimpses of his shadow darting past windows, and hear the faintest rustle of his breath in the stillness of the night. He becomes your unseen companion, meticulously observing your every move. He studies your routines and habits, committing them to memory with an almost obsessive attention to detail. Always one step ahead, he waits patiently until the opportune moment presents itself to make his presence truly known.

→ Michael finds immense pleasure in the exhilarating pursuit of you, convinced that you share in his enjoyment of the chase. He keenly observes the subtle signs of your awareness, noticing the wry smirk that graces your lips when you sense his presence nearby. In those moments, he imagines feeling the same giddiness that surges through you when he lightly brushes your hair, a fleeting touch that leaves you yearning for more, even as it vanishes before you can turn around. The first time you called out to him, he battled against every instinct urging him to step out from the shadows and claim you as his own. Despite the overwhelming desire possess you, he restrains himself, savouring the anticipation of the inevitable moment when he would finally make his move.

→ In Michael's twisted psyche, you are more than just a person; you are a coveted prize that he will protect at all costs. He perceives himself as the sole rightful owner of your being, and he harbours an intense fixation on claiming you as his own.

→ As the regular patrons of the lounge mysteriously vanish one by one, leaving a bewildered community in their wake, Michael remains a silent observer, his gaze fixed unwaveringly upon you. He knows all too well the allure of your presence, the captivating dance you perform for these men, reminiscent of the performances his late mother once gave. Yet, while others may see you as an entertainer, Michael sees something far deeper—a connection, a possession, a symbol of his ultimate dominance that he must preserve.

→ From the shadows, he watches as you bare your body to these patrons. To Michael, it doesn't matter whether you are aware of his claim over you; what matters is that he sees you as his, and he will go to any lengths to ensure that no one dares to challenge him. In his mind, you are his alone, and he will stop at nothing to secure what he believes is rightfully his.

→ When Michael finally decides to collect his prize, it's in the eerie stillness of the night. He patiently waits in the shadows of your home, a silent sentinel standing rigidly in the corner of your bedroom as he observes your every move. You can feel his presence, an unspoken acknowledgment that he has come to stake his claim on his property.

→ As you undress, acutely aware of his watchful gaze, a shiver runs down your spine. There's a palpable tension in the air, a sense of anticipation mingled with apprehension. Yet, despite the unease that courses through you, there's also a strange allure, a primal instinct drawing you inexorably towards him. When you finally coax him from the shadows, he engulfs you in his arms with a ferocity that takes your breath away. The force of his embrace is suffocating, his touch demanding as he grasps and claws at every part of your body. In that moment, there's no denying the intensity of his desire, the need to make you his own consuming him entirely.

→ Michael is not gentle with you; he doesn't hold back his deep urges to possess you completely. He revels in your whimpers and the screams of his name as he stretches you open and takes what he deems rightfully his. His touch is rough, unyielding, as if trying to merge your bodies into one. Each movement is driven by a fierce need to mark you, to ensure you understand that you belong to him and no one else. Every night with Michael is filled with a mix of pain and pleasure. His eyes intense and unwavering, remain locked on you, drinking in every reaction, every cry. To him, this is the final step in owning you, the ultimate act of protecting what is his.

→  Removing the mask takes time. It's one evening, after the intensity of your shared orgasms have ebbed, and Michael lies heavy on top of you. Your fingers tentatively trace the edges of the white rubber mask, sensing his body tense beneath your touch. His hand instinctively reaches out, grasping your wrist to halt your movement, but your lips find solace in the warmth of his knuckles as you plant a gentle kiss, your breath whispering a desire to see him. For a fleeting moment, there's resistance, a hesitancy borne from years of concealing his true self, before he lets you unmask him. His long hair cascades over your face as the mask falls away, revealing the man beneath. In that vulnerable moment, you stroke his sweat-glistened cheek, your fingers tracing the contours of his features as you call him "handsome", perhaps the first time he's heard the word since his mother.

→ Despite Michael's disapproval of your continued work at the lounge, you are unwilling to relinquish your independence completely. He grumbles and fumes when things don't go his way, but deep down, he appreciates your defiance, feels a strange allure in your willingness to challenge him. Although his overly protective nature remains, he secretly enjoys the way you push back against his control, finding a strange sense of satisfaction in the game of give and take between you. A hand on his chest or a kiss along his strong jawline is all it takes for him to soften, his resolve melting under the warmth of your affection. You eventually compromise, only working certain shifts and allowing him to escort you home. As if you really have a choice on the matter. Michael finds your attempts at negotiation endearing.

→ If anyone dares to come between Michael and what is his, he reacts with violent outbursts of rage. His attacks are brutal and merciless, driven by a primal need to assert his dominance and protect you. Unfortunately, you are also not exempt from his aggression, and when he catches sight of you one night, engaged in conversation with a stranger outside the back of the lounge during your smoke break, he snaps. In a frenzy of fury, he swiftly disposes of the man, his actions marked by a sickening crunch of bones as his body is hurled against the brick wall. Then, turning his attention to you, Michael's muscles coil with tension and his chest heaves with barely-contained anger. Gripping your arms so fiercely that bruises bloom in their wake, he shoves you against the wall, once, then again, as if attempting to jolt some some sense into you.

→ With swift determination, Michael hoists you over his shoulder and retreats into the shadows, his purposeful strides carrying you home. But the journey doesn't lead to the bedroom; instead, he deposits you onto the stairs with a roughness that steals your breath. There, in the dim light, he strips away the remnants of your clothing, his actions forceful and unyielding. Again and again, he fucks into you with a ferocity that leaves you screaming his name, your pleas mingling with the echoes of both passion and pain. In those moments, as his protectiveness gives way to possession and consumes you, you find yourself uttering the words he craves to hear—that you are his, and his alone.

→ Yet, even amidst the ecstasy, a shadow of uncertainty looms. You can never be certain that Michael wouldn't cross that final line, that his compulsion wouldn't drive him to take everything from you, including your life. For Michael, protection is not just about control—it's about ownership to the point of obsession. If he can't have you, no one else can either.

[kiztae]

raindrops ― s.jaeyun

genre: fluff, very suggestive, boyfriend trope

wc: 1.2k

warnings: f.reader, making out ( alot), dry humping, slightly sub! or switch!jake, praise, neediness.

summary: it's cold, it's raining, you and your boyfriend like each other way too much and know just how to feel warmer admist this rainy weather.

a/n: this is pretty short, i had an impulse to write after seeing this jake concept pic and this was what came out. i could possibly write a pt. 2, if you'd like ◡̈ . i also wanted to post after ghosting this account for so long. i hope you enjoy! (ps. jake is dangerously pretty, get this man under control.)

"but it's so cold!" he whined playfully.

small droplets of water were pouring over your window as you laid down, each of your body's temperatures radiating against the other, serving as the best source of warmth in the middle of this chilly rain night.

"you're being such a baby. a cute one, but a baby." you chuckle in response, your hands tracing soft circles over your boyfriend's t-shirt covered back. "just for a little while! come on."

were you being unproductive? maybe. did it matter? no. your exams were finally over and you had spent the last days catching up on anything that was not related to your studies (thank god).

when you first tried to move your icy hands under jake's t-shirt and onto his wide back you were met with a quick yelp and a tug away from him as he whisper-shouted a "woah!" in amazement.

you both giggled it off but he made sure to grab your hands in his and kiss them gently while he cuddled you even more tightly (which seemed impossible before) as the sweet loving boyfriend he was. the same sweet loving boyfriend who while doing so prohibited you from repeating your past try for a warm up.

"i like you so much, but that is so not happening." he stared at you with a smile and then a playful squint of his eyes as he reached back for your waist to push you further against him, closing his eyes briefly while he hid his face in the crook of neck. "i can keep you warm enough like this." he muffled.

"oh please, that's just an excuse to get closer to my chest. don't think i don't know you well enough, sim." you rolled your eyes with a brief giggle and then moved one hand to his hair and started to play with it softly, admiring your boyfriend's pretty features in awe.

"hah, maybe." he replied with amusement. if you thought you liked your boyfriend too much, he was entirely drunk on you. he took in your scent, your skin against his, all of you with such intent, almost as if you were surreal and just an illusion. you were perfect. if he could, he'd chew you up.

"mm, maybe you should keep me warm like this." you sighed with satisfaction as you curled your finger on his hair with a bit more strength, earning the cutest reaction from your boyfriend, a shaky breath and his hazy eyes staring up at you.

"yeah?" he smiled, his excitement being obvious but you loved it just like that. you both always took care of each other, these moments were your favorite.

"yeah." you hooked a handful of his hair in your hand and carefully brought him up to your face with enough force to make him breathe out from the pull but not hurt him, at least not for now.

"you're so perfect." he managed to let out quietly before he smashed his lips on yours impatiently. as always, his lips felt so plush against yours, even with the almost insatiable way in which he was kissing you, he made it feel soft. his mouth quickly started to devour yours once you slightly parted it open for him, your breath getting caught in your chest with how hot you were starting to feel. you could feel his tongue brush against yours, the palm of his hand caress your cheeks, all while he grasped you so intently.

he could never get tired of kissing you. he was pretty sure it was one of his most favorite things to do, no matter the time or place. if he could have you, be with you, he would do so.

"mnf― jake―" you spoke breathlessly, your mind now lost on him and barely able to speak a few words. you don't know why you even tried to say something when you already know just how heated you both get once you start.

"babe? ha― you good?" he muttered out without really stopping to pepper you with kisses, his hands now starting to roam your body, grabbing whatever he could with pure need.

"mhm― yeah, so good." your arms wrapped themselves around his neck in a sweet embrace. the boy quickly nodded with a tiny chuckle of satisfaction, moving his hands further down to start groping your ass, filling his hands with it.

"you're so hot. god―" without even pronouncing the end of his sentence clearly, his mouth was on yours again. it was like he was eating you up, like a starved man. with his hands on your ass, he managed to start pressing you against his hardening crotch, pushing against you almost in a desperate way. "you're warm now, every inch of your skin..." he grasped your thigh with a certain force that made you whine into him, your arms closing in on him even more. his whispers between kisses and his straight up fondling of you made your actions get gradually sloppy with how good it felt to have him on top of you.

"jake― faster." you whined while one of your hands reached for his hair again, aware of much it riled him up. you weren't sure how but you already felt like you were on fire, the knot in your stomach threatening to snap any moment with the way your boyfriend's hips pushed against your center so well.

"whatever you need― fuck, i'm close. i'm sorr―" before he could even try to finish that sentence, you shut him up quickly with a colliding of your lips on his, not wanting to hear anything like an apology right now. he was just so sweet, he wanted to make you feel so good, could you really blame him?

you both could not help the constant airy gasps between kisses, your bed starting to shake in sync with jake, both of you too lost in the moment to care about anything other than giving each other pleasure.

he went to grab your waist with one hand, placing the other against the back of your head to keep you both close to each other, neither of your mouths wanting to separate. it wasn't anything new, you both knew just much you needed to feel each other's lips on yours, loving to taste each other. to eat each other up, to your last breaths.

with a few last grinds of your boyfriend's hips on yours, you both moaned into each other's mouths while your highs took you over the edge, your breaths echoing around the room with rhythm.

"i am... definitely not cold anymore." he chuckled while he pressed his forehead against yours and placed a few strands of your hair behind your ear carefully.

"yeah? so i can finally get my cold hands under your shirt?" you ask while being unable to help your cheeky grin as you still tried to catch your breath.

"oh. that was not what i was saying― y/n!―" before he could finish talking, you had already jumped the boy and swept your chilly hands on his back while you both laughed and he tried his best to wiggle himself out of your grasp.

-

© kiztae, 2024

[wannabespacesmuggler]

L.H. | When You Call My Name

Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

Summary: Decades after the events of 1973, Logan finds himself drowning yet again at the bottom of the Potomac River. Luckily, you're there to help pull him out of his nightmare.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

Warnings: depictions of drowning, mentions of death, discussion of nightmares, Logan's claws make an appearance, mentions of religious trauma and biblical imagery, mentions of abuse (it's on sight when I see you, William Stryker), mentions of self-deprecating thoughts, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, not really a warning but set after the events of Days of Future Past, loosely based on "Like a Prayer" by Madonna, Logan's POV, gender-neutral reader

Word Count: 2.4K

Author’s Note: So this one got away from me and my own religious trauma may have taken over a tad bit — sorry in advance (If you find comfort and solace in religion, more power to you. This is simply written from my own perspective and lived experience.) This came to me while listening to "Like a Prayer" by Madonna for the thousandth time since seeing Deadpool and Wolverine. Intended this to be shorter, but then I got possessed by some fanfic phantom and this was created. Super proud of the finished product though — hope you all enjoy.

As Logan’s eyes shoot open, he’s only got one thought running through his mind: his lungs are on fire. He attempts to move but is met with a sudden searing white pain shooting through his veins. His eyes, still adjusting to the eerie darkness surrounding him, search for the source of his injury. Panic rises in Logan’s chest as his gaze follows the metallic glint of rebar weaving through his body. He attempts to draw in a shaky breath, and his chest burns as water fills his lungs. 

No. 

It can’t be.

He’s drowning at the bottom of the Potomac River.

Logan wants to scream out of frustration, but it’s impossible. He has no more air left in his lungs, and he has no hope of reaching the surface to take a much-needed deep breath. Even if he could endure the agony caused by his body’s movements, the weight of the rebar Erik impaled him with is pinning him to the riverbed. He’s going to die here. 

Cold. Alone. Suffering.

And yet, a sudden tranquility washes over his body and mind as he realizes that maybe he can finally rest in peace. He knows he placed his trust in the right people — somehow, Charles and Hank will find a way to stop Erik, and finally, the world will see that not all mutants need to be feared. He did his part — he brought everyone back together against all odds.

Logan knew the risks before Kitty sent him back in time, but there was no other choice. Because he also knew what the future would hold if he did nothing — he’d watch the sentinels eviscerate the last of his friends until he was the only one left. And that’s not a future he can live with. But what he can live with is no one remembering his life before 1973 as long as they’re safe — as long as you’re safe.

His body relaxes at the thought. He may not have a future with you in this new timeline, but knowing you’ll have the life you’ve always dreamed of puts Logan’s mind at ease. You’ll finally be able to live a peaceful life teaching at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters instead of being forced to play the part of a loyal soldier. Although Logan is deeply saddened by the fact he won’t be a part of this new life, he has more than enough memories of you from his timeline to keep him content in the afterlife.

Logan’s eyes flutter closed as he begins to feel himself slipping into unconsciousness. His regenerative abilities may be able to keep the rebar from killing him, but it cannot save him from asphyxiation. But before he can completely drift off, something grabs his body, pulling him towards the surface. Once free from the river’s grasp, he begins coughing up water. His body desperately gasps for air, and it feels like his lungs cannot get enough oxygen. 

Logan finds the strength to open his eyes and takes in his surroundings. It’s bright — too bright. He blinks several times to adjust his vision to this sudden change. His attention gets drawn to the sound of several men talking in hushed voices. And as he looks up at his rescuers, the panic in his chest starts growing like a wildfire through his body. Logan might have let out a dry laugh at the sight if he wasn't in excruciating pain. Because instead of being met with any type of salvation, Logan seems to have been cursed with eternal damnation, no matter the timeline,  in the form of William Stryker. Some things never change.

He’s younger than when Logan met him in his timeline, but as Stryker smiles down at him, Logan knows this is the same man — the same sick, twisted man he knows all too well. Panic turns into terror as he realizes what he’s about to endure. Agonizing years of torture and torment that he’ll be burdened to forget. He can’t do this again. Not after knowing a life full of not only hardship and loss but also friendship, laughter, and love. He can’t let Stryker take that from him — all those years of happiness. He can’t let him take you.

Stryker opens his mouth to speak, but instead of his condescending tone, Logan hears your voice call his name. Logan’s brow furrows at the sound. Maybe his extended lack of oxygen caused some sort of brain damage. But then he hears it again — a voice he’d recognize in any timeline. Your voice.

And suddenly, it hits him. This isn’t happening. There’s no river, no pain, no Stryker. This is a memory — a nightmare. 

His eyes snap open, and his body jolts forward until he’s sitting up. He coughs hoarsely, as if his body is still trying to expel imaginary water, as he attempts to catch his breath. A layer of sweat has formed over his toned body, and his muscles flex as he rolls his shoulders back. He shakes his head roughly, trying to get a grip on reality.

And then you say his name again. 

His head snaps up, and he looks at you with wild eyes. You’re standing across the room — arms wrapped around yourself tightly as you watch him worriedly. You take a hesitant step toward him. Logan’s brow furrows at your unsureness, concerned about what he might have done in his sleep. But then he follows your gaze to his extended metal claws, and your hesitancy becomes understandable. This isn’t the first time Logan’s claws have come out in the middle of the night. His eyes nervously scan over your body for any injuries he may have inflicted as he retracts his claws. 

“Did I hurt you?”

You immediately cross the room as he speaks. Logan watches as you climb onto the bed and sit crisscross before him between his legs. You gently take both of his hands in yours and pull them onto your lap — the hesitancy long gone in your actions. 

“No, Logan. I’m okay.”

He lets out a relieved sigh as he leans forward until his forehead meets yours. He takes a moment to simply relish in the warmth of your touch. Logan relaxes his tense shoulders and melts further into you as you draw lazy circles into the palm of his hand. 

“Where’d you go?”

You pull away slightly to meet his eyes, and his breath hitches. Regardless of how many lifetimes he spends by your side, he’ll never get used to the fondness in your gaze as you look up at him. He remembers waking up in this timeline, thinking he actually did drown at the bottom of the Potomac River. Because this had to be heaven: having you tucked neatly into his chest, legs tangled up with his, steady breaths fanning across his neck. But as he felt you stir in your sleep, arms tightening slightly around his waist, he realized that this was real. He’d come to terms with his own death because at least his two hundred years spent suffering on this earth would mean something. But then he woke up from that nightmare, and he’s spent every day since then wondering when he’d inevitably be pulled out of this dream — waiting for history to repeat itself yet again. But he’s still here — and so are you.

“D.C., 1973.” 

You hum quietly before bringing his hand up to your mouth and placing a tender kiss to his palm. Logan waits for you to ask another question about his nightmare, but you silently return to tracing circles into the palm you just kissed. He shouldn’t be surprised; you know him better than anyone by now — better than he knows himself. You know not to push him. And he appreciates it more than you’ll ever know. After years of having his autonomy stripped away, you wait for him to come to you — allow him to open up at his own pace. Soothe him whenever he feels that he is sliding backward instead of moving forward. Healing isn’t linear. This has become your mantra for him on the nights when he’s sure that he’s slipping back into the past — when he longs for the familiarity of his vices and self-destructive tendencies. And you sit next to him with relentless patience through the highs and lows as he continues to navigate and grieve the fifty years he lost.

He’s come a long way since he first woke up. And he still has a ways to go before he can say that he’s processed everything he’s lost. Truth be told, he’s not sure he’ll ever truly heal entirely from his past. But you tell Logan that it doesn’t matter. Every time he begins to think that he’s too damaged — too broken — you reassure him that you love him as is. But he still tries to piece himself back together, for your sake. Tries to open up — to show you that he trusts you more than anyone he’s known during his two hundred years across two separate timelines. And so he continues, letting you into the depths of his tortured mind.

“I was drowning. Again. And it all felt so real. I couldn’t breathe, and I was sure I was slipping into the darkness, but then Stryker was there…”

As Logan trails off, he notices how your body tenses at the mention of Stryker’s name. Your hands tighten ever so slightly around his, and Logan lovingly sweeps his thumb over your knuckles. He knows that name holds as much weight to you as it does to him. He knows about the years of abuse you endured at the hands of William Stryker. He vividly remembers when you confided in him. After months of running into each other in the middle of the night, Logan found you silently crying with your back pressed against the railing of your favorite balcony in the mansion. Without a second thought, he slid down next to you and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. He didn’t know you — not like he does now. You’d recounted how you first met on Three Mile Island when Scott and Jean brought him to the mansion. And he was thankful for the small piece of his past that you gave back to him. But under the dim light of the night sky, you revealed precisely what you endured during your years of captivity at Stryker’s facility. And that night, Logan made it his life’s mission to get revenge against the man. Not for his sake. No — for you. He would tear Stryker apart limb from limb for what he had done to you. 

“You aren’t there. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

Although the words are directed towards him, he knows you’re equally trying to convince yourself of that fact. He knows that even though William Stryker is long dead — after Logan made good on his promise to you — he still haunts you. Unlike Logan, your trauma does manifest in the form of nightmares but insomnia. He thinks maybe this is why the two of you work. After years of feeling alone in this world, Logan finally found someone who understands him and what he’s been through. Although your torment isn’t identical, the similarity in your stories bonded the two of you together. You help him piece together the shared fragments of your past as you heal alongside him. 

“I know, you pulled me out.”

Your brow furrows at his confession. He lets go of your hands and gently holds your face. Your face flushes as he openly admires you. The faint light of the single side table lamp that Logan had left on softens your features, making you look damn near angelic. Logan isn’t a religious man, but his mother was. He was a sickly child before his mutation restored his body. His mother would often sit by his bedside with a bible in hand. And on the nights when he wasn’t delirious from his fever, he would listen to his mother read to him. One verse always stood out to him: “God is faithful, and He will not let you be tested beyond your strength but with your testing He will also provide the way out so that you may be able to endure it.” She meant for the words to comfort him, but the words only angered him. 

He remembers finding himself down on his knees multiple times during his years as Stryker’s mindless, faithful soldier. Praying to that same God that his mother once trusted to save her baby boy from the illness slowly degrading his frail body. He begged Him for salvation — to be given the way out that was promised in the bible verse his mother once recited. But instead of an answer, Logan was met with silence. So if the years of physical and psychological abuse he endured were nothing but a test from the Lord above to prove his faithfulness, then that’s no God worth following. 

“I heard you call my name, and it brought me back home.”

God never did anything for him. He didn’t bother protecting the innocence of a broken, misguided child. He refused to provide respite from the harshness of humanity. He never offered him any form of help or guidance during his times of greatest need — but you did. Without even knowing, you came into his life like an answered prayer.

Seemingly at a loss for words due to the intensity of his gaze, you grab onto the front of Logan’s t-shirt and pull him into a tight embrace. Your hands slide under the white fabric and slide across the contours of his back. He melts into your touch — finding relief in the direct contact of your skin on his. He’s never considered himself desirable, but you hold him like he’s something to be coveted. And then you murmur his name again. It’s barely a whisper, but the sound rings in his ears because your voice is heaven-sent.

“You’re a goddamn saint, you know that?”

A melodic laugh escapes your lips as you shake your head at his words. You pull away from him slightly and tilt your head up to meet his gaze. 

“I’m nothing special, Logan.”

You don’t mean it in a self-deprecating way. Logan knows that — knows that you simply see yourself as ordinary. But you couldn’t be more wrong. Because you might not actually be a saint or an angel, but you are the only person in two hundred years who’s managed to restore his faith in what this world has to offer. 

“Well. You’re special to me, sweetheart.”

[colourstreakgryffin]

I saw you're taking Hazbin hotel requests so I thought I'd shoot my shot! So reader is a young boy who also died around Alastor's time(Early 1930s) . He's so confused and overwhelmed by how fast everything is progressing. So when he hears Alastor humming/singing a song from the 1930s he feels a sense of comfort and familiarity. Bonus if it also happens to be their favorite song! Take your time and you're amazing!

Oooh! Fourth Alastor request and I am having such a great time with this! This man is so fun to write for! After I finish here, I am gonna go cook some Jambalaya then pop it into my pentagram and summon Al so he can cook me!

Alastor- Night & Day

Like the beat, beat, beat of the tom tom…

when the jungle shadows fall

like the tick, tick, tock of the stately clock

You don’t recognise anywhere you are… this place. It’s hot, dark, dangy and uncomfortable. There’s nothing here resembling Earth and it’s shaking you to your core. Not having the strength nor confidence to move anymore from the alleyway you were just dropped into upon arriving here from the pentagram in the dark sky. Everyone is too much for your young mind… well. Other than that best, those lyrics and that voice

As it stands against the wall

Like the drip drip drip of the raindrops

When the summer shower is through

So a voice within me keeps repeating you, you, you

That song is a symbol of comfort for you. Night & Day by Cole Porter. Something your mother use to sing to you every night before bed, the sound of pretty rain hitting your open window as that beautiful sweet woman would sing over and over again, all without it growing repetitive, until you fell asleep. Having wonderful dreams all the time

Even though you’re scared out of your mind, you begin to walk out to the streets. Packed to the brim with all kinds of weird-shaped adults but you avoid most of the them, weaving through this thick crowd to find the source of the soothing lullaby of your whole life and the voice singing it. It sounds dapper, transatlantic, if not an old radio. Is it coming from a radio?

Night and day, you are the one

Only you beneath the moon or under the sun

Whether near to me, or far

It's no matter, darling, where you are

I think of you

It felt like a game of cat and mouse. Running around to find where that wonderful singing is coming from and it feels like the person is constantly teleporting, no adult should be this frustrating to find. Or, you’re just too overwhelmed from being dropped into literal Hell to even realise your coordination skills are as dropping as you did. Your mind is racing to come to terms with what’s going on

This isn’t New Orleans at all… and not a single trace of your parents around. Are you alone? No. No. You don’t want to be alone, you’re too young to be alone. Is everybody here too evil to care about a literal child Sinner being stuck on his own and having to fend for himself in ways he doesn’t know how to…

By all the unholy gods. Somebody help

Day and night, night and day, why is it so

That this longing for you follows wherever I go

In the roaring traffic's boom

In the silence of my lonely room

I think of you

The loud noises of talking, of the wall of built-in weird flat devices screeching and echoing, the patter of footsteps. It makes you want to hide away and sleep to try shake off all the distress and overwhelming feelings you are being tormented with but that song is way too recognisable and comforting for you to ignore so you just keep pursuing it

Maybe, it’ll be pointless and the singing source will be from a Radio of your year but it almost feels like the song is organic and from a person. That means there is an adult of your time here. A man from the 1930s, Hell, he may be somebody of your family! That’d be wonderful and your hopes are high that when you do find the source, it’s somebody you’ll get to embrace and talk to

Day and night, night and day

Under the hide of me

There's an oh such a hungry yearning burning inside of me

And this torment won't be through

Until you let me spend my life spreading love

A flash of bright red crossed your eyes when you finally had managed to shakily but stubbornly and determined, pasted through the big careless and if not almost hypnotised by the running TVs crowd, and continued down the road in half sprints. Following a array of melodically humming, recreating the beat and rhythm of the song as it seems the source is quite invested in such a song

It felt like forever following a mere sound across the city’s streets but there he is. The source of the singing, he’s so close that you can finally reach a arm out and take his hand to catch his attention

Day and night, night and day—

The man instantly mutes his singing. He is tall, in a nice fancy coat with long hems at the bottoms, with a pair of what seemed to be tall deer ears on the top of his head and his pale face branded with a permanent toothy grin, he looked both menacing but yet friendly. Turning around to face the nine-year-old Sinner running around the Pride Ring’s own Pentagram City’s streets to chase the source of a song of familiarity and now has chased and caught his hand, Alastor reacted rather friendly and understanding to be presented with a child of his own era

Leaning down to be kneel before this young confused on-the-verge-of-crying boy, the Radio Demon says smooth and curious with that same radio effect almost overlapping his charming transatlantic accent, placing his free hand on your little shoulder

Something about Alastor reminded you of a popular figure from New Orleans you’ve met before

“Greetings there, young man… tell me, where are your parents?”

[yurozo]

ink-related natural disasters (leon kennedy restaurant au oneshot)

summary: it's your first shift, and leon's been asked (ordered) to show you the ropes (fuck up tremendously in front of you on numerous occassions). no warnings, gn!reader.

a/n: my first request!! i hope you guys like it :D if y'all want me to continue the restaurant au let me know!

"does the cheese pizza have dairy?"

it's only half an hour into his shift, and leon's already contemplating on the different ways that he can permanently end his career in food service. lighting himself on fire in the middle of the floor is currently the most viable option, the candle is right there and if he moved his arm down just far enough-

"yes, ma'am. the cheese pizza does have dairy in it," he answers instead, mouth pinched into a thin smile. the pen between his fist cracks a little at the last word, earning a much easier end than the man holding it.

"then i won't get it," the woman says, looking back down at the menu with a huff. "i'm allergic."

for all of leon's strength, he can't help the little sigh that comes out of his mouth then. the man sitting at his table gives him a sympathetic look, and it's only then that leon does actually feel a bit bad.

not only does he have to deal with a woman who apparently never passed third grade english, he's currently responsible for training the new person coming in tonight. in all honesty, he's not quite sure why wesker gave him the responsibility. he's certainly hasn't been here the longest, not the most strict, and about three shattered glasses currently in the garbage isn't exactly giving a testimony to his self-assurance.

he's fucked. leon's going to have some half-baked college kid show up, stand behind him ominously all night, and ask questions until his head hurts. wesker didn't even allow him the chance to say no-- just glaring through the world's darkest sunglasses before storming off to his own office.

the only hope for him is that the tips are decent enough for him to put up with it.

the woman sitting in front of him, who he has so aptly named public enemy number one, finally finishes her order. leon offers a quick goodbye, snapping the notepad shut with his best attempt at a smile. he walks away, looking for the next open source flame is until he freezes right as claire walks by him.

what might just be the most beautiful person he's ever seen in his life is currently at the front entrance.

you're there, chatting with jill at the hostess stand with a nervous smile on your face and a notebook tucked to your chest. as cliche as it is, the restaurant really does seem to come to a standstill-- conversation seems to dim, everything seems to move in slow motion, and leon suddenly feels like air isn't getting into his chest.

if you're actually the new hire, he is truly and royally fucked.

claire giggles to herself as she finally breezes past him, muttering something under her breath that goes completely over his head. he couldn't give less of a shit what she's saying, because now jill's pointing at him, and you're looking at him with a smile and bright eyes.

it's a miracle he isn't a puddle on the floor yet, but that's neither here nor there. not when you're now walking towards him, and leon still hasn't thought of something cool to say.

"hi," you greet him softly, quickly rattling off your name and qualifications while leon is still a million miles away. "you're leon, right?"

he blinks at you slowly. "huh?"

"leon." you clarify, the slightest hint of a grin curling at your lips. jesus, you're cute even when you're clearly pitying him. "jill told me that i'm supposed to shadow you on the floor."

"i'm leon." the words leave his mouth a little too fast, the syllables blurring together in a barely perceptible haze. he gives himself a mental smack on the forehead. "i'll take care of you."

at least he has the mind to smile, even if the plastic of pen number two shatters completely in his fist.

-

he learns four things about you in the span of two hours. one, that you're incredibly smart. after about three tables you've already picked up on the general routine, the menu prices, how to describe food that you don't even eat.

two, you have a great sense of humour. or he's just on a roll with his jokes. regardless, you've laughed at every shitty one-liner that left his mouth tonight, and leon feels like he's on cloud nine.

number three, you're gorgeous, and in a way that everyone else is noticing too. tables are significantly nicer to him when you're standing politely behind, as if they too want to be on their best behaviour to win your approval. get in line, he always thinks bitterly.

and finally, you're friendly in a way that almost infuriates him. mostly because he can't tell if he's actually winning brownie points with you, or you're just entertaining the man training you. every piece of information about yourself is carefully folded and tucked away in his brain for safekeeping, just in case its the former.

"you know, i should set you up with my daughter, i think you'd love her." the old lady at his table speaks up, reaching across the table to pat his arm. "she's a real gem."

"okay," leon sighs, "how about instead, i get you that appetizer?"

you stifle a laugh behind him, but he can still feel the puff of air on his back. leon can feel you move behind him until your head is peeking over his shoulder, pretending to be very interested in whatever he's writing on the ticket.

you're so close-- he can feel your hair brushing against his cheek, feel the warmth of your shoulder right against his back, and thats when disaster strikes.

ever so glorious pen number three creaks under the weight of his grip, before pronouncing its death by exploding ink all over both his hands and the ticket. all he can do is mutter some half-formed apology to his table before running to the bathroom with his metaphorical tail between his legs. you follow closely behind, but not before giving the customers an apologetic smile and a sickly-sweet apology.

again, infuriating. been here a couple hours and you're more of a natural than he is.

any hope of brownie points with you is draining alongside the ink dripping onto the ceramic. when he looks up at himself in the mirror, he can't help but internally cringe at his appearance. fully-formed eyebags, hair tousled from a nervous habit he's too tired to break, and now ink all over his sole work shirt. he's been looking like this in front of you this whole time, no wonder you probably think he's truly lost his mind.

you appear behind him through the mirror, just over his shoulder again. "you really should take it easy on the pens. they didn't do anything wrong."

a half-hearted laugh rings between the both of you. you reach for the paper towels to start getting some of the blue residue off. the way you touch him is soft, way too caring for someone you just met. he thinks that's the part he likes the most so far.

the heart on your sleeve, not too unlike his own.

"so much for taking care of you, huh?" he chuckles, staring down at the way your hand is holding his with the other rubbing the ink off his palm.

"you did great, don't worry," you smile, glancing up at him. "let me return the favour."

-

still trying to will the blush off his face, leon furiously uncrumples the ticket and sticks it in front of luis.

"sancho, what the hell is this?"

"it's the order for 37, what does it look like?" he barks back, a little too harshly for something that is most definitely his fault. if luis is offended by his tone of voice he certainly doesn't show it, just tilting his head at leon like he's got him all figured out.

"it looks like you wrote this with the pen in your mouth," he laughs, sticking it above him anyway. "what's got you so distracted?"

before leon can give him some sort of half-witted answer, ada steps up to the counter, glaring at the piece of paper above her like it personally offended her. "you're an idiot, kennedy."

leon just sighs, "tell me something i don't know."

[benevolentbones]

as i lay bleeding | spencer reid x reader

warnings: angst!!!!!!! character death, mentions of injury. gender neutral reader

word count: 1.1k

summary: risks in the field suddenly become very real

a/n: hope you enjoy:) i love writing angst. reblogs & comments appreciated <3 requests open

it was a given statistic that those who worked for the fbi had a lower mortality rate, they would often get injured on the field, times those injuries would result in death.

you had seen deaths occur on the field, you had heard the news of other members in different departments passing during active cases. but you never thought you’d be lumped in with the large sum of losses the fbi had each year, well, until now.

all you could see was the grey sky, murky clouds floating across the monotone heavens. you laid flat on your back, when you tried to move your whole body felt like it was lit aflame.

you let out a breathy wince, hastily trying to find the source of this pain. you shifted your left arm, dragging it against the concrete to move it over your abdomen.

as your soft fingers reached your wound you let out a pained gasp, feeling something large jutting out of your left side. you pulled your hand back, every movement aching, lifting it up to your line of vision.

bright red stained your fingers, dripping down your forearm and staining your, now torn, white shirt sleeve. a jagged breath escaped your lips as you tried to move, once again not succeeding.

so you laid there in a pile of broken glass, on the concrete staring up at the moody sky, bleeding out.

within seconds a lean figure was by your side, you shifted your gaze from the sky to meet big brown eyes. he cradled your head in his hand, moving his other down to your injury, his hand hovered shakily over the large piece of glass soaked in your blood.

“spencer…” you mumbled out, your eyes going in and out of focus, he turned his attention back to your face, he was clear he was trying to mask his panic, you could always see right through his façade.

“hey- you’re okay- you’ll be okay.” his voice was laced with concern, his head quickly whipping around his surroundings for anyone to come to your aid.

“i need a medic! agent down-“ he yelled out, his voice strained. you couldn’t hear much else going on around you, a few distant voices calling back.

you reached your left hand up to rest against his cheek, his eyes glued on you. as your strength weakened, your hand slipped, leaving a red stain on his face.

“sorry..” you mumbled out, making an attempt to wipe away the blood but making it worse in the process,which spencer replied with a choked out chuckle.

even as you lay there bleeding, of course you would find something to be apologetic about. that was just how you were, and he loved that about you.

“you’re okay- hold on. the medics are on the way-“ he couldn’t hold back the wobble in his voice, you knew by how he acted, that he was struggling to maintain his composure. you could feel his hands trembling as he applied pressure to your wound, desperately trying to stop the bleeding.

"spencer" you whispered, your voice barely audible, "i'm so tired."

his eyes widened, panic evident. "no, don't say that. stay with me. hey- keep talking to me."

your vision started to blur, and the world around you seemed to fade away. "it's okay, spence. i'm- i'm glad you're here."

the panic that you once felt about dying slowly slipping away, being replaced by a comforting feeling, but maybe that was just because spencer was with you.

tears streamed down his face as he shook his head, refusing to accept what was happening. "no, you're going to be fine. just hold on a little longer." he chewed on his lip, letting out a breathy gasp “please.” he whispered out.

you tried to muster a smile, but it came out as a grimace. "promise me something."

"anything," he replied instantly, his voice cracking.

"promise me...you’ll look after kevin- i know you don’t like him but.." you referenced the cat you brought into your relationship with spencer, that little ginger fur ball was your absolute baby, you needed to make sure he would be taken care of.

spencer let out a low chuckle, of course you would bring up that dumb cat of yours. “yes- but i won’t need to- you’re going to be okay..” his voice breaking completely. "please, just stay with me. the medics are almost here. you can't leave me."

your eyelids grew heavier, and you could barely keep them open. "i love you, spencer." you managed to mutter out, your eyes fluttering shut for the last time.

spencer's heart shattered as he felt your body go limp in his arms. he clung to you, sobbing uncontrollably, praying for a miracle that he knew deep down wouldn't come. the sounds of approaching medics and shouting voices faded into the background as his world centered on the devastating reality that he was losing you. that he lost you.

morgan ran over, skidding to a halt beside spencer. he took in the scene quickly, seeing the blood, the glass, and the lifeless body in spencer's arms. he knelt down, placing a firm hand on spencer's shoulder.

"spencer," morgan said, his voice gentle but urgent, "we have to let the medics do their job."

spencer shook his head violently, his grip on you tightening. "no, no, they can't help now. they’re gone, morgan. they’re gone." his voice broke completely, and he buried his face against your shoulder, sobbing harder.

morgan's heart ached at the sight. he pulled spencer into a rough embrace, feeling the younger man shake with grief. "i know, man, i know," he said quietly, his own voice thick with emotion. "but you need to let them take them. you can't stay here."

spencer resisted for a moment longer, then finally, reluctantly, let go. the medics moved in swiftly, but spencer didn't watch them. he couldn't. instead, he clung to morgan, who held him up, supporting him as his legs threatened to give out.

"they asked me to look after kevin," spencer whispered, his voice barely audible. "they were worried about the cat."

morgan managed a small, sad smile. "that sounds like y/n. we'll make sure kevin is okay. right now, we need to get you out of here."

spencer nodded numbly, allowing morgan to lead him away. as they walked, he glanced back one last time, seeing the medics covering your body. his heart felt like it was being ripped apart all over again.

"i loved them so much," spencer said, his voice breaking.

"i know you did," morgan replied, his grip on spencer tightening. "and they knew it too. they loved you just as much. remember that."

together, they walked away from the scene, spencer's sobs mingling with the sounds of the bustling crime scene, his clothes stained crimson, one of the last reminders of you.

taglist!! @0108s22m @rainoftearss @potatovoyager @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @luvmia222 @shardsofmarxx @silver138 @lover-of-books-and-tea @thedancingnerdmermaid @khxna @cynbx

[yan-lorkai]

Hi Lorkai! I know you have so many requests and you're busy, so it's okay if you'll ignore this one. But it would really mean the world to me if you made this one for me, since i'm going through really hard time in my life. Thank you from the bottom of my heart 🙏🏻🥺❤️

Can you please write about Alucard being very protective and caring for his reader!Darling, who's been suffering from mental abuse from her alchoholic father for so many years? Sometimes this trauma comes back, leaving the reader a sobbing, trembling mess, unable to catch a breath.

I have always seen Alucard as my source of comfort and understanding, and as we have seen in Hellsing Ultimate, even he sheds tears when his traumatic past haunts him in his nightmares. That's why I like to imagine he would treat his beloved reader with great care and gentleness, trying to do everything in his power to keep his Darling safe and reassured that he'll always be there for her. He doesn't want the reader to suffer alone the way he did.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡A/N: Hi, darling. I'm truly sorry to hear that you're going through such a hard time right now and I want you to know that I'm here for you if you want to talk and vent. I'll hope that this can help you, even if only a little. I'm also sending you lots of strength and positivity! ⁽⁠⁽⁠ଘ⁠(⁠ ⁠ˊ⁠ᵕ⁠ˋ⁠ ⁠)⁠ଓ⁠⁾⁠⁾

You clutched your chest, feeling your lungs rise and fall at a frantic pace, a rhythm you couldn't control no matter how hard you tried. Every breath you took felt like fire, scorching your lungs, your throat and your eyes. You knew you needed to breathe, to calm down, but you couldn't remember how. Was this a panic attack? Or was it a heart attack?

Were you dying? Were the screams still echoing through the hallway? Or this was only a nightmare?

You wanted to scream, to let the tears fall, but everything felt frozen. Reality seemed to blur and warp, too real and yet not real enough. The burning sensation intensified, consuming you, threatening to overwhelm you entirely. It felt like the world was closing in, trying to crush you, leaving you powerless and desperate.

If you could find the words, that's how you'd describe the sensation - a brutal, unyielding force.

A noise beside you snapped you out of your spiraling thoughts, and you suddenly sensed his presence. Your beloved's presence, dark and oppressive yet strangely comforting, surrounded by shadows and having a startled expression on his face. You turned towards him, desperate, searching for the air that escaped you, searching for the comfort only he could give you.

The comfort he always gave you. Always present to soothe your fears and worries, always there to wipe your tear and hold you for as long as you need. Nothing, not even Integra could tear you two apart if you were having a bad time.

Alucard spent years dealing with his problems, completely alone. He forgot how the feeling is but he still remember the anguish, how draining it was, how difficult. There was no way he would let you deal with this alone.

"Darling, you're exhaling too much. Focus on my voice." Tears streamed down your cheeks, and he wiped them away with his gloveless fingers. His figure wavered before you, but his presence was unmistakable, his familiar cologne grounding you. "Breathe in, through your nose, little one."

Your eyes widened as the world seemed to crash down on your exhausted mind. You felt trapped in darkness, fumbling blindly for the light, searching for cracks on the walls and beneath doors. Searching for a way to stop the voices and the screams, wincing when Alucard's hands rested gently on your shoulders.

Stumbling through the tunnel's darkness, you saw no light, no end, no switch to bring relief. No tool to fix what was broken. Cold sweat clinged to your skin as you struggled to call for him.

His touch cool and steady, he knelt before you while he watched you. Watched pain and shame painting your face, how you bit your lips till they were bruised and bloody, eyelashes wet from your tears. "Listen to me," Alucard repeated softly, his voice a lifeline in the chaos. "Breathe in, through your nose, slowly."

You tried to follow his instructions, drawing in a shaky breath through your nose. The air felt thick, like it was fighting you, but you persisted, clinging to his voice, clinging to him as if without him beside you, you'd die. Alucard's presence was a safe haven, a stark contrast to the darkness that had you snared.

"Good," He murmured, his voice soothing. His hands were twiching, wanting to hold you but hesitant to do so. You needed space to breath and smothering you on his chest wouldn't do you any good. "Now hold it for a moment."

You held your breath, feeling your heart race as you struggled to maintain control. Alucard's fingers traced small, comforting circles on your back, trying to keep you on the present moment and not letting you sink back into your nightmare where you saw your drunk father pacing around the kitchen, slamming everything on the counter and screaming.

This was over, this was the past and here is the now, the place where you didn't have to fear.

"Now, let it out slowly, through your mouth." He whispered.

You exhaled, your breath trembling, but the burning began to ease just a little. Alucard's eyes, crimson and intense, never left yours. "Again," He urged gently, holding your hands tenderly.

You repeated the process, inhaling deeply, holding it then exhaling slowly. It was difficult and hard, relapsing every few seconds whenever your conscious remind you what your father used to scream. Yet each breath brought a tiny bit of relief, the panic slowly losing its grip though it's tendrils were still curled around your throat, holding it. Alucard's presence anchored you, his shadows swimming around you and all over you, like a giant blanket, enveloping you.

"That's it," He whispered, his voice like a soothing balm. "Keep going. You're doing well."

With each breath, the burning in your chest and throat began to subside. The world started to come back into focus, the overwhelming blur receding.

"You're safe, darling." It was true. With him, you were always safe. Always loved and protected. And you never knew fear from the day you started calling him yours. Your lover, your adorable vampire. "I'm here with you."

You nodded weakly, the tears still streaming down your face, but now because of the relief you felt. Alucard's words, his presence and his unwavering support slowly pulled you back from the edge. Like he did once, like he promised to do again and again, no matter how many time he need to.

After a few more breaths, the darkness wasn't completely gone but it was tolerable. You looked up at Alucard, exhaustion evident in your eyes as you let your head fall into his neck.

"Thank you," You whispered, your voice hoarse. Tired.

Alucard gave you a small, reassuring smile. "You're never alone, darling. Nothing can hurt, everything is fine now. You can rest now."

He gently pulled you into an embrace, his arms enveloping you in a protective hold that felt like a fortress protecting you against the chaos within and around you. His embrace was firm, tender, and the warmth of his body seeped into yours.

You let yourself sink deeper into his arms, feeling the remnants of fear and panic gradually receding. The sensations that had overwhelmed you - burning lungs, blurring vision, the oppressive weight of dread - began to dissolve in the cocoon of his hug. The profound sense of safety and comfort he provided overshadowed everything else.

The world that had seemed so overwhelming and distorted slowly began to right itself. Colors sharpened, sounds became clearer, and the crushing weight on your chest lifted, replaced by the gentle pressure of your heart beating and Alucard humming slowly.

And for now, that was enough.

It was enough to be in his arms. It was enough when he pulled you to lie down again and arranged the covers around you. And it was enough when he let a little kiss on your temple, so reverent, so warm. For now, your heart was buzzing with warm feelings, your worries forgotten while you stared at his very beautiful red eyes.

[kalki-tarot]

Your Shadow aspects you need to work on to meet your FS. 🥀

1 - 2 - 3

Disclaimer — The images I used to select a pile were sourced from Pinterest, I hope the reading will resonate with you. I'm not responsible for any decisions you make in your life from my readings. I'm just a beginner and these readings are just for fun.

Check masterlist for more !

Pile 1

Death, wheel of fortune, queen of swords, the chariot, ace of wands, the emperor, king of swords, the lovers, 10 of pentacles.

The most prominent thing I see here is your obsession for fairytale romances, basically you are having unrealistic expectations etc.

This behaviour leads to you to watching a lot of tarot readings, like alot of them!

The high priestess in the bottom of deck tells me you need to learn how to identify and work with your own intuition. You need to develop it for your own good.

Don't be dependent on tarot readings or fiction romance.

You maybe have an image of a rich handsome ceo in your mind. Idk if it's right or wrong to imagine that or set expectations around it but the tarot the deck is showing me exactly this issue.

Please be reminded that a perfect love story in not perfect. It has ugly fights and a lot of things like that.

I'm not saying you don't deserve a love you desire, I'm saying not to be too obsessed with these unrealistic expectations.

Start working on your intuition, meditate, be in nature for sometime. It'll guide you, you'll be your own guide. Take tarot readings as a possibility of the future. Don't let anything take your power.

You'll surely have a love story, with passion and romance if you trust your intuition.

Pile 2

King of wands, ace of pentacles, strength, devil, the empress, queen of wands, 10 of pentacles, 3 of swords, 2 of swords, 2 of wands, 7 of pentacles, death

I feel like you're in a soulmate connection or a twinflame journey. Are you seeing 22 or 222 or 2323 alot?

Do you recognize your talents and creativity, pile 2? If not then start doing it. Nurture your divine feminine side. Keep yourself in check. It will align you with meeting your future spouse.

Don't be too harsh on yourself, it's okay to not be able to follow the same timetable or routine everyday.

Why are you restraining yourself to a point that it's hampering your spiritual growth?

You were born with these talents you have, keep doing it. Allow yourself to feel and do things what make you happy and peaceful.

I'm aware of the heartbreak or painful time you faced in the past. I know it's stopping you from loving yourself, but see the bigger picture.

You need to make a choice, it's in your hands. The choice to either be stuck in the past or move forward with a free and energized spirit on the road of success.

Work on your plans, carry them out in the reality. Plan and succeed. It's your destiny to reap the benefits of your hardwork.

Allow yourself to go through this transformation in life.

Pile 3

Ace of wands, strength, 10 pentacles, ace of pentacles, 7 wands, the lovers, 4 or cups, death, queen of cups.

You need to balance and keep check of your emotional health. You are too sensitive emotionally. You need to master your emotions.

I think it's because of someone broke your heart romantically or you were in a toxic relationship which made you like this.

Please remember how much potential you have carrer wise. You are much more capable of everything, more capable than you think.

You have a tendency to repeat this cycle where someone tells you something critical, you take that seriously, you blame yourself for being this way here and in your love life too and it just keeps going in a circle.

I think you need to rewire this pattern of self blaming. You are not what you think you are. You are much more tha that. You are meant to live a rich and abundant lifestyle, so focus on that. Love will itself find you.

[irkimatsu]

I don't know if you accept requests,but

I can't stop imagining this smut scenario where Alastor is looking for Husk by following the green chain and when he found the room where he is,he's doing it with Reader 😻

Sorry for My Bad English!

I love how You write 🐬💕

I accept scenarios - and your English is fine, don't worry about it! Thank you so much for enjoying my writing!

You didn't specify whether you wanted angst, but that's my weakness, so there's some here. Husk/GN!Reader, contains a sex scene but that's not entirely the point. Husk's got some problems beyond what you can fix for him…

It started as a lazy afternoon in Husk's bedroom, just like so many afternoons you've spent here before. He never invited you in this early for the sole purpose of sex, but neither of you were stupid; you knew what a bottle of wine and some instrumental jazz could do to your heads. You simply had no reason to fight it as his kisses turned into his hands under your clothes, into his mouth on your collarbone, into him holding you in his lap and filling you deep as you rocked your hips into his.

You're snapped out of your passion by the sound of a chain rattling and Husk choking.

"Husk?" you ask as you slowly open your eyes. The room is darker than you remembered it being, only illuminated with a sickly green glow. You immediately trace the glow to its source; a heavy shackle that's suddenly attached itself to Husk's neck. A green chain runs from the shackle, along the bed, and down to the floor before disappearing beneath Husk's door.

"Don't worry about it," he says gruffly as he squeezes you close. "Just keep moving."

"But-"

"Don't worry about it," he growls as he buries his head in your shoulder. Since you're not about to start moving, he takes the reins, bucking up into you as he moans into your shoulder. He doesn't seem distracted by his current predicament, still able to find the exact angle and strength to make you dizzy.

"Husk-" You scratch at his back despite yourself. You feel like you should tell him to stop and explain what the hell is going on, but damn it, how are you ever supposed to ask him to let you go?

He moves his head's position, and his neck shackle is deathly cold against your skin. You start moving to his rhythm, determined to ignore it for now. You can ask later.

A familiar voice rings out down the hall, friendly and crackling with radio static. "Oh, Husker? Where are you, my feline fellow?"

"Not now, Al!" Husk snarls, probably not loud enough to be heard outside the bedroom. "Give me one- fucking- minute-" He chokes again as the chain is yanked, but it doesn't stop his thrusts.

"Are you in there, Husker?" The voice is much closer now, and the bedroom door is starting to rattle. "Come now, why don't you let me in? You know I have a master key, but it's still polite to get the door for your guests, wouldn't you say?"

Husk ignores Alastor's voice in favor of squeezing you tight and thrusting up into you even faster. "Fuck- why can't he let me have this- one- fucking- thing-"

Husk shudders into you as he cries out in orgasm, and as if on cue, his bedroom door slams open immediately after. You're both left sitting on his bed, holding each other tight and panting, while you're trying your best to ignore the fact that Alastor is standing there behind you.

"Oh, my. I seem to have interrupted something."

No shit.

"Offer your mate some privacy, would you, Husker?"

Husk snarls again as he shields you from Alastor's view with his wings. "Fuck off," he snaps.

"Now, now…" Alastor yanks on Husk's chain again, clearly unhappy with his backtalk. Husk gags, but doesn't let go of you with either his arms nor his wings.

"What the fuck do you want?" Husk asks.

"I was hoping I could have a private little chat with you. It's an urgent matter, so do come down to the lobby with me, if you wouldn't mind."

"I'm busy," Husk said. "We can talk later."

That wasn't the right answer. Another tug of the chain pulls Husk down on top of you. While Husk is still gagging for breath, Alastor then pulls the chain to the side, sending him tumbling to the floor with a heavy thump.

"What was that?" Alastor asked, the static weaving threateningly around every syllable. "I said this is urgent."

"Fuck- sorry! Sorry, I'll come downstairs!" Husk's physical reaction to Alastor's change in tone is terrifyingly sudden, with his fur bristling and his pupils shrinking to pinpricks. "I'll come downstairs-"

"That's what I thought you said," Alastor responds, his voice back to normal just as abruptly as it had initially changed. He waves the chain away, finally returning the light to the room and allowing Husk to breathe clearly again. "I'll give you a few minutes to compose yourself," he continues as Husk rises to his feet. "Not that a pet should need to get dressed, but I suppose even you require some decency. Come to the lobby once you've fixed yourself up, if you please." With that, Alastor leaves the room, whistling cheerfully as he does so. At least he has enough manners to close the door behind him.

You slowly sit up after Alastor is gone. "Husk…?" you ask quietly. He doesn't seem to hear you as he scrambles to get his underwear and pants back on.

"Shit, shit, shit- one afternoon to myself, one fucking afternoon, that's all I fucking ask for-"

"Husk, are you okay?"

He stops ranting and sighs heavily as he adjusts his suspender straps. "…it's fine. I'm fine. I just… have a deal with Alastor, that's all. If he wants me to do something for him, then I've gotta do it."

"A deal with Alastor? But when I first got here, one of the first things Vaggie told me was to never make a deal with him…"

Husk scoffs. "Yeah, well, what can I say. I'm a fucking dumbass." His face softens as he approaches you and runs his paw down your cheek. "…you should avoid him for a while. I pissed him off pretty bad, and I think… if he knows what you are to me, and he wanted to… hurt me…" His fur is bristling again, and he gasps despite the shackle no longer being there. "…just... let me deal with him for now, okay?"

You can't say okay back. You can't send him down there, alone, to face whatever the hell Alastor has in mind.

But you don't know what other option you have, so all you can do is nod.

"Stay in here," he says. "I'll come back as soon as I can." He softly kisses your lips, lingering as if he can't bear to part from you. But part he has to, and soon, he disappears out the door.

[tarotwithavi]

Letter from your soulmate

How to choose a pile?

Take a deep breath and gently close your eyes. Politely request your spirit guides to reveal the appropriate pile meant for you, then open your eyes. Whichever pile captures your attention is the one meant for you.

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Pile 1

My lovely apple pie,

As I sit here, pen in hand, my heart overflows with emotions for you. I want you to know that I understand how incredibly challenging and exhausting life has been for you lately. I can feel your pain, and it pains me deeply too. I yearn to be there for you, to hold you close, and to be your source of strength and comfort. Every tear you shed echoes in my soul, and I wish I could wipe them away. The distance between us feels like an insurmountable obstacle, but please believe me when I say that I would cross oceans and traverse mountains just to be by your side. However, I also realize that now might not be the ideal time for us to fully come together. We both need to heal, to mend the wounds of the past, so that we can create a love that is pure, unburdened by old hurts.

Always remember that even though we might not physically be together, I am there with you in the depths of my heart, forever connected in the 5D. In moments of doubt or despair, recall the strength of our love and how much you mean to me. You are more precious to me than words can ever express. I confess that my love for you is so profound, it sometimes scares me. My protective instincts arise because I cannot bear the thought of anything or anyone causing you harm. And yet, I know I must let you be, let you experience life's journey and growth, but please know that my love is unwavering.

As time passes, and we heal, I hope we can build something magical together, something that surpasses all expectations of love and happiness. Until then, I'll be waiting, cherishing every moment we've shared, and dreaming of our beautiful future together.

With all my love and devotion,

Pile 2

My Dearest creampie ,

I hope this letter finds you well, though my heart feels heavy knowing that you're not taking proper care of yourself. Witnessing you neglect your own well-being pains me deeply, and I can't bear to see you hurting, physically or emotionally. Please know that I'm here for you, always ready to lend a listening ear or a comforting embrace. I understand that you might be going through a tough time, and your anger is justified. However, I plead with you not to direct that anger towards your own body. It's a vessel that carries your beautiful soul and deserves to be treated with love and care. Take a moment to breathe, to pause, and let the anger subside. Embrace the world's beauty, for there's so much joy and wonder waiting for you.

Just today, I took a leisurely walk and stumbled upon the most enchanting garden. Butterflies danced around, birds sang sweet melodies, and the fragrance of blooming flowers filled the air, blessing the entire place with serenity. In that moment, my heart longed for you to be there by my side, your gentle touch as I lay my head on your lap, listening to you speak passionately about the things you love. You are the light in my life, and I cherish every moment we share. I love you with all my heart, and my affection for you grows with each passing day. You deserve all the love, happiness, and beauty that this world has to offer. And one day, I promise to show you just how much I love and adore you in every way possible.

Please take care of yourself, my love, for your well-being means everything to me. I'll be here, holding you close in my thoughts, sending you all the love and support you need. Remember that you're never alone in this journey, and I'll always be here, ready to walk beside you, hand in hand.

With all my love and devotion,

Pile 3

My dear pumpkin pie

I hope this letter finds you well and fills your heart with warmth. The wait has been long, but I promise it was worth it. You are the missing piece in my life, and I can't wait to finally hold you in my arms. Your patience and dedication have touched me deeply. You've shown me what true love is, and I promise to cherish and protect our bond with all my heart. From the moment we meet, my devotion to you will be unwavering, and my love for you will only grow stronger with each passing day. As I think of our future together, I can't help but smile at the countless adventures we'll embark on. With you by my side, life will be an exciting journey filled with joy, laughter, and love.

In your presence, time seems to slow down, and every moment becomes magical. Your smile brightens even the darkest days, and your laughter is music to my soul. You are the light that guides me through life's ups and downs, and I promise to be your constant support in return. Know that I am here for you, no matter what life throws our way. Together, we can overcome any challenge and savor every beautiful moment that life has in store for us. I can't wait to see the world through your eyes and share my dreams with you. Your dreams are my dreams, and I promise to do everything I can to help them come true. With each beat of my heart, I am reminded of the love I hold for you. It's a love that knows no bounds and only grows stronger with time. You are my everything, and I am forever grateful to have you in my life.

Until we meet, my love, know that you are always in my thoughts and prayers. I eagerly await the day when our souls will finally unite, and we'll begin our beautiful journey together.

Yours forever,

[interstellarsystem]

Experiences With Being Out as a System

So, our parents know we're a system. It's all good, they understand that when we suddenly speak like someone from London that it's just another guy taking the body for a spin real quick and that they don't need to question it too much.

The thing is... They don't know our names, or anything about us as individuals. We don't have enough open communication with them to actually discuss the inner-workings of the hundreds of little guys in our brain and who they are or what they like, but even if we did, it's not actually important to them. It almost seems like it's swept under the rug.

Our mother said that she doesn't get why she should have to know anyone else when we're all "us". We're all just a collective to her still, a bunch of bits that make up her child, even though she knows we're separate. Her child, the original, isn't here anymore. But the thing is.. some of us want to get to know her and the family individually. Even beyond just being seen as who we actually are, we want to be a part of it aside from being treated as someone who is gone. But it's not a thing they understand despite our explanations of what it means to us, even despite the fact they know the original is dormant and has been for years.

The most anyone in our family knows about us is our mother, and she only knows anyone with a voice similar to Sark as "the american one". She doesn't know that there's even multiple who sound similar to him.

Technically, we're out as a system. Effectively, though... We're still closeted. Though not really because we're staying in it, moreso that we left but it follows us around like a shield within our own household, but it's not shielding us. It's shielding them from us.

Our experience with talking to medical professionals has been hard because of this--sharing bits about ourselves has been scary. It's scarier to show them pictures of our nonhuman headmates and say "that one is me", but it's never actually been bad when we've mustered up the strength to do it. One of them looked at Mal and saw his horns and said he looks like a faun from Greek mythology. Even though he's not, a positive response like that was empowering. That same one said Filigree's hair was cool. Little acknowledgements about who you are when you've tried to be seen before is great.

With our IRL friends, we expected the situation to be similar to our parents. Swept under the rug like a taboo and given weird, uncomfortable looks when spoken about. But it's been completely different.

We get asked who is fronting, we get acknowledged as separate people, hell, we even felt comfortable telling them about our actual fictive identities and letting the ones who wanted to follow this blog (hey guys if you're reading this <3) get access to it. They acknowledge our nonhumanity and nonhuman parts, share things about our sources with us because it reminded them of us, etc. Sometimes, now, because we've been open about it, we get people actually ask "is x fronting" and we say yes and they say "I knew it".

That specific feeling of being recognised even when your outward appearance doesn't change is absolutely amazing. Little manerisms, little ways our voice sounds even when masking accents out in public, even the words we choose to use are tells toward who is actually controlling the body and they pick up on it--even things we might not recognise we even do. Sure, there's hundreds of people in here and people won't know every single one off by heart, but the ones who are out here often are being recognised and that, to me, is amazing and validating to all of us.

I guess the point here is me sharing our experiences, but also.... You will be able to find people who see you for you. You as a system, you as a nonhuman, you as a disabled person, you as a queer person--you'll be able to find your people. And you know, I hope you do soon--because the feeling of being known is great.

[ilylovelyz]

hey, i loveeee your storiessss💕💚💚🫶🏻 can you possibly do like sakusa makeup s*x? like i imagine him like being so clingy during it because he wants to makeup to you so badddddd!!

close to me.

pair : sakusa x afab!reader

warning(s) : jus nice makeup sex, somnophilia, im sorry for not answering requests im still unmotivated

sakusa is not one to whine and beg for what he wants. he thinks it's childish and immature. he would very much rather to just forget about whatever he wants instead of getting on his knees and begging.

but after the most recent argument he had with you, he might as well beg for your attention like some sad puppy because for the past two days, you've been giving him a harsh cold shoulder. he doesn't even quite remember what you two disagreed about. it was something small turned big, thats for sure.

it's his second night in a row on the small sofa in your living room. the minute you were fed up with the argument, you banned him to the couch. you didn't even want to sleep next to him. in the moment, he happily gave into your demand, huffing and puffing his way to the couch.

it was like two hours in when he already regretted his mistake. as much as he wants to look like, he's very touch-starved and social (with you), and the couch was a little too lonely and cold for his liking. he wanted to go and grovel at your bedside, but found himself standing there like a creep in the dark, pride stinging him greatly.

the morning after that, he tried talking to you, but was too awkward and embarrassed. he ignored the little pang of heartbreak he felt when you turned him away. he wondered how he could fix this issue that he created, but he was never great with relationships to begin with.

he sighs deeply, closing his eyes in hopes of falling asleep. but he can't. not on this stupid stiff sofa you bought simply for looks. not without you. and definitely not with this urge to just touch you again. he focuses on the time again. 1:02 am. he abruptly sits up, he's not going to spend another night like this.

he makes his way to your shared bedroom, the only source of light is the small pink nightlight placed in the hallway. you're scared of the dark. he quietly steps into the room, eyes softly making out the outline of your body underneath the futon. he's at the edge of the bed, trying to decide his actual plan.

his hand mindlessly reached to tap your waist, his hand rubbing against the cloth material of your shirt. his shirt, he can tell, it's too big on you. he crawls onto the bed, sitting on his knees as he quietly leans down to place a light kiss to your cheek. "y/n.. i miss you." he softly whispers against your cheek, hands caressing on the bare skin of your exposed back.

he places another kiss onto your forehead before he's pulling away at your panties, being careful to not potentially stretch them out with his strength. "y/n, i miss you." he breathes out, leaning down to place a kiss on your kneecaps as his calloused fingers rub against your folds. he pays no mind to the fact that you are sleeping, you'll wake up eventually. he's done this before with your consent.

his fingers prod and tease your puffy hole as his palm is rubbing against your clit. he places more mindless kisses along your thighs and pelvis, eager to show you his determination and love for you. "omi?" you croak, mouth falling open in a silent mewl when his fingers work their way into your core. he wastes no time to find that sweet spot of yours. he's determined to make you forgive him again.

"y/n, i'm sorry." he immediately says, hands leaving your needy walls so he could sit up and lean his forehead against yours as he lined his cock's tip against your throbbing hole. he closes his eyes shut when he sinks into you, ears listening intently to your surprised gasp. the two of you practically share the same air as his lips feather against yours, almost connecting but at the same time not.

he's desperate for you. he just wants you. he hisses when your hands clench and claw at his shoulders in pleasure. he softly smiles with content, thats how it should be. he throws your leg around his waist, hoping the new position will have him reaching deeper into you.

you moan and mewl at his deep and slow thrusts, pussy fluttering deliciously around him. he resists the urge to cum with you clenching so tightly around him, it's for you after all. he swallows down a cry of his name as he kisses you deeply, tongues slowly dancing with one another.

he takes one of your hands from his shoulder, his much bigger one holding yours with love. his forehead still glued to yours, he pushes his whole body weight against you, low eyes watching your lewd facial expressions.

"y/n, i love you." he whisperers as you cum around him. he clenches his eyes shut to draw away his own orgasm. it's all for you. he grunts as he can't resist anymore before he's spilling his warm seed inside of you.

"y/n- i fucking love you." he chokes out, hips pushing against yours before all but his lips come to a stop, passionately kissing and shaking against you as he lays on top of you, desperate to feel you close to him for longer.

please leave a like and repost with tags :)

[glazesunflower]

may i ask for some dating headcannons with focalors the hydro archon? :3

Dating Furina/Focalors Headcanons

Characters: Furina/Focalors x GN!Reader.

Warnings: None that apply!

Notes: I was waiting to play the first Fontaine Archon Quest to get a grasp of her character before writing this. I have to say, I absolutely love this gremlin and bratty Archon. I hope you have as much fun reading this as I had writing it. (The last ones are my favorite <3)

Furina is flamboyant, imprudent and she lives for the thrill of the drama and the validation of those around her, so you’ll have to be very understanding and patient with her and the fair amount of mishaps that she will surely cause. So be prepared!

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She doesn’t really voice it, she’s too proud for that, but she absolutely loves the way you’ve become her anchor, helping to balance out her impulsive nature with your calm and understanding demeanor. When she's on the brink of making a hasty decision, you're there to gently guide her, reminding her to consider all perspectives and consequences before acting. And she takes your advice to heart, be proud of that!

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She struggles internally a lot with the pressure of her public image. Of course, she doesn’t say this directly to you, but you can see how it affects her, and so you write for her heartfelt letters whenever she's facing a tough situation. She doesn’t really make much of a fuss about them, but internally your words of encouragement and reminders of her strengths become her source of comfort, and she rereads them many more times than she’s willing to admit. She even has a special box where she keeps them all. But don’t ask her about it!

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But it’s not all sappy stuff, your relationship with her is very adventurous and fun! Furina absolutely loves a good thrill and an outstanding performance in everything she does, so you’re of course expected to tag along in all of her endeavors. Whether it's exploring a new case that’s just taken place, trying out quirky local restaurants, or taking impromptu road trips through Fontaine, you both find joy in the thrill of the new things you try together!

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Furina absolutely thrives on positive attention and affirmation. She is always very touched by your heartfelt compliments and words of encouragement (she probably won’t say it, mind you, but she would engrave your words in her mind to always come back to them). Express your admiration for her skills, charisma, and unique qualities and Furina will glow, feeling appreciated and loved. Keep them coming, she can’t get enough!

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After some time of her being with you, Furina will slowly (and I mean, very slowly) feel comfortable enough with letting her guard down around you. And that is no easy feat! She’s constantly thinking that she will be judged by whatever she says wrong, so you should feel immensely lucky that she’s willing to trust you with her innermost turmoils! (Her words.) In time, you create a safe space where she can express her insecurities without fear of judgment, because you’re kind like that and you love her. You encourage Furina to have a ton of heartfelt conversations, and slowly you help her understand that she doesn't have to be perfect to be loved. It’s still a work in progress, but she’ll get there.

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Furina is a sucker for gifts. After all, what better way for others to express their admiration for her, right? But the ones she loves the most are yours, of course. The gifts and tokens of your affection hold special meanings, since you picked them out knowing she’d like them. Like a charm to remind her of her resilience or a piece of art that reflects her flamboyant personality and you thought, “Oh, this reminds me of her!”. Keep doing that. She can’t get enough of it.

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Knowing how much she loves and treasures positive attention, you organize surprise events or gatherings to celebrate Furina’s accomplishments, no matter how small they are. She doesn’t make a big deal out of it (She deserves all the praise and attention, after all!), but you see the brightest smile dancing on her lips the whole day, and that’s how you see how much she values these moments. These thoughtful gestures show Furina that you genuinely appreciate her efforts and want to support her in all aspects of her life. She will try even harder this time, if only for you to praise her more.

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Your relationship with her is also full of laughter. You tease each other constantly, at all times, sharing inside jokes, and find humor in the quirks of everyday life together. Furina knows you have an ability to make her smile even in challenging times and she silently appreciates you so much for her. Still, you tease her too much. And she is the embodiment of the divine, she can’t have you teasing her in public!

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With the passing of the time by your side (and I mean, at a very slow pace!), Furina starts to overcome her need for constant validation from others. She slowly becomes more confident in her abilities in the court and outside of it, and she learns to embrace her imperfections (her impulsivity, childlike temper, the constant bravado and drama, the list goes on!), understanding that you love her for who she truly is. Really, how could you not? She’s impressive and heavenly! It’s only natural you’re head over heels and completely in love with her! (She’s working on her arrogance, too).

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Furina loves the spotlight more than anything else in the world (well, she only likes you more, and that’s saying something!), so sometimes you plan extravagant date nights that cater to her love for the spotlight. Whether it's a private outdoor performance under the stars or a playful evening of reenacting dramatic scenes from her favorite plays, you keep the excitement alive for her. And she thrives in every minute of it.

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When it comes to physical touch, Furina is by far not used to it at the very beginning, so she’s fairly unsure when it comes to it. But she’s quick to realize that your gentle pats on her back, walking around with linked arms, or even a reassuring touch on her shoulder during moments of stress in the courtroom make her feel so much better instantly! Is this some kind of heavenly magic? 

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Furina quickly starts to associate your touch with positive emotions. Holding hands with you during a thrilling adventure or wrapping an arm around your waist while watching a dramatic play becomes something she really, really likes doing. 

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And when you introduce cuddling to her, Furina finds a whole new world to explore and enjoy. Whether it's lounging on your couch or stargazing, Furina wants to be in your arms at all times, if she has any say in the matter! Let her nuzzle into your neck and stay there for a while, she feels the safest she’s ever felt.

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Furina enjoys your touch very much. She does not enjoy, however, how you playfully tease her with light touches, tickles, and gentle bumps! She’s the embodiment of justice, you can’t just have her wiggling and choking on laughter beneath you, how unsightly! (She absolutely loves it).

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Furina has associated your touch with comfort and safety, so don’t be surprised when she comes to you after an especially hard day. Yes, she messed up in the courtroom today, but you’ll let her rest against you, won’t you? Your hugs and embraces become her safe haven. Sometimes she will open up and admit what happened that day. Others, she simply wants to enjoy your arms holding her tight in silence. In either case, she deeply appreciates you being there for her. She won’t voice it, of course, but you’ll know in the way she presses her forehead closer to you and the angle of your neck.

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She also finds that physical touch is very useful! She starts using her own touch on you as a way to express her emotions. A soft kiss on your cheek in the morning, a warm hug after a long day, or even a surprise tackle or an affectionate nudge as you tease each other becomes her way of saying "I care about you" without needing dramatic and flamboyant words. How practical! She will keep showering you with her divine affection for many more years to come!

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Having Furina as a significant other is no easy feat, it takes a lot of courage, determination, and most of all, a big amount of patience and understanding. Still, she is the most vibrant and colorful part of your life, so you wouldn’t have it any other way. With her, you become her partner in both the thrilling moments and the challenges of her life. Your love and support help her navigate her insecurities and embrace her true self, helping to nurture a romance that's passionate and tender and all the beautiful things in between.

If you enjoyed this, please consider liking or reblogging it <3!

You can check more of my writing on (this link!). Thank you!