#i'm allowed to be a little self indulgent sometimes

[strawberriisncreme]

i've had this idea stuck in my head for over a week

[hwashitape]

[curseofdelos]

honestly though I think I need to be better at taking that "write self-indulgent shit" advice

[mariasont]

EEEEK your post prison fic for spencer is fREAking me out!!! could you maybe do one where spencer is now teasing the reader a bit? maybe he's giving her extra praise and she freaks (what would i do if he called me a good girl? 😩) (this is very indulgent to my praise kink i'm so so sorry 🧎🏻‍♀️‍➡️) tytyty!! i adore love and cherish you and your work 💕

I Aim To Please - S.R

a/n: shewwwwww to be complimented by post prison spencer fucking reid. im drooling!!!! but anyway babes i adore & love YOU!!!! so thank u so so sooo much for requesting 💖💖

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x shy!media-liaison!reader

warnings: spencer being hot, reader being shy girl, spencer being a little shit who loves to tease

wc: 1.5k

There were a few basic rules you had established from working at BAU. First, avoid Rossi at all costs until he’s had at least two cups of coffee. Second, never attempt to outwit Emily; she’ll see right through you and crush your argument every single time. And third—perhaps the most crucial—do everything in your power to maintain your freaking composure around Dr. Reid.

That last one, however, was proving to be a monumental challenge. It wasn’t just the way he spoke, his brain firing off at a speed only he could keep up with. It wasn’t even the way he seemed oblivious to how endearing those very quirks were. No, it was the fact that the simple act of him breathing in your direction had you scrambling to hold yourself together. And honestly you were failing miserably.

Which is why you spent most of your time holed up in your office. It wasn’t much—just a desk, a slightly uncomfortable chair, and a perpetually growing stack of case files that seemed determined to bury you. But it offered privacy, and that was enough. Here you could breathe, decompress, and occasionally allow yourself to daydream about a certain genius profiler without the risk of public humiliation.

The bullpen was proving to be too chaotic, too close to him. Your office gave you distance, a buffer. But, as you had come to learn, hiding only worked when he didn’t decide to seek you out. And Spencer Reid had a knack for finding you when you least expected it.

"Hey."

You jumped slightly, nearly fumbling the stack of press notes you’d been carefully organizing.

Turning toward the door, you found Spencer leaning casually against the frame, a file tucked under one arm and a distracted sort of smile on his face. His tie was slightly loosened, his sleeves rolled up just enough to expose his forearms, and—just like that—your brain completely short-circuited.

"Hi," you said, trying not to sound too startled. "Do you, um, need something?"

"Yeah." He further into the room, lifting the file in explanation. "I was looking at the local coverage of our case, and I noticed a couple discrepancies in the timeline published."

"Oh,” you said softly, quickly shuffling the press notes into a messy pile and pushing them to the side. "Well, um, sometimes reporters try to fill gaps when they don't the facts. It's... frustrating, but it happens."

You glanced up at him briefly, but that look of his made your cheeks warm. Your fingers twisted together in your lap as you tried to focus on anything other than how ridiculously self-conscious you suddenly felt.

"That makes sense. I figured you'd know."

Instead of lingering in the doorway or leaving like you assumed he would, Spencer, casually grabbed the chair across from your desk. He spun it around in one fluid motion and sat it backwards, draping his arms on the backrest with an ease that felt strangely familiar—like you had been friends or colleagues for years instead of just a few months.

"I'll reach out to them about fixing the timeline," you said, your hand instinctively moving a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You clasped your hands together to still them, offering a small, nervous smile. "It shouldn't be too hard to correct."

"Thanks," he said. "That'll probably save from giving another long-winded lecture on factual reporting."

You gave a quiet laugh, grateful for the distraction from your tasks, though you weren’t entirely sure how you felt about the company. Not that you didn’t enjoy his company—there was plenty to enjoy, more than you cared to admit. If you could manage to function like a normal human being around him, you might even look forward to moments like this.

But then he tilted his head slightly, his eyes studying you as if he were unraveling some kind of puzzle and for one terrifying second, you were convinced he could hear every single thought racing through your mind.

"So," he began, "how are you liking it here so far? The job, I mean. Is it what you expected?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. "Oh, um... yeah. It's been great so far. Busy, but... I like it."

"That's good," he said, nodding. "I know it’s not exactly the most predictable job. Some people don't expect it to be so... chaotic."

"Well," you said, fidgeting slightly with your pen. "I knew what I was signing up for. Or, at least I thought I did. It's a lot, but it's rewarding."

"That's a good attitude to have," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Honestly, you're doing a great job. I don't know how you manage to keep everything straight."

Your heart leaped, thudding in your chest as warmth flooded your face. You weren’t used to hearing compliments, especially from someone like him. You wanted to savor the moment, to bottle up the way his words made you feel, but your nerves refused to let you fully enjoy it.

"I'm just, um, organized I guess,” you stammered, your hand flying up to rub at the back of your neck.

"More than just organized," he replied easily, completely unaware of how his words were affecting you. "You've got half the team wrapped around your finger already. Even Rossi listen when you talk. That's impressive."

Your face burned. "I think that's more about respect for the job than me."

Spencer shrugged lightly, as he was watching you, like he didn't quite believe you. "Maybe. Or maybe you're just better at this than you give yourself credit for."

You let out a nervous chuckle, fingers twitching as you fiddled with the corner of the paper in front of you.

"I don't... I don't know about that."

He tilted his head, again, his brow quirking. "Do you know how to take a compliment?"

"Of course I do." You were sure your voice lacked the conviction needed.

He smirked, leaning forward over the chair. "Doesn't seem like it."

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words stuck in your throat, tangled in the frantic web that was your thoughts around this infuriating man.

"Well, uh, you’ve only done it twice, so I don’t think that’s enough for you to judge."

His grin widened. "Oh? So you’re saying I should try again? For research purposes?"

Your eyes widened, and you blinked rapidly as if to process his words, your hands shooting up as if to physically block the implication. "I—uh—no, that's not what I meant.”

"No, no," he said, sitting up straighter and waiving off your flustered attempt to deflect. "I aim to please. If more compliments are what you’re after, I’ve got plenty.”

"Please, no."

"You're incredibly efficient. Seriously, I think you've managed to anticipate what the team needs before we even know we need it. And your ability to keep your cool under pressure? That's impressive. I mean, do you even get stressed? Because if you do, you hide it really well."

"Dr. Reid—," you squeaked, covering your face with your hands as if that could somehow shield you from the onslaught of praise.

"And," he continued, clearly now enjoying himself. "You're probably the most patient person, I've ever met. Which is something, considering you work with people who constantly interrupt and derail your perfectly planned press briefings."

Your stomach flipped, and you felt a flush of heat that had nothing to do with embarrassment pooling in your chest. As much as you wanted to sink to the floor, the way he looked at you sent every nerve in your body spiraling. Each word felt like it was tailored to you, peeling back the very thin veneer of control you’d desperately tried to maintain over the massive crush you found yourself drowning in.

Your head dropped to the desk with a soft thunk, muffling your groan. "Okay, okay, I get it."

He leaned forward just slightly, resting his chin on his arms atop the chair. "Now what do you say?"

"Thank you."

He smirked widened. "See? That wasn't so hard was it?"

Your cheeks burned even hotter, and you averted your eyes, trying to hide the nervous smile tugging at your lips. "You didn't have to go on and on..."

"Oh, but I did." He was still grinning. "You deserved it."

You risked a glance back at him, losing your cool by the second. That only made your face heat up more. "You're impossible."

"And yet, you haven't kicked me out of your office."

"That's only because I didn’t think it would work."

"Well," he said, turning towards the door. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you didn't mind the compliments."

You opened your mouth to protest but no words came out. Instead, you watched helplessly as he shot you one last smile before disappearing into the hallway.

When the door finally clicked shut behind him, you let out a shaky breath and drop your head back onto the desk.

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[likebreadandwine]

we have similar urges, you know. I give in to them more rarely, but I do give in. especially at holidays.

in a festive daze, when the house is full of cookies and chocolate and leftovers—cured meats and fine cheeses and chips and dips—I crave something sweet, then salty, then hearty and savoury, and it's all at my fingertips. I graze, all day long. I nibble. so many wonderful tastes, I can't help but to indulge the impulse. I dip biscuits in sweet, milky tea. I languidly bring chocolate-covered cherries to my mouth. I'm full and I feel like it, warm and satisfied.

but you, you have a hunger that far exceeds mine. I watch you, all day. I like to savour my small bites; you are voracious. it's not as if you don't enjoy your food—I know you do, the way you hum and groan and sigh between bites. it's just that you get carried away by a craving. like you can't be satisfied by one chocolate, you have to eat your way through the box.

after all this time, I still find myself counting what I've eaten, keeping track of how many sweets, how many slices of bread, stopping once I've reached some arbitrary, self-imposed limit. you never seem to count. (you leave that to me sometimes. you know I have a tally going in my head and you'll ask what the damage was after you've finished.) you never limit yourself.

you want something and you have it. even after your shirt has gotten snug and you have to arch your back to get comfortable and an ache settles across your stretched stomach—you want more and you have it. I watch you for a long time, not saying anything, but longing to touch you and wondering how it feels. I'm always wondering.

you're getting heavier, bigger, taking up more space, needing more to feel full, your appetite growing stronger. how does that feel?

I wonder, too, if you know what it does to me. you know some of it, and you take advantage: casually reaching up to some high shelf to tease me with a peek at your belly; making little comments about how I shouldn't keep all these snacks in the house, how you overdid it today, how you're getting fatter and it's my fault (you are and it is). all this, you know, will make me blush and squirm and look at you hungrily.

but I wonder if you know I feel a wave of pride when you spend a day shamelessly eating. if you know that I am affectionately cataloging all the changes to your softening body—the cheeks getting rounder, thighs more plush, the burgeoning swell of your belly and hips, the stretch marks blooming like spring crocuses. if you discern my stunned, joyous near-disbelief that you feel safe enough with me to abandon all inhibition. in fact, that you allow me to suggest (or cajole or demand) you have more when you're already filled to the brim and breathless.

you're so open to pleasure, so unguarded. I am in awe of you. and just when I feel myself resisting, scarcely able to believe that I am invited to participate in all this pleasure, I remind myself that when you want something, you have it.

and you have me. I'm yours in every way. I have never been so wanted.

[endless-ineffabilities]

the only place (Ewan Mitchell x f!reader)

a/n: a purely self-indulgent little blurb inspired by the latest crumbs of our Iceberg! <3

main masterlist ▪︎ next part

Ewan attends the press night of The Other Place. As the audience is filing in, and the theatre is abuzz with excitement, he sees you.

Ewan could not stop looking at you.

It was almost silly, the way his head kept whipping back in your direction, as you stood a little distance away, talking to Bethany.

Harry and his friend were telling Ewan of their recent trip to Ibiza, and he didn't want to be rude, but their words were becoming muffled due to him straining to hear the sound of your voice. You gestured enthusiastically to Bethany as you regaled her with a story, and that smile – damn, that smile.

"So we ended up staying until 8 that morning, can you believe that?" Harry exclaimed, pausing to allow Ewan to react.

When he received no response, Harry trailed Ewan's gaze right to you.

"You smitten, mate?" Harry grinned. "Go say hi to her!"

"Wh-what?" Ewan stammered. Smooth. It wasn't an easy drop from high up in the clouds where his mind drifted. You drew him there, and he remained suspended in your allure.

"That's Beth's friend. She's really lovely, you know. You should introduce yourself," Harry said. When he sensed Ewan's hesitation, he pressed on, "Come on, you clearly want to."

Bethany was pulled aside by another friend, so Ewan took that as his cue, his legs moving as if on autopilot. A moth drawn to your flame.

He reached you, and your eyes widened slightly at his sudden appearance.

He had always thought himself a poet at heart, spending countless hours poring over complex books, but all he could muster in that instance was, "Hello."

But it apparently was enough, because you smiled brightly at him. You practically glowed in his eyes.

"Hi," you replied warmly. "Oh, I know who you are. I love Aemond Targaryen."

"Oh?" His heart jumped, pitter pattering in his ears. "Well, I'm flattered. Thank you."

"Yeah, I think you're a brilliant actor." You expressed genuinely, before offering your hand out and introducing yourself.

"That's a beautiful name," he remarked.

"Thanks," you mumbled shyly, looking down briefly. Was he getting to you? Was he having the same effect on you as you have on him? Impossible.

"You're friends with Bethany?" he asks.

"I am, for quite some time now. Ever since I moved to this city."

"Hmm." He smiled, his confidence gaining a much needed boost. He asked you a couple more questions, eager to hear every one of your responses. The attraction only deepened the more he found out about you.

At some point, he asked, "How are you finding the city? Has Bethany shown you around?"

"Well, the city's been amazing. You really can never run out of stuff to do, and Beth's been great at taking me to the best spots out there, you know?"

"Yeah, that's good. There's this... uhhh... indie cinema that I go to all the time. It's quite lowkey, very niche. Do you like watching movies?"

You beamed, shrugging as if to say obviously. "Movies are my bread and butter, Ewan."

"Mine too," he noted, before hitting home. It was now or never. "We should visit that cinema together sometime."

A beat passed. His throat tightened slightly in anticipation. He must have done something wrong. He forgot to say please. He forgot to add, if you want.

Was he coming on too strong?

"Are you asking me out?" You tilted your head at him, eyes narrowing. He took a mental picture, saving it for your grandkids.

Yours and his. He cringed inwardly. He severely needed to get a grip.

"Yes... I am."

"Well, then... I would love to."

He thanked his lucky stars. He thanked Emma in his mind for starring in that play and inviting him tonight.

That play – truly the best and most excellent that there ever was and ever will be. And it had not even started yet.

To Ewan, no other play will ever compare until the end of time.

Because it led him to you.

[mickandmusings]

something in the orange

pairing: jake seresin x f! southern! reader

word count: 1.2k

summary: when jake is back home in texas for football season, he tries to spend as much time as possible under stadium lights enjoying his season tickets. his girl, a loyal fan of her own state's team, begrudgingly trades in her own home colors for his gaudy orange.

warnings: fluff, simply just flirty hangman, reader is referred to as 'honey' by everyone, little knowledge of the university of texas at austin (born and raised in mississippi, msu fan by proximity, lsu fan through my dad, i'm just a sec baby) purely self indulgent for me, i'm obsessed with southern boy jake, author has limited knowledge on football

based on this request from the always lovely @fraaaaankiiiiieee i'm so in love with all of your ideas <3

**please note: since this is an extended series the love interest is referred to as 'honey' just because Y/N didn't seem right.**

-

Honey was used to this routine after all these years of being married to Jake Seresin. Monday through Friday were for the Navy, while he was on a mission at least, or for working on the farm when he was home. Most Sundays were reserved for the Cowboys, but Saturdays, oh Saturdays, were reserved for the UT Longhorns. Game Day Saturdays were proper nouns among the Seresin's, which Honey had adopted as soon as she took his last name. She didn't mind it much, truthfully, she was passionate about her own home state's teams, almost equally as excitable as Jake.

More often than not his missions took him far from their home in Texas, which didn't allow him to enjoy the full extent of his season passes. It was rare for Jake to be home long enough to swing into Austin to watch a game, so most of the time the couple opted to enjoy it from the comfort of their living room couch. Jake would sling his arm around her, pulling her around by the waist, making comments about this year's lineup, which players would be starting, simply making small talk about the game. As the game progressed, however, he'd coach from the couch, sitting on the edge of the cushion, hands folded as his green eyes watched the players in either pure elation or complete disdain. His well-worn orange Longhorns cap would sit backwards atop his blonde locks, stationary, until he got frustrated, then the cap would come off for him to run his hands through his hair. It was one he'd owned since high school, well-loved, partially sun-bleached, and the fabric was starting to fray around the bill. His Grandpa Seresin had given it to him after he'd joined the high school football team, and he'd worn it ever since. It was his favorite, and he wore it with pride. After football season, the cap lived on the dash of his truck. He'd sometimes throw it on if he was running errands on a particularly sunny day, or if he was in a dire need to cover his windswept hair, but it seemed more often than not that the hat had become part of his otherwise spotless truck.

Today, however, Jake was finally home for the first time in several months, and there was nowhere else he wanted to be than under stadium lights on a beautiful, albeit warm, Texas afternoon. He was sitting in the living room of his and Honey's farmhouse, already dressed in his burnt orange polo with the little white longhorn on the corner, his aviators hanging loosely from the one button he had fastened at the top. He had been ready for nearly half an hour, and had made his home on the couch as he waited for Honey to finish getting ready. Jake was scrolling mindlessly through his phone when his wife's voice sounded from their upstairs bedroom.

"Jake?!"

His eyes looked up, laying his phone face down on his chest as he shouted back so she could hear.

"Ma'am?!"

He received no response, but her footsteps were heavy as she stomped down the stairs, one of Jake's many orange UT shirts tied on her torso, a little oversized. Denim shorts covered her legs to mid-thigh, a comfortable pair of shoes on her feet. Jake stands as she enters the room, as he always does, noting the unamused expression written across her face.

"What's the matter, baby?" His calloused hands reach to rest on each side of her hips.

"I look ridiculous, Jake," her voice is deadpan and serious. Jake's green eyes scan her frame, a sly smirk forming on his face.

"Nothin' wrong with what you got on. In fact, I think you look smokin'." He pulled her closer by her hips. Honey rolled her eyes, smiling up at her husband despite his cheesy flirtations. He leans down to kiss her, only taking a few seconds to deepen it before she's pushing him away from her lightly.

"Don't start that, Seresin," she bats her eyelashes. "Or we'll never make it out of here, and I'm not wearing this gaudy orange for shits and giggles."

"I don't know, darlin', orange might be your color."

She scoffs at her husband's statement and she grabs her bag as Jake ushers her out the door. She stands in front of his truck, already knowing Jake's insistence of opening her door. As he finishes locking the door Honey speaks.

"I look much, much better in maroon."

Jake knew his wife was right. As much as he loved her in his burnt orange, there was something about her in her home colors, sitting in the blistering southern heat as she cheered on her beloved bulldogs. He'd pay attention to he game, but never as much as he paid attention to her. His heart would nearly beat out of his chest as he watched her standing in front of him in the stands to get a better view, the anticipation in her eyes as the players lined up for the next play. He'd laugh as she jumped up and down for touchdowns and field goals, loving it most when she gave him a celebratory kiss.

Jake rolls his eyes, opening her truck door, nudging his head to motion her to get in, closing the door behind her before moving around to his side. He slides in and starts the truck, his usual country music station sounding through his speakers. He backs out and heads down their long driveway. Honey looks out the window, surveying the acres and acres of farmland, noting the livestock grazing and the scenic landscape. Once out of the country and onto big city roadways, her focus turns to her husband in the driver's seat.

Jake is leaned back in the seat, his aviators now perched on his nose. His left hand drums against the steering wheel to the song playing, his gold wedding band shining in the sunlight. His right sits on her thigh, his thumb drumming on her skin. His golden hair and tanned skin gleam in the Texas sun. She smiles, his time stationed in California had done him well.

"You're starin' sweetheart," his southern drawl is thick, completely prominant from his time back home.

"Can I not stare at my husband?! I didn't realize it was a sin."

"It's not, look all you want, baby, but the sight of you in my shirt sure is making me want to sin."

He turns his attention from the windshield of the truck to his wife for a split second, his green eyes staring her down over the tops of his aviators.

"You're stunnin', but I think I know what the outfit's missin',"

Honey's eyebrows raised at her husband, her own eyes cutting at his frame, his eyes now staring back ahead at the roads getting busier with traffic.

"Missin'? Didn't realize my outfit needed more. It's a football game, baby." Her voice is laced with humor as she speaks.

Jake's arm reaches towards the dash, his calloused hands grabbing the infamous orange hat, and tossing it backwards onto her head.

"Perfect!"

Y/N shakes her head at her husband's actions, straightening it so the longhorn emblem is facing the front, adjusting the strap in the back to fit her head. She rolls her eyes as she looks at her reflection in the small visor mirror, Jake's hand returning to her thigh. As he turns to look at her in his cap, Jake's grin is wide on his face, the kind of shit-eating grin only a man completely in love would have.

"No matter if the boys win or lose, baby, I'm still taking home the best looking trophy tonight."

[satorusluver]

Duke!Nanami x maid!reader

Minors DNI

This takes place in the same AU as my Prince Gojo drabble (except the reader isn't with both of them, idk think of it like otome routes lol)

Word count: 700 ish

Tags/warnings: oral (f receiving), male masturbation, uhh idk I can't think of any others I'm tired lol

The difference between Duke Kento Nanami and Crown Prince Satoru falling in love with a servant girl is that Kento wouldn't dare risk getting you pregnant. He is practical, mature, and most of all, selfless. He knows it would ruin your reputation and leave you a single mother because he could never be with you officially, and he could never risk doing that to his precious girl.

So instead he settles for sneaking you into his room (something that's easier for him than it would be for the prince because he isn't nearly as important as the future king) late at night for...less risky activities. Kento's bed is softer and more extravagant than anything your commoner body has ever experienced, with downy feather pillows and sheets of satin embroidered with gold trim, and he often lays you down on it and spreads your plush thighs to feast on your cunt like it's the finest dessert, until your legs are shaking and your cum stains those expensive sheets. Kento is a giver, not a taker. Of course, he enjoys letting you please him with your hands or mouth. But ultimately, your pleasure is his pleasure, and he's quite content with making you fall apart on his tongue.

Occasionally, though, he'll allow himself to indulge a little, rubbing his swollen cockhead through your slick folds, grinding the underside of it and against your overstimulated clit. But even he sometimes struggles with his self-control. One time he shifts a little too far back and the tip of his cock ends up right up against your entrance, just barely pressing into it. Kento clenches his jaw and digs his fingers into the sheets, imagining how good it would feel to be completely enveloped in you, to feel your tight walls hugging and squeezing his cock, to finally be one with you like he's always dreamed of.

Kento's eyes flick to your face, to your blissed out expression, your ruddy cheeks, your parted lips, your glossed over eyes and the sheer desire radiating off of you. And he knows he could do it, he could just slide his achingly hard length into your warm, welcoming cunt and you wouldn't stop him. And he takes a deep breath, and then he just....pulls away and rolls over next to you on the bed.

You ask if he's okay, and he says yes, he's fine. You ask him if he wants you to do something to help relieve the ache in his throbbing cock, and he says no, he's fine, and that he thinks it's best if you go ahead and return to the servants quarters now. You look up at him, your head tilting in confusion and your eyes filling with worry. So he presses a kiss to your temple and reassures you that everything really is alright, that he's just getting a headache - and besides, the longer you stay, the more likely someone will notice you missing from your bed.

You still seem a bit hesitant, but you redress yourself and leave his chambers with one last glance back at Kento, who gives you a warm, reassuring smile. And the moment you're gone, Kento throws his head back against the pillow with a pained groan, his hand slipping under the sheets to grip his cock tight - as tight as he imagines your sweet pussy must be. He strokes himself from base to tip, eyes closed and pretending it was you moving up and down on him, remembering the heavenly sounds you made as you came on his tongue and wondering if you'd make those same sounds when you came on his dick.

The sight of your naked body is still fresh in his mind, helping him hurdle toward his climax with each increasingly desperate pump of his hand. And when he cums, he cums hard, moaning out your name and fucking up into his first as the pearly ropes of his thick release spill over onto his hand and abs. And when the exhaustion sets in as his high begins to fade, Kento breathes a sigh of relief that it's only him who has to deal with the aftermath of his pleasure.

[claws-and-quills]

Alone

A/N: Another self-indulgent fic involving Old Man Logan because, let's face it, I would absolutely let him destroy my cervix

CW: Implied Age Gap, Established Situationship, Situationship Turned Relationship, Thigh Riding, Lap Dance, Mentions of Adult Entertainment/Stripping, Strip Tease, Soft Dom/Sub Dynamic, Unprotected Sex, Mentions of Male and Female Anatomy, Marking, Slight Breeding Kink(?), Praise Kink, Daddy Kink

Genre: Fluff and Smut

Pairing: Old Man Logan x Fem Mutant!Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

You had been seeing Logan for quite some time now. At first, it started as a once in a while occurrence, but over the past few months, seeing him had become more of a regular routine. It started off as a nightly thing in the evenings you worked. At first, you thought of him as being this battered, beaten, drunk old man. But after a few encounters, lap dances, and conversations, you discovered that he's actually not that bad of a person.

Tonight was a rare night that you got to be alone with Logan in the comfort of your own home. Your heart practically lept into your throat at the subtle knock at your apartment door. Without hesitation, you open the door to greet him. The corners of his eyes crease and wrinkle as he smiles down at you. Taking his hand into yours, you gently pull him into your apartment. With Logan, you had broken so many of the promises you had made to yourself as a stripper. He was the first man you allowed to touch you during a lap dance; the first man you willingly kissed during a private session; the first man that you fucked both inside and outside of work, and now you've broken the biggest rule you ever set to yourself. You've allowed him not just into your home but into your life, too.

In the beginning, it was just purely for the thrill. The idea of going against everything you knew and was taught was such an adrenaline rush in the beginning. But now, just the sight of Logan made your heart and stomach somersault. It was nothing serious at first, but now, that all began to change. His soft chuckle brings you out of your thoughts. Your cheeks and chest heat up at the realization that he could hear the helpless fluttering of your heart. He curls a strong arm around your waist, gently pulling you against his body.

“Excited to see me?” He teased quietly. You allow yourself to melt into his embrace, resting your hands on his chest while you gaze up at him, feigning mock innocence. You chuckle softly under your breath. With him, it was damn near impossible to hide anything. Despite his age, he still had his heightened senses. He could hear the happy pitter patter of your heart; smell the sweet aroma of your natural scent; he could practically taste you on his tongue.

“A little. I'm almost finished with dinner. Have a seat, and get comfortable.” You stand on your tiptoes, placing a tender and chaste kiss against his lips. His hands grip the curves of your hips, pulling you closer. His coarse beard scratches at your skin, drawing small goosebumps to the surface of your arms and around your neck and chest. Your hands find his chest, and a soft chuckle tickles the back of your throat. Never in your wildest of dreams or fantasies would have imagined yourself in a situation like this. You were comfortable, felt appreciated, and felt loved even.

“Sometimes, you really are too good for me.” Logan murmured softly. You had grown to understand that was his own way of appreciating you. Words and emotions were never his strong suit, but the same went for you as well. There was no real in-between with you. Either you spoke and rambled too much, or you didn't speak at all. With Logan, you felt grounded, stable, and at ease. Once his grip fell from your hips, you were able to hurry into the kitchen to finish the final touches to dinner.

On any other night, you would have settled for takeout. A night that blurred together of music, wandering hands, and the hushed sounds of rough, desperate sex. Tonight, though, was going to be different. You watched from over your shoulder as Logan shrugged out of his jacket. The white beater he wore underneath really accentuated how toned his body was. You couldn't keep your eyes off of him. He was imperfectly perfect in your eyes. Small moments like this, you cherished the most with him. They didn't come around often, but when they did, you never wanted them to end. After fixing up a plate for both you and Logan, you join him at your small kitchen table.

Over the course of the past several months, Logan had let you in little by little. He could smell on you that you, too, were a mutant. The moments he'd let his guard down with you, we're cherished deeply. He had opened up little by little about his life with Charles and taking on the responsibility of fatherhood to Laura. Hearing more of his struggles had drawn you in closer to him. Against his will, you had always found ways to help Logan with Charles and Laura, whether it was affording the medications for Charles’ seizures or guiding Logan through the labyrinth of being a girl dad. You tried to be there for all of them in some way or another. Though his mouth never said it, you knew he was thankful for you. He had his own ways of showing gratitude towards you.

“So, what's the special occasion?” Logan finally asks, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled into the air. The look in his eyes was hard to read. The soft smile that curled the corner of his lips made your heart skip a beat.

“I wanted to do something nice for you. Do I really need an excuse to pamper you and treat you to something nice?” You ask innocently, batting your eyes at him. He rolls his eyes with a soft shake of his head. “Besides, I think in the last six months, this is the first time where we can actually enjoy each other. I wanted it to be something special.”

Logan's hard features soften, a rare sight you hardly witnessed. For a brief moment, you could have sworn the faintest hint of appreciation softened the hard lines that rested on his weathered features. You chuckle softly, reaching over to gently squeeze his hand with assurance. By this time, you could practically guess his thoughts. From the expression he held in his eyes, it looked as though he held guilt to them. His eyes trail up along your body, resting on your eyes while he breathes out a quiet, and apologetic sigh.

“Don't be a sour puss, Lo. I wanted to do this for you. I'm not expecting anything back out of this. With you…I don't feel so alone. You've slowly let me into your life; have taken care of me in more ways than I can count; and…you've made life a little less boring for me.” Using your thumb, you gently caress his worn and scarred knuckles. He opens his mouth to protest, but sighs at the look you give him.

“Well, guess I'll just have to show my appreciation in some other way then, now won't I?” He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss onto your knuckles. Something in his eyes changes as he stands up. In a fluid motion, he pulls you to stand with him so that his lips can be crushed against yours. A soft gasp is pulled from your lips as his hands find the soft curves of your ass. Gripping your ass tightly, he lifts you up with ease, setting you on the kitchen counter. The amount of strength he had in his broken and old body still amazed you no matter how many times you've been handled like this.

“Lo…” You murmur against his lips, sliding your hands down his chest. “Let me take care of you.” Your hands grip his shoulders as your head lulls back against the wall. Chills run through your body as his lips move from your mouth to follow the subtle curve of your neck. The combination of the heat of his mouth partnered with the roughness of his beard against your sensitive skin elicits a soft, needy moan from your lips. His hands slide up the soft curves of your waist, up past your ribs, and to your breasts, roughly palming them into his hands through your shirt and bra.

“Never said that you couldn't, doll.” He husks against your neck. His lips find a particularly sensitive spot along your pulse, sucking harshly and drawing another needy moan from you. Your fingers become entangled into his salt and pepper hair, tugging his head away from your neck. His lips are on yours again, for a deep and heated kiss. His thumbs draw tight circles over the tender buds of your nipples, drawing a soft whine from you yet again. He pulls away just enough to hungrily suck down air. A small string of saliva is the only thing keeping your lips connected. His eyes slowly close at the sensation of your lips against the scarred and worn skin along his neck. Your tongue traces the length of a jagged scar on his neck, pausing just above his collarbone.

“Bedroom. I'll meet you there. Get comfortable. You won't be disappointed.” You breathe, leaving a trail of kisses back up his neck. Your teeth gently nibble on his earlobe, earning a guttural growl from him. He leans his head against your shoulder with an almost disappointed groan.

“You're going to be the death of me,” he groans against your shoulder but pulls away just enough to look down at you. His eyes were soft and clouded with a hungry need that only you could fill. Reluctantly, he presses a chaste kiss to your lips before slowly walking down towards your bedroom. Regaining your composure, you do a quick and haphazard job of cleaning up the kitchen. All you worried about was allowing Logan to have your undivided attention for the entire night.

Once the kitchen is tidied up, you step into the bathroom to change. As much as you didn't want to admit it, you had put a lot of thought into this night. Even if it was a situationship right now, being with Logan was one of the best things to have happened to you. You eagerly change out of your clothes, replacing them with a dark blue, lacy lingerie set. The corset-like bra cupped your breasts perfectly, accentuating your cleavage beautifully. The matching panties rested dangerously low on your hips and hugged the supple curves of your ass. To top it off, you drape a see-through nighty over your shoulders. A soft smile tugs at your lips as you playfully knock at the bedroom door, leaning against the doorframe. You can't help but eye him softly. Though you had seen his bare body before, you always cherished moments like this.

The light emitted from the lamp on the bedside table had cast a series of shadows across his body. You can visibly see how his breathing changes at the sight of you. His breaths went from slow, composed, and even, too deep, ragged, and needy. His eyes hungrily rake across your body, memorizing every curve and dip along your skin. You take your time walking over to him on the bed, and your sweet, succulent scent fills his senses. Placing a hand on his bare chest, you gently push him to lay back on his elbows. Using your knees, you force his legs open so that you can straddle one of his thighs. His eyes meet yours just as you start to move your hips, grinding yourself slowly and longingly onto his thigh. He lifts his leg just enough so that his knee brushes against your clothed clit.

Logan lifts his head to meet your gaze through half lidded eyes. An appreciative and heated groan grumbles deep in his chest, dragging his eyes down your curvaceous body. Pushing onto his elbows, he leans into you, capturing your lips with his. Your hands rest on his broad shoulders, slowly sliding down his rock hard chest. Your fingers graze over welted and worn scars; your hips slowly roll against his thigh once more as you grind yourself against his muscular thigh. A soft blush threatens to dust your cheeks at the sensation of his hands gripping your hips, guiding your movements on his leg. Your hands slide from his chest, gripping the bottom of your nighty, and slowly work it up your body, tossing the fabric onto the small stool that Logan had left his folded shirt and pants. You could feel his growing erection against your thigh through his boxers.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, moving your legs so that you're completely straddling his lap now. He dips his head towards your chest, pressing a chaste kiss just above the valley of your breasts. His beard felt heavenly and sinful against your soft, velvety skin. His hands slide from your hips, gripping your sides just below your ribcage. His grip on you is solid and unwavering, allowing you to arch into him, bending backwards just enough to show off a portion of your flexibility. His hands travel up your spine until they settle onto the clasp of your lacy bra. You moan a soft ‘yes’ to him, allowing him to undo the clasps and slowly slide the straps down your arms. Once the garment is removed, he tosses it somewhere across the room. Your eyes flutter as his hot breath cascades down the valley between your breasts. His mouth leaves a series of chaste and hungry kisses along the soft mounds of your breasts. Your nipples harden into stiff peaks as the cool air laps at your skin.

Logan eagerly palms your bare breasts, roughly massaging them. His ministrations pull a needy whimper from your lips. A familiar heat began to pool between your thighs, dampening your panties. With every grind, roll, and bumps of your hips against his, you could feel his hardening cock brush against your ever needy cunt. Your eyes flutter as the demanding heat of his mouth encases one of your aching nipples. He swirled his tongue around the tender bud, using his hand to give the other a similar treatment by rolling the aching bud between his thumb and forefinger.

“Logan…” you mewl softly, your voice barely above a hoarse whisper. He grunts against your skin in acknowledgment. Your thighs ached and burned for him. You needed him like a drug; needed to feel him fill your tight little cunt with his cock.

“Yes, doll?” He finally lifts his head to meet your gaze. You thread your fingers through his hair, gasping as he slides a hand between your thighs. His fingers press up into your clothed pussy, grinding your lace panties against your clit. The friction sets every fiber in your body on fire. He watches you through half lidded eyes as you grind yourself onto his fingers. “Tell me what you want, doll. Use your words for me, pretty girl.” He husks against your ear. He could smell your arousal as it pooled into your thighs and cunt.

“Ah–fuck…” your head lulls back as he pushes a finger deep into your velvety walls. Your mouth falls open as a second one is added. He starts to slowly fuck his fingers up into you, scissoring them to stretch out your walls. A shaky breath falls from your lips while you eagerly grind yourself onto his fingers.

“So fucking needy. Coming undone for me already, sweet girl.” He praises quietly, curling his fingers to brush against your g-spot. The added pressure makes you move your hips in a slow circle on his fingers. “Such a good girl.” His praises reach your core, making your walls clench on his fingers.

“Please…I need you…” You plead while slowly bouncing on his fingers in an attempt to chase the high that you desperately need. He pulls his fingers out of your sopping cunt. A soft whimper fell from your lips at the emptiness.

“Let daddy take care of you,” he growls into your ear. His cock was throbbing in need of filling you up. Your legs felt weak under your weight as you slid from his lap so that you could ease your soaking panties down your thighs. Logan tugs his boxers down his thighs, kicking them across the room before laying back against the bed. Using the slick from your arousal, he pumps his cock a few times, groaning deep in his chest. His thumb smears the glistening precum across the swollen head of his cock.

Crawling onto the bed, you straddle his lap again, whimpering as he drug his leaking cock through your slick, velvety folds. The look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know. Slowly, you sink onto his cock, allowing his length and girth to stretch your tight and quivering walls. His hands grip your hips, slowly guiding you up and down his length. Every movement is accompanied by a squelching squish as his cock rubs the inside of your dripping pussy. You grip his shoulders, head lulling back as you bounce on him. He watches you with hungry eyes; watching the way you took his cock with ease, the way your breasts bounce with every movement on him.

“Fucking beautiful. Mmm, good girl. You're doing well, pretty girl…” his hands slide up your sides, caressing and squeezing your breasts before curling his arms around you. He pulls you in closer, making you lean down into him. His lips are desperately crushed against yours; his tongue flicking against your lower lip, asking for entrance. Your tongue meets his, the kiss deepening and growing more hungry and passionate. Your heated moans are swallowed by his demanding mouth as he bucks his hips up into you. His movements are slow, gentle even, as he nudges his cock even deeper into you.

His hands slide down the spanse of your back, resting on the supple mounds of your ass. He gives your ass a firm smack, earning a pained yelp from you. Your nails dig into his shoulders as he bends his knees, pushing you up just a little further onto his body. Still gripping your ass, he bucks his hips up into you, the head of his cock brushes against your cervix, making you groan loudly. Your eyes flutter as he fills you more and more with every inch of his aching cock until he fully bottoms out. Arching your back, you desperately grind on his cock in need of orgasm. He could feel you were so close to spilling over for him with every flutter of your walls on him.

“Such a needy girl. Keep going. Good girl. I know you need to cum. Don't stop.” He husks against your lips. You bury your face in the hollow of his neck near his shoulder. Soft whimpers fall from your lips as you chase your high. The coil in the bottom of your stomach twists and curls before finally unraveling. Your vision goes white and your walls clenched tightly around Logan, earning a heated growl out of him. “Oh fuck…good girl. That's my girl…I know you have another one in you. Think you can cum for me again, doll?”

You nod meekly against his shoulder. Your legs trembled beneath you felt like jello. A high-pitched squeal is pulled from you as Logan effortlessly flips your positions, resting his weight on his elbows as he gazes down at you. “Lo…daddy…” you mewl, wrapping your legs around his waist. “I need you…”

Logan snaps his hips against yours at your words. You moan his name loudly, sinking your nails into his chiseled back. He groans against your neck, panting with every movement of his hips. It always drove him over the edge when you left marks across his skin and back. Every thrust from him is harsh and powerful, causing the box spring to squeak and the headboard collide against the wall. You didn't care if your neighbors could hear the ways Logan defiled you. Your mouth finds a sensitive spot on his neck; sinking your teeth into it, you suck harshly, knowing you'd leave a rapidly bruising hickey there. His entire body goes rigid for a moment until a growl escapes him at the pain.

“Fuck…marking me up, pretty girl? ‘m gonna fill that tight little pussy up. You're gonna take every fucking drop of my cum, pretty girl?” he growls against your ear. You can only nod, coherent words feeling impossible to form as he fucks you into the mattress. “Use your words, pretty girl…tell me what you want…”

“You…please…I need you to cum in me, daddy. Fill me up…please…” you beg helplessly. Your nails threatened to break the skin at the backs of his shoulders. He could feel that you were close again, and he was too. His hips began to stutter against yours, leaving him grunting breathily with every movement.

“Fucking good girl…” he groans. Your words are enough to send him over the edge. Your walls flutter and clench around his cock, forcing hot spurts to coat your cervix in white. His knuckles turn almost white with how tightly he grips the headboard. He clenches his teeth as his claws cut through his knuckles. His hips slowly still against yours. He's left panting raggedly against your shoulder. Your fluttering walls milk him dry of everything he's worth. He presses a tender kiss against your cheek before collapsing beside you. His chest heaves as he drinks down gulps of air. Turning over, you lay partially on top of him, your head against his chest.

“That…that was amazing…” you finally breathlessly say. He chuckles softly, curling an arm around you, pulling you completely on top of his body.

“Mmm, it was…” he grunts in agreement, tenderly stroking your hair. “Maybe we need to get alone like this more often.” He lifts his head to look down at you with soft eyes. A soft smile tugs at his lips.

“That, I can agree to.” You place a soft kiss against his sweat slick chest. “Are your hands okay? You're bleeding…” you sat up, tenderly taking one of his hands into both of yours. He knew protesting wouldn't get him anywhere as he watched you. Before he could protest, you hurry off to the bathroom to grab a first aid kit. By the time you return, he's sitting up in the bed with his back against the headboard, gingerly trying to push the metal claws back into his wrists.

“Let me help you…” You kneel between his legs, taking his hand into yours. His brows furrowed together as he watched you. He breathes out a quiet, appreciative sigh though his nose at how you massaged his hand and arm. His lips part slightly, but no words come out. Small traces of blood drip down his hand as you help to work his claws back onto the skin.

“You're really too good for me…way too good to me…” He finally murmurs, flexing his hand. You shake your head, carefully wrapping his hand in bandages before laying back against him.

“You're welcome.” You chuckle softly, knowing that was his way of saying thank you. “I…I love you Logan…until my last breath…”

He takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head up towards him. His eyes are hard but soft at the same time. His brows fitted together tightly. “Until my last dying breath…” Holding you closely against his chest, he curls his body around yours to lay down. You fit perfectly against him, like a missing puzzle piece.

[alucarddear]

Position anon again, would you please write a NSFW alphabet for Alucard? Pretty please? 🥺

Alucard N S F W Alphabet*

I'm personally offended that I haven't done this for Lulu before. Anyway, rather than just spelling out his name, I'll give you the entire alphabet. Heh. This is LONG! Your thoughts and keyboard smashes are welcome. 🤭

P.S. I go explicit and specific; read at your own risk. I also tried my best to keep it as gender-neutral as possible, so this is [Alucard x You]. However, I did have a little self-indulgent fun with W: wild card, the only section with an obvious she/her indication. Just so you know!

A: Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

Aftercare is not optional to this dhampir. It's a must. It doesn't matter if you had a quick romp or a long night, he'd still take the time to treat you right, especially if he'd been rather rough with you.

Forehead kisses, soft caresses, helping clean you up—you name it and he's got it covered. It's all about making sure you feel loved, appreciated, and cared for.

Alucard is not one to just up and leave or make you feel used. In fact, it's noticeable how much more he dotes on you after actually using you up good and fucking you raw into next week. 😏

B: Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and their partner’s)

Your neck. Let's not even pretend that Alucard doesn't gravitate towards it. As you ride him, he buries his face in the crook of your neck and nips and pecks at your throat. There's a part of him that wants to sink his fangs into you then and there and another that wants nothing more than to whisper sweet nothings against your skin as you throw your head back in bliss.

Alucard likes his hands—the way they're so large against yours; how perfectly your hands feel in his own. He likes his hands gripping your thighs or hips, his hand coming down to slap your ass, his hands caressing every inch of you. The way his hand closes around your wrist, encircling it completely as if it was made to do nothing but. The way he pushes you down with his hand on the small of your back as he prepares to take you from behind. Most of all, all of the things his hands can do to make you cum.

C: Cum (anything to do with cum)

Alucard's desire to spill his seed inside you is next to nothing sometimes. If you'd let him, he'd bury himself balls-deep and cum inside you each and every time.

He loves to make you cum, loves the way you sound—the hitching of your breath, your begging, the way you can barely keep yourself from shaking as he coaxes yet another orgasm out of you. He loves to praise you for it. "God, you're fucking beautiful," is something you hear often. It just never gets old.

D: Dirty secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

Alucard loves when you allow him to bend you over whichever way he pleases. Loves how tiny and pliable you look underneath him, adjusting and propping your arms and legs as he sees fit. Just the sight of you like that, it's enough to push him over the edge.

So, you know he draws you—you are his muse after all. You've seen his sketches. But not the ones of your beautiful, naked body. Not even the tasteful pieces he draws as you sleep. Not the ones where, try as he might, he just can't replicate how utterly divine you look when he fucks you. He's a talented artist, but nothing tops the real thing.

E: Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Is he very experienced? No. Does he know what he's doing? Hell yes. His mother was a doctor and his father is a man of science. He lives in a castle full of resources. He has deep knowledge of biology—he's got the theory down pat. Sure, he fumbled a little the first few times, but he quickly learnt how you like to be pleased.

Besides, being a dhampir, Alucard is in tune with your body's responses to his ministrations. When you're intimate, he can practically feel your heart racing, dear. He knows when you're close, can tell when he's hitting it good, need I say more?

F: Favourite position (this goes without saying)

Mastery. He sits on the edge of the bed, feet flat on the floor to support you sitting on top of him with your legs bent on either side of him, your feet flat on the bed. This position allows you to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss. It lets you start off slow, very intimate—with you grinding against and riding him. Once you're a little tired (or he starts growing impatient), he simply grips your hips and pounds up into you until you're a screaming wreck. His grip on your hips and his feet securely planted on the floor allows him to rut into you fast. And the view? Fucking fantastic. He loves watching you come undone like this, seeing you throw your head back and expose your throat to him. Yes.

For a quick romp, you can't go wrong with doggy style. When you're in his study and you both get a little too distracted? He’ll bend you over his desk and have his way with you.

G: Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Oh, he's very serious about giving both of you a good time, alright. He might do something that makes you giggle, sure, but for the most part it's probably accidental and not his intention. Sex with Alucard can be intimate and sweet or downright animals humping in the undergrowth (👀), no in between. He's not here for the shits and giggles, darling.

H: Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

It does match. Maybe not all the time completely bare, but he keeps himself neat and tidy. Do you see his luxurious hair? He takes care of himself down there too.

I: Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Alucard loves to see you and hear you. He's considerate and goes out of his way to find what works for you. So much so he probably has ruined you for anyone else. You'll never find a more receptive lover; it’s time to accept that.

When you make sweet love, he whispers sweet nothings against your skin. He peppers kisses all over you and makes you feel like the most gorgeous being on the planet. He's not afraid to voice his thoughts out loud too, praising you and urging you on.

J: Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

You remember those naughty sketches of you? Yep. He has used them a couple times while you were away. You're in his thoughts whenever he touches himself.

K: Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Edging. He not-so-secretly loves it when you beg. How are you to know how much more you can take? He'll just have to show you.

When you moan his name as you grip the sheets and quake beneath him? Yeah. He loves it, especially when you can barely even make out the words for “Adrian, please, please, please.”

When you take control and ride him like your life depends on it, it does something to his brain. You on top, taking control and looking absolutely beautiful as you do so... he could cum just from the thought of it.

There is a part of him that likes the thought of cumming deep inside you and breeding you. Maybe it's that loneliness that sometimes nags at him, maybe he yearns for a family, but he can't lie this feels utterly divine.

L: Location (favourite places to do the do)

The bed is cliche, but it works and is comfortable. Your kitchen counter, desk, against the wall or a tree, table, or out at some secluded clearing by the lake... Alucard is truly not that picky, as long as you're not out in the public for other eyes to see and you’re both comfortable.

M: Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Your reactions and enthusiasm. Knowing you're into it just as much as he is.

When you sashay towards him, crooking your finger at him to beckon him closer? He's right there with you in a heartbeat.

When you wear his shirt and it swallows your smaller frame? It turns him on more than he lets on.

When you moan his name and gasp and writhe in pleasure. When you beg for him to take you harder, faster, and deeper. It just about short-circuits his brain.

N: No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Any form of bondage or restrictions to his movement. It brings up unnecessary trauma and makes him feel that he's not in control or safe. He is mostly a switch, sure, letting you take control and dominate too, but tying him up is just a no-go for him.

He won't transform into a wolf. It's practically bestiality, which he's not down for.

Somnophilia or any other act where consent can be dubious. He's just big on consent and trust, for obvious reasons.

O: Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He loves having absolute control over your pleasure, knowing it's him coaxing the sighs and moans and screams out of you. He enjoys how easily he can make you cum and drive you mad.

That said, he also loves watching you pleasure him, taking as much of his hard length as you can, especially whenever you greedily swallow his load.

P: Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It really depends. Sex can be whatever it needs to be in the moment. While he loves nothing more than to take his time and make sweet love to you, he also loves ravaging you and leaving you utterly spent. It's satisfying either way.

The usual case is he begins slowly and sensually, but by the end of it (and sometimes without warning), he's rutting into you like his life depends on it.

Q: Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He isn't above having a quickie if that is all time permits, but he would really much rather have his way with you properly!

R: Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Given that he's a dhampir, he knows exactly how to go unseen or unnoticed. It's likely his risk assessment is much more honed. You might think you're being risky, but he is well aware of the chances of you getting caught in the act.

As for experimenting—other than his hard reservations (the ones listed in N), he is game to experiment and try different things you may be curious about as long as you both feel safe and comfortable about them.

S: Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He's a dhampir... need I say more? The chances of you exhausting him first is little. Sorry to burst your bubble. 😆 He's got stamina for days, honey.

T: Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Alucard is not above using toys to pleasure you. But what can a toy do that he can't do better? Hah. Chances are he will attempt to learn how it pleases you and try to replicate that with his own cock, mouth, and hands.

U: Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He can be such a little tease. You know the way he banters. That snark and sass can sometimes make their way inside the bedroom too.

"What was that, darling?" he'd ask, as if his amazing sense of hearing wasn't enough to register your begging as he edges you for the nth time. "Tsk. Patience, my love..." he would even dare chide you!

Alucard also loves to glide his fangs over your skin, just enough to leave a faint mark but not enough to draw blood.

V: Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s not shy to let you know he’s having a good time, but he’s also not overly loud. He gasps, moans, and curses, a tight-lipped “Fuck!” slipping out once in a while.

W: Wild card (a random headcanon)

He loves to praise you. His way of talking dirty is to let you know how good you feel around him. How ethereal you are, how perfect for him, how you taste so sweet.

He encourages you as he pushes you over the limit. “Yes, yes, darling, you can take it. Cum for me,” he would say. He’d place a kiss on your open mouth as you convulse around him as he rips yet another orgasm out of you. “My sweet darling,” he would groan, wiping the sweat off your brow. “How perfect you are. Good girl.” And just like that, he’s about to do it all over again. RIP. 😫

X: X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He’s active and it shows. He’s well built without being overly bulky. It suits him—muscular/toned yet elegant and lean.

He’s packing a just-about-above average penis, but nothing you cannot handle. The man’s over six foot, it just fits.

Y: Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Alucard is the type to yearn and pine, so set the volume level up cause he cannot get enough of you. Enough said.

Z: Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Sometimes you drift off to sleep together, but you usually fall asleep first.

He’s a night owl. He’d take you in his arms and stroke your hair as you sleep, admiring the way you glow under the moonlight, and wonder how he got so lucky to have found you. 🤍🌙

[lavenderspence]

unexplained sadness | A.H.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader | Word Count: 2.5K

Content warning: pre-established relationship, depression, mental health struggles, mentions of therapy, angst, supportive!aaron

Summary: you've struggled to find a way out from under the darkness for years, but you were thankful he offered the final push you needed.

A/N: I drafted this a few days, contemplating if I should even post it. it's very self-indulgent. I wrote it at a time when I wasn't able to understand my own feelings, and im still not sure how. I think this is the realest my writing has been, but i do think I'm posting this with the most vulnerability as well. I want you all to remember, just in case you're struggling - you're amazing, you're enough and I believe in you. Life is crazy, but it will get better, allow yourself to be patient, and most importantly, take the greatest, most gentle care of yourself 💕

masterlist

You looked around, well aware of the amount of relief that should be flooding your body right now. It usually did at the end of a case, where another monster was put to rot in a cage much appropriate for its’ sins. 

But even knowing what you should be feeling, the simple truth was - you weren’t feeling anything at all, and you hadn’t for a while. 

And even when you did feel something, you could never explain it. It was a mess, where many emotions fought a battle, but in the end, all it came down to was an endless void where the darkness and despair of the unexplained won out.

The only thing you could feel at that moment was the pressure of the vest compressing against your chest. It stole the little amount of oxygen in your lungs in favor of an overwhelming amount of hidden sadness. 

Even with the sun high up in the sky and the warmth it was supposed to spread all over your skin, you felt cold - no warmth actually penetrated the top layer of your skin. And the chatter - EMTs, police officers, and outlookers, you couldn’t process anything at all. 

It was like you were standing there, like a statue, a headstone to remind everyone of your presence once upon a time, but not anymore. Physically, you were alive and aware, but mentally, you’ve been fighting a battle you could confidently admit you were losing. 

Your thoughts were deeply wrapped in a cobweb of confusion and melancholy, a never-ending cycle that couldn’t stop repeating itself. It felt like you didn’t exist outside the realm of your own despair. Each day the shadows around you persisted in their pursuit of you, dragging in with them this empty feeling, designed to leave you feeling like a loner. 

The string holding you tethered to the person you’d been before was tinning each day as the distance between you grew bigger and bigger. You no longer even felt her presence at all. For weeks you’ve fought a silent battle against your own mind, and even your body sometimes. 

You tried to hide behind a mask of fake smiles and nights spent around the people you trusted most, hoping you’d feel better, but you never did. You only felt this state you were in, as it gained speed and grew in volume. 

But there was a certain pair of eyes that saw the subtle changes in you, straight into a place even you couldn’t see. Warm chocolate, sometimes shining amber in the sun - somehow strict but also oh so soft. 

You thought you hid it well, but you could never hide yourself from him, and you should have known. 

Your hotel room was dark and quiet, safe for the gentle light and sound that came from the TV. A movie was playing, an early 2000s song in the background. The duvet felt heavy over your body, and you longed to kick it off in an effort to feel less trapped, but you couldn’t find the strength to. It was like your whole body was paralyzed in a fatal position with your muscles locked and your eyes open but unseeing. 

Case after case came, and each day it got harder. You had to try and perfect a mask you were getting tired of wearing, tired of hiding behind. You couldn’t skip work, lest you wanted to feel like more of a failure than you already did sometimes. 

You felt scared to admit to your struggles, half unsure what your struggles were to begin with, half unwilling to unload on others. You were willing to suffer and fight this on your own until you either had nothing left to fight against or no strength left to fight at all.

Your mind was working overtime, half empty and dark, half full and constantly spinning, you didn’t even process the foreign sound at first. Only it wasn’t so foreign - a series of gentle raps or someone’s knuckles against the door. Knocking. They were just enough to alert you of a newcoming presence but not disturb you or others in any way. 

You didn’t move a muscle. Even when two more knocks followed, even more gentle than the first, all you could do was blink. Even with the soft call of your name that came seconds later, you couldn’t find the strength to answer or even get up. You couldn’t even twitch. 

You stood there frozen in place, in time. Frozen between the walls of a prison of your own mind’s making. 

The knocks stopped, as did the voice calling out your name, maybe finally resigned to the fact you weren’t answering at all. 

Giving up on you the way you’d given up on yourself. 

You would be surprised if you didn’t feel a tiny bit of relief at being left on your own. Too bad the relief didn’t actually last long - just seconds after the lock beeped, signaling it was unlocked, and the door was slowly opening, bathing the room in the hallway light. 

Even with the small, hesitant steps this person took, you were instantly able to tell by the sounds of his feet hitting the wooden floor who it was. 

“Did you know it’s actually illegal to break into someone’s space?” Your voice came out raspy from misuse. You weren’t sure how much time had actually passed since you made it to your room, but if you had to guess, probably several hours had gone by.

“I do know that actually, it’s criminal law 101.” He retorted before you felt the mattress dip close to your feet, “You missed dinner.” He mussed.

A part of you couldn’t handle having a conversation with him, not right now. Not in the complete darkness, and the quiet stretched between you both. 

“I wasn’t hungry.” You answered simply. You waited for him to say something, and you waited and waited, and he wasn’t saying anything. It was like he was looking for the right words to use, so as not to offend you, or set you off. But you wouldn’t feel any of it if he did - just as the night was dark outside and so was your mind. 

“Just spit it out, Hotch.” You finally used a part of his name, unintentionally closing the distance the smallest bit even when you tried to stay away. Maybe subconsciously you knew you could trust him, if a little.  

“You’re not doing well.” 

You didn’t even hesitate. “Wow, way to show you aren't actually a gentleman.”

“I’m not trying to...” You could almost see him shaking his head, so in tune with his reactions from years of working alongside him, “I’m worried about you.” It left him in a whisper, like he was afraid to admit it. 

“I’m okay, there’s no need.” You denied it like it was your biggest defense against his accusations. Except they weren’t that, genuine worry dripped along with his words, but you had a hard time accepting it. You couldn’t, didn’t want to. Being vulnerable, especially in front of him, could cost you a lot, and with the way you’ve been living, you couldn’t afford it.

Even when deep in your heart you trusted him with everything, even yourself. 

You felt him place his hand on the duvet, enclasping his palm around your calf. “You were okay five weeks ago, and you haven’t been since then. I’ve been watching you wear a mark and barely holding yourself from falling apart. I don’t think ‘okay’ applies right now.” 

“I thought we promised not to profile each other.” You muttered brokenly, feeling parts of the mask he was talking about cracking in places. It was like having him so close, peeling your outer layers slowly, and leaving you exposed, finally making your emotional reactions coincide with your lack of understanding. It was like he was exposing all of you both to himself and you too. 

“Not at the expense of suffering in silence, we didn’t.” He answered with conviction, no hesitation. He was making it apparent your wellbeing was more important to him than any promise he might have made to you or others. He was letting you know he was prioritizing your health over everything else. 

He understood you even without you having to say anything. Just by watching you try to swim to the surface of the ocean and still being pushed by the crashing waves, he could already feel that you were struggling. 

He could see you were self-isolating, even when you were being surrounded by people. He picked up on the signs in the subtle subject changes you made whenever someone asked anything about you. You were unwilling to share, even though you loved sharing any little detail about your interest, allowing others to do the same. 

You let Garcia talk about her software and cute animals and allowed Reid to share any little fact with you he could. But even when you listened, it wasn’t hard to see you really weren’t. Staring into spaces or faking an interest, even though he knew you would be interested in the first place, had there not been anything amis to begin with. 

And slowly piece after piece had started falling together, like a puzzle started, yet left abandoned. 

In the darkness of the hotel room, miles away from your home and mere doors down from the rest of your team, a piece deep inside you started longing for the understanding he was offering. It started building up with worry over the reality of the words you knew you needed to say but were too scared to. It started wishing for a new slate, where the overwhelming amount of confusion and empty darkness no longer followed you like a shadow. 

It slowly started coming to terms with the fact that you weren’t enough to fight this on your own and that maybe you needed help to do so.

For the first time in weeks, months, who knew, maybe even years, you wanted to talk about it. You wanted to admit to your state of mind where reality got mangled with your deepest darkest thoughts imaginable, where self-doubt and the feeling of worthlessness took over. Where giving up sounded so much better than trying out again. Where any positivity was instantly turned into negativity whether you liked it or not. 

For the first time you craved being helped, you wanted to understand your own struggles and get better. You wanted to thrive in the life you were living instead of settling for simply existing. You wanted to talk, and you wanted to tell him all that. 

You rolled your lips between your teeth before you bit down until you tasted blood. One of your hands barely made it out from underneath the warmth of the duvet before you grabbed into the bedding with a tight fist. 

“I don’t think I’m doing okay, Aaron.” You whispered into the darkness. The bed dipped and groaned as he moved closer, settling just centimeters away from your cocoon this time. You were so busy looking over the skyline that you didn’t even see his hand move until you felt his warm palm overtop your skin. He held onto you, trying to prompt you into releasing the bedding, tapping his fingers in a gentle manner. 

He was offering you comfort without really saying or doing anything. He was letting you try and put your thoughts together before you entrusted him with the truth. 

“One minute I’m good, and the next it feels like I lose all touch with my own self and my feelings - It’s all empty, or an overwhelming amount of sadness I couldn’t begin to even understand. I can’t even grasp what prompts this sudden change. I’ve tried fighting it for so long, years maybe, and each time it comes back, I’m left feeling more hopeless than the last.” You explained in a small voice. 

A wave of relief, if small, rocked your whole body. There was something freeling about saying it out loud, ignoring the fear of admitting that had followed you for years. 

“Have you ever told anyone about it?” His voice was just another shadow in the room. A timbre so calm, quiet, and soothing that you knew he was listening with no reservations and no judgments. Just a pure need to help.

You went to shake your head, but remembered you were both still looking towards the window. “I’ve always played it off as a joke. I’ve never let it sound like I really mean it. Not like I do right now.” It was one of the many truths you’d admitted to that night. Even when you played it off, you knew deep inside it was a small cry for help you didn’t want to. You were unwilling to take the right steps in order to get the help you needed. 

“Why joke about it?” You thought about it for a second, trying to clear out the fog of the past.

“I guess…” Your fingers clenched underneath his own. “I guess I just wanted to see if anyone cared enough to ask if I was serious. They didn’t.” Realistically, you knew you shouldn’t wait on other people or expect them to see something amiss before you looked for help. But a part deep enough inside you wanted the reassurance that someone loved you enough to notice.

“But you want to get help?” He mumbled, still tapping his finger against your own.

“Yes.” You didn’t even have to think about it. You owed yourself that much, and all the help possible you could get.

“Okay.” He exhaled in relief, “As soon as we get back, we’ll start looking, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You whispered. You felt his hand squeeze your own in reassurance. You turned your palm up, enveloped his own hand, and gave him one back, “Thank you, Aaron.”

A few minutes of looking at the starless sky passed before he prompted you to move, if just enough to walk into the bathroom and wash your face - and you did. When you came back, he’d made himself comfortable leaning against the headboard, legs stretched on the mattress. 

He spent the night sleeping in yesterday’s clothes, trying to make sure you were doing okay and weren’t left feeling lonely. 

You knew there was a long path ahead of you - the path to self-understanding and acceptance of your own flaws and struggles, as well as the changes you may need to adapt to moving forward. Something you were undoubtedly going to have a hard time with. Where you’d need to fight against the days when you questioned whether it was worth it. Where you’d slowly have to come to terms with the fact that as long as you were making yourself happy and keeping yourself afloat, there wasn’t anything worth more. 

The path to recovery was never supposed to be easy or linear, but you had him to thank for being the final push. You had to be thankful for each minute of the time he gave you. And each grain of love he showed you in the process. 

You needed the help - for yourself, your past, your present, and your future self. And for every second you spent failing to understand the person you were and the feelings you held onto.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!!!

[avatar-anna]

Heat Wave

it is once again extremely hot where i live and that means it's time for another self-indulgent blurb!

"No, bubba. Not right now. It's too hot."

"No? No?" Harry said, nuzzling his nose deeper into your neck, his hands gripping your sides and making you squirm beneath him. "I'm trying to love on you, and you're telling me no?"

"Please, H, I'm so sweaty, and you're—"

"Laying with my beautiful, lovely, sexy girlfriend," he said. "Come on baby. You really expect me to react differently when you're practically wearing nothing? I'm a gentleman, not a saint."

You huffed and rolled your eyes before resting your hands on his broad shoulders, trying to push your boyfriend away to no avail. Harry had always been the clingy type, and you always found it cute and endearing, but today was a little different. With this heatwave, you could hardly stand doing much of anything, least of all cuddle with your boyfriend. Harry didn't seem to be affected by the excessive heat, though. You were minding your own business on the couch while he answered various phone calls when he plopped himself on top of you. Even in just a pair of cotton shorts and bra, you couldn't escape the heat. And now that definitely wouldn't happen seeing as Harry was making himself comfortable on top of you.

"Come on, I just want a kiss," he insisted, raising his head up so your gaze could meet his. "Just one."

"It's never just one with you," you mumbled, passing your thumb over his bottom lip absentmindedly.

"That's because you always want more. Don't act like you're so innocent, missy."

He might've had a point. Harry may have typically been the one to initiate things, but you were always eager to follow his lead, maybe even sometimes take over. But not today. Not when it was unbearably hot.

But when he kept looking at you the way he was...

"One kiss. One," you relented, lacing a hand through his hair. He was right, you really couldn't help yourself anymore than he could.

Harry grinned so wide, as if you'd given him bigger news than allowing him a kiss. But that was Harry. From the day you met, he worshiped the ground you walked on, always giving the love he knew you deserved and never once making you question it. You loved him just as much, just as fiercely, you were just a little more subtle about it.

You awaited your kiss, thinking Harry would take his time, make it an extra long kiss to try and make you cave. But he just continued to smile at you, his expression becoming more and more mischievous by the second.

"Bubba? Aren't you going to—Hey!"

You'd been leaning against the armrest of the couch until Harry promptly yanked you down, your head hitting one of the plush cushions with a soft thud. You were too surprised by his actions to realize he was moving quickly now. He inched his way down your body before shimmying your shorts down your hips.

"H—Harry!" you stuttered, laughing through your astonishment.

"I said I wanted a kiss, I never said where," Harry said simply, crooked grin deepening when he realized you weren't wearing underwear under your shorts.

And he was holding true to that. Harry's nose brushed up against your stomach now, but he hadn't puckered his lips yet.

"Cheeky bastard," you muttered, a grin spreading across your lips. "Fine, you win."

"You make it seem like this is such a burden, he teased. "I could always just go, you know. I know you're really hot and everything and I have another call in a bit, so—"

Harry tried to get up off the couch, making a good show of actually wanting to move from his position when you both knew he didn't. But your grip on his hair tightened to keep him exactly where he was, which only made him give you a knowing grin.

"Here, let's get rid of this. You'll feel much cooler," he said, thumbing at the hem of your bralette and urging you to take it off.

You gave him an exasperated look before crossing your arms across your chest and taking hold of your bralette. Harry kept his eyes on yours as you lifted it up and over your head, though when you settled back against the couch, his gaze began to wander.

Rolling your eyes, you tipped his chin up with a finger, smoothing a stray curl out of his face with your other hand. "You're quite pleased with yourself, aren't you?"

Harry shrugged, everything in the movement almost irritatingly smug. He didn't need to say anything in reply, you could read his face like your favorite book.

"Better make that kiss count, bubba."

"I plan to."

[ino-takumas-baggy-sweater]

The Blessing to Your Curse - Part 1 (Ryomen Sukuna x Reader)

Hey y’all I’m back again so soon with another fic, Sukuna’s lover reincarnation (whatever you call it) has me in a chokehold right now and I thought I’d share this with the world. Would like to warn you there is a lot of strange jumping around/pov changes which are indicated by the change in pronouns, I would mark each change but it would get a bit messy after a while so I hope it’s not too hard to follow! ^-^

Reader’s powers involve something I like to call ‘blessed energy’ which is the opposite to cursed energy and is mostly used for healing (reverse blessed energy is used to harm in the same way reverse CE is used to heal) and it’s something I created to use with my writings in the JJK universe. (sometimes I write it a little op because im a self-indulgent piece of shit so for most of what I post I’ll probably dial it back if I use it hehe) The reader has a similar situation to Maki/Mai (MANGA SPOILERS AHEAD) where one twin is restricted and the other has all the energy, and when the one with the energy dies the living twin gains all the power, so I hope that makes sense in context of the story

(PLEASE DON'T HESITATE TO SEND A REQUEST!!!! I'M ALWAYS IN NEED OF NEW PROMPTS AND CHARACTERS TO GO WITH THEM ❤)(I have a post which outlines characters I mostly write for but I'm open to adding to that list!!)

Warnings: mild description of mutilation (sukuna’s transformation), main character death (not described), fluff

Word count: 2.4k

“Ryomen!” You laugh, trying to keep a few steps ahead of the young man who chases after you. Your legs tire easily, body frail and sick despite the immense power flowing through your veins. “I’m coming for you!” He growls playfully, “Better run!” He’s holding back from his top speed, this you know well, but you refuse to let that stop you from trying to keep up with his childish play. Still young, 16 and 17 with him being the older one, you insist that you would rather spend the rest of your life here with him than being shepherded around in the village like a priestess.

This is your only escape from the temple on the hill, only solitude, your time with Ryomen Sukuna is precious and you treat it as such, thinking only of him and his rare smiles. You refuse to let the village’s words taint your view of him, as powerful as he is with his cursed energy there is good in him and you seek to nurture it, for both simple selfish gain and so he doesn’t turn on everyone like they did him. You reach the treeline and race out into the meadow, the grass tall and soft around your waist having stripped down from your daily ceremonial robes into just modest loose undergarments.

He does eventually catch up near the middle of the meadow, springing out of the grass and tackling you to the ground, making sure to roll so you land on top of him and he takes the full force of the fall. The last time you returned to the village after a long day of simple play with bruises and scrapes you weren’t allowed to leave the village for a few weeks.

He’s grown quite a lot larger than you during his time in exile, to be expected when you have to fend for yourself against wild animals and build your own shelter, “You’re getting stronger every day,” You smile, pushing yourself off him and laying in the grass, staring up at the beautiful pink of the sunset. “Well I have to, to be able protect you, I’m not the only thing out there you know,” He says, his tone almost too blasé for what he’s implying. You tilt your head and trace the lines of his tattoos with your eyes, “I know you’re not, but you’re not a thing to me Ryomen,” You murmur, “Please, you’re the closest thing I have to a friend, you’ve always been human to me,”

He meets your gaze, his eyes used to be brown, but the red no longer worries you like it used to, “One day I’ll get you out of that village,” He says softly, his words for your ears and the rustling grass only, “I will take you far away from here and we can live somewhere untouched by the rest of the world,” You sit up, looking down at him as you hug your knees to your chest, “I’d like that,” You say, smiling, “Just the two of us,” Nothing could touch you while you were together, the world stood still for you, not even the scathing remarks you sometimes got from the other young girls of the village could hurt you.

The world is volatile, things can change so quickly. Curses are still so new to the world of humans, sorcerers that act as protectors are only just starting to appear among humans and spread themselves between villages when the day finally comes. The wave of hatred and anguish that came with the curses suffocated everything in its path. You were outside the village when it happened, returning from a visit with Sukuna, and you returned to find nothing but death and destruction. More than half of the village had been killed with no discrimination towards age or gender, and it only soothed you a little to see your old family home empty when you wrenched the door open. No blood nor bodies of any kind. Your parents and sister had made it out alive, but the temple atop the hill that you resided in was completely engulfed.

You weren’t naïve, you did not attempt to return to the temple, but they came for you all the same because your energy was like a beacon for them, and they were programmed to destroy. Running with Ryomen had improved your strength over the time you spent together, you supposed that was one of the ways he took care of you in his silent brooding way, but it wasn’t enough to get you all the way to him. He must have sensed your fear as you grew nearer, your breaths shallow and your chest tight, his eyes are the last thing you remember seeing before your soul was harshly liberated from your flesh.

The smell of blood permeated through layers of warmth that held you in suspension beyond life, but you felt yourself being dragged back to the ground, standing over your own body as you watch the only person outside of your immediate family who ever truly cared for you cry. You had never seen him cry before, it was cathartic to know even he still felt human somewhere inside while holding your weak broken body to his bare tattooed chest.

You felt his cursed energy filling the air like smoke, almost able to see it in the purgatory state you’re trapped in, his body shaking and his muscles twitching. It was like watching someone turn themselves inside out when it finally happened, his body began changing before your eyes, an extra pair of arms sprout from the top of his ribcage just under the normal ones. His face contorts with an agonized cry and one half becomes unrecognisable, the flesh pink and hardened into some sort of twisted mask, and to finish the monstrous transformation a second pair of eyes open under his regular ones.

Drenched in sweat and breathing heavily as he cradles you, you hear him make one last promise, one that locks around what remains of your essence like chains and puts you into a deep sleep. “I will burn this world for taking you from me, I will become the King of Curses, and when you are reborn I shall make you remember, make you my Queen, I will bind myself to you to protect you,” It’s the final part that reassures you he isn’t losing himself as the darkness consumes you, “When I find you, the world will be right once again,”

Now it had been over a thousand years since the light in Sukuna’s life had gone out, reducing him to a killing machine that punished the world for snuffing it out, and he had returned once more in the body of a naive 15 year old boy with pink hair. Having been preserved as twenty separate cursed objects since his untimely death he was eager to resume his self-assigned purge, but the boy had more control over his body than Sukuna could break through, leaving him trapped within his innate domain watching through Yuji Itadori’s eyes like they’re windows.

“I had to do it at least once,” He grumbles to himself as the boy sits up, stark naked, on the morgue table, surprising the three sorcerers in the room with the formerly dead boy. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet, Yuji, come,” Gojo instructs as the boy slips on some clothes handed to him. “Another sorcerer?” He asks. “You’ll see when we get there,” The taller man beckons him and they make their way to a house on the furthest outskirts of the Jujutsu high campus, small in size and surrounded by forest on all sides except for the path leading up to the entrance.

A fire burns in the chimney and the house is warm when the pair steps inside, “L/n!” Gojo calls out. Sukuna’s attention is elsewhere as around the corner down the hall out walks a pure angel, her energy blinding and her form strong. “Gojo!” She smiles, “Who’s this?” “This is Yuji Itadori, Ryomen Sukuna’s vessel,” She bows politely, “Welcome to my home,” She looks back up into Yuji’s eyes as he smiles, “It’s nice to meet you!”

“Enchain!” Sukuna shouts, and suddenly he’s thrown violently to the forefront of Yuji’s mind. His trump card, wasted. He hadn’t considered the potential consequences, it had been instinctual and foolish of him. The girl didn’t know who he was, but he wanted to speak to her all the same. He would make her know. He cannot stumble, he cannot falter, not when she’s right there and all he has to do is show her, “Y/n,” He murmurs. “That’s not Yuji,” She frowns, her voice soft, “That’s-” Before the two can react Sukuna is on his knees before her, holding her hands in his and hiding against her soft clothing. “I’ve…” Gojo trails off, “I’ve never seen that before,” The girl doesn’t let him go, and he feels her power reach into him, feeling around in the darkest parts of his soul, “My Queen,” He mutters, feeling the metaphysical chains around his heart tighten, “Please, remember,”

A fast surge of energy from Gojo causes the man on his knees before you to react just as quickly, pulling you tighter against him and then seemingly teleporting out the open door into the clearing, “It’s rude to attack ROYALTY!” He roars as Gojo steps out the door after the pair of you. Sukuna has planted himself firmly between the two of you, “You sorcerers never learn manners!” Something happens when your skin next touches his, his hand shooting out to catch you by your wrist as you fail to keep your balance.

A flood of memories that don’t belong to you, in fact, ones that belong to him. You see yourself, weak and frail but smiling widely, Sukuna as he is in front of you now not as he is described in sorcerer texts. A regular human man with an abnormal amount of tattoos, fiercely protective and full of love for the only person who still sees him as human. You vaguely feel yourself fall to your knees as everything from the day he was exiled to the day you died returned to your mind. You knew that despite the life you had lived for twenty years, you were in fact over a thousand years old.

This wasn’t your life, this wasn’t your body, it was hers, but you are her. You can feel the chains, too, the ones he put there the day you died to ensure that you would return. “The world took her from me, and the world paid the price, now BACK OFF!” His words shake you out of your visions, his hand still clutching your wrist as your head hangs weakly.

“Come now, Sukuna, taking hostages isn’t your style, you know that,” Gojo bargains, “Let her go, and we can fight like men,” You shake your head, “No,” You murmur, “No, Gojo,” You finally look up into his eyes, slightly uncovered as he prepares to fight, “He’s right, I know who I am, I know where my clan comes from,” He doesn’t make a move towards you and you take the opportunity to speak again, “My mother was blessed, her child would calm the beast, but she had two and one was weak in body strong in energy, the other was lacking in energy but strong of body,” Your sister had been the one the clan records mentioned, nobody remembered the girl who died alone in Ryomen Sukuna’s arms.

“I am the Queen to Ryomen Sukuna’s King,” You breathe, feeling his grip on your wrist go lax. His energy dies away and he falls to his hands and knees, but the tattoos are gone. “Yuji!” Gojo’s shoulders finally relax and he recovers his eyes, “What happened? How did he get through?” “Don’t ignore me, Satoru,” You state firmly, “Sukuna will not be a threat while I am alive,” “Can you guarantee that?” He’s always been intimidating, but this man was a part of your training as a sorcerer, and he can be rational when he wants to be.

“You’re an imbecile if you think I’m going to go back on a binding vow,” Sukuna spits from Yuji’s cheek, the boy not even having a chance to get a word in, “She is the only thing in this forsaken world I care about and you’re not about to take that away from me just so you can pretend like you’re the saviour of humanity,” You don’t remember ever being as harsh as Sukuna is right now, but his rage fills you with confidence and admiration, “I can guarantee humans will not fall as long as I am alive, his vow makes sure of it, though I’m sure he would not need it either way,”

The secondary eye on Yuji’s cheek closest to you locks its gaze onto you, “Ever so cunning, I wish I’d had the chance to nurture your hatred towards the village, maybe you’d be more open to killing,” He sounds almost wistful, “But alas, I did make a promise, and I intend to keep it, no matter how idiotic I think you sorcerers are,” You finally move to stand back on your feet, helping Yuji up with a tentative smile, “It’s nice to meet you Itadori,” You murmur, “I’m sorry you have to listen to that punk, you come to me if he gives you trouble alright?” The boy nods, his previously cheery demeanour replaced with something mellower and he seems deep in thought as he looks into your eyes.

“He really loves you,” He murmurs in disbelief, “I didn’t… I didn’t think he was truly capable of love, after what he did to me,” You shrug, “It’ll make sense one day, but I’ll let him be the one who opens up, it’s not my place to air out thousand year old dirty laundry with people who are long dead anyway,” Your words hang in the air as Gojo finally sighs. The discussion and conclusion are finalised when he leaves, Yuji will live with you and you will suppress Sukuna’s energy. You will keep the world safe by preserving your life, lest another binding vow come down upon your departing soul and the King of curses be forced to unleash his merciless fury once more.

Sukuna is a little shit and out of character because it’s my fic and I get to write the male love interest however I want (I tried besties :( I don’t like mean Sukuna but I do love “I hate everyone but you” so that’s what you get) also I wrote this instead of sleeping at 2am, the brainrot is real and this will probably end up being a series because I can’t control myself

Part 2 here!

Post dividers from @cafekitsune

[catcze]

Wriothesley thought.

Wrio giving us the princess/queen treatment bcs he's so whipped for us gives me butteflys🤭

THE WAY HE WOULD 🥺🥺🥺 I'm such a sucker for princess treatment so;;;;; this is so self indulgent HAHAHAA I got so carried away but that's ok ♡♡♡ No prns used !!

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

Wrio would treat you so well and and spoil you omg;;;

Opens things for you without you even having to ask! Doors, car doors, soda cans, pudding cups. You name it, he's opening it for you.

The kinda guy who would memorize your schedule and what time you come home, just so that he can go to you and pick you up himself 🥺

Would bring your favorite desserts with him, as well as your thermos full of some tea he made. Gives you lots and lots and lots of kisses when he picks you up, sometimes even literally picks you up and spins you in a circle, not letting you down even when you laugh and scold him because he's so embarrassing! he doesn't care— he just lives for hearing you laugh.

Deposits you in the passenger seat of his car himself, and seatbelts you in with a little kiss to your forehead and your nose. When he gets caught in a red light, he holds your hand, too.

When you go out shopping, he will not allow you to carry a single shopping bag. That's all him. The only thing he wants you to be holding is his hand ♡

Also also !! When you go clothes shopping, know that he's paying for everything that you want, too. If you come out of the changing room, smiling and telling him how good you think you look in the clothes you're fitting, he'll always nod and tell you that he's falling in love with you all over again.

And while you're trying on the next outfit, he's quietly calling over one of the store clerks and handing them his card, telling them to charge everything that you like there ♡ Absolute sugar daddy energy HAHAHAHAHAHAH

Pays for all your meals, too!

He asked you what you're allergic to and what you don't like eating on one of your first few dates together and he's been keeping it all on a list on his phone ever since. He makes absolutely sure that whatever restaurant you dine in, you won't be at risk of anything you can't/don't like eating.

If you feel cold while you hang out, he's giving you his jacket in the blink of an eye. Even rubs your arms and holds your hands so they warm up. Deffo cups your hands in his and blows on them!

And if you get tired? He's kneeling in front of you, telling you to get on his back. he'd give you a piggyback ride back to his car or either of your places (whichever is closer) and brings you a cup of water so you're not dehydrated.

and rest assured that on days where he can't be with you physically, he texts you! Not to much so to the point that it's overwhelming, but he at least sends you a good morning and a good night text :)

Also texts you asking if you've eaten! And and, if you say that you haven't yet, he gets food delivered to your home or your workplace/school 🥺

[ #Taglist registration here !! ]

[ao3-shenanigans]

I have a confession, and a question. I have rewritten my longest fic to-date a total of six times and have an entire extended universe planned. The problem is, I only make progress if I'm writing it out by hand. The slower pace of writing with a pen or pencil forces me to pause and think far more often than typing and makes it much easier to deal with grammar and spelling errors down the road. It also has the great side effect of helping to keep Writer's Block from taking hold. How do you deal with writer's block?

Ah man, writers block hits me so hard!

Some tips and tricks I’ve heard that help:

1. Make a short-term outline

- maybe not the whole plot but rather a short scene or set of scenes. Ex:

(1) Character A picks a fight -> (2) Character A looses fight -> (3) Character B finds them and takes care of them

2. Make a list of things you would want to read in a fic

- be self indulgent! This is your fic after all!

- listing moments you’d like to have can sometimes get the creative flow excited again

Ex: Jon and Martin kiss, someone calls Elias a Saucy Minx and he has to put up with it, Sasha gets to stab Peter, Tim gets to have a sick day where people take care of him

3. Write scenes out of order!

- write that sappy epilogue first if you want!

- stab that sad little man! Figure out why it happened later!

4. Write a few sentences or scenes from a different perspective

- can be that of a different character, an animal watching, a passerby or even an inanimate object! 

5. Write with a friend! Co-authoring a fic or even parallel writing can help with motivation

6. Write a one shot while taking a break from Your main project!

- sometimes something short and sweet can get the dopamine flowing again

7. Write by hand!

- the old notebook trick!

- or even changing the font sometimes helps!

8. Don’t allow yourself to edit or fix typos!

- let yourself ramble on to the page for a bit! You can’t edit what’s not there!

9. Read someone else’s work!

- fanfic or traditionally published work! Mix it up!

10. Re-engage with the source material!

- remember your roots!

11. Change the weather!

- maybe the fight isn’t working in the rain, but how about sleet or snow? Searing desert heat?

12. Change the format of the fic

- try writing it in second person or as a screen play

13. Leave bits out

- start with only the dialogue or only the setting descriptions

14. Talk it through with a friend or fandom buddy!

- explain the story and ask them questions, brainstorm answers together

15. Remember that it doesn’t need to be perfect!

- getting fixated on plot holes or mischaracterization can be detrimental to enjoying the act of creation that writing is

- as fanfic readers, we genuinely don’t mind that much; its the whole “Holy shit two cakes!!” situation, the fact that you’re willing to share this thing you’ve written and labored over with us for free is a gift in and of itself

- have fun! Be silly! Don’t fret about it!

[get-rammed]

The idea for this AU comes from the games, but mostly follows after Shadow Generations with some modifications, hence the AU part. It's mostly self indulgent since he's always been my favorite, and I saw an excuse to draw body horror :}

Will contain spoilers for Shadow/Sonic Generations. But whomp whomp, more information for my version of Shadow/the basis of this AU below.

So the main idea for this AU is that Shadow didn't lose his Doom Powers after he defeated Black Doom. He overcame his violent angry nature to remain a morally grey good guy. Who just happens to have sick ass extra powers now. I am unfortunately a sucker for "I was born to be bad, and I do the wrong thing sometimes, but I want to be good and I'm trying my best."

Another large change for this AU is designs and heights. They're super powered aliens. Let em be a lil bit bigger. Plus that's just kind of what I specialize in :')

--

When Black Doom and the Time Eater were defeated, it caused various rifts to be left open with nobody to close them. Which in turn allows anomalies into Shadow and Co.'s world. They can range from simple items (pens, cups, occasionally buildings, things of that nature), to lost and confused people/animals/what have you, to large dangerous beings from other worlds and timelines.

Sometimes the things that comes through the portal, don't want to go back through it, so that's where Shadow found his purpose. He gets to fight and devour the anomalies that won't go home :)

Shadow uses his Doom Morph to consume dangerous anomalies, absorbing their energy in the process. When he's in this form, he's far more reactive and hostile. So they have to clear the area before deploying him. There a handful of people he won't outright attack even in this form, but Rouge is one of the few who can calm him down if he starts to slip too far into the darkness. Because I am a sucker for their friendship :')

There are a number of agencies and world governments who call upon Shadow now for help. Basically if they send Shadow after you, you're not surviving. In a way he does absolutely hate becoming an attack dog for all these agencies, but he also knows he's the only one (sometimes with help) who can stop some of these anomalies.

That being said, if he doesn't agree an anomaly is dangerous, he will not fight as strongly or destroy them. He still maintains his idea of what's right and wrong. It's Shadow, he's not going to blindly follow orders.

--

Shadow has become a little more open after finally getting to properly grieve the loss of his family. Finally got to process everything. He's still standoffish and slow to trust, but he's at least willing to try to trust more people.

--

With his Doom Powers remaining, he has to constantly fight the urges to commit to the chaos and violence he was born for. Most times it just gives him a headache to fight back mentally. But when the urges are very strong, he has to fight the internal war much harder. Which is where he ends up with bloody noses.

The bloody noses can happen suddenly, and be rather aggressive. In the cases of bloody noses, he'll chaos snap out of the room and try to find somewhere quiet and dark until his internals heal themsleves.

It's basically a case of his blood pressure spiking insanely fast and bursting a bunch of delicate vessels in his nose. Also the idea of the darkness inside of him just kinda. Chewing away at him metaphorically and physically.

He's had enough time to figure out what sets him off, but occasionally random things trigger a nose bleed. This has forced him to be more delicate with how he responds to things, but also has forced him to be a bit more open about what's wrong with him.

The bloody noses also help act as a power balance thing so Shadow isn't just all powerful all the time. If he's not careful, he can go too far and hurt innocent people. Which he'd rather not do. It's an indicator of sorts that he's leaning too far in the wrong direction and he needs to check himself.

Lack of inhibitor rings. With the retention of the Doom Powers, Shadow has more going on internally to help balance his chaos energy. More in tune with himself, but not fully connected if that makes sense. Not wearing some of his inhibitor rings allows him greater access to the Doom Powers at all times.

It also happens that if he wears his wrist rings, they limit too much energy and he becomes sluggish and tired. He now requires more energy to function, and all 4 inhibitor rings limit too much.

He keeps the ones on his ankles on as he does still need some kind of a blocker so he doesn't burn himself out. Only having 2 on is a good balance so he can function and fight.