#i'd honestly just gift them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

silkythewriter · 4 months

Note

I had an idea for a few headcanons you could do if ya want—

Maybe Sir Pentious with a reader who is so obviously in love with him, and keeps pining over him while literally everyone else but Sir Pentious himself can tell they like him? Like he's just really oblivous until reader finally straight up tells him.

Sir Pentious with a clearly in love reader!(●’◡’●)❤︎︎

Warnings!: Non!

Fandoms!:Hazbin hotel!

Author’s note!: HI HI OMG I LOVE SIR PENTIOUS HES SO SILLY!!!! I REALLY HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS AS MUCH AS I DID

Summary!: reader who’s clearly in love with our favorite snake demon

❤️Written by silkythewriter Do not steal or repost on any other platform please! ❤️

☆✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬☆

“Call me, you can call me

Boy, just call me (call me, call me)

While you stalling, I'm evolving

I'd give all me”

☆✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬☆

!🐍✨Sir Pentious✨🐍!

First of all, just to get out of the way, THIS MAN IS OBLIVIOUS!!!!, Autism be damned my boy can pull without even telling!!!!!

No but in all seriousness he is oblivious to your obvious longing for him.

Everyone can see you giving him shy longing stares only for him to be ranting about his latest invention. Not only would he not be able to tell but he’d always think your just being nice!

Of course he’s crushing hard behind his bedroom door to his little eggs. Happily stating and going on rambles of how gorgeous you looked today. He’d state everything! From the new hair style you tried to the new piece of clothing you bought and wore. When I mean he notices everything I mean it, but for some reason he can’t pick up on your obvious love for him.

The way he could stare in your eye as you tell him he looks breathtaking and still think you mean it just to be nice is astonishing. OF COURSE HES BLUSHING AND KICKING HIS TAIL, but he can’t bring himself to think you like him anymore than just friends!

He’d go to his egg boys and sadly rant on how you’ll only see him as friend. And the egg boys all share one Brain cell so they can’t tell you like him aswell!, maybe they might accidentally spill, or almost spill the secret of him liking you but he quickly knocks them away before you can make sense of what their saying.

All the residents watch as you do your best to drop hints only for him to complete miss it. Even angel cringes as he watches him completely be oblivious to the obvious flirting, it’s take Charlie and Vaggie to stop him from pointing out the obvious.

Husk almost always gives Sir Pentious as gaze of just utter confusion and tiredness.

He’d gladly take flowers from you that you gifted him and take care of it for weeks on end without realizing the romantic gesture!

Alastor, as always finds it humorous, although he usually doesn’t indulge himself in romantic like things he’s find it hilarious. “Even with three eyes he still can’t see the obvious! Ha!”

Charlie tries to help to the best of her ability to help guid him the right direction but it’s just end up with him more confused. Vaggie just face slaps internally,

honestly the whole crew wasn’t having high hopes for him as dim as that is. , look! He ain’t bad looking, but not many people would prefer his clumsy self, so they were honestly hoping he’d figure it out before you possibly moved on.

Even when your upset at the obvious frustrating situation he’s still be confused while trying to do his best to comfort you.

“Well I think the man isss clearly as dumb as a rock!”

It took you starring dead in his eyes for him to question if you were alright. Before you stated it was him

The way he just stood staring at you in pure disbelief, before snapping out of it and embarrassed as his previous words. But after the said embarrassment he’s full with giddy, why of course you love him!, he’s the great sir pentious!

Yea his embarrassment would quickly turn into pride, considering he got someone as beautiful as you to fall for him.

Definition of a clumsy gentlemen, he’d open doors so fast it’d smack him in the face, or pull when it’s a push door and be confused why it’s not opening.(´ω｀💧)

He’s just a silly lil guy! (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)

I feel like the crew in the hotel would be relief to find he finally figured out.

At the end of the night he’s squealing like a high school girl as he rambles to his egg boys about you in a new light!.

He’s gift you small little trinkets or happily spend hours with you talking!

He’s as lovesick as your are! He’s just a bit dense when it comes to accepting the fact you love.

It’s like the roles switched! Now he’s daydreaming-ly staring at you happy to have you as his, and him a yours.

Like I’ve said before! He’s a total drama queen, he can’t help it!, deny him a kiss teasingly? He’s crumbling down to the ground and holding his chest as if he just had a heart attack! (¬_¬)

He’s not at all secretive of his love for you, even if he wants to, to keep his image “professional”, he just can’t help and dote on you!

overall he’s a big dote and softy even if he tries to hide it, loves you with his whole being! ( ˘ω˘ ) He can a be a bit over the top sometimes but you’ll come to accept it! And hey who wouldn’t want a silly snake demons who’s tripping over their tail for you. Yea you got him in and over his head but he wouldn’t have it any other way. The roles have truly reversed(≖ᴗ≖✿)

☆✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬☆

I LOVE HIS SILLY LIL SELF SO MUCH MORE PEOPLE SHOULD WRITE FOR HIM :(. TYSM FOR THE REQUEST I LOVED IT SM!!!! PLEASE COME AGAIN!!

1K notes · View notes

luveline · 4 months

Note

You are so talented I can’t even fathom it Jade! I seriously don’t know how you do it.

Idk if you’re taking requests rn for Spencer still bc I know you write him a lot but I love shy reader and post prison Spencer it’s so cute. I would love to see their relationship growing, maybe her realizing the feelings aren’t one sided by little things he says or does for her or how he reacts if she gets hurt.

No worries if not! Anything you write is a gift honestly. Happy New Year!

thank you sm angel, you're too kind<3 hny! ♡ fem!reader, 1.2k

cw violence and injury

You'll be fine, Spencer had said, patting you on the shoulder. Just trust me.

This is decidedly not fine.

You crouch low behind a raspberry chaise turned blood red in the poor lighting. When you entered the building moments ago, it was light. But now the lights are out and you can't tell your friend from foe; footsteps to your left could be Spencer where he'd followed you in, or they could be the UnSub.

I'm right behind you, he'd said with a borderline rogue smile. You think I'd let you get hurt?

Breath warms your ear. “Boo.”

The air gets stuck in your lungs as brutish arms grab you. Your gun points toward your own jaw and your pulse hammers so hard you freeze, a split second, the amygdala overwhelmed. Then the UnSub tries to grab your weapon, and everything you've been taught kicks in. You twist in his arms, throwing your head back out of the line of fire as multiple agents call to you to sound off, and kicking hard at the UnSub's legs, the subsequent soft spot between them.

You fall hard onto the floor, screaming as a weight lands on top of you.

Spencer shouts your name. “Where are you?!”

A hard palm hits you in the throat. Light bounces off of the UnSub's face as a teammate aims their torch in your direction, but you're wheezing and aching, your throat on fire and too overwhelmed to think. The hand that hurt you leaps for your gun. You hold onto it for dear life, even as he forces it once, twice into the soft of your face, leaving rings of flame behind your eye. You pull it hard from his hands and fling it across the floor out of reach, squirming under his weight, needing to be away, away—

You pull your knee up and kick wildly, a well timed blow hitting the UnSub in the face with a damp-sounding crunch.

“I don't have eyes on her!” Emily shouts.

“I do,” Spencer says. His torchlight floods your area as he shouts, “Stand down!”

You don't squeal, but it's not a very professional sound as you crawl backwards out of the way. The ring of fire behind your eyes feels ever so slightly above it now. The room is half gone. You wipe your eye and look down at your hand, dark staining your palm in a heavy smear.

“Oh,” you mumble queasily.

The power never comes back on, but you don't notice until after, when Spencer's dragged you outside to the front yard and lowered you to a soft patch of grass, an EMT beside him dressing your wound. “Did they get him?” you ask.

Spencer's brow wrinkles with his frown.

“Remember what we said?” The EMT asks.

“No?” You wince and hiss as he pulls the wings of a butterfly stitch closed over your eyebrow.

“You have a concussion. I'm trying to work out how bad it is.”

You honestly still feel like you're in the dark room. You reach out for Spencer's hand instinctively, needing comfort, a tether to the ground, and he clasps your fingers tightly. “You're okay,” he says steadily.

“You're smiling at me weird.” You glance over your shoulder at the cop cars and the flashing red-blue lights. “Did you get him?”

“Emily got him. Just after he got you.” Spencer looks like he might stand from his crouch, but he brings your hand to his chin instead, leaning on it showfully. “It's my fault, I'm sorry. I told you I'd have your back and I didn't.”

Your chest stirs with the memory of your panic. One moment you'd been underneath him, and aching, and now you're on the grass as the forensics bring in the floodlights, so bright it's like mini suns have come out on either side of the yard. You hang your head to hide from the light. The EMT tells you off.

“Does your throat still hurt?” Spencer asks you, pulling on your hand gently. “Answer me.”

“My head is swimming.”

Your memories fuzz over. When you look up again the EMT is gone. Spencer sits on the grass now beside you unhurried, your hand still clamped between both of his. His thumb rubs at your knuckles and the smooth stretch of skin beside them, apparently content to wait with you.

“She's okay?” Tara asks, seemingly having appeared from nowhere.

“Not enough medical. They're gonna look at Agent Walker and circle back. She might have to be admitted.”

Tara bends at the waist to look you in the eye. “You okay?”

“I'm fine. Are you okay?” you ask.

“I'm doing better than you. That's gonna be a terrific bruise.” She smiles at Spencer reassuringly. “Emily wants you. I can sit with her, she'll be in good hands.”

“She'd be in great hands,” Spencer says simply, “but I don't care. I'm staying here. Please tell Emily she can come here if she needs to talk to me. I'm not going anywhere until they've finished looking at Y/N.”

Tara grins. “Your funeral.”

You're slowly starting to feel like yourself again, or more aware of yourself at the very least. Spencer's touch is melding from comforting to heart-rending, his nearness a heat. He looks stupidly good-looking considering what you've just been through, the FBI vest tight on his chest, his sweet brown curls falling into his eyes as he plays with your fingers.

“I must look awful,” you realise suddenly, a stone's throw from tearful.

Spencer doesn't glance up at first. “You look beautiful, but the bruise is…” He looks at you through dark lashes. “It's a tragedy.”

“What?”

His small smile fades. “How are you feeling? Are things clear, or would you say that I'm out of focus? You're having moderate to severe concussive symptoms.” He shakes his head. “And the bruise is mottling already.”

“I'm sorry.”

Spencer laughs softly. After a pensive moment, he brings your hand to his mouth. Maybe he kisses it, maybe he doesn't, but the touch brings a sacredness to his promise, “I won't let that happen again. You trusted me to keep you safe.”

“I trusted you to tell me if I was ready, and I was. I remembered how to get out of it. I'm still here.” You fluster after you've spoken, feeling brash.

You can feel his gaze on the side of your face. “You are. You did amazing.” He removes one hand from yours. A featherlight touch coasts down your cheek, brief and encouraging nonetheless. “It's going to be a really bad bruise.”

“Oh, well,” you say tiredly.

Spencer's turn to go quiet. He holds your hand on his thigh. “I could kiss it better?” he offers in a murmur.

You laugh and steal your hand back, unable to take all his attention at once. “Funny, Spencer.”

He gives you a warm smile. You can't tell if he's kidding or not about the kiss, but his devotion to you while you're hurting is real. You're not sure where that leaves you.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

1K notes · View notes

theminecraftbee · 6 days

Text

The moon has fully set over the horizon. The howling over the server has stopped. Four Hermits sit in a circle, staring just slightly away from each other, as to not be caught staring. Joe is miserably trying to wring mud out of his puppet. Stress isn't bothering about the mud at all but is despairing at how shredded her jumper is. Somehow, Zedaph has only lost a shoe, which is more concerning than any of the prior people. Xisuma is deliberately not checking himself. The damning lack of helmet on his head, though, means he can't avoid feeling how he underwent the same terrible transformation as everyone else.

"So," he says, finally.

"I could use pants," Joe says, finally giving up on washing out his puppet, and, ah. Yes. Those are pretty well destroyed, aren't they? Xisuma looks away politely, feeling his face heat up. It heats up more when he realizes everyone can see it, gosh, he's–he's not so sure how he feels about that–

"I think we all need pants. Look at us," Stress says, and if Xisuma can be looking away any harder, he sure is now. Wait, she said 'all', does that include... Oh, oh dear.

"Well I don't know about you, but I still have perfectly serviceable pants," Zedaph says imperiously.

"You know, if anything, that's weirder, given the way we were all giant wolves traipsing around in the night just now. Which is strange itself! However, wolves don't normally wear pants, so really, the fact the only article of clothing you've lost is your shoes is less miraculous and more actively impossible!" Joe responds.

"Well you're actively impossible," mutters Zedaph.

"My god, it was real," Xisuma says.

"Well, I mean, I sort of figured it had to be, what with the four of us being all covered in mud and tired and your helmet being gone and all that," Stress says.

"It was real," Xisuma says.

The four of them sit in silence a little longer. The sun continues its steady march upwards into the sky. It's April; the day is longer than the night, by now, so they aren't wasting but so much time compared to the time the moon was up. The time the moon was up feels a bit more like a dream than anything else, too; distantly, Xisuma wonders if this is what spiders feel like when they become angry during the night, or what drives the undead from the ground. It's a disquieting thought, and he'd literally lived in a skeleton!

"So," Joe says. "So. Which one of us is going to yell at Zedaph for biting us?"

"Rude!" Zedaph says. "Very rude, I'm not the one that bit you! You bit me! Xisuma bit me, actually, you all saw him!"

"What? No, I didn't!" Xisuma says. "Gosh, if I were a werewolf, don't you think you'd know by now?"

"Hm. Suspicious," Zedaph says.

"No?" Xisuma says.

"I mean, I'd try to claim it was my fault, what with being a monster and all, but I'm actually a different sort of beastie normally," Stress says. "Being all doggy is new for me. I should show Iskall. Hey, do you think I should bite Iskall?"

"Yes," Zedaph says.

"No," Xisuma says.

"I'll split the difference and say maybe," Joe says. "Also, since we're arguing about it anyway, I'll say that I think I'd remember if I bit someone, although maybe I wouldn't. It's been a weird night. Maybe I should just go ahead and get everyone apology gifts instead?"

"Please don't," Zedaph says.

"Aww, but I like his gifts," Stress says.

"Honestly, yeah, I was–no, Zedaph is right, it'd be too distracting," Xisuma says, thinking of many of the, er, gifts he's gotten from Joe in the past. "Besides, it's not your fault. But if none of us bit anyone, then why on earth are we all werewolves no–oh no."

"That was ominous?" Joe says.

"Oh. Ohhhhhh," Zedaph says. "Whoops."

"It was supposed to be a joke about investment bankers," Xisuma says.

"Wait, what, do you really think the silly name turned us into werewolves?" Stress says.

"I had other season plans, Xisuma!" Joe says.

"Hey, does that make me a sheep in wolf's clothing that's also a wolf that turns into a sheep that turns into a wolf? If so, neat," Zedaph says.

"Do you know how annoying it will be to get a werewolf puppet?" Joe says.

"Gosh, I absolutely have to bite Iskall now," Stress says.

Xisuma, for a moment, considers putting a stop to it. If it really is the silly name, the collective, the hats and the howls–if it really is the collective weight of story bearing down on all of them–then really, it's still so early that it would be very easy to stop.

Xisuma considers the competition the rest of the shopping district poses, and how easy it will be to move as a collective when they're also a pack.

Also, he hasn't actually been a wolf before. That's one mob he hasn't done!

"You should bite Iskall. I want to know what it does," Xisuma says, deciding that he's quite bored with being responsible and that if someone wants to stop it, it will have to be not him. "But, er, first, in the meantime, do you think he or Doc is better to ask for a helmet that'll grow to fit my muzzle instead of nearly trapping my skull?"

"Hm," Stress says. "Well, Iskall is pretty good at head electronics."

"Yeah, but Doc is a better choice for abominations against nature!" Joe says.

"What about me? I like abominations," Zedaph says.

"It's okay, Zedaph, it's just you don't make many helmets, is all," Xisuma says. "We'll run around being abominations of nature, gosh, most full moons together. Is that good enough?"

"Fine," Zedaph says. "I'm bringing the snacks. I have sheep, and I've always wanted to try cannibalism."

"I guess werewolves wouldn't have to worry about prions," Joe says, nodding.

"Well, if you're going to get Doc, I'm going to go bite Iskall. I know I don't got fangs right now but it'll be very funny either way," Stress says.

"Have fun!" Xisuma says, and even though he's still red, and no one has pants but Zedaph, and he feels vaguely sick without his helmet, he also feels something close to pure delight. Gosh. Werewolves, huh? What a concept, having a little pack. He'll have to make the most of it; they've already seen his face anyway, and not one of them have commented or looked him in the eyes. Clearly, it won't matter so much if Doc takes a while with the helmet.

#hermitcraft #hermitfic #xisuma #joe hills #zedaph #stressmonster101 #a bee fic #me vibrating at high speeds: WOLVES WOLVES WOLVES WOLVES WOLVES #the fact today is hermit-a-day-may xisuma day is coincidence i'm not doing it (although everyone should!)#but i figure it decent timing anyway

577 notes · View notes

ssavaart · 4 months

Text

Sometimes You Have to Make 100 BAD Drawings To Get 1 GOOD One

(Earlier this year, a publisher asked me if I'd be interested in writing a book on art. As we discussed it... they asked me to "give it a try" and this is one of two tests I did. I don't consider myself a writer, really, so this is just "in my own voice". I wound up turning down the offer... but would love to know your thoughts on this. Thanks)

Drawing something good. Something you like. It’s… elusive. Especially when you’re just starting out.

But, here’s the thing. You have good art in you. I promise. You just have to get to it and it’s stuck under a bunch of bad art. Really bad art.

When I was younger, I would draw every day. Filling up sketchbooks with doodles and sketches and I hated ALL of them.

Page 01: Crap

Page 02: Crap

Page 03: Crap

Page 04: Worse than Crap

Page 05: What even is that?

Page 06: Ugh

And it was just downhill from there…

But… somewhere around like page 100… I made something that… “wasn’t crap”. I actually didn’t hate it.

And that gave me courage to keep going. That one drawing made it all worth it. I was cured. I was now an expert. All of my art would be great from now on.

Oh… if only.

The next drawing was worse than any other drawing before it.

How??? I just made ART! like 5 minutes before that. I got all the bad drawings out! How did my art just go from Van Gogh to Van NO???

Honestly? I… got lucky. That one good drawing? Total fluke. Dumb luck. Sheer Happenstance.

Doing 100 drawings didn’t suddenly make me an expert. It couldn’t.

Have you ever heard of the saying “If a million monkeys type on a million typewriters for a million years, they’ll eventually write Shakespeare”?

I was those monkeys and that drawing was my Shakespeare.

I just pooped out enough bad art that eventually sheer luck was going to mean I may make something really good.

And I’m TOTALLY okay with that. I was 11. I’m not a prodigy. I don’t have any special gifts. But what I did have was… a taste for how making good art felt.

Seeing that one good drawing made me want more. Like my first time tasting chocolate ice cream. I was hooked.

So, I made 100 more bad drawings. Maybe more. And, guess what? ANOTHER great drawing emerged!

Another Shakespeare from this 11 year old monkey!!!! Huzzah!

From then on… I knew that all I had to do was keep banging away at that typewriter (I’m still on the million monkey thing… bear with me) and I would get rewarded with another masterpiece.

Week after week. Month after month. I would fill up my sketchbooks with the most horrific, amateurish, incomprehensible art… and, sure enough, 1 of every 100 drawings would not suck.

I would show it to my mom and she would say “Oh! That’s wonderful!” and when she tried to turn the pages to see more, I would quickly SNATCH it out of her hands and run back into the shadows like Gollum hiding his “Precious” from prying eyes.

I dare not let her see the monstrosities that came before the work of genius.

And… this went on. For years. Predictably. Rhythmically.

Until, one day… my 75th drawing was really good.

How? It was 25 drawings early! That’s not how it was supposed to work. That wasn’t the plan.

But there it was. A really amazing drawing of a spaceship I came up with out of my head. It had lasers and a cockpit and wings and…It was glorious. And it was totally unexpected.

Maybe NOW I was an expert and I no longer needed to make bad art? Would today be the day I would only make masterpieces?

I quickly turned the page and began to draw what would soon be my second greatest work of art and… NOPE.

Still crap.

Hm. But… something was different. It was still crap. But… it wasn’t as “crappy” as the other crap.

I grabbed my previous sketchbooks and looked at the bad drawings from previous years and… guess what? My older bad drawings were WORSE than my newer bad drawings!

Apparently, the more I drew… the better my BAD drawings got too.

Okay. So. I drew 75 more “not as crappy” bad drawings and… predictably… I made another great drawing!

I was… IMPROVING.

This went on for years. I went to high school. Then art school. I hated MOST of my art… but as I practiced… the number of BAD art I had to make to get to the GOOD art got lower and lower. Soon it was 50 bad pieces for 1 good one. Then 25. Then 10.

It took decades when I noticed… I liked my art more often than not.

It was a complete surprise. I was in my 40’s when this happened. I was SO conditioned to just accept I was going to hate my art that I hadn’t noticed that I had made 5 paintings that didn’t suck. IN A ROW!!!

Unheard of!

But, there it was. 5 good paintings. One right after the other.

The 6th one was complete trash. Tossed it in the garbage.

But, the 7th one? I liked. And the 8th. And the 9th.

I’m now 54 and I know I still have SO much bad art in me. I can feel it. Always ready to pop up and ruin my day.

But, I “pooped out” so much bad art over the years that I’m not really worried about those pop up bad art surprises. I know it’s just temporary.

I like my art now. And that’s because I got MOST of the bad art out of me and into those old sketchbooks.

I know it may seem daunting doing 100 bad drawings just to get to 1 good one. But… if you love that feeling of making that one GOOD piece of art… you need to be patient and get the bad ones out. They’re blocking the good ones. Keeping them deep inside you.

So, crack open that sketchbook. Poop out those bad pieces of art and never look back.

You’ll thank me in like 40 years or so. I promise.

(Oh. And sorry for all the poop references. I’m still that 11 year old when it comes to humor)

Poop.

#making art #creativity #artists #creating #art advice

677 notes · View notes

heartfullofleeches · 3 months

Note

I was reading through the Titus tag and came across the blurb of him with Nightlight reader and that made a crack nsfw idea come into my head

Nightlight twirling around happily with their new upgraded body gifted to them by none other than Titus himself: “Wow this new body is amazing!! The new decals are gorgeous and I feel like I can shine brighter than ever before!! I cannot wait to share all my new upgraded features with you! …Ah but I suppose.. I do have one questionr..”

Nightlight shyly pointing down to the new.. addition between their legs: “It seems you’ve decided to add some.. genitals onto my new body.. I don’t have the bodily functions that require genitals so.. what exactly are they for if I may ask…?”

Titus: … :)

[18+. Yan Space Emperor + Android Darling. Darling mentioned to have both a cock and a pussy]

"Titus.... I don't mean so sound ungrateful....but I don't see the point of all these...."upgrades" you added to my new body."

"If you ask me I'd say they're quite beneficial for us both. Haven't you ever wondered what it's like to experience things the same way beings of flesh and blood do?"

"I guess...I have another question.. Is it normal for these parts to be this wet all the time?"

"That's just the lubrication, dear. Nothing to fear. Shall I show you its use?"

Nightlight has some trouble getting used to there new body. All these new features are overwhelming for the poor bot - not to mention the sensations attached to them. The emperor's team worked tirelessly to accomplish everything on their overlord's list of requirements. Nightlight's new additions meant nothing to him if they couldn't feel what he was doing to them. As selfish as the tyrant can get, he longs to share the pleasures of the bedroom with the sweet little android he plucked from earth that has made his comfort their sole purpose.

Nightlight grows more accustomed to their new form when Titus drops hints that he sleeps best after a long night of passionate sex to drain his energy. He can tell they're a little nervous - it's a lot to take in. He slowly works them up to the idea of sleeping with him while also testing their functions to make sure everything is in order - fingering/jerking the android off while they're cuddled together, wearing clothing that by some miracle is more revealing than what he usually has on, messing with the sensitivity of their parts.

Titus put a lot of thought into what he wanted for Nightlight's updated body. A dial that controlled how sensitive they are to his touch was a must have. So was the option for their parts to be interchangeable. It makes for an easier clean when he stuffs their pussy full of his cum, but there are some days where he'd like to be the one coming undone on Nightlight's cock. Nightlight of course has their own say in which they use - but the bot is honestly just happy to be there. They do enjoy their new upgrades, but their favorite features has to be how flexible Titus' servents have made their new body. They can put their legs behind their head with no problem!

Titus loves that little feature as well. Maybe a little too much.

Couldn't find anywhere else to put it, but Titus totally demanded somewhere that Nightlight's lights get brighter/flicker when they cum.

#Titus my oc #nightlight reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere headcanons #yandere x you #yandere insert #yandere blurb #nightlight goc #male yandere #yandere oc #yandere emperor #yandere alien #Yandere smut

458 notes · View notes

bubbles0bop · 4 months

Note

Hiii! Can we have some Inumaki, Hakari and Nanami bf headcanons? + Anyone you'd like OFC!! :3

Relationship headcanons with the JJK Men

Includes: Nanami, Hakari, Inumaki, Choso

I like this one, you have good taste. Anddd i did take some liberty of adding choso because i've been feeling like writing him as well

Disclaimers: strong language, no gender specified, mention of smoking

Nanami

He's the type of boyfriend that will be spoiling you goddamn rotten

every month is a new bouquet of flowers trimmed and set in a vase on the kitchen counter

same with gifts. you'll come home to see the outfit you liked at the mall but couldn't afford, probably wrapped nicely in a black box

he's very thoughtful and meticulous, especially with dates

he'll plan for a while and make sure it's something you'll love

since he works such terrible hours, he really likes his quality time so he expects to come home to you and do nothing but cuddle or maybe do something like read together

this is random but i feel like he would be a massive critique for no reason

like "sweetie did you notice how tangy this loaf of bread tastes? do you think we should go back there next time?"

or when you're watching a movie it's not uncommon for him to say something like "ugh, this is so unrealistic, she would never fall for that type of trick."

I also think he would accidentally be really into it if you guys watched a kdrama together

Hakari

he's the type of guy that would say "wear what you want, i can fight." period.

he loves to talk- a professional yapper, if you will- but you love it

he talks your ear off about his hobbies (gambling) and some stupid people he may have had to deal with that day

he's pretty nonchalant in general and doesn't try to stress a lot over trivial stuff which means fights wouldn't last long

i get kind of a vibe that he would smoke some herb from time to time but he wouldn't shove it in your face if you don't want him to

he would love to share a coffee with you in the morning, and would probably order you both breakfast

i feel like with dates he's totally going to go with the flow but he loves new things so there's always something for you guys to do together, whether it's movies, or clubs.

Inumaki

your time together can sometimes be... quiet. 😭

i imagine that he's big on physical touch and doesn't care much about PDA (but he won't go too far)

i think his top two love languages are physical touch and acts of service

he's the type of guy that would become your personal nurse if you are sick or get your period

he's also the type where if you were chilling on your phone or reading a book he would do it with you, enjoying some peaceful silence

the jjk fan book mentions that he likes to do Youtube which brings the thought of what would he do on there if he can't exactly talk like the average person?

i'd say he makes cooking videos or posts the pranks that Panda and him do to their friends

he loves to eat with you, it's your thing. he would cook or bring you out to restaurants so you guys could rate the food

you, of course, have also learned his 2nd language over time and unlike megumi, you sometimes respond just like Inumaki does

Choso

honestly if i were to guess, i think he would show his partner love by telling them. very directly.

He's not too much of a cuddler but he'll do it immediately upon your request

He has a dry sense of humor, so dry that no one really knows if it's a joke or not

i think he is more outwardly protective of you than most- so if he catches anyone staring he'll yell at them to 'fuck off!'

I also don't think he would hold his opinions back just to make people happy so if you ask, "how do you think i look in this?" he'll say exactly how he feels- not really in an a insulting way, ever-more truthfully than hurtfully.

he likes to do things that you enjoy, like shopping and he'll help you pick out outfits

he, himself, would probably suggest dates that are calm and intimate, like picnic dates, stargazing, and maybe going out for smoothies/boba

i feel like he would love to try boba after you tell him about it, because he likes sweet things over bitter (like coffee)

i could imagine him being the type to grab your waist from behind while you're busy doing anything

he also really craves your attention when you aren't near him, even if he doesn't say that.

580 notes · View notes

k9effect · 6 months

Text

I thought about Mav passed out at his work desk with headphones on and it spiralled into this whole thing

Mav always felt a little lonely.

Even when he had people around him who loved him, he always ended up on his own one way or another and felt that loneliness seeping in. Goose was the first to notice. Before Goose's trips back to Tennessee to see Carole included Mav, he would come back to base to hear about how his pilot had lost a bit of his shine while he was away.

That's when Goose started making the recordings.

It was a small gift, but it meant the world to Mav. A brand new walkman, headphones and all, and a single cassette tape. This tape didn't have music on it, no, it contained a three hour recording of Goose reading though the F-14 Tomcat Flight Manual and adding in his own comedic commentary.

He wasn't sure what Mav would think of it, but when he returned home from another trip and found his pilot curled up asleep on the lounge, headphones on, walkman clutched in his hands, the tape run through, he realised he had made the right decision. Once Mav stirred, realising Goose had returned, he pulled the RIO onto the couch and thanked him for how thoughtful and considerate of a gift it was. That it made him feel less alone.

Goose continued the recordings. They were simple things he could make while completing other work. An hour recording here of Goose rambling while he completed chores, half an hour recording there of Goose muttering while he completes some paperwork. Even after Mav started joining him on his trips to Carole and they inevitably became attached at the hip, Goose continued making recordings. They grew more sincere over time, telling Mav that he was loved and he was strong and could get through anything.

Maverick was very glad he continued making them. It was a piece of Goose he could always carry with him.

Because one day, Goose wasn't there anymore.

Ice was never quite certain why his wingman was always listening to music on a busted walkman, but he never questioned it.

That was until he was packing Mav an overnight bag after an accident and Mav had specifically requested the walkman. Ice had taken a closer look at it and seen the writing on the cassette.

‘GOOSE - 12’

Curiosity got the better of him and he pulled on the headphones and pressed play.

“Y'know, Mav-” It was Goose's voice, Ice realised with a pang deep in his chest, “- I'm pretty sure, by like, most, if not all, the laws of aviation, you should have broken our Tomcat's airframe several times over. I honestly don't know how she's still together-” There was the clinking of dishes and sloshing of water along with the distinct sound of a bristly, sudsy brush scrubbing metal. “- What sort of demon did you make a deal with to manage this? I'm not arguing, I'd rather not face a board of inquiry again, but I'm curious.”

Ice paused it.

He realised very quickly what the cassette was and that, judging on the number, there were more of these.

Mav was always listening to Goose talk.

He packed the walkman into the overnight bag with much more care than he offered possibly anything.

Mav stared.

He blinked once, then twice. But it changed nothing.

There was a cassette sitting on his bed. On it, was scribbled a name and a number.

‘ICE - 1’

Beneath it was a small, simple note.

‘Listen to me.’

Mav pushed the cassette into his walkman and, sitting down, let it play.

“Hey, Mav. Sorry if this is weird for you, it sure feels weird for me. I- uh- I realised what the walkman is for. I'm sorry I teased you for it, it's not dumb and old. I know Slider thought you were pretty cool for having one. He's got one too. But anyways, I found a recording of Goose and I realised why you have this so I thought, y'know, maybe I could make you some new ones? To make up for the teasing at least. I mightn't be as good as Goose but I'll give it my best shot. I've got a book here, I'm just gonna read it out loud for a while, okay? Okay. Here we go…”

Mav listened to the whole thing in one sitting. It was long and sweet and Mav felt something aching inside him, something that hadn't ached in a long time.

Every week or so, Mav would find another cassette in his room with an increased number on it. It was just Ice for a while, but then he found one labelled ‘SLIDER - 1’. Then another a few months later labelled ‘HOLLYWOOD - 1’, then ‘WOLFMAN - 1’. His collection grew as more people helped continue Goose's legacy.

The day he found ‘VIPER - 1’ he felt like he was five again. Viper's recording was two hours worth of him recounting childhood stories of Mav, stories of him with his parents, of just his parents, and deployment tales of his dad.

Once Mav buys his first proper home, an old hangar out in the Mojave Desert, he builds a small shelf to hold all of his cassettes instead of keeping them in a bag or a box. It's then, when they're all neatly organised together, that he realises just how many he has.

The original thirty-one from Goose.

Three from Carole.

One short one from Bradley.

Seventeen from Iceman.

Ten from Slider.

Seven each from Hollywood and Wolfman.

Four from Chipper.

Three from Sunny.

And, so far, Two from Viper.

He doesn't feel so lonely anymore. Everyone he loves has put time and effort into making sure he doesn't feel alone. That instead, he feel loved.

And he sure does.

Even now, years down the track, Ice will stumble upon Maverick passed out at his work desk late at night ontop of a half finished project, with his old walkman next to him, headphones on, listening to Goose laugh his way through the Tomcat manual.

923 notes · View notes

idesofrevolution · 4 months

Text

Father

Dad had been acting strange for quite some time. Honestly, it wasn't that noticeable in the beginning, which I suppose made it difficult to pinpoint when things started to change. I only started to notice maybe seven months or so ago after he turned down the daily Budweiser. Patrick O'Shaughnessy turning down his biggest vice? I knew something was off right then and there as he sat there, smiling at me from his armchair with the game on in the background: red flag number two, my stepfather had NEVER been a sports guy. Binging Fox News while fingering pudding cups, sure; but actually knowing what was happening in a football game?

I'd originally thought he'd perhaps found a side girl to cheat on my mom with. It was far from outside of his character to do something like that, if he'd ever be able to get his nasty ass out of the recliner for ten fucking minutes... He'd gotten too comfortable in his laziness. When my mom married him a year ago, he was already a piece of shit lardass who refused to do a single thing around the house, refused to work a normal job (he was waiting for a management position apparently), and above all refused to acknowledge me whatsoever. He was rude, crass, could never even so much as break a smile at me. And there, in that moment as his eyes made contact with mine and his lips curled into a smile, I knew something was wrong.

"What, no beer burps for me today?" I scowled at him, raising my eyebrow in a malicious curiosity.

"Nahh little man, I'm trying to cut down." Little man? He'd never gotten my name right let alone given me a nickname... We did not have that kind of relationship, at least one that would have an affectionate nickname for one another. "Say, I'm hittin' the gym in a couple minutes. Whaddya say you come along?"

"You're... you're going to the gym? Really?" I sat there slackjawed. Something was indeed off. What it was, I couldn't exactly tell. Nothing outside of his UberEats order would ever get Patrick out of the chair. He laughed at me, gripping his sizeable paunch beneath his stained tee shirt.

"You bet, bud. High time I set an example for my boy. How's he gonna respect a couch potato loser? You should come along. Nothin' like a father and son spending time together, especially in the gym. Get the boys lookin', right?" He stood up from his chair, grabbing his keys off the kitchen countertop as he headed toward his car. I, on the other hand, stood there with tunnel vision. Patrick was not the most supportive parent when it came to... well, anything. But the biggest bone of contention was me coming out to them last year. It was the biggest hullabaloo, Oscar worthy. Thrown glasses, flipped chairs, disownment, threats of eviction... the only thing that kept me in the house was my mother putting her foot down. It wasn't a big deal for her, but for him... I was the biggest embarrassment on the planet. What would Tucker Carlson think?

Yet as I stood there, staring at the cigarette-stained wall, my brain couldn't process what I'd just heard. 'Get the boys lookin' he said... As if he were trying to play wing man for me... What the fuck was happening? My heart fluttered the moment his words sank in, that was pride. It was something neither my father nor my stepdad ever had the courtesy of giving me. My walls were up, and I was beyond skeptical, so for my own peace of mind I had decided then and there to investigate.

From that day on, the moment I came home from school, I was spying. While most of my friends were trying to enjoy their senior year, going to parties or getting ready for college, I was at home peering behind corners at my stepfather. Over the first few months I watched with complete disbelief at the changes. Every single day, I'd come home, and he'd be on his way out to the gym. The normal scowl he'd gift me upon my entry was replaced with jovial smiles and hair ruffling as he schlepped his gym bag over his shoulder out the door. He'd be gone for two or three hours at least, and come home just before dinner dripping in buckets of sweat. I'd begun to avoid driving his car, as the stink of his sweat had completely inundated the fabric of the seats. He'd toss his bag on the floor by my book bag (gross), and plop down at the dinner table where he would ask genuinely about my day or sweetly flirt with my mom while winking at me. I still wasn't convinced. He kept asking me nearly every day if I'd come to the gym with him, if we could go shoot hoops at the park across the street, or if I'd play FIFA with him. Each time I'd shoot him down, he'd have a momentary break in that happy facade of his, as if it were hurting him I wasn't spending time with him.

Within five months or so, he was nearly unrecognizable. I guess protein shakes & a low carb diet really works on a guy: he'd lost nearly 70 pounds and gained about 20 in muscle alone. He'd struck up friendships with my school's wrestling coach and a couple of the neighbors, and we were finding ourselves invited to barbecues and block parties for the first time. I had to endure little hallway chats with Coach Weston about joining the wrestling team, as he was in talks with the school district about bringing my stepdad on as assistant coach. It was bizarre to me for many reasons, but one stood out above all: Patrick was never a wrestler. Not in college, not in high school, my mom even confirmed it one night at dinner. He'd brush it off as if it were something fun he were doing with 'Dane', which in and of itself was weird to hear the coach's first name used at all at home.

Sleep was getting difficult. My mind ran at a thousand miles an hour, but now he and mom had begun to fuck like rabbits. Loud, hard sex almost every other night with their bed slamming against my bedroom wall for hours. Mom of course was radiant at that point. The years of one piece of shit husband being a complete and total asshole, replaced by another piece of shit husband treating her like garbage melted away in the course of a couple of months of Patrick being a strangely brilliant partner. He'd started to cook us meals, he'd started to do the yardwork, he'd even fixed things around the house that had been broken for years. Sure, the sex seemed to help, but as she would say: "He's lessened my load so much, Jonas. I wish you'd give him a chance."

Sure, he was treating my mom well and that was a good enough reason for me to like him. Was it enough to trust him? No. I'd still turn down every single request to spend time alone with him. No gym. No basketball court. No gaming. Though, in one single concession for my mom's sake, I begrudgingly agreed to let him drive me to school in the morning. That one decision is what truly changed my life forever. I went to bed that night, putting on my earbuds to drown out their disgusting sex in the next room, less than eager for the fifteen minute drive the next day.

Thus, on that warm April day, my morning began as normal. Shower, dress, drink my morning smoothie, grab my bag, and walk out the door. It wasn't long before I was greeted by his chipper, dim witted voice shattering my peaceful morning.

"Ayy little man!" I sighed, turning toward the garage, where there he stood: shirtless and dripping sweat from his chiseled body. As a gay guy, I have to admit, it was hard not to stare. He had become quite a sight to behold. The other moms in the neighborhood certainly would sit and stare at him on his morning runs, even a couple of the dads as well, and now I sat there oogling the ripped, gleaming body he'd built.

"Hey, Patrick. Do you need to shower? I have to get going, but I can catch the bus if there's not enough time?" In my head, I was praying to God that he'd just hop in the shower he never seemed to take and I could go on my merry way. Though, no such luck.

"Nah, man! It's all good. I promised you I'd take you to school, so hop in the car!" I sighed, turning to his 1998 Mustang with a shiver cascading down my spine.

"Sure, Patrick." I dragged my feet headed toward his car. Opening the door, the humid, musky air within poured out of the car, punching me in the face with his scent. Imagine a noxious waft of butter, blue cheese, saltwater, and feet just drowning you. That was the stink that swamped his car, and him for that matter. I took one final breath of fresh air before I sat in the car and closed the door. He wasn't far behind, not even bothering to put a shirt on as he hopped in beside me.

"Alright! Let's get goin' bud!" He turned the key and the car roared to life. I sighed, thankful it was only fifteen minutes. As we pulled out of the driveway and onto the street, I turned on the radio, hoping to dissuade him from making some puerile small talk. We sat there in silence for a moment, before hitting the main road. "You know what, bud?" He turned to me, looking me up and down before rolling up the windows and turning off the radio. "Ahhh fuck it. We're playing hooky today."

"Wait, what?" I had no time to protest, before he turned onto the main road, but in the opposite direction from the school. "Patrick, I'm not playing hooky. I have to go to school." He laughed, ruffling my hair yet again.

"You gotta stop callin' me Patrick, Jonas. I don't have to be dad if you don't want, but Patrick is so... not me. Just call me Pat."

"Okay, PAT. I'm going to school." He turned to me, and his smile faded, letting out a solid sigh that would put mine to shame. He pulled over onto the shoulder, and put the car in park.

"Listen. I know you don't like me. I know you don't trust me, and I get it. I made a lot of changes to him very quickly, and it's hard to keep up." Him? Why did he say it like that? "I'd been watching you just suffer endlessly for years, man. All the time. I just wanted you to have a good role model for once. A man you could lean on, and not some shitty lard who talks bad to ya."

"What the fuck are you on about?" My patience had worn too thin for my calm veneer to bear. He turned the key, and the engine quickly died.

"C'mon bro. You know something's different about him, right? I know you've been watchin' me like a hawk. Think I haven't noticed you watchin' me from around the hall corner? You think I don't know you're creepin' while I beat one out huffin' my strap? I know, dude. I've always known. C'mon, man." Pat threw his hands in the air in frustration, the first time since his attitude adjustment that I'd seen anything like it. But, this was different. It wasn't rage, it was exasperation.

"Okay, Pat. So you saw me watching you. Can you please tell me what the fuck is going on now?" He slowly rested his sweaty head against the headrest, and sighed. Then, a chuckle. Then another, until he was full on laughing. "What!?"

"Ahhh, man. I never thought I'd see the day you'd man up and come to. Yeah, Jonas. I can tell you what the fuck is going on." I sat back, confounded- even more so than before. "My name was Matt Wilde. Way back in the day, I used to wrestle for Palm Heights High. Was pretty damn good at it too, but one day I got pinned just a little too hard and poof."

"Matt Laurent? What the fuck are you talking about, Pat? Are you high?" His dumb laugh threw him back in the seat.

"Nah, I finished that joint earlier, man. Stone sober now. But, safe to say for the past 50 years I've been just hoppin' body to body. Started with a couple of my teammates just so I could finish out the years, wrestle a bit more. Got bored, hung around the gym, in and out of some lug heads. Did a stint in some Libertines, that was fun as fuck. But man, I saw you sulkin' around the school for the past three years and thought, damn that kid looks sad. So, I may have eavesdropped a bit, maybe caught a bit about your dead beat, piece of shit dad; then right after he ditches, Mom lands this fuckin' winner." He slapped his chest, little droplets of his sweat landing on my bewildered face. "Oh shit, my bad." I sat there, slackjawed, completely disoriented as he dumbly wiped his sweat off my nose and cheek.

"You... you're dead?" He snapped his fingers, winking and smirking at me.

"Bingo, bud. Right on the money. I was like, I'm in a very unique situation here to fuckin' do something this. So, I slipped into this dumbass and just stuck around. Did the work. Tried, emphasis on TRIED, to be like the Dad I had and that you deserve, ya know? Haven't made it fuckin' easy, but... ahhh. That's parenthood, am I right?" I scoffed, he must have taken some damn good drugs. I was convinced. There was no way!

"Okay, then. MATT. So, if you're some dead jock bro possessing Pat, where the fuck is he?" He pondered for a moment in silence, shrugging his shoulders.

"I think he's gone, bro. I haven't stayed in a dude this long, I used to hear him bitchin' and moanin' all the time, but he went silent a couple of weeks ago." Fuck, I wish that were true. I had to admit, even if only in my mind, this Matt-Patrick was lightyears better than Patrick Patrick. Sure, he was dumb, he was every stereotype dudebro in the book, he smelled like he bathed in sweat baths... But, for the first time in my life, he wanted to be around me. He wanted to spend time with me. He made an effort. He... liked me. The mental gymnastics needed to make sense of the situation was growing too monumental to comprehend, but in that moment as he sat there with his dumb fucking grin on his face as if I was going to just completely buy it, I started to hope it was true.

"So, what now, Matt? Are you just gonna keep fucking my mom and prentending to be my Dad for the rest of your life? Or are you gonna hop out and ditch us?" He raised his eyebrow in genuine confusion.

"I mean, yeah that was the plan. One, your mom is fuckin' hot and she's better than any girl I've ever been with. Two, I kinda like our little family. Three, I ain't ditchin' ya, bro. You had enough of that shit for one lifetime. Besides, I gotta get you to chill the fuck out one way or another, so I was hoping we could give it a shot. Like I've been beggin' man." 'Matt' put his hands together as if praying, pleading to me. I suppose it wouldn't be the worst thing. It's better than coming home every day to spy on him, and it's way better than being the sad wallflower all the fucking time. Besides, those dumb fucking puppy dog eyes...

"You know what? Sure, Matt. What did you have in mind?" I could barely finish my sentence before he'd twisted the key and slammed on the gas. The man drove like a bat out of hell through town, hooting and hollering in victory as if he'd won a match.

"Hell fuckin' yeah, man! Dude we're gonna be so tight, it's gonna be awesome. You're gonna be so fuckin' sexy, the dudes are gonna be on their knees by the time we're done! Slobberin' on that dick like SLURPEDY SLURP! WOO!" So fuckin' dumb. Dumb as a box of rocks. But I couldn't help but crack a smile as he swerved left and right, shouting at the top of his lungs. "Let's get you sweatin' man. We can get you pumpin' iron, playin' ball... I'm burning everything you got in your closet, bro. Nobody wants polos and button ups, man. Gettin' you some J's, some good jocks. Oh, how do you feel about chains?"

"Matt, dude. I'm not like you. That's all well and good for you, but I can't pull that shit off..." He slammed on the brakes and a cavalcade of horns from behind us rang out like a brass band. Matt whipped his gaze to me in shock.

"Don't say that, bro! You could be a bona fide stud! Look at you, man!" A couple of hard slaps against my bony chest and a harsh wheeze later, perhaps it sank in a bit. "Aight, well we have some work to do. I mean, if you're up for it." He smirked at me, lifting up those massive arms and flexing. His veins bulged from his massive bicep, the wet hairs in his ripe pits wafted that pungent scent I'd regrettably started to secretly love... Yeah, maybe I did want it.

"I don't know how, man. If I were like you, I bet I could." As if a cartoon lightbulb flickered to life above his head, I saw the spark of inspiration hit him like a sack of bricks. That stupid smirk grew into a wide, toothy grin.

"Aight, bro. Haven't tried this before, but I'll give it a go." He clapped his hands together, rubbing them gently. "I saw Jimmy Morales do this once when he needed a spotter. Gotta ask, though. You trust me, right?" I sat there and wondered if I did. I'd pretended up until this point that I believed every word that had come out of his mouth. This insane, psychotic story. It was nuts. It was crazy. But that little voice in the back of my head, deep down in the dark recesses of my brain decided to finally speak up.

"Yeah, Matt. I trust you."

"ALRIGHT! Fuck yeah, man. Oh shit, this is gonna be great! Okay, so don't freak out, just trust me and let it happen, okay? It doesn't hurt, the dudes usually bust a nut after it's all over." I heard a squelching rumble from in his stomach: wet, guttural, as if he were getting ready to vomit. Which became more and more likely as I saw a lump start to make it's way up his throat.

"Matt..." His body began to shudder and quake, his veins bulging and head thrashing from side to side. Then, from between his lips, a glowing blue vapor began to slip out. It was tiny at first, a little tail whipping about, before more and more of it started to bellow out of his mouth. Slick, bulbous, translucent. I had mere seconds of watching it slither out before it darted right into my own slack jaw. It squirmed as it wriggled from his body into mine, slurping deep into my bulging stomach. The feeling of fullness overtook me, watching more and more of the rubbery thing enter me, squeezing into every available inch within me, and he was right: it felt good. It felt like an eternity, but in reality it was just moments. The last of suctioned into me, and the world went black.

---

I woke the next morning in my bed. Shooting straight upright in a puddle of sweat. I rubbed my hands on my face, running my fingers through my drenched hair. What a fuckin' dream. I groaned as doubled over in pain. I felt like I was hit by a train. Everything hurt, a soreness unlike anything I'd ever experienced before radiated from every fiber of my being. Then, a soft caress of the nostril. Salty, buttery, funky... I raised my arm, finding the culprit immediately.

"Fuck!" I spat out, before taking a deep breath, another hit. "Fuuuuck..." Another inhale, a familiar stink, a comforting stink. What started as gentle whiffs quickly turned into full on huffing. I buried my nose in my pit, letting the wet jungle lather my face in my own sweat.

"Morning, bro. Good shit, ain't it?" The words echoed in my head, a soft, rippling little voice from within my brain. I should have been alarmed, terrified, even. But no, the words felt like gospel to me. "We really went to town yesterday, man. I had you liftin' like an Olympian. Take it easy. Here, I'll be right there, I got just the thing for it!" My hands started to drift southward, beneath the waistband of the teal sweats I didn't own... Were they... Pats? The door to my room burst open mid-huff, and in walked the hulking tower himself with a tray in hand.

"Goooood Morning, Kiddo! I made ya a protein shake, good recovery breakfast after a workout sesh like we had! Oh, your Mom made eggs!" He walked over to the side of my bed, kicking the Jordans I'd borrowed from him to the side. Wait, when did I do that? "Eat up, champ. Those 'ceps aren't gonna feed themselves!" Slamming the tray down onto my thighs, I let out a groan of pain.

"Pat? Dude, I had the weirdest dream." Dude? I never say dude. I cupped my hand, slick with sweat and pre over my mouth, aghast at the words coming out of my mouth. Pat smiled, grabbing the shake and handing it to me. "Drink up, my dude. For real, you're gonna be in a world of hurt otherwise." The voice boomed in my head, HIS voice. But his lips hadn't moved an inch. "Pat..." I ripped the sheets off of me, sure enough, I was sporting his nasty sweatpants & drenched socks. Cupping my manhood was most definitely his grimy jockstrap. "Hey, if we were gonna have the best workout, I had to be comfortable, bro! I knew you'd get it, though." I looked at him, a tight lipped smile, as if he were proving to me he weren't talking to me. "Feels good, right! I told ya! Just think, bro. With a half of me in there, you're gonna be unstoppable." I smiled. A genuine fuckin' smile, for the first time in as long as I could remember. I watched as my hand gripped the shake, bringing it to my lips of it's own accord. Downing the vanilla shake, our eyes met, and I understood completely. Matt winked at me, ruffling my hair, and sauntered back out of the door.

I leaned back in my bed, throwing my arm behind my head. The musk drifting from my pits and feet, identical to my dad's. Smirking, I let my fingers drift down to my growing meat in its slimy pouch, knowing fully well that I was in damn fine hands.

---

So that brings us to today, I guess! One year to the day. One full year since I finally let Dad in. 'Pat' sure did join the wrestling team as assistant coach, bringing his son in tow, eager to finish my senior year with at least a title. Thanks to him, I made varsity after the first fuckin' tryout. Can't say it was all me, all the time, but after a while it was. Honestly, it all started to blend together. Me at the wheel, him at the wheel, soon it sort of blurred and it was just me. That last semester was the best of my whole fucking life. Parties, bodybuilding, skating with the boys, fuckin' the boys... Shit, it was the time of my fuckin' life.

And after every day at school, or at least after every post-practice locker room blow job, I couldn't wait to get home and smash some Call of Duty with the old man. Mom would always come in, making comments on how we seemed as if I'd become a mini-Pat. Finishing eachother's sentences, drinking the same beer, wearing the same kind of clothes... she'd always put our sneaks outside the garage door, "they even stank the same." Little did she know just how much of the same person we really were.

I've decided to stick around the house for a year or so before maybe headed to college. I don't know, family is here, friends are here, Coach Weston should be retiring in a year or two... so there should be an opening for a new assistant coach on the wrestling team. Besides, I may have landed quite the catch in the boyfriend department, and I really want him to meet my dad, I have a feeling they'll get along just fine.

#male transformation #body transformation #male possession #original #transformation #jockification #musk #body possession #musky #gay transformation #wrestler #ghost possession #familial transformation #father to son #himboization #himbofication #partial possession

688 notes · View notes

hiraya-rawr · 2 years

Text

little star — diluc 。

synopsis!! everyone knows the creator doesn't favor diluc (everyone is wrong).

cw !! gn reader, reader is peak diluc simp 😐 somewhat self-aware characters, mild sagau themes (not too much), reader is recognized as the player, reader is a little shy at first. angst with reverse comfort!

note !! the plot feels a little everywhere but i tried to organize it as best as i can, i think i got carried away eheh honestly doesn't feel up to my standards but it was pretty enjoyable to write

word count !! 2.8k something

"No, it's definitely Outrider Amber, she was the first to ever be favored."

"Are you kidding me? Outrider Amber may be the first, but sir Kaeya was definitely loved. Have you seen the sword he was gifted with?" One growls.

"It's the Acting Grand Master Jean!" Someone slams the table with his beer mug, "Twice was she bestowed with fallen stars of gold."

"I'd say that wolf boy in the woods seem lucky."

"It has to be Bennett. I don't know why but that kid has two crowns! Two!"

"You're all missing out on Miss Lisa!"

"Stop, stop! You rowdy drunks! Every vision holder in Mond has been granted favor, this is just impossible to decide!"

There was a pause. "Well. . . not every." Someone mumbles under their breath.

"Not every? Who's the poor allogene that couldn't even get the Player's favo—" Shushing sounds break his sentence, the men glare at their companion, pointing to the redhead behind the bar.

It's useless, really.

Diluc has been listening in the entire time. He can't really help it when their voices were loud enough to reach where he stood. Still, he was merciful and pretended not to hear. He's not exactly bothered by what they're saying. It was the truth, after all.

For two years, vision holders all around Teyvat were being granted favor.

It often begins with a meteor shower gracing the sky.

A star gently falling into the hands of a vision holder, embracing them in warm light.

They call the ethereal sensation as something akin to "coming home".

The favored would then be given different things; quality weapons, enhanced abilities, beautiful crowns— Some allogenes were even gifted summer apparel (Mondstadt is proud that their Gunnhildr sisters were one of the very first). Even their equipped wings would change into ornamented works of art!

It's been two years, and it seems like every allogene he knows of has received the Player's grace.

He supposed he just wasn't favored. It isn't too difficult to believe that he isn't likable.

He convinces himself it's fine.

It's fine if his summoned weapon is a cheap claymore made of scrap metal. It's still efficient to have the extra blade while he manually carries around another claymore (commissioned from Wagner as the best money could buy). Or that his abilities can only be improved through hardwork, unlike the many who broke the limits of their power through your favor.

It's fine.

As the bar goers leave for the night, as Venti and Kaeya wave around their almost divine-looking five-star weapons to show the crowd, and as he's closing up the tavern and retreating to his upstair quarters for comfort, he convinces himself that the he'll be okay on his own.

•

The arrival of the Creator was festive and grand; The day the sky parted itself and glowed as the brightest of all stars fell with grace into Mondstadt's very own Windrise.

Teyvat rejoices in the ecstatic ideal of being loved.

A meeting of vision holders was quickly held in the Cathedral, discussing immediate plans as some of the most favored (Venti, Jean, Kaeya, Albedo to name a few) went ahead to fetch the Creator from the large tree.

While Diluc was often the center of any other meeting due to his authority and influence, this was something he chose to step back from. Standing by the windows, away from the meeting, he watched on as Eula and the rest conversed around the circular table.

He isn't even sure why he's invited. Perhaps they felt it was obligatory for vision holders, regardless of favorability? Then again, he could always offer a fraction of his mountain-loads of wealth to help with the festivities.

At least he's competent at being a wallet.

As the others pull out their crowns and stars, weapons and artifacts, eager to thank the one responsible for the gifts, an unknown emotion bubbles in his stomach. It's faint, but it's there.

He tries to look away.

"Everyone, everyone! They're entering the gates!" Fischl announces uncharacteristically to the room as her eye glows brightly, undoubtedly looking through Oz's eyes from the sky.

"We should wait by the statue to welcome them, right?" Barbara chirps in, hands clasped and wavy hair bouncing with every step.

Diluc watches as people steadily leave the room, following last as they walk down the steps to greet the approaching group. Some civilians gathered to see the scene, others didn't really understand what a Player or Creator was to a vision holder, while Diluc—

Diluc stood by the steps to see them crowd around you.

You, surrounded with words of gratitude and cheerful squeals. He sees the smile on your face and feels relief that you don't seem too overwhelmed.

He leaves the area without a second thought.

•

He doesn't exactly see you around the next few days. With Mondstadt celebrating a new festival, the taverns were always full and busy with customers (both local and foreign). You were probably busy too, spending time with the different allogenes and entertaining those who came from Liyue to meet you. He's heard of a funeral consultant with three crowns (are consultants that admirable of a job to you?) and an adeptus gifted with various five-star polearms (this was understandable for the adepti, unlike the consultant).

He doesn't expect to see you at all until you leave for the next nation, honestly.

That is, until the tavern settles into a more peaceful atmosphere and Jean rushes in with several other allogenes. It's unusual to see his childhood friend in the tavern; still, he greets her amicably and asks what brings her here.

"(Name) will be coming here soon with Kaeya and a few others. It's a little impromptu, but we were hoping for a place to settle in with drinks. Perhaps try some apple cider." She smiles, taking a seat by the bar.

(Name)? Jean was already on a first name basis with the Creator?

Diluc thinks perhaps Jean truly is the favorite, she does have a few golden stars in her home.

Somehow, it's not surprising at all to know that his apple cider was famous enough to drag you in. At least there's something about the Dawn Winery in your favor. He promptly gets his employees to work, clearing a few tables near the bar, rearranging the furniture to give space good enough for a group.

Your entrance into the bar was just as lively; with your favored allogenes chatting away with you, everyone falling into place at different parts of the tavern, ordering drinks and meals.

He's glad you enjoy apple cider.

•

You're trying to play it cool, really. Trying your best not to get overexcited and glomp everyone and everything.

You're taking things step by step as you converse with Jean, Lisa, and Albedo; as you share meals with Barbara and Sucrose; as you play with Klee and Diona; tour the city with Fischl and Bennett. There's plenty of time to meet everyone and your schedule has been filled to the brim with all the fun your having.

You'll see that glimpse of red hair again— one that was lingering by the Cathedral staircase. Diluc doesn't like crowds, so it's fine that he isn't approaching you. It's also fine that he hasn't visited at least once, unlike the several raging from Liyue to Sumeru who took the journey to meet you early.

Diluc is too busy a person to meet you; whether it's because of the winery or his darknight hero duties, you wouldn't dare take his time.

— but when are you supposed to give him all the gifts you've brought for him???

Your determination to build him up in one go, from Talent levels to Constellations to Artifacts and Weaponry, all came down to this moment — and the man was simply nowhere to be seen!

An unknowingly loud sigh escapes your lips, catching the attention of the Cavalry Captain next to you.

"Now, what's got our (Name) so down in the dumps?" Kaeya hums, glancing at your face as you stutter a response.

"Aah it's not that, it's just. . ."

Your brother is too busy, I just want to meet him!!

"I'm thirsty." You deflect, looking around for a stall. The streets of Mond were nothing like the minimized version you see in the game; with the city being ten times larger than what you remembered it to be.

"Oh! Oh! Klee suggests apple cider!" The little girl giggles, running around your legs in excitement, "Angel's Share is nearby and big brother Albedo alwaaays takes me there for apple cider!"

Angel's Share. Bartender. A great idea has appeared!

At the excited look on your face, Jean walks up ahead of you.

"Why don't I go and inform the tavern to prepare us a space first, it would save us the waiting time."

"That would be great, Jean!"

•

You hope you aren't being too obvious.

With the way your eyes would linger on him, casting side glances and hoping he would greet you to strike up a conversation, the way most allogenes do. You didn't want to abruptly disturb his work, nor do you want seem desperate, so you waited for his initiative.

Yet, Diluc lingers just a little outside your group's circle. Your food and drinks were refilled by Charles, you've talked with nearly everyone but the person you want to talk to.

"It's getting pretty late, we should head home for the night." Someone suggests.

What?

No!

"Hm? Do you still have something in mind?" Kaeya asks. You realized you said it out loud, catching the attention of nearby patrons.

With a frantic glance around the tavern, your eyes make contact with Diluc's. He pauses as well, wondering what caused your little outburst.

You are definitely not leaving, not when you don't know when you could catch Diluc in his free time again! You'd be leaving for Liyue by then!

Hands slamming the table to stand up and with a small burst of courage, you approach the bartender who turns away from Charles. He raises an eyebrow at your approach. It's odd the way you feel flustered and nervous, finally facing him.

Pausing just in front of him, he looks on curiously.

"Would you like a refill?" He asks.

"A-ah no, I mean, yes but that's not why I'm here. I. . ." You stutter, stumbling over your words as you try not to behave awkwardly. Should you start with a casual topic?

"You seem to be quite busy." You say.

Diluc blinks. He isn't sure what you're implying. Neither is Kaeya or Jean, who stopped to look at the exchange of words.

"I suppose. . . but as a winery, we do thrive in impromptu festivities." He replies curtly before realizing, was it rude that he never visited the Creator?

"Ah, is it my lack of visit? I apologize, I would have visited but it seems that you were quite satisfied with your favorites and-"

"No, no, no," You wave your hand, cutting him off, "I understand you're busy. You don't have to visit at all! How could I take your time— wait," You pause, recalling his words.

"Favorites?" You tilt your head, "What do you mean I seemed satisfied with my favorites? What do you mean by favorites?"

"Your favorites... allogenes who received your favor. Those you have granted gifts."

Your jaw laxes. Favorites? They decided you play favorites based on how much you've built them?

"You think. . ." You say carefully, not wanting to hurt anyone's feelings, "That I offer gifts to my favorites?"

Diluc nods slowly, unsure of your questioning.

Although it would be a lie to say you didn't have your personal favorites, it would still be inaccurate that it's based on gifts. After all, you built everyone who came home by chance. As an avid player, you did your best to farm and push everyone to their full potential.

Diluc, however, never came home no matter how much you wanted him to. It can't be possible that he doesn't know how much he is loved, right?

"Then what about you?" You blurt out, "How do you think I view you?"

He stares at you oddly. At this point, many around you had stopped to tune in. Everyone knew Master Diluc never received your favor, so why are you conversing with him?

Meanwhile, Diluc wonders if you want him to admit it. Must he say it in front of everyone how he never received gifts?

"I suppose. . . I'm not one of them. It's quite understandable. I don't intend to question your judgement—"

"What?" You exclaim, a look of shock crosses your face, "You think I don't like you?" Voice raised in disbelief, you feel the eyes of many turning to watch the scene.

Diluc mirrors your confusion.

"I can't believe you would– no, that isn't it at all!" You stutter over your words, a frantic need to prove him wrong goes through you, "You— you of all people!"

"Me?" He repeats.

"I've always wanted you!"

A silence settles over the tavern. Did you have to put it so bluntly? You freeze in shock at your own words. Diluc's expression of disbelief turns flustered, face turning as red as his hair.

Explain yourself.

"I- I mean, I've always wanted you to come home. Ever since the start, really! It's just that you never did-"

"Hmm... so it implies that it's out of your control, correct?" Kaeya piqued, looking on curiously. He's been listening in the entire time. You nod your head.

"Yes! It's a game of chance for me as well. It's not to say that favor is an accident, I truly wanted everyone to come home! It's just that—" You turn to Diluc, "You never did, no matter how much I wanted you to. How was I supposed to give you your gifts?"

Diluc snaps out of his shock, blinking at you, "Gifts?"

"Yes, gifts! I've been saving them up for you, ever since the start." You pause, shyly looking away, "When I said I wanted you since the beginning I meant it. I came here for you, after all."

He looks at you in disbelief, and probably half the tavern as well. You can't help the small chuckle from your lips. With an outstretched hand, something materializes between you. It glows a blinding golden light, before settling to reveal–

"Wolf's Gravestone. It's a weapon for you."

You didn't have to say it— anyone with eyes could see how it was practically made for Diluc. With large handles and a color scheme that matches his own, Wolf's gravestone doesn't look as divine or ethereal as the other weapons you've gifted, but it looked just as powerful, if not menacing.

With a gesture, Diluc grips the handle.

"Fits like a glove." Kaeya whistles, impressed. As does the rest of the tavern who stopped to stare.

Suddenly, flames burst forth from the weapon. It sears and glows red. Unlike the common claymore that can't handle the the prowess of Diluc's flames, Wolf's Gravestone embraces it. Like an extension of his own hand.

He breaks his gaze away from the weapon to look at you.

"Thank you. . ." He mutters softly, but it's genuine. You smile.

"That's not the last of it, you know."

"What?"

With another flick of your hand, artifacts and talent books materialize. They flow around him like a dance as more and more begin to appear, lighting up the tavern like the night sky.

"I told you I brought gifts!"

All the days spent farming for him and other pyro characters finally paid off. The glimmering artifacts reflected in his own red eyes as he stares, entranced.

Favor did not come to him in meteor showers like it did to the other allogenes; rather, it came to him in your form. Proof of him being loved. The spectacle continued— after the artifacts and talent levels were the constellation (the crowd ooh'ed and aah'ed at the sight), then came the five star apparel (a nostalgic sight to him, and it changed his flames to a darker red), and the ascension materials you passed off as trinkets.

By the end of it, he had a hand over his lower face, his red bangs hid just the ends of his eyes. "I just thought I wasn't that favorable. . ." He muttered and you leaned in to peek at his covered face, wondering why he was shying away.

But it was evident to the tavern— the pink dusted ears, the flushed cheeks, and the overwhelming emotion in his eyes. Diluc Ragnvindr was flustered, and it's a sight enough to make even the drunks place down their beers for a closer look.

You bit your lip, trying to prevent the widest of smiles, "Do you believe yourself loved now?" You ask and he gives the faintest of nods.

"Thank you," He says, "For favoring me."

m.list 2 || consider supporting me on ko-fi ! || sagau m.list

note !! THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE a very short brainrot that became a fic huhuhuhu

I don't often write creator sagau themes but here we are! this is like peak diluc simpery idk ive never been this down for a man. i wrote this immediately after getting his skin i just got so excited 😅 I wanted to spoil him so bad (but i gave all his mats to thoma before he came home :< )

taglist !! @absolut-wildflower @boundedbyfate @sadlonelybagel @eissaaaa @ladycoleigh @nejibot @milkypompon @bloodreaper08 @irethepotato @x-zho @roriver @mich-cola @mxsomn @ackrylik @nicebonescomrade @starforecasts @stygianoir @yuminako @eccedentesiast-sapphic @nebulaera @nuttytani @klutzkat @shizunxie

8K notes · View notes