I...don't know what this post is. I've been MIA for literal years, and honestly, I meant to return in a more dignified manner than this.
How to Lower the Murder Rate
● Barbwire. If Jason has time to set traps, he has time to put up a perimeter fence. Plus, the people around Crystal Lake already know about him. It’s not like they’re going to say anything. (Not even the HOA wants that smoke.)
Note: The only reason I could see him not doing this is if it would disrupt/harm the wildlife. (Think of the dingo fence in Australia.)
● Private Property Signs. At the very least, someone could put up signs near common entry points. Warning: trespassers will be shot. That's all they need. Is it technically a lie since Jason is more of a machete-to-the-face kind of guy? Yes. But speaking from experience, a sign like that would have most campers turning around real fast.
● Why Hasn’t Anyone Done This? No, really...why? From a police standpoint alone, this is the obvious solution. They leave Jason alone out of fear, yet they could also protect others by implementing these simple deterrents.
Note: It’s a bit like a condemned building. If you can’t tear it down, you lock it up, ensuring that curious people can’t gain entry. Why not do the same thing with Camp Crystal Lake? It’s a small town; no one’s going to object.
Jason Voorhees and Sexual Congress
● Sex isn’t inherently bad. It’s more about the location and implications that warrant death via machete. After all, how would you feel if strangers started doing the horizontal tango in your bed? Pretty upset, I’d imagine. But why? It’s just a bed, after all...
It’s disrespectful. By doing the sex, they’d be disregarding the fact that it’s not their bed--it’s yours. As such, you should be able to decide who can sex it up.
Violation. Your house is your safe place. By disregarding this fact, they violate your sanctuary. There is also the blatant lack of consideration for your comfort.
● It’s his land. Strangers shagging on your floor? Nope! Get out! But you and Jason doing it there? Well, it is your home. If you want to climb that man like a tree, who are we to judge?
Jason and Candles
● Ok, stick with me on this. He has a shrine to his mother. That shrine has candles. Where is he getting them? The people need to know! *Hangs off of Jason's shirtfront dramatically, much to his bewilderment*
There are two main options: animal fat or beeswax.
● Option 1: Jason the Beekeeper. I prefer this explanation because it’s wholesome as all get out. Just imagine Jason in a little beekeeping outfit, puttering around, attending to his buzzing little buddies. He would not be beating the Disney Princess allegations.
● Option 2: Jason the Hunter. Alright, alright...this may be the more realistic one. (I don’t have to be happy about it, though!) As we know, Jason is proficient with a bow. He’s also insanely large and muscular--so much so that he’s definitely living a protein-rich lifestyle. And with the magic of fat rendering, any fat from his kills would be transformed into tallow.
● Jason the Flower Gardener??? You know what? No, he will not be beating the Disney Princess allegations. Not today! Because unless he wants those tallow candles to smell all gamey, he'd scent them. With what? Perfumes. And how would he get perfume? From FLOWERS.
He'd either cultivate an immaculate flower garden or frolic about Camp Crystal Lake in search of wildflowers. Either way, it's the slasher-ghibli mashup no one asked for, but we all needed.
Jason and Lost Pets
● HE'S A DISNEY PRINCESS! Don't even try to tell me he doesn't love animals. Even Kane Hodder said that Jason isn't the type to ever hurt one. And when you live in the middle of nowhere, you're going to encounter dumped pets.
Thus, I present to you...
● Friday the 13th: This Time It's Purrsonal. Not wanting any part of his kills (from deer hunts) to go to waste, Jason would leave scraps out for any hungry animals. Lonely as he is--and overwhelmed by human social relationships--would it be all that surprising when he bonds with them?
This is sending me down an imagination rabbit hole of Jason having to take all his new pets to the vet for spay/neuter, deworming, vaccines, etc., and it's just...the Jason Voorhees is sitting in a waiting room. (And no one is going to do anything because everyone from the area knows better.)
● Mercy for Amazon drivers? Would he let a delivery driver live if they were delivering pet supplies? Or would it just be an extreme version of contactless delivery? Instead of "leave at the door," it's "leave on the side of the road at these coordinates."
● Excellent Food. This man isn't just a cook, he's a chef. And as his s/o, there's no way he's going to leave you to eat mediocre food. Are you about to eat some old toast for breakfast? "What are you doing? Put that down!" *Smacks it away* Gale's making omelets and they are going to be delicious, and well worth the wait.
He would absolutely sass you for snacking before meals, afraid you'll spoil your appetite.
● Personal Chef. Are you sick? *Enters bedroom carrying a tray containing a steaming bowl of soup, a goblet of tea and a small vase with flowers.* Missing home? He'd try to find local recipes to make you feel a bit less homesick.
● Magic-Assisted Dates. Now you know this man's gonna teach you all the colors of the weave. How else is he expected to flirt? With something other than his special interest? *Scoffs in autistic* Besides, just think of all the butt-pinches you could sneak in with a well-placed mage hand!
He'd be so proud of you the first time you actually manage an unassisted mage-hand-grope, insisting you celebrate.
● KINKY sex. Worried you'll get bored with just one partner for the rest of your life? Ha! Gale is nothing if not inventive. Prepare yourself...for floaty-floaty air sex!
He canonically gets the floaty-sex idea from Lae'zel thanks to their party banter about Githyanki Psionics.
● Missing the tadpole connection. Gale talks in his sleep, (again, listen to his party banter for gems) so you needn't worry about a lack of communication. Still, you'd both miss the comfort of feeling each other's minds. Perhaps your clever wizard could find a spell to replicate the affect?
● Lots of snuggles. Who's this man trying to fool--Gale is extremely touch starved. And while using the weave is often his preferred method of wooing, he wouldn't say no to the more traditional forms of affection. *Melts into a puddle of bliss as you stroke his hair*
You'd spend many a night cuddled before the fire, Tara purring happily nearby.
● Speaking of Tara... She'd adore you. Perhaps a bit distant at first, she'd quickly learn to love you. The only point of true disagreement would be Gale's beard.
"My dear, surely you could convince him to shave the blasted thing off?"
"But he looks so roguish with it!"
Tara's ears flattened, tail flicking harshly. "He looks like a vagabond."
In the past, he would leave pretty soon after. While he's a skilled flirt (and takes considerable pride in making his partners come), he just never felt enough of a connection with someone to want to linger.
But with you? Thom would cherish you. Cleaning you off, he'd pull you close, placing a kiss to the crown of your hair as you rest your head on his shoulder. You'd spend several nights just talking about anything and everything.
B = Body part (Their favorite body part and also their partner’s)
Your butt. Thom has a certain affinity for watching you in those tight leather trews of yours--loving (and sometimes hating) the way they gift him with a clear outline of your derrière.
When you're in bed, he loves to give your ass a squeeze, watching the way it jiggles as he rails into you from behind. (All to the sounds of your moans as you beg him to go harder.) And afterward? He'll hold you in his arms, one hand trailing down to cup your bum as he pulls you closer.
C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically…I’m a disgusting person)
Inside you. Thankfully, you wouldn't have to worry about any unplanned pregnancies, because the second Leliana caught wind of your interest in a certain burly man, she'd make sure you're on contraceptive potions.
D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Thom loves the way you'll sometimes cling to him during sex--as if he'd ever let you go. When he feels your nails dig into his back, your legs wrapped around him, he can’t help but melt. Begging him to fuck you harder, your desperate tone would spur him on. “Maker's balls, Y/N, I’ll give you whatever you want.”
E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)
He probably hasn't had sex in at least five years--he'd been too busy trying to atone for his mistakes. That being said, the DAI party banter hints to Blackwall having been quite the lady's man.
F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)
Missionary. Seeing your expression as he churns his hips just right? It drives him crazy. His favorite thing is to lean down and growl in your ear, telling you all the depraved things he's wanted to do with you--only to pull back to see just how much of an effect his words had on you.
G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc.)
Thom was quite the broody-beard pre-revelations. Now that you know the truth? Oh, there would be plenty of teasing and warmth between the two of you.
He genuinely hated having to lie to you. The fact that you are both so comfortable with each other is something he deeply enjoys.
H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)
Surprisingly, he'd keep tidy. Remember, Thom used to be rather vain when it came to his hair and overall looks. (Besides, he will always want you to be comfortable.)
I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)
You’re the only one he can be completely vulnerable with--his safe harbor in a turbulent sea. Making sure you know how much he loves you is his top priority. Intimacy? Yes. Passionate kisses and words of love? Also yes.
J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcannon)
At first, he was deeply ashamed of it--you are the inquisitor, after all--but yes...he's battled the one-eyed dragon to thoughts of you. And once you're in a relationship? Oh, he's shameless. Don't be surprised when your letters turn to rather steamy topics.
Because, yes, people 100% sexted via letters in ye olden days.
K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)
He's got a noise kink. The way you have him cover your mouth, not trusting yourself to keep quiet with what he (and his sinful body) is doing to you? It stokes him in all the right ways.
"I blame you," you'd grumble afterward, making him chuckle.
L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)
Wherever whenever. The man isn't choosy. On the road? You'd share a tent, making sure to erect it a bit farther away from the others. (Much to the waggled brows and knowing looks of certain companions. *cough cough* DORIAN) Back at Skyhold? Having convinced him to share your chambers, you'd seclude yourselves--only to appear after several days of doing the naughties.
During your coital vacation, Thom would only leave your chambers to retrieve much-needed food, heroically braving the teasings of Varric and Sera.
M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)
Maker's balls, there's too many things, love. He'll be the first to admit it: he's a randy bastard. As such, just the sight of you is enough.
What turns him on the most, though, is when he can tell you've been aching for him. Thom is a giver--seldom (if ever) asking for anything in return. As such, knowing that he's able to meet your needs will make him feel all sorts of ways. *Puffs up his chest when he sees the tension leave you after coming to him.*
Remember, he doesn't think he deserves love. Seeing that your relationship is helping--instead of harming--you is very important to him.
N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Anything that would genuinely hurt you (physically or emotionally) is firmly off the table. Spanking? Bondage? Other naughty kink-related things? Yes. But something that would cause lasting pain? No. Absolutely not.
O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
Oh, he definitely prefers to give. The way he groaned the first time you rode his face still makes you blush. Sometimes, he'll look at you and just imagine grasping those thighs so he can pull you down atop him. Mouth watering, he'd give you a sinful look.
*Does a double take once you notice his expression, instantly turning red as you go weak in the knees*
P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? Etc.)
He's all for quickies, but a slow, thorough loving? Those are his favorite. He'll wring out each drop of pleasure. If you're not an exhausted puddle of bliss when he's through, he hasn't done it right.
But can he be rough? Sweet Maker, he can! There have been mornings where you've refused to show your face--too embarrassed by the sounds you'd made the night before. (Much to his amusement.)
Q = Quickie (Their opinion on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)
Again...he's got a high sex drive. And being on the road with you as much as he is? Lead the way, love. *Follows you to a nearby stream to let off some of that sexual tension*
R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)
Oh...he's game. He's more than game. Does his intense stare intimidate you? He'd let you tie him to the bed, covering his eyes with a blindfold as you tease him with your explorations. *Teases his cock as you watch his breaths quicken.*
S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)
If you've seen him fight, you know the man is filled to the brim with endurance. Unfettered by his bulky armor, just imagine the things your burly man could do.
T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)
Honestly, rope and blindfolds would be his version of toys.
U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)
Thom is an utter gentleman. You, on the other hand, can be rather merciless. Are you climbing a hill? Oh, you should definitely go first! *Ends up giving him a front-row viewing of your ass for the duration of the climb*
Did he find a shard? *Fingers linger on his as he hands it over* His gaze would snap to yours, making you blush as you bit your lip.
Of course, this would greatly amuse Varric and/or Dorian. After all, Thom's heated gaze would only grow stronger throughout the day. *Varric shakes his head, wryly pitying the poor man*
V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)
He's surprisingly quiet (save for the restrained grunts and groans). He would, however, talk. The night he'd realized what that deep voice of his does to you had been your downfall.
W = Wild Card (Get a random headcannon for the character of your choice)
Beard bleach. If you have a vagina, you know what I mean: those fluids bleach stuff. And since he'd be going down on you with relative frequency... Let's just say there'd be an area of his beard that's a bit lighter than the rest.
This is something Dorian would mercilessly point out--laughing when you turn beet red. He'd just cross his arms, lifting a wry brow as you stammer through a poor attempt at gaslighting. "N-No, his beard has always been that way."
"Oh yes, clearly," he'd quip, fighting a smirk.
X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)
It's not the size of the blade; it's what you do with it. (He's average, but THICC.) And while he was a bit dodgy in his younger years, there are some benefits to his shady past. Thom knows what he's doing. And for the first time, his desire to pleasure another stems not from pride, but love.
Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)
Thom "Blackwall" Rainier is a deeply sensual creature--especially where you're concerned. He’s never been in love, but Maker's Balls does it agree with him. If he had it his way, you be going at it “morning, noon, and fuckin’ night.”
Z = ZZZ (…how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
He prefers to simply hold you in his arms for a good long while. Deep into the night, he'll slip away to keep himself busy.
Thom has nightmares from the massacre, hence his reluctance to sleep. That would be something you'd work through together.
He’d be distracted. More than usual. Eyes following your every move, he'd be thinking about last night. The way your skin felt against his...how you’d clung to him as though you never wanted to let go... Honestly, who could expect him to get any work done when you were so casually lounging before him? He’d watch the way you move, seeing you in a different light, imaging...things.
He’ll probably make you giggle. Honestly, Jason, stop staring! He’d look away...only to glance back at you a few seconds later. He just can’t help it. After all, he’s still trying to convince himself this isn’t a dream.
He’d want to touch you. Would you let him? If he came up to you right now, could he hold you in his arms?
Thomas Hewitt
He’s the sweetest man ever. Not that you’re all that surprised. This is Thomas we’re talking about. Having cleaned you up the night before, he’d be in no rush to release his hold. Expect cuddles and sweet kisses against the back of your neck as he spoons you.
He’d have to get up eventually. Rolling out of bed with a reluctant groan, he’d start to dress for the day, blushing at the blatant hunger in your eyes. Did you like looking at his body, (Y/N)? By your flustered (and rather lustful) expression, he’d know the answer. Letting you enjoy the show, he’d lean down to give you a kiss before heading downstairs.
Note: Everyone would know what happened last night. (The walls are thin.) Luda Mae would, therefore, understand if you wanted to sleep in a bit.
Michael Myers
He’d provide. Now, I know we’re all worried Michael would just get up and leave. Thankfully, this isn’t the case. Rising before you, Michael would sneak downstairs to make you breakfast.
He’d follow your lead. Did you want to stay in a watch a movie on the couch? Lead the way, (Y/N). His suddenly amenable behavior would leave you reeling. Apparently sex does calm some people.
Physical affection. Snuggling against him, you’d be shocked when he absently wraps an arm around you, toying with your hair. Peaking up, you’d see his gaze trained on the television screen.
Brahms Heelshire
He’d let you sleep. Let me guess: you’re expecting Brahms to wake you up at dawn, demanding more sex. Well you’re wrong. That’s right--wrong.
He’d be surprisingly tender. Waking to the feel of you snuggled against him, Brahms would remember where he was and what had happened. You...you hadn’t left. Heart aching, he’d stroke your back.
He’d be afraid to wake you up. You’d simply yet to wake. That’s why you were still with him, he’d decide as he caresses you. At your sigh, he’d freeze. *Stays still as you burrow even closer* Imagine his utter joy when you blink open your eyes and give him a sweet smile, clearly lacking the desire to flee.
Slashers' Reaction to Sharing a Bed with Their (Future) S/O for the First Time
@velociraptor57: what would the slashers reactions be to sleeping in the same bed with their future S/O for the first time????
Jason Voorhees
Tension. The last time he'd shared a bed with someone, he'd been half the size and in a very different context. Now? He would be tense, and not know what to do, would let you take the lead.
He'd freeze. What was this feeling? Was it...acceptance? Looking down at your bundled form, his thoughts would race. How could this person want to be near him? It was impossible. And yet, you weren't shying away--quite the opposite.
He'd like it. So much that there'd be no point in denying it. He would, however, berate himself for it. Gaze drifting over to you, he'd chide himself for acting like a lovesick puppy. It was a one-time thing. He refused to develop any hope for more with you, knowing it wouldn't end well.
Miscommunication. Well, Jason had clearly hated that. After all, you'd seen how tense he was--especially when you'd allowed yourself to scoot closer, not comfortable laying at the very edge of the tiny bed. (Honestly, it was either snuggle or fall onto the ground.) Eventually, you'd break down and admit that you feel safer with him nearby. And ever the protector, that would be how you start sharing a bed.
Michael Myers
No. No. He does not want to cuddle with you--stay away! Are you getting too close to him? He'd wistfully look at the floor. It wouldn't be that uncomfortable.
Betrayed by his own body. An early riser, Michael would wake to a horrifying reality. His arms wrapped around you, his nose buried in your hair...and worst of all...he'd been nuzzling you. Nuzzling!
Freaks out. On the inside. On the outside, there would be no difference. Mind racing, he'd extricate himself from the bed as quickly and quietly as possible. You'd never know, he thought. It was the only thing keeping him from all-out sprinting from the room, never to return.
Starts to question himself. In the coming days, his thoughts would return to that morning. A small part of him felt...longing? No...he was Michael Myers. He didn't have longings. He didn't have desires. Then why do you keep thinking about y/n? He wouldn't know. And it would bother him.
Thomas Hewitt
Mixed emotions. While he'd fear scaring you--certain that if he made the wrong move, you'd try to flee--you'd fear your own attraction to the man. A part of you wanted to stay close to him at all times. He'd protected you...made you feel safe. And yet, it was wrong to feel this way. Right?
Gravitational pull. A small bed + Thomas's large frame = inevitable cuddling. Turning onto your side, you'd end up pressing into him. And when you're both asleep? Prepare to wake up spooning (probably with his morning erection poking into you).
It'd turn into a regular thing. Over time, you'd start to cuddle more and more until you reach a point where you automatically crawl toward his side of the bed to snuggle into his large frame.
Grinding. That would be how your consensual sexual relationship starts. You'd wake to the feeling him grinding against you in his sleep. Shifting, you'd press yourself closer, rolling your hips to meet his thrusts. When Thomas wakes, he'd be started and embarrassed, yet you would quickly comfort him. Please, I want you. Shocked, Thomas would let you do as you like, panting as he holds you close. (Imagine rolling over, urging him onto his back before you climb atop him--desperate for more. *cue the slow and sensual love making*)
Brahms Heelshire
Overwhelming emotions. Brahms would be shaking with desire. He'd yearn to pull you into his arms and never let go.
He'd stare at you. Like...to an unsettling degree. *Scoots farther away from him.* Seeing your discomfort, he'd lay on his back to gaze at the ceiling. Maybe that would help? Still, he'd sneak glances.
Secret snuggles. He would stroke your hair (and definitely smell it) while you're sleeping. Saddest of all, your desperate man would hold your hand, thumb absently stroking your knuckles. Was this what it felt like to be with someone?
Quick Note: This is based on the remake version of Michael.
● First thing’s first: you need him to not kill you. Before I even start this post, let’s be perfectly clear. Michael is not a sentimental man. Other than having had a best friend before Smith’s Grove, it’d be very difficult to stay alive around him. To put it simply, you need him to have a reason to keep you alive. (That will come later in the post.)
● You’re a novice clinical psychologist, having just earned your PsyD. Disagreeing with the way Michael is handled (namely him being locked in a room 24/7). Of course, Loomis wouldn't like the criticism (though it would have been given in a polite manner). And since Loomis is...well, Loomis, it wouldn’t end all that well.
● You’re there the night Michael escapes. Realizing that he's going to kill anyone he comes across, you help him leave (to save lives), offering to take him to Crystal Lake. (I know a real psychologist wouldn’t do this...but ignore that detail.)
Unaware of the mayhem, you exited the office. Humming to yourself to drown out the sound of your squeaking shoes, you paused at the distinct sound of a pile of files falling to the ground. Then came a skid.
Your nerves went on high alert as you stood in the hallway. Silence. Eyes scanning the hall, you took a step forward. Your shoes noisily squeaked against the polished floor. Another cautious step. Squeaaaak!
“Oh, fuck it,” you hissed and kicked off your boots. You picked them up and hastily padded down the hallway, your spine stiff and tingling with awareness.
. . .
A hulking figure appeared from around the corner and you sucked in a breath. Michael. Fear was your first emotion, but you beat it back.
You might as well be face to face with a grizzly bear, you realized. He’d spotted you. If you moved, it would trigger an attack.
His ragged clothing had a light spattering of blood and your gaze went to his hands. Stained with it. Fuck. How to stay alive. How to stay alive? Your mind whirled at rapid speed, seeking a response.
You need to handle this, your inner self urged, fearfully hiding behind a mental sofa. Fuck that, you thought. He was a split hair away from charging. Maybe if you just stayed perfectly still, he’d leave you alone.
He stepped forward.
“M-Michael.” Fuck, fuck, fuck. Your gaze ran over his appearance. “Why are you out of your room? Did someone open your door?” A pause. “Of course they did,” you scolded yourself. “Are they gone? What happened?” You know what happened.
He just looked at you. You searched his face, trying to see his gaze through the mask. “Did anyone try to hurt you?” Still, nothing.
“Okay,” you said. Your gaze darted in thought. “I know you don’t want to go back to your room…” A sudden appearance of red distracted you. A pool of blood had begun to spread into view.
“O-Oh,” you murmured. He’s going to kill anyone in his way. You thought about the people after you. An idea came to mind and you quickly looked to him. There was one place he could go...
“Okay, Michael, you want out? Come with me.”
● You’d be his captive. Since he needs you to get to Crystal Lake (yes, I’m sending y’all there. Fight me!), he can’t kill you. Thus, you'd spend a fair amount of time together, working as almost partners. This would provide the necessary experiences to form a legitimate emotional bond.
What were you doing? Hand gripping the steering wheel, you slid a glance over to your… To your what? Traveling companion? You were pretty sure you were his captive. He hadn’t even threatened you, yet the vibe was definitively captor-captive.
This isn’t normal, your inner self said.
I know it isn’t normal.
You should be freaking out.
You sighed. Your inner self was right. But really, what good would that do?
You should be more concerned. This isn’t normal.
I know. You were starting to get annoyed with the pestering anxiety.
A pause. I think you might be in shock.
Probably.
You’re too calm.
I know.
You’re going to have some serious emotions to deal with when this wears off.
Another sigh. This time dread bubbled. I know.
Just saying…
You’re not helping.
Another pause. He is really cute though…
You stole a glance at the man beside you. Of course… Why couldn’t you be more…normal?
● He'd hate it at first...and consider killing you. But over time, he'd realize he's grown protective. The thought of you being hurt would fill him with rage. As for sexual thoughts? He’d start to see you in a more...intimate light.
Note: The reason he doesn't know how to get to Crystal Lake is because you'd blatantly refuse to disclose that information. After all, you need something to keep you safe. (He'd come to respect that once he cares for you.)
Standing before the mirror, you turned this way and that, biting your lip as you fiddled with your hair. “You look fine,” you told yourself. Besides, it wasn’t as though he knew anything about human lingerie. In fact, everything about you was alien to him. You wondered if even the sounds you made were considered exotic to him.
They probably are, your inner-self reasoned. You practiced a sultry glance in the mirror. Again, you looked to the perfume Yat’su had suggested.
“Here, a gift,” she said all but shoving the metallic cylinder into your small hands. You accepted with wide eyes, fiddling with the strange object. The neuro-translator was a wonderful device, but it could have its limits--and interpreting only spoken word, you were often left floundering.
“Err...Thank you, Yat’su.” A pause. “What is it?”
The female lifted her chin, giving a huff. “It will mask your musk.”
You stilled, face flaming. “Oh, my God! Is it that bad?” You weren’t even aroused!
Ignoring your panic, she gave a casual hair flip, inspecting her claws. “Pry’a mentioned you were looking for some. Unfortunately, she went into detail about your intention to seduce my sire...”
Oh God, could your face get any redder?
“Why you’d feel the desire to do such a thing is beyond me,” she continued. “After all, it’s the male’s duty to lure females, not the other way around.”
“It’s an ooman thing...” You stole a quick glance at the large wall of glass. Maybe if you concentrated hard enough, you’d be able to teleport yourself into the vacuum of space. It seemed a better way to go than your current death-by-embarrassment.
She gave you a droll look. “Yes, well...Consider it a gesture of goodwill.”
“I, uh...th-thank you.”
She gave a short nod, then snapped her gaze toward a group of males who’d been eyeing her. Splaying her mandibles, she sent a warning hiss. “Males are relentless when they scent a female close to heat.”
Hope it works, you thought.
You checked the time. He’d be back soon. Plopping atop the massive bed, you shifted--trying to find the perfect pose. Inviting, but not too obvious. Found it.
After a pause, you huffed and flipped over. It wasn’t right. How about this? No. Another shift. Still not right. You were close to giving up when you heard the unmistakable sounds of Se’nok’s arrival and froze.
I feel like a fool. There you were, sprawled out atop the bed. At the sound of your name, you tensed. Fuck it. Scuttling from the pelts, you checked your reflection before going to greet him.
. . .
“Mmm,” you hummed, approaching him with a hip-swaying gate. His eyes followed your every move. “Is that so?” You didn’t stop until you were inches apart and rested a palm on his chest. His mandibles clicked.
“You are behaving strangely.”
You rubbed his skin. “Oh you noticed, did you?”
He chuffed. “Even half-dead, I would find it difficult not to notice.”
“I thought you liked boldness.”
“I do.” He caressed your cheek with his knuckles. “Still, I am suspicious. What are you up to, mate?”
You smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know...”
A half-hearted growl answered you, making your smile grow. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
His mandibles splayed slightly. “You would have me interrogate you?” He eyed you.
You visibly squirmed. His eyes darkened and a deep purr rumbled forth--an unmistakable sign that he’d finally scented your growing arousal. He narrowed his eyes, placing two-and-two together. Suddenly, he scooped you up and strode to the bedroom. “If that is what my mate desires…”
You grinned, nuzzling against him. “You are such a good mate, Se’nok.”
“I know.”
You gave his chest a playful slap. “Arrogant, cocky male.”
He shrugged. “One must be self-assured to survive in this world.”
“True,” you allowed.
“Not to mention surviving with a mate such as mine...”
“Oh, I see how it is!” He glanced down, tusks pulled into a grin. Tightening his hold, he purred, sweetly nuzzling your neck with his mandibles as you pretended to pout. “No, no, don’t try purring at me. It’s not going to work.”
Thomas Hewitt Masturbating to Thoughts of His (Future) S/O...
So, yeah... Not very good at writing smut, but I got a bit into this one. For context, you and Thomas have had sex (Hoyt essentially forced you guys to have sex) twice now.
Thomas’s normally steady hands shook. Frustrated, he shoved the tools aside and placed his palms on the table, closing his eyes. He leaned his head forward. Y/N. His lips parted. Y/N…
A familiar urge settled in the pit of his stomach and he stepped back in alarm. What was he doing? Fantasizing about you? He was sick. Clenching his fists, he fought back his thoughts, yet the images still came.
He saw himself petting your soft skin as you lay naked beneath him, stretched out and utterly relaxed. You’d liked being with him--didn’t think he knew, seemed to be terrified of him knowing--but when you snuggled against him afterward how could he not? Not to mention other things…
You’d been wet.
His lids slid shut and he tilted his head back. Oh God, how you’d been wet. Like a dozen moist tongues on his cock. It pulsed in response. Hissing, he adjusted himself, trying to relieve some of the pressure only to make matters worse.
The image of you handing him a drink flashed in his mind as he absently stroked his clothed erection. You had a habit of bending over the table, causing your blouse to gape. He knew you hadn’t done it on purpose, but his mind didn’t seem to care.
His cock twitched. With a harsh breath, he checked the stairs. After a pause, he pushed the apron aside and unbuckled his belt, hand shaking as he took himself out. Ah God, he was hopeless—already so hard just from thinking about you.
Eyes closed, he pictured the way you’d leaned over to hand him his drink, your dress gaping to give him a view of your breasts. Licking his lips, he imagined you’d done it just for him. “Thomas,” he could hear you say, smiling at him.
He pictured you approaching him, caressing his chest as you pressed against him. “I want you.”
He gave his cock a squeeze, tilting his head back as he began to stroke himself. How could he resist you? Lifting you onto the table, he’d step into the cradle of your legs, unbuckling his belt as you gripped his arms, pulling him down for a kiss.
“Thomas,” you’d beg, wriggling beneath him as he slid the head of his cock over your wet folds. Finally, you’d reach forward and grip him. “I need you.” He groaned, brows furrowed. His fist sped up, breathing harsh.
He’d let you guide him into you, and God, you’d be so tight--milking him for all he was worth. He could almost hear your little whimpers in his ear as he churned against you.
“I love you.” He bit his lip. “Oh God, Tommy, don’t stop. Don’t stop.” Never, he silently promised.
His hips thrust, his hand moving faster. Faster… You’d writhe beneath him, nails digging into his ass to spur him on. “I’m so close. T-Tommy--” Then would come that vise-like grip as you clamped down, arching beneath him as you rode out your release.
It was too much. Fuck, it was too good. His free hand slammed onto the workbench, his back bowing. Oh, fuck, Y/N. With jerking thrusts, Thomas let out a tortured groan as he came in wave after scorching wave. Oh God, Y/N.
● Makeup. What are you putting on your face, little blade? *Snatches offered container and fiddles with it whilst clicking mandibles.* ...This product must be expired, (Y/N), as it clearly does not conceal you. If anything, this camouflage seems to highlight your features.
It is to conceal natural skin markings? Are all oomans this foolish? (Remember, variations in color/tone are what results in a camouflaged effect. An even complexion is easier to detect.)
● Nail Polish. While Yatsu wouldn’t be interested in trying your hair dyes, she must admit the nail varnish is somewhat alluring. Perched beside you, she’d curiously watch you paint her deadly claws the perfect shade of halo black.
Hers pupils would dilate at the thought of venom-infused nail polish. *Flares claws* Just think of the possibilities, little blade. A whole new method of combat!
● Recorders. You know: the cheap plastic instruments used to torment parents worldwide. Hearing the shrill notes, your mate would visibly flinch. *Covers ears* Oomans use it to debilitate creatures with sensitive hearing, yes? What do you mean it’s supposed to “make music”?
Note: Yes, yautja have ears (well...ear holes). As you can see in the image above, they are located beneath the dreadlocks.
Credit: BeastSoulArt on Twitter
● Moisturizers and Skin Routines. *Feels your baby-soft skin* In what possible way does this benefit you? You are literally making your skin more vulnerable to injury.
● Halloween Skeletons. Do tiny oomans not understand that the creature is already dead? Made of what...? Plastic? *Judges human parents for raising such pansies* Why do oomans encourage such illogical fear? Even if it did manage to harbor life, a simple kick would topple the collection of bones.
Imagine being Thorin’s s/o and helping him pull the cobwebs from his hair, insisting that he looks a mess.
amrâlimê = my love
He watched you work with soft eyes, enjoying the way you fussed over him so. There was hardly any need to look presentable, he thought, not when you were locked away in the dungeons of the faithless woodland elves. Still, he sensed it was your way of coping.
“There,” you said, smoothing your hands over his fur mantel. “All done.” You stepped back to admire your work.
“Am I presentable, then?” he teased, admittedly in a better humor than when he’d first entered the dark cell.
“As much as Thorin Oakenshield will allow himself to be.”
He chuckled, stepping forward to cup your cheek. “Thank you, amrâlimê.”
● He tries to anticipate your needs. Do you like to use a walking stick during hikes? Instead of frequently needing to find new sticks, he’d fashion you an intricately carved cane--complete with a waterproofed finish. How about winter time? On especially windy nights, he’d be sure to gather extra blankets. *Pulls your bundled form close*
● He lets you touch his mask. Want to give your big man a kiss? Siddle on up and slide back that mask to lay a sweet smooch on those crooked lips. Don’t be surprised if he pulls you closer, letting you wrap your arms around his neck as he lifts you into his arms. He just loves feeling you pressed against him.
● He lets you touch his dangly bits. There’s only one person allowed near his man-parts, Y/N--and that’s you. Unfortunately, this is a lesson some drunken campers have had to learn the hard way (no pun intended, he’d been horrified).
Note: Seriously, Jason had felt like he’d cheated. You’d have to explain that his lack of consent matters.
● He’d give little displays of affection throughout the day. Waking up to little ol’ you nestled against him? Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Jason would lean forward to give your forehead a kiss, pulling you closer as he runs his hands over your soft skin. He cherishes you, Y/N--never forget that.
● He’d grant you special privileges. As Jason’s s/o, you are the only person on earth who’s allowed to sass him. Imagine standing before the colossal man with shameless cheek, utterly unafraid.
Note: Trying to coax him into giving you fighting lessons? *Shadow boxes around him whilst showing off your mad skills* How can he refuse all THIS? *Lands a jab to his chest only for him to slowly look down...* Really, Y/N? Really?
● He’d teach you wilderness survival skills. Some lessons would be more enjoyable than others. Knot week would (obviously) lead to some knotty situations, while foraging would give Jason a near heart-attack. As for tracking? Can you identify deer skat? How about cougar skat? Dog skat? Well prepare yourself, Y/N. *Jason wheels out a table with categorized dropping samples* And yes, there will be a quiz...
Note: Playing hide-and-seek would be the most enjoyable. Imagine having the Jason Voorhees hunting you. The longer he takes to find you, the greater your reward. (While he’s undeniably tough, Jason also believes in reward-based learning. *Gives you a cookie*)
● Getting carried a lot. Let’s be honest, you’d become downright lazy with the Jason Express around. Tired after a long day? *Cue smallest violin* “Oooh, woe is me! How will I ever manage to climb the veritable mountain that lies before me?” *Jason gives a huff before lifting you into his arms, turning to mount the stairs*
BONUS:
Imagine Jason’s s/o being clumsy/not the best at doing Jason-y things
Your gazes met, his steady blue eyes boring into yours. “What?” you asked with a giggle.
Nothing. He just stared at you. His silence spoke volumes.
“Oh come on,” you said. “You know I suck at that kind of stuff.”
A huff. Translation: no shit.
“Hey, at least I tried. No need to be mean.”
At the accusation, he turned to face you fully.
“Yes, it was very mean. I’m heartbroken, Jason. Utterly heartbroken.”
His eyes ran over you, seeming to gage whether or not you were serious.
“And in my defense, I’ve never hunted a day in my life. You know me; I’m not the sensible, tactile sort—not with this stuff. I’m more…artistic.”
His eyes crinkled. Smiling? “Yeah,” you said, arms to your sides, “I admit…not the most useful or practical. But just wait; one day you’ll want to decorate the forest for Christmas and who you gonna call?” You hiked a thumb at yourself. “Me, that’s who.”
He tilted his head.
“Just think about it. Can’t you imagine the trees all strung up with lights? Some gold and whites with a dash of red thrown in? Maybe some lanterns hung from the branches?” You looked back at him and bit your lip, sporting a flirtatious grin. “Maybe even a few sprigs of mistletoe hidden here and there…”
For all the people that love Michael. I know I don’t write solo works for him very often... Also, this is largely based on the Rob Zombie version of Michael
● He Wouldn’t Kill You. I know...so romantic. *Swoons* But what did you expect? It’s Michael Myers. And as such, this is a legitimately big deal. He would, in fact, go the extra mile and protect you. Michael (when treated with kindness and respect) is capable of relative tenderness.
Note: Your best chance of being in a relationship with Michael would be if you’d known him before his time at Smith’s Grove. As an adult, he’s shown a clear disinterest in making new bonds.
● Rural Living. And I do mean rural. How does being the neighbor of Jason Voorhees sound? Don’t laugh, (Y/N), it’s a sensible idea. As a slasher, living near Camp Crystal Lake would have its perks. A hiker’s mysterious disappearance? *Cue the shrugs of surrounding townsfolk* It’s the perfect place to lay low.
Note: Plus, you’d get to see the lumberjack version of Michael, complete with watching him chop wood. *Sips morning coffee whilst thinking naughty thoughts*
● Fierce Protectiveness. If you’re hurt, prepare to see his dark[er] side as Michael goes from relaxed to deathly serious in an instant. Who’d dared to harm you? Tell him their name and he’ll make them die slowly.
● Seeing the Softer Side of Him. Yes, your hopes have come true, (Y/N). Michael is capable of love. What would that love look like? Physical affection (given and received), gifts, and so much more.
Note: Imagine curling up against Michael while watching a survival show. Snuggled between the couch and his massive frame, you’d bask in the warmth of his body, feeling his chest rise and fall. Thump-thump, thump-thump. His heartbeat would lull you into a relaxed trance as he absently strokes your hair.
● Seeing His Face. While this wouldn’t happen overnight, he’d eventually feel comfortable enough to go unmasked around you. It’d mainly be when he’s asleep or showering. Still, being able to touch his chiseled jaw? *Hands tremble as he stares at you with piercing eyes*
● F*cking. Now, we can’t talk about a relationship with Michael sans smut. It’s simply not done. So what would Michael in the sack entail? Domination. Pure, primal and steamy. BDSM would be his instinctual preference. Watching you squirm, hearing you beg...? Fuck, it’d get him so hard.
● Licking Your Wounds. You’re his mate--part of his two-person pack. After untying the cords around your wrists, he’d kiss the marks left behind. Are you thirsty? *Calmly heads downstairs to retrieve a water bottle* While his aftercare wouldn’t be as zealous as Jason’s, you certainly wouldn’t go unattended.
Note: Since he has that lovely superhuman stamina, tending to you would hardly feel taxing. *Looks to Brahms who’s semi-comatose beside you*
Alastor Moody’s Reaction to His S/O Being Kidnapped
Anonymous: *chanting* More Mad-eye! More Mad-eye! Pretty please? I love what you've written so far.
● He’d blame himself. Alastor fears one thing above all else: losing you. It’s what keeps him up at night--what startles him awake with a cold sweat running down his face. He knows his constant paranoia must be tiring, yet you love him anyway. But now? What was the point if he couldn’t protect you?
● He’d find you. No matter where they try to hide you. Licensed to use unforgivables, he’d hold nothing back--interrogating Death Eaters until he finds the information he needs. And when he does? Well...
● He’d. be. BRUTAL. I’m talking ancient warlord levels of slaughter--John Wick levels of cold, calculated carnage. His enemies wouldn’t stand a chance. Hearing the chaos and screams would bring tears to your eyes. He’d come. Your Alastor--your beautiful, ferocious Alastor--was here.
Blasting open the door to your cell, Alastor would storm into the room, gaze on a swivel until he sees you. Without a word, he’d pull you into his arms, lips buried against the crown of your hair as he breathes you in. You weren’t safe yet, but you would be.
Afterward...
● He’d be extra paranoid. Time for a guard, (Y/N), because he is not losing you again. The addition of a house elf would be the first line of defense. He’d also fashion you a portkey-like talisman. “If you’re ever in danger, just grasp the locket and think my full name. It’ll bring you straight to me.”
Note: It would work by housing a lock of hair--honing onto the person’s genetic signature. He’d also enchant it so that no one but you (and him) can touch it.
● You’d feel ashamed of yourself. Much to his disbelief. Could he blame you though? He’d trained you, himself--had warned you to always be on guard when out. And had you listened? No. Now he’d be the one to suffer the consequences.
● He’d comfort you. Truly, (Y/N), he doesn’t blame you. Remembering what it was like to be inexperienced with war, he’d known you would let your guard down. It’s to be expected.
Slashers’ Reaction to Their (Future) S/O Giving Them a Shoulder Massage
Quick Note: I just wanted to thank all my lovely followers who reblogged the GoFundMe post. (You may not know, but I always read your tags and thank you for the kind words--I love you all, too! *ugly cries into Ollie’s fur*) I also wanted to give a big ‘thank you’ to the three people who donated. I know I thanked you already, but I wanted to do so again.
Jason Voorhees
He’d struggle to calm down. As they always do when Jason sharpens his machete, memories of his mother’s death would flood his mind. Her sobs, her screams, her...head. He still remembered the way her blood shone like black ink each time lightning illuminated her body. Lasing out, he’d slam chairs, fling heavy objects...anything to distract him.
You’d bring him back to the present. At the sound of his name, he’d whirl around. Would it frighten you? Absolutely. Imagine having all that hulking rage staring you down. Still, he hadn’t hurt you before--though he’d had plenty of chances. Voice shaky, you’d instruct him to sit down.
He’d be extremely tense. Jason Voorhees and physical contact are somewhat of a mix-matched pair. That being said, he hasn’t felt a comforting touch since his drowning. Meaning? He’s not going anywhere. Enjoy those muscles, (Y/N), because he’s in a full-on trance. He’ll sit there for literal hours if you want.
Thomas Hewitt
He’d feel worthless. Hoyt is an abusive bastard--physically and emotionally. No one is safe from him. Not even Thomas. Every time you heard his words to Thomas, you’d wince. Tonight would be no different. After several minutes of silence, Thomas would appear. Pretending to busy yourself with this-or-that, you’d covertly watch him slump into the old kitchen chair, heart going out to him.
He’d be on guard. Eying you warily, his muscles would tense as you walk behind him. What were you doing? Surely you wouldn’t attack him--you were smarter than that.
He’d uncoil. After a bit of shock. Lord, but your hands felt so good... Relaxing into the chair with an audible creek, he’d release a pent-up breath. Yes, he needed this. He needed soft, comforting touch. Turning to putty in your hands, he’d let his head fall back, his hair brushing the backs of your hands.
Note: If you play with his hair, his eyes will close in bliss.
Michael Myers
He’d be sore. What could possibly make Michael Myers--the Boogeyman, himself--sore? Falling through a floor at the old Myers house would do it. *Lays on his back, wheezing* Imagine your surprise when he comes home, covered in dust.
He’s not letting you touch him. He’s got an image to uphold, after all. Watching the stiff manner in which he moves about the room, you’d pensively chew your lip. Should you help him? What if he stabs you? To be fair, that would be a legitimate possibility--especially when he’s agitated.
You’d bring him a warm washcloth. “Here,” you’d say, warily approaching him. “Drape this over your shoulders. It’ll help relax your muscles. You should probably take a warm bath, too.” That’s the extent of what he’d allow. Anymore and you’re at risk for rejection. *Slinks off to his room to do as you’d suggested*
Brahms Heelshire
He’d be crying. Brahms...crying? Isn’t he supposed to be a man-child? What does he have to cry about (other than not getting his way)? Brace yourself, (Y/N). He’s more complex than originally assumed.
He wouldn’t notice you at first. Head hung in shame, he’d be sitting before the portrait of his parents. They’d killed themselves because of him. Was he that much of a monster? Of course you are, his mind would harshly reply.
He’d enjoy himself. A lot. The second your hands start to massage his aching muscles, Brahms would groan, head lolling back as his body goes weak. You were an angel--you had to be. Placing a hand over yours, he’d give it a grateful squeeze. You were still there. And in that moment, he’d promise himself to treat you right.
BONUS:
How this would change your relationship...
Jason Voorhees: Opening up to you, Jason would start to encourage exploration of the camp. Do you want to investigate the cabins? He’d even allow you to visit his old room. He’d also try to be calmer--allowing you to help him if you want.
Thomas Hewitt: You’re his person now, (Y/N). Are you upset? Do you need anything from him? How about trying to lift something heavy? *Immediately strides over to help you.* Simply put, he’d be far less shy--putting your needs above his desire to hide away.
Michael Myers: Softens toward you. Are you stiff? Without a word, he’d fetch you a warm washcloth before heading upstairs to run you a hot bath. (Pst...Try not to be too obvious with your shock, (Y/N). *Closes openly gaping mouth*)
Brahms Heelshire: He’d be kinder to you, seeking to perform works of service to show how much he values your presence. There’d also be pleasant surprises. I’m talking delicious meals à la Chef Brahms, beautiful jewels (belonging to the Heelshire family), etc.
Imagine your first winter with Jason. There he’d be–impervious to the cold. Meanwhile, you’d be standing a few feet away, clinging to the last shreds of warmth in your body.
I want anyone who feels like they’ll never find someone to know that you deserve happiness. Love yourself--because you’re worth loving.
Jason Voorhees
You’re you. It’s really as simple as that, (Y/N). Has he seen people with better bodies? Of course. Outward appearance means nothing to him, though. Besides, who is he to judge?
He’d be attracted to you. Jason is very sexually repressed. For him to feel any physical attraction, he’ll need to get to know you first. And once he does? Bring on the sexy daydreams!
He’d be there for you. Two words: thick thighs. They ruin everything--from sneaking around (*chafing sounds give you away*) to maintaining your favorite pair of jeans (*sobs at the sight of thigh holes*). That’s not how Jason sees them, though. Firstly, jeans can be replaced. As for sneaking? Sure, the sound of your thighs rubbing together is what gave you away...totally. He loves feeling your soft thighs cradling his frame as you make love.
Thomas Hewitt
Actual post on this: Thomas Hewitt with a Plus-Sized S/O
Michael Myers
He doesn’t care. So, you’re overweight. What does that have to do with who you are? As an objectively handsome man, Michael could have anyone he wanted. But that’s just it...he’s seen that physical beauty is only skin deep. He wants you--no matter the packaging.
He’d be loyal to you. I’m not talking about cheating (which he would never do). I mean this man would literally kill for you. Did someone belittle you? Dead. A slight against you is a slight against him; it’s as simple as that.
Brahm Heelshire
Actual post on this: Brahms Heelshire with a Plus-Sized S/O
Vincent Sinclair
He’d want to sculpt you. Don’t be surprised when you find little fertility-goddess-esque figurines of yourself around the House of Wax. Watching you from the shadows, he’d nervously await your reaction. How had he made you seem so...appealing? If you tear up, he’d silently come forward to wrap his arms around you. “You made me beautiful.” That’s because you are, (Y/N).
He’d show you his face. Seeing the way you view your own body...? It’d be hauntingly familiar. *Looks at himself in the mirror* Unlike him, you couldn’t hide behind a mask. At the realization, he’d start to make self-portraits. He’s not ready to take off his mask, (Y/N), but he will show you what to expect when he is.
Bo Sinclair
Let’s be honest, Bo’s an asshole. ...He just is. If you’re expecting romance and sensitivity from the start, this man will absolutely disappoint. He’s not going to give you the time of day. Not at first, at least. (Don’t worry, he’ll feel guilty about it later.)
He’d taunt you. At first, he’d simply relish your discomfort. Yet once he starts to genuinely want you? Prepare for an influx of pain. Refusing to acknowledge the real reason he wants to grope you, he’d hide behind cruel remarks, pointing out your ‘blubber’ and such. (Seriously, he’s an asshole.)
He’d make you snap. This is when he’d realize how much he’s hurt you. And seeing this other side of you? Instant intrigue. More importantly, though, instant guilt. Maybe...maybe he had gone too far. *Heart drops at the sight of your enraged tears*
He’d try to make it up to you. First thing’s first: clothes. He’d find you clothing to flatters your figure, giving genuine praise when you reluctantly try it on.
Thomas Hewitt’s Reaction to An Escaped Victim Harming His S/O
Anonymous: Thomas after one of his victims escapes and ends up harming his s/o pretty seriously?? Like, they’re fine, but it was a close call. Would he freak out, or shut down out of guilt...? Also, I love you writing, btw.
● Bones would break. He wouldn’t bother with a chainsaw. Dropping it in his rush to reach you, Thomas would literally fling your attacker across the room, slamming them into the wall. They’d dared to touch you? You’d never seen Thomas so violent. Just the undiluted fury would cause your attacker to soil themselves as they feebly struggle against his hold.
● Animalistic Thomas. Everyone knows Thomas is strong. But seeing him crush bone? If you weren’t in shock, perhaps you’d feel differently, but seeing him protect you made you feel so safe. Thomas was there. No one would hurt you, now.
● He’d struggle to calm down. The instant he finishes with the escapee, Thomas would frantically turn to you. Are you alright? Let him look at you. *Does his best to gently survey the damage* His heart would sink at the realization that you’ll need stitches.
● He’d hate seeing you hurt. Keeping you still, each of your cries would be a stab to the gut. He’d silently will Luda Mae to work faster. Are you holding his hand? Go ahead, (Y/N), squeeze as hard as you need. Afterward, Thomas would gingerly lift you into his arms, caring you upstairs to rest.
● Breakfast in Bed. He wouldn’t leave your side--much to your bemusement. Honestly, it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t need to do all this. Thomas would, obviously, disagree. *Shamelessly spoils you*
Note: Were you thirsty? *Rushes downstairs to get you a glass of sweet tea* Cold? *Buries you in a mountain of blankets*
“Thomas,” you’d groan. “All I want is rest. Watching you run around is making me tired. Now, come here and snuggle with me. I’m lonely.”
BONUS:
Once you’re healed...
● He’d kiss your scar. He could have lost you. Skimming his fingers over the harsh raised line, he’d feel grounded. You were here; you loved him. He’d never let anything happen to you again.
