How the slashers would react to sleeping in the same bed as you for the first time .° ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁
includes : Jason Voorhees, Brahms Heelshire, Thomas Hewitt, Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair & Lester Sinclair!
with GN reader, no smt, no implication of anything like that, just fluff n comfort!! ☁︎
A/N : First time writing this type of fic/post, so please be kind and english is not my first language, so if there are any mistake, I do apologies!
Jason Voorhees
➛ Sleeping in the same bed as Jason is something that happens without discussion. There’s no suggestion and no awkward buildup.
➛ Night falls, you’re tired, the cabin only has one bed, and Jason simply stands there waiting to see what you’ll do. He doesn’t look at the bed, he looks at you.
➛ When you lie down, he stays standing for a long moment, mask tilted slightly like he’s listening to something you can’t hear.
➛ Only after the room is completely quiet does he sit, the mattress dipping under his weight. He doesn’t rush, Jason never rushes when it comes to things that matter.
➛ He lies down fully clothed, positioning himself between you and the rest of the room without saying a word. It’s instinctive, protective in a way that feels ancient, like this is how he’s always slept when someone mattered enough to guard.
➛ He doesn’t touch you, not because he’s hesitant, but because he’s controlled.
➛ Jason is very aware of his strength, so he keeps his hands folded near his chest, still as stone, even when you shift in your sleep and end up closer to him than you meant to.
➛ He allows it, that’s the difference.
➛ The room feels different with him there. Quieter, heavier and safer, even if that doesn’t make sense since he kind of off's people but still, that's how you feel.
➛ You fall asleep faster than you expect to, giving you barely any time time to act like a teenager sleeping with a boy for the first time since you’re already deep asleep after a few minutes.
➛ Jason doesn’t really sleep at first, not that he really needs to anyway.
➛ He listens. Every creak of the cabin, every change in your breathing, every sound outside…
➛ When you move, he tenses, ready. Ready for what? He doesn’t know but still, he is ready.
➛ When you settle again, he relaxes just enough to stop listening for every sound around the both of you for a second.
➛ At some point during the night, you roll too close, your shoulder pressing into his side.
➛ He stiffens for half a second, then slowly exhales. He adjusts just enough to give you space without pushing you away, one arm bending slightly so you’re tucked closer to his chest.
➛ It’s not affectionate in the traditional sense, it’s containment, as if he’s making sure you stay exactly where he can protect you.
➛ If you wake up in the middle of the night, you’ll find his head tilted down toward you, mask close enough that you can feel his breath through it. He doesn’t move when he realizes you’re awake, he just stays there, watching, until you settle again. Only then does he relax.
➛ Jason sleeps in intervals. Short, light rests broken by long stretches of awareness.
➛ When he does drift off, it’s with his body angled toward you, one knee bent, blocking you in without trapping you. You’re not restrained, you’re shielded.
➛ In the morning, he’s already awake. He moves away before you can really process how close he was, standing and turning his back like nothing happened.
➛ The next night, when you hesitate by the bed, he waits. When you lie down again, he takes the same position as the night before without question.
➛ Sleeping in the same bed with Jason isn’t tender or romantic on the surface. Yet once it starts, it becomes routine in the way only lovers do.
Brahms Heelshire
➛ Sleeping in the same bed as Brahms is something that happens slowly, over time, even if you don’t realize it at first.
➛ It starts with him sitting at the edge of the bed while you lie down, watching you carefully like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he looks away.
➛ He doesn’t like the idea of being too far from you, even at night.
➛ He says it’s because the house gets loud and he also says it’s because he sleeps better when he knows you’re there, by that he means seeing you there.
➛ He doesn’t say what he’s really afraid of tho.
➛ The first time you actually share the bed is after you’ve kind of had it of him hovering over you while you sleep.
➛ It’s really easy to get him in the bed with you, you barely finish the sentence that he’s already under the covers.
➛ You suspect him of having already gone in your bed while you slept but you just can’t prove it.
➛ It’s how he acts once he’s in it that’s more…interesting.
➛ Because if he really did go in your bed with you before, you were sleeping and unaware of it. But right now? You’re awake and very aware of him which seems to make him fidgety.
➛ He fidgets, adjusts the blankets over and over again, glancing at you like he’s waiting for permission, even if he doesn’t ask for it out loud.
➛ You can tell he wants to be close but doesn’t know how much is too much. He’s learned that touching people too much can make them leave thanks to his past nannies.
➛ When he finally lies down, he stays on his side, facing you, knees pulled in slightly, hands tucked close to his chest.
➛ He watches you like he’s memorizing the way you breathe and you can feel his eyes on you even when the room is dark.
➛ Brahms asks quiet questions before he falls asleep. If you’re comfortable, what you’ll make for breakfast, if he’s too close, if he’ll have to take a bath tomorrow, if he can stay…
➛ His voice is soft and uncertain, and every answer you give seems to relax him just a little more. Well, except for the shower question since you said that yes, he does.
➛ He doesn’t touch you at first, not really.
➛ His hand might brush against yours under the blankets, fingers twitching like he wants to hold on but isn’t sure if he’s allowed.
➛ When you reach out and lace your fingers with his, he stiffens in surprise before squeezing back like he’s afraid to let go.
➛ Once he realizes you’re really not going anywhere or going to throw him off the bed, he inches closer. Slowly and carefully, which is surprising coming from him.
➛ He presses his forehead against your shoulder or your arm, breathing you in like grounding himself.
➛ His hands grip your shirt, bunching the fabric between his trembling fingers. It’s not aggressive, it’s desperate, like he needs to know you’re real.
➛ Brahms sleeps lighter than you do. He wakes up if you move, no matter how small the movement is.
➛ If you roll over, he follows, wrapping himself around you from behind, clinging to you like a baby koala.
➛ He whispers your name in his sleep sometimes, like he’s checking that you’re still there.
➛ If you wake up in the middle of the night, you’ll find his arm wrapped tightly around your waist, porcelain face pressed into the back of your neck, breath warm and steady.
➛ He relaxes completely when you shift closer instead of pulling away. His grip tightens just a little, possessive but fragile, like he’s afraid someone might take you from him any second.
➛ In the morning, he doesn’t let go right away. He nuzzles into your shoulder, mumbling that he slept better than he usually does.
➛ He looks almost embarrassed when he realizes how close he is, yet he doesn’t move unless you do.
➛ After that night, sleeping apart isn’t really an option anymore.
➛ Brahms doesn’t ask, he just expects it, as if it’s now part of his routine.
➛ If you try to sleep somewhere else, he gets quiet and withdrawn, eyes following you with that familiar anxious expression.
➛ He needs you there, needs your warmth, your closeness and the reassurance that he isn’t alone.
Thomas Hewitt
➛ Thomas gets the idea first but he doesn’t suggest it outright.
➛ In fact, the idea alone makes him nervous. He paces, rubs his hands together, glances between you and the bed like he’s trying to figure out what the ‘right’ thing to do is.
➛ Mama would probably have opinions, saying that he shouldn’t sleep in the same bed as her before marriage, and that alone makes him hesitate.
➛ With that in mind, after thinking about it all day, he offers his bed to you, pointing at himself than the floor to tell you that’s where he’ll sleep.
➛ He genuinely believes that’s what he’s supposed to do.
➛ When you insist that there’s enough room for both of you and that it's ok to sleep in the same bed, he looks confused, like the thought never even crossed his mind.
➛ When he finally agrees, which was after long minutes convincing him that you really are ok with it and God probably is too, he takes his time getting in.
➛ He sits on the edge of the mattress for a while, hunched over, shoulders rounded and damp hands clasped together tightly.
➛ You can hear his breathing speed up with every passing second and you can also tell he’s trying very hard not to make a mistake, even if you don’t really know what mistake he could possibly make but, well, it’s Tommy.
➛ Thomas lies down stiffly, keeping as much space between you as possible. He faces the opposite direction at first, back tense, like he’s afraid to move even an inch.
➛ He’s huge, he knows it. He’s constantly aware of how much space he takes up, how easy it would be to scare or hurt you without meaning to.
➛ You’re the one who breaks the tension as you shift closer, not touching yet, just enough that he can feel your warmth.
➛ He sucks in a quiet breath and freezes, heart pounding so loudly you’re pretty sure you can feel it through the mattress.
➛ Thomas doesn’t touch you first, he just waits. For what? He doesn't really know, but still, he waits.
➛ His hand twitches at his side, fingers curling and uncurling like he wants to reach out.
➛ When you gently place your hand over his, he flinches for half a second before relaxing into it, squeezing your hand like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever held.
➛ Once he realizes you’re okay, that you’re not scared or bothered by his presence, something in him softens.
➛ He inches closer, movements slow and careful. His arm eventually slides around you, heavy but warm, resting against your back.
➛ He’s constantly checking your reaction, pulling back slightly if you tense, relaxing again when you don’t.
➛ Thomas sleeps lighter than you expect. Which isn’t that much of a surprise, with him being called every second by the Hewitt's no matter the time.
➛ He wakes up if you move too much, lifting his head to make sure you’re ok.
➛ If you wake up during the night, you might find him half-awake, watching you with that quiet, worried expression. He relaxes instantly when you mumble his name or reach for him.
➛ He’s a protective sleeper, surprisingly even more than when he’s awake.
➛ Once he fully settles, he curls around you, shielding you from the room like his body alone can keep you safe. His breathing evens out slowly, deep and steady, and you realize he hasn’t slept this peacefully in a long time.
➛ In the morning, he’s embarrassed.
➛ He pulls back quickly, apologizing in his own way with grunts, worried he got too close or held you too tightly.
➛ When you reassure him, his shoulders loosen and a shy, relieved smile flickers across his face.
➛ After that, sleeping apart feels wrong to him. He won’t ask to share the bed again, but he lingers nearby at night, waiting to see what you’ll do.
➛ If you lie down without him, he looks genuinely disappointed but, if you pat the mattress beside you, he brightens instantly, climbing in with quiet excitement he tries very hard to hide.
➛ Sleeping in the same bed with Thomas makes him feel safe in a way he’s never really known. And once he knows that feeling, he doesn’t want to lose it.
Bo Sinclair
➛ The proposition came from you but the idea from him.
➛ The suggestion alone makes him tense up, jaw tightening like he’s annoyed you even brought it up, even though it wasn’t really your idea in the first place.
➛ There’s only one bed, the couch is uncomfortable, and he’s already decided the conversation is over before it really starts.
➛ Bo pretends this isn’t a big deal, but acts like it absolutely is.
➛ He tells you it’s just sleeping, then he tells you to quit overthinking it to then tell you he’s not gonna hurt you in an annoyed groan.
➛ None of that makes the situation less nerve-wracking but you appreciate his effort to try and reassure you, or he’s trying to reassure himself, you’re not really sure.
➛ He insists you get in first, standing there with his arms crossed while you awkwardly sit down on the edge of the mattress, debating every life choice that led you here.
➛ The bed dips when you lie down and you stay stiff, keeping to your side like there’s an invisible boundary between you.
➛ When he finally gets in, the mattress shifts again and suddenly he’s right there. Too close, too warm and way too real.
➛ Bo lies on his back, staring at the ceiling like it’s its fault that he’s in this situation.
➛ He doesn’t touch you at first, doesn’t even look at you.
➛ You can tell he’s aware of every single movement you make though, because the second you adjust the blanket, his shoulders tense.
➛ You can’t sleep. You’re painfully aware that Bo Sinclair is inches away from you and that this is the quietest you’ve ever seen him, which is somehow even worse than him yelling. No sarcastic remarks, no threats, no barking orders… Just the sound of his breathing and the weight of his presence next to you.
➛ When you shift for the third time, he lets out an annoyed sigh and mutters something about you being restless and stopping him from falling asleep. You mumble an apology without thinking and he scoffs, telling you not to apologize like that.
➛ His tone softens immediately after, like he regrets snapping but he would never admit it.
➛ At some point, you finally do magically fall asleep and you roll slightly onto your side in your sleep, making your back press against his arm.
➛ It’s barely anything, but it’s enough for him to freeze completely, breath hitching before he forces himself to relax.
➛ He doesn’t pull away. Instead, after a long moment of hesitation, his arm slowly slides around your waist. Not possessive nor tight like he usually holds you, but softly, like he’s testing whether this is allowed.
➛ You wake up enough to notice it and your heart starts racing immediately as you realize, yet he doesn’t say anything.
➛ His grip stays gentle, thumb resting against your side, absentmindedly drawing circles on your skin.
➛ When you don’t pull away and just settle back with a soft smile, he exhales quietly, like he didn’t realize he was holding his breath.
➛ Bo is not a cuddler, at least he will never call himself that. If you asked him in the morning, he’d deny it completely.
➛ But as the night goes on, his hold becomes more secure. If you move, he adjusts automatically, half-asleep, but still aware of where you are, protective without meaning to be.
➛ You feel safer than you should and that realization alone makes your chest ache a little. It’s confusing and unsettling and warm all at once.
➛ If you wake up in the middle of the night, he’s awake too, pretending he isn’t.
➛ He murmurs for you to go back to sleep once he sees you still awake after a few minutes, voice low and rough, his thumb still rubbing small, absent circles into your side like it’s muscle memory.
➛ You fall asleep faster after that, simply humming to him in response as his hold around you gets a little tighter.
➛ In the morning, he’s already awake and the second he realizes you are too, he pulls his arm away like he’s been caught doing something embarrassing.
➛ He avoids your eyes, tells you not to read into it, mutters something about it just being easier to sleep that way.
➛ But the next time you ask to sleep with him again, he doesn’t argue at all.
Vincent Sinclair
➛ Just like Jason, nobody suggest it, Vincent only has one bed and it’s kind of obvious to him that you will be sleeping in it, which you understand quickly.
➛ He doesn’t object when the situation comes up, just tilts his head and watches you carefully, eyes flicking from you to the bed and back again like he’s studying the scene before it happens. You can almost see him planning where to place himself.
➛ Sleeping in the same bed as Vincent feels strangely intimate right away, even though he barely makes a sound.
➛ He turns the lamp off before either of you lies down. The room sinks into darkness immediately, he prefers it that way, especially since he prefers to sleep without his mask on.
➛ When he gets into bed, he does it quietly, careful not to jostle you.
➛ He positions himself on his side, facing you, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other resting against the mattress between your body and his.
➛ Vincent watches, that’s the first thing you notice. Not in a threatening way, not even in a creepy way, just… attentive. Like he’s sketching you in his mind.
➛ He doesn’t touch you at first. Instead, he mirrors you.
➛ If you lie on your side, he does the same. If you pull the blanket higher, he adjusts it on himself too. There’s something oddly comforting about it, like he’s syncing himself to you.
➛ At some point, he reaches out, not to you, but to the blanket again. He gently tugs it over your shoulder when it slips down, fingers brushing your arm in the process. He pauses, watching for your reaction with the little light available in the room.
➛ When you don’t pull away, his hand lingers just a second longer than necessary before retreating.
➛ Vincent sleeps lightly, even if he can sleep really heavily when he hasn’t slept in too long. But when he does drift off, which takes time, he moves closer without fully waking.
➛ He ends up near enough that you can feel the warmth of his body, the slow rise and fall of his breathing.
➛ One of his hands rests near your wrist, not holding it, just there, like he wants to know you’re close.
➛ If you wake up and look at him, you’ll find him already awake sometimes, eyes open, studying your face.
➛ He doesn’t look away when you catch him. Instead, he reaches up and gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, the motion careful and reverent.
➛ He doesn’t smile, but there’s something soft in his expression that feels like one.
➛ Vincent communicates in small gestures. If you’re cold, he shifts closer. If you tense, he stills. If you relax, he relaxes too.
➛ He learns your sleeping habits quickly, adjusting himself to fit into your space without overtaking it.
➛ In the morning, he’s still there, watching the light creep into the room.
➛ He doesn’t get up right away, he takes a moment to simply watch you sleep before putting his mask back on his face.
➛ Instead of then getting out of the bed, he reaches for a scrap of paper and a pencil from the nightstand. He sketches quietly while you’re asleep, glancing at you between strokes.
➛ When you finally wake up fully, he pushes the paper toward you. It’s a simple drawing. You, asleep, looking more peaceful than you’ve ever felt.
➛ Sleeping in the same bed with Vincent isn’t loud or a dramatic act. It’s gentle, observant and deeply personal.
➛ Once he lets you into that space, you become part of his routine, his art and his of calm and Vincent doesn’t let go of things that inspire him.
Lester Sinclair
➛ Sleeping in the same bed as Lester happens in a way that feels almost accidental.
➛ He talks about it first, joking about what if you did? But you don’t joke about that. And he realizes it when you accept with a seriousness he rarely sees in you.
➛ He laughs it off at first, scratching the back of his neck, making some dumb joke about how he snores or how he’s ‘not exactly prime cuddle material.’
➛ He fully expects you to back out, he’s already halfway convinced you’re going to.
➛ When you don’t, he blinks at you like he misheard.
➛ He insists on changing the sheets. Like, immediately. Says something about them being dusty and not great for guests, even though you know he just wants to make it nice for you.
➛ He fusses around the room longer than necessary, talking the whole time, filling the silence so neither of you has to acknowledge how big this feels for him.
➛ When you finally get into bed, Lester stays perched on the edge for a moment, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.
➛ He mutters another joke, something about rolling over and crushing you by accident. He's clearly not trying to be funny, he's just too nervous.
➛ He lies down carefully after you tell him to, stiff at first, like he’s afraid the bed might collapse under the weight of the situation.
➛ He gives you plenty of space, more than you actually need, and keeps his hands folded awkwardly over his stomach, fingers tapping on it nervously. You can tell he doesn’t know what to do with them.
➛ Lester talks himself to sleep. Not loudly, just murmuring little comments about the day, about dumb things he noticed and about the animals outside.
➛ It’s rambling and unfocused, but there’s something soothing about it, like he’s letting you into his head without realizing it.
➛ At some point, he shifts closer, making it look like he does it without meaning to. Not dramatically, just inch by inch, until your shoulders brush.
➛ He freezes when he feels your skin, breath hitching, waiting for you to react.
➛ When you don’t pull away, he lets out a quiet laugh, almost disbelieving.
➛ He doesn’t wrap an arm around you. Instead, he bumps his knee against yours lightly, like a question.
➛ When you respond by nudging back, he relaxes completely, tension draining out of him in a way that’s painfully obvious.
➛ Lester sleeps deeper than you expect. Once he’s out, he’s out.
➛ He mumbles in his sleep sometimes, nonsense words, half-formed thoughts.
➛ If you move too much, he instinctively shifts to make room, always accommodating you even when he’s not conscious.
➛ If you wake up during the night, you’ll find him turned toward you, face soft, completely unguarded.
➛ One hand might be resting near you, not touching, just close enough that you could reach for it if you wanted.
➛ There’s something achingly lonely about the way he sleeps, like he’s not used to sharing space with anyone who actually wants to be there.
➛ In the morning, he wakes up red in the face.
➛ Laughs it off immediately, making jokes about drooling or stealing the blankets. But there’s a quiet happiness under it all, something he doesn’t try to hide very hard.
➛ He lingers longer than necessary next to you before getting up, stretching, moving slowly like he doesn’t want the moment to end.
➛ After that, Lester starts finding excuses. The couch being uncomfortable, this room being warmer…
➛ He still jokes about it every time, still acts surprised when you don’t leave, but he always makes sure there’s room for you.
➛ Sleeping in the same bed with Lester feels easy andamiliar, like something he’s wanted for a long time but never thought he deserved. And once he realizes you’re choosing to be there, it means more to him than he’ll ever say out loud… For now, at least.
If you guys don't start behaving I'm going to turn off reblogs for this post. This post is about launching matchbox cars into your wall at high enough speeds to lodge them there. Nobody cares about how strong the walls in your house are, and I'm suddenly learning that a lot of people on this webbed site don't know what drywall is, but none of that matters.
The only thing that matters is shoot cars into your wall.
Jinshi isn't sure why you're here. He's not complaining, though—you're propped up on a chair, pretending to sort through a pile of papers with a concentrated expression on your face. In reality, you're just here to take delight in Suiren's sweets. Jinshi couldn't care less—he loved hearing your opinions and, more than anything, he deeply enjoyed your company.
"What is that one about?" He speaks up, arching a brow as you stuff a small pastry in your mouth. You freeze—as if caught red-handed—before gulping down the baked good. There are crumbs on the corner of your mouth, making Jinshi hold back a chuckle.
"Uh...Oh, you know..." You trail off, running your hand over the paper as you buy time. You give small peeks at the document, trying to figure out what exactly it might be saying. "Inner court...stuff?" Jinshi sighs, shaking his head.
"Are you here to help me with my work, or to eat free snacks?" At that, you could only look away, as if to say, It's not my fault the food's good. Your cheeks flushed as you groaned, slumping over.
"But this is so boring... Can't you hoist this upon Gaoshun?" Jinshi gives you a sympathetic look—if only it were that easy. "Surely you must be tired..." You glanced at him—he really did seem like he was pushing himself too hard. A break wouldn't hurt.
"If anything, he would reinforce me doing my share of work," he muses, running a hand through his hair. Suddenly, he stops, looking towards you with an appraising glance. "But I guess one small break wouldn't hurt..."
That could only make you grin. You disregard the papers, diving into the rest of the sweets as Jinshi just stares at you, suppressing his laughter. You were careful to check that Suiren wouldn't just barge in on the scene—the both of you slacking off, that is. Though suddenly an idea got to you, and a mischievous grin made it's way to your face.
"I don't like whatever is going on through your mind at the moment," Jinshi says, bracing himself for whatever you were about to say.
"Yes, you do! We're on break, and you were so kind to offer me sweets, I feel like I should pay you back," you say, smiling innocently as you play with the papers in front of you. Jinshi shakes his head, leaning back against his chair.
"That's the least I could do, so—"
"I'll call you by your name."
"Excuse you?" Jinshi paled—what were you thinking? If anyone were to find out, your head would end up on a silver plate. His heart couldn’t take that. But you didn't care, you trusted Jinshi, and you two were alone. Just once would be fine, right?
"It'll be fine! I just need you to give me permission, don't you want me to call you that at least once?" Well, how could he say no to that? The way you were looking at him left his cheeks flushing. Still, he couldn’t forgive himself if something were to happen to you, so first he made sure no one could hear.
"...Just once."
"Yay! Zuigetsu." You say abruptly, tasting his name on your tongue. Jinshi looks like a bomb just dropped right on his head. Silence fills the room as he stares at you. First, he looks like his soul left his body, then his face grows red, hands gripping his desk.
"Uhm...Jinshi? Are you—"
"One...One more time." He gasps out, leaning forward. Your eyes widen before you burst into a fit of giggles. Before you can grant his wish, though, Suiren comes in bearing more sweets.
Her eyes settle on the scene, sharp as they dart between you and the flustered young boy.
"Oh my, just what happened?"
Jinshi was K.O'd, unable to answer.
a/n: I guess reader has a death wish😭 only thing I was really able to write pulled me straight out of my writers block
Ok like. Imagine life without ads. You wake up, check your messages across a variety of apps, no ads. You get up and put on the tv while you prep your breakfast, no ads. Maybe you drive somewhere and switch on the radio, no ads. Maybe you drive a long distance, yet somehow, not a single billboard on your path. You pick up a newspaper or magazine to pass the time, no advertisements only articles. You turn on your game console, the home screen is just about your games, no ads to buy more. You open a streaming app, you don't pay extra for no ads, there's just no ads ever.
Think about how much of your time is spent looking at ads. "Download ublock" yeah I know, I have. But that doesn't change that the world is covered with endless advertising. Imagine never seeing that again. How much better our lives would be.
Apothecary Diaries is so funny. The ladies in waiting look at Maomao and are like ohmigosh a poor adorable abused puppy we must smother her in love and teach her our ways 😍 and the concubines are all like she saved my life and she saved my baby and she's so brave and smart and we love her so much and jinshi and everyone else is heart eyes about her and meanwhile Maomao is like el chupacabra in the corner barfing up goat bones
I really hated this girl in my class and we kept exchanging notes with various threats of violence on them but then on a Zoom call I saw that she kept a bunch of them pinned on her wall with little hearts around them and I got the biggest crush on her after that.
hating urself while being Pierrot darling must be insane because imagine you hate everything about yourself but Pierrot loves every inch and crevice and personality flaw you have and is devoting every second to loving you?
like you'd confide in someone that you don't think you're lovable, then pierrot comes across later and repeats "i love you" and kisses you until you believe it.
+18, Down bad Lucifer! Perv and jealous Levi! This is just an silly idea I had lol
Hii cuties! I just wanted to say that I am working on your asks but, I'm not really good in my head these days to write something longer, so be patient with me, pls :(
Comments and reblogs appreciated! <3
LUCIFER.
"I like cruelty, but this, is getting unhinged. It's an unfair game I am playing and losing alone. Their tatics have a finesse I wouldn't find on my progenitor's house.
Their lips alone make me crumble. When they say my name, when they keep digging in books and files to know more about me...I wish to open myself like a shameless flower on the sun light.
Today, I felt their lips on my cheek, followed by a name my past self treasured by heart: Lux.
It's been centuries since I asked for strength, since I did any form of personal spiritual ritual, but I succumbed. I have been doing cleansing fasts, rereading things I already know, and returning to long-forgotten practices—all just to purge myself of this heated agony that tastes of coffee brewed by human hands.
Their body trigger reactions in me that only out-of-control pigs, driven by their deepest desires, would have. But I can't help it. The way their hand ruffles throught my hair when I am tired and alone. The way they hug me and I can feel their spine arching to the max so that they are in full contact with my body. Their sweet words that brings heat to this human form of mine...I want them engraved in my bones.
Father, give me strength, for I do not know what I might do once I fall from grace (again). If I still have a favor, If I still am the light of your eyes, put me out of my misery. Hear my last prayer, please, give them to me, let them fall into my lap like a feather on a pile of gold...please-
LEVIATHAN.
I hate them. All of them. Why do things, people, everything, that is MINE, always have to be taken away from me?
Why every step I get closer, someone shifts the narrative, and now I am miles away, again?
The anime event was supposed to be our date! Ours! I made everything! Their clothes, their accessories! I took their measures, I smelled their skin and touched and molded and groped their body to my own pleasure! I know things my brothers won't ever know! I know the size of their thighs when they are standing up and when they are sitting;I know how much their stomach grows when they eat; I know what makes them blush; I know what type of people they like, and it's me! Im their type and they love me!
It's all me! Me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, and it will always be me! Don't they think they have the upper hand because I won't play about it, not about my cute sheep, ever. If I have to summon Lotan and destroy every single one of them, I will.
Maybe they just need a mark. My mark. But what can I do? I should just fuck them already. Senseless. Im tired of watching porn with people who look like them. I know they tease me. With their smile, and their clothes...clinging to my arm when I am teaching them how to play that fucking game...their happy shouts when they manage a kill; calling me teacher Levi...I know they want me, I know it, I know it! It's in their eyes.
They looked so bashful when they found the art account that makes nfsw of them...not them actually, just an oc I made that have features extremely close to theirs. I think it's because they recognized my art style...that's gross. Im so fucking gross, I should kill myself already.
I am using the comissions money to pamper them tho....
Would they slap me if they knew most of their underwear is stained with me? They should, I don't mind. They can spit in my face, call me gross, weirdo, loser, and my dick would still stand proud for them. I am loyal.
Just the thought of their hot and sweaty sex, their essence, mixing with mine through the day...the fuggy, thick scent...what wouldn't I do just to have a lick, just one.
Fuck, I am more romantical than that, I swear, but they are pissing me off. I wanna fuck them so bad it's pissing me off. I love them, so much that it hurts. I should die."
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