Welcome to my personal Nowhere. I hope you enjoy your stay!
I’m Vera/Moonlight/Oddity, I go by they/them pronouns (though she/her is also okay!) and prefer gender-neutral terms. I speak 🇬🇧 and 🇷🇺 fluently!
I selfship to cope with stress and to sprinkle a little wholesomeness into my life! You will find all of my f/o content here. This blog exists so I can show appreciation to the funny video game people in my head that have helped my mental health improve so much.
They call me a ‘friend of the Strange and Otherworldly’, and you’re about to find out why. (Most of my f/os are either subtly or not-so-subtly nonhuman!)
I draw and write sometimes, and I will interact from my main blog, which is @diegeticdivinity
There may be horrors beyond our comprehension in our worlds, but there will always be wonders beyond our comprehension also, otherworldly beauty beyond measure that we may one day discover. Is that not reason enough to fall madly in love with the Universe?
Hiiii, I really love your hl fics!! :] Could I please request some g-man comforting reader? you decide sfw or nsfw and everything else :>
-🐀
ʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔ I really need some comfort too rn, so I was glad to work on your request, dear! It's SFW too.
Enjoy!
ʕ♥ᴥ♥ʔ
The world had been heavy. Not in the cosmic, universe-ending sense - nothing so dramatic. Just the slow weight of ordinary human days. Deadlines. Disappointments. The quiet exhaustion of simply existing in a body that felt too fragile for the weight it carried. And so, you allowed yourself to cry. Not the dramatic, heaving sobs of acute grief, but the slow, silent leak of a spirit slowly filling with water. The kind that happens at 3 AM, when the world is asleep and your defenses are down and you just have to let your emotions pull you under.
You didn't call for him.
You never did.
And yet he answered your unspoken call. He didn't speak stepping inside a room. His briefcase lowered to the floor with an almost reverent silence. His dark jacket followed, draped over the arm of the chair with uncharacteristic carelessness. His tie - that eternal, perfect knot holding his throat - he loosened with his own fingers. Then his hand, cool and long and impossibly gentle, came to rest on your cheek. His thumb brushed away the wet trail, once, twice. His touch was the barest whisper, as if he was afraid his very nature might bruise you further.
"You are… distressed," he observed.
Not a question. You opened your mouth to deflect, to say you were fine, to perform the small, exhausting theater of okay-ness. Instead, what came out was a wet, embarrassed sniffle. His hand pressed just a bit more over your cheek, his eyes of impossible colors looking down at you, warm and cold at the same time.
"I do not…" He paused, searching for words. "I do not know what to do when you cry."
A laugh bubbled up through your tears, surprised and watery.
"You don't have to do anything. Just… be here."
“That… can be arranged. I will be here.”
You turned your face into his hand, pressing your warmth against his coolness. His breath caught - that small, soft sound you had learned to treasure.
"You don't have to fix it," you whispered. "You don't have to manage anything. Just stay. Please."
A long, quiet moment. Then his other hand came up, and he cradled your face between his large palms like you were something precious. Something he hadn't expected to find and didn't quite know how to keep, but wanted to.
Desperately.
"I see," he said simply. "And I will stay."
He pulled you gently toward him, guiding your head to rest against his chest. The fabric of his suit was rough against your cheek, and beneath it, his heartbeat was slow and steady. Not quite human, but close. Closer than it used to be. His arms came around you, stiff at first, then gradually relaxing. One hand settled on your back, the other found its way to your hair. His fingers carded through it slowly, gently, with a kind of quiet wonder.
"Hrmm. You're cold," you murmured into his chest.
"I am… aware of that, dear." A pause. "In return, it is nice to have you… this close to me. You seem to be always so warm."
You smiled against his shirt.
"Is that a complaint?"
"No." His voice dropped to barely a whisper. "It is one of my favorite things about you."
Your throat tightened as you curled your fingers into the fabric of his vest, pulling yourself closer. His arms tightened around you in response, a slow, careful pressure - like he was afraid of holding too tight, but more afraid of letting go.
"You can stay as long as you want," you whispered.
"Hmm. That might be a very long time."
"I hope that's okay."
"It's more than okay."
The weight on your chest - the ordinary, exhausting weight of being alive - had not vanished. But it had shifted, redistribute, some of it rested on the broad, angular shoulders of a man who had spent eternity managing the universe but had never been taught how to hold someone's heart. He was learning, slowly, with your patient guidance. His fingers continued their slow path through your hair, his heartbeat continued its steady rhythm, the world feeling small and safe again.
"This is nice," he said after a long while, his voice drowsy, unguarded. "Just… this. Sitting with you."
"You… you really think so? I’m a mess."
"Nonsense. You are just being human, my dear. My human."
You felt his cheek rest against the top of your head. His breath evened out, slow and peaceful. The great, terrible weight of your life could wait. Right now, there was only this: your warmth, his quiet presence, and the simple, profound act of holding and being held.
Hiiii, I really love your hl fics!! :] Could I please request some g-man comforting reader? you decide sfw or nsfw and everything else :>
-🐀
ʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔ I really need some comfort too rn, so I was glad to work on your request, dear! It's SFW too.
Enjoy!
ʕ♥ᴥ♥ʔ
The world had been heavy. Not in the cosmic, universe-ending sense - nothing so dramatic. Just the slow weight of ordinary human days. Deadlines. Disappointments. The quiet exhaustion of simply existing in a body that felt too fragile for the weight it carried. And so, you allowed yourself to cry. Not the dramatic, heaving sobs of acute grief, but the slow, silent leak of a spirit slowly filling with water. The kind that happens at 3 AM, when the world is asleep and your defenses are down and you just have to let your emotions pull you under.
You didn't call for him.
You never did.
And yet he answered your unspoken call. He didn't speak stepping inside a room. His briefcase lowered to the floor with an almost reverent silence. His dark jacket followed, draped over the arm of the chair with uncharacteristic carelessness. His tie - that eternal, perfect knot holding his throat - he loosened with his own fingers. Then his hand, cool and long and impossibly gentle, came to rest on your cheek. His thumb brushed away the wet trail, once, twice. His touch was the barest whisper, as if he was afraid his very nature might bruise you further.
"You are… distressed," he observed.
Not a question. You opened your mouth to deflect, to say you were fine, to perform the small, exhausting theater of okay-ness. Instead, what came out was a wet, embarrassed sniffle. His hand pressed just a bit more over your cheek, his eyes of impossible colors looking down at you, warm and cold at the same time.
"I do not…" He paused, searching for words. "I do not know what to do when you cry."
A laugh bubbled up through your tears, surprised and watery.
"You don't have to do anything. Just… be here."
“That… can be arranged. I will be here.”
You turned your face into his hand, pressing your warmth against his coolness. His breath caught - that small, soft sound you had learned to treasure.
"You don't have to fix it," you whispered. "You don't have to manage anything. Just stay. Please."
A long, quiet moment. Then his other hand came up, and he cradled your face between his large palms like you were something precious. Something he hadn't expected to find and didn't quite know how to keep, but wanted to.
Desperately.
"I see," he said simply. "And I will stay."
He pulled you gently toward him, guiding your head to rest against his chest. The fabric of his suit was rough against your cheek, and beneath it, his heartbeat was slow and steady. Not quite human, but close. Closer than it used to be. His arms came around you, stiff at first, then gradually relaxing. One hand settled on your back, the other found its way to your hair. His fingers carded through it slowly, gently, with a kind of quiet wonder.
"Hrmm. You're cold," you murmured into his chest.
"I am… aware of that, dear." A pause. "In return, it is nice to have you… this close to me. You seem to be always so warm."
You smiled against his shirt.
"Is that a complaint?"
"No." His voice dropped to barely a whisper. "It is one of my favorite things about you."
Your throat tightened as you curled your fingers into the fabric of his vest, pulling yourself closer. His arms tightened around you in response, a slow, careful pressure - like he was afraid of holding too tight, but more afraid of letting go.
"You can stay as long as you want," you whispered.
"Hmm. That might be a very long time."
"I hope that's okay."
"It's more than okay."
The weight on your chest - the ordinary, exhausting weight of being alive - had not vanished. But it had shifted, redistribute, some of it rested on the broad, angular shoulders of a man who had spent eternity managing the universe but had never been taught how to hold someone's heart. He was learning, slowly, with your patient guidance. His fingers continued their slow path through your hair, his heartbeat continued its steady rhythm, the world feeling small and safe again.
"This is nice," he said after a long while, his voice drowsy, unguarded. "Just… this. Sitting with you."
"You… you really think so? I’m a mess."
"Nonsense. You are just being human, my dear. My human."
You felt his cheek rest against the top of your head. His breath evened out, slow and peaceful. The great, terrible weight of your life could wait. Right now, there was only this: your warmth, his quiet presence, and the simple, profound act of holding and being held.
Hiiii, I really love your hl fics!! :] Could I please request some g-man comforting reader? you decide sfw or nsfw and everything else :>
-🐀
ʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔ I really need some comfort too rn, so I was glad to work on your request, dear! It's SFW too.
Enjoy!
ʕ♥ᴥ♥ʔ
The world had been heavy. Not in the cosmic, universe-ending sense - nothing so dramatic. Just the slow weight of ordinary human days. Deadlines. Disappointments. The quiet exhaustion of simply existing in a body that felt too fragile for the weight it carried. And so, you allowed yourself to cry. Not the dramatic, heaving sobs of acute grief, but the slow, silent leak of a spirit slowly filling with water. The kind that happens at 3 AM, when the world is asleep and your defenses are down and you just have to let your emotions pull you under.
You didn't call for him.
You never did.
And yet he answered your unspoken call. He didn't speak stepping inside a room. His briefcase lowered to the floor with an almost reverent silence. His dark jacket followed, draped over the arm of the chair with uncharacteristic carelessness. His tie - that eternal, perfect knot holding his throat - he loosened with his own fingers. Then his hand, cool and long and impossibly gentle, came to rest on your cheek. His thumb brushed away the wet trail, once, twice. His touch was the barest whisper, as if he was afraid his very nature might bruise you further.
"You are… distressed," he observed.
Not a question. You opened your mouth to deflect, to say you were fine, to perform the small, exhausting theater of okay-ness. Instead, what came out was a wet, embarrassed sniffle. His hand pressed just a bit more over your cheek, his eyes of impossible colors looking down at you, warm and cold at the same time.
"I do not…" He paused, searching for words. "I do not know what to do when you cry."
A laugh bubbled up through your tears, surprised and watery.
"You don't have to do anything. Just… be here."
“That… can be arranged. I will be here.”
You turned your face into his hand, pressing your warmth against his coolness. His breath caught - that small, soft sound you had learned to treasure.
"You don't have to fix it," you whispered. "You don't have to manage anything. Just stay. Please."
A long, quiet moment. Then his other hand came up, and he cradled your face between his large palms like you were something precious. Something he hadn't expected to find and didn't quite know how to keep, but wanted to.
Desperately.
"I see," he said simply. "And I will stay."
He pulled you gently toward him, guiding your head to rest against his chest. The fabric of his suit was rough against your cheek, and beneath it, his heartbeat was slow and steady. Not quite human, but close. Closer than it used to be. His arms came around you, stiff at first, then gradually relaxing. One hand settled on your back, the other found its way to your hair. His fingers carded through it slowly, gently, with a kind of quiet wonder.
"Hrmm. You're cold," you murmured into his chest.
"I am… aware of that, dear." A pause. "In return, it is nice to have you… this close to me. You seem to be always so warm."
You smiled against his shirt.
"Is that a complaint?"
"No." His voice dropped to barely a whisper. "It is one of my favorite things about you."
Your throat tightened as you curled your fingers into the fabric of his vest, pulling yourself closer. His arms tightened around you in response, a slow, careful pressure - like he was afraid of holding too tight, but more afraid of letting go.
"You can stay as long as you want," you whispered.
"Hmm. That might be a very long time."
"I hope that's okay."
"It's more than okay."
The weight on your chest - the ordinary, exhausting weight of being alive - had not vanished. But it had shifted, redistribute, some of it rested on the broad, angular shoulders of a man who had spent eternity managing the universe but had never been taught how to hold someone's heart. He was learning, slowly, with your patient guidance. His fingers continued their slow path through your hair, his heartbeat continued its steady rhythm, the world feeling small and safe again.
"This is nice," he said after a long while, his voice drowsy, unguarded. "Just… this. Sitting with you."
"You… you really think so? I’m a mess."
"Nonsense. You are just being human, my dear. My human."
You felt his cheek rest against the top of your head. His breath evened out, slow and peaceful. The great, terrible weight of your life could wait. Right now, there was only this: your warmth, his quiet presence, and the simple, profound act of holding and being held.
Hiiii, I really love your hl fics!! :] Could I please request some g-man comforting reader? you decide sfw or nsfw and everything else :>
-🐀
ʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔ I really need some comfort too rn, so I was glad to work on your request, dear! It's SFW too.
Enjoy!
ʕ♥ᴥ♥ʔ
The world had been heavy. Not in the cosmic, universe-ending sense - nothing so dramatic. Just the slow weight of ordinary human days. Deadlines. Disappointments. The quiet exhaustion of simply existing in a body that felt too fragile for the weight it carried. And so, you allowed yourself to cry. Not the dramatic, heaving sobs of acute grief, but the slow, silent leak of a spirit slowly filling with water. The kind that happens at 3 AM, when the world is asleep and your defenses are down and you just have to let your emotions pull you under.
You didn't call for him.
You never did.
And yet he answered your unspoken call. He didn't speak stepping inside a room. His briefcase lowered to the floor with an almost reverent silence. His dark jacket followed, draped over the arm of the chair with uncharacteristic carelessness. His tie - that eternal, perfect knot holding his throat - he loosened with his own fingers. Then his hand, cool and long and impossibly gentle, came to rest on your cheek. His thumb brushed away the wet trail, once, twice. His touch was the barest whisper, as if he was afraid his very nature might bruise you further.
"You are… distressed," he observed.
Not a question. You opened your mouth to deflect, to say you were fine, to perform the small, exhausting theater of okay-ness. Instead, what came out was a wet, embarrassed sniffle. His hand pressed just a bit more over your cheek, his eyes of impossible colors looking down at you, warm and cold at the same time.
"I do not…" He paused, searching for words. "I do not know what to do when you cry."
A laugh bubbled up through your tears, surprised and watery.
"You don't have to do anything. Just… be here."
“That… can be arranged. I will be here.”
You turned your face into his hand, pressing your warmth against his coolness. His breath caught - that small, soft sound you had learned to treasure.
"You don't have to fix it," you whispered. "You don't have to manage anything. Just stay. Please."
A long, quiet moment. Then his other hand came up, and he cradled your face between his large palms like you were something precious. Something he hadn't expected to find and didn't quite know how to keep, but wanted to.
Desperately.
"I see," he said simply. "And I will stay."
He pulled you gently toward him, guiding your head to rest against his chest. The fabric of his suit was rough against your cheek, and beneath it, his heartbeat was slow and steady. Not quite human, but close. Closer than it used to be. His arms came around you, stiff at first, then gradually relaxing. One hand settled on your back, the other found its way to your hair. His fingers carded through it slowly, gently, with a kind of quiet wonder.
"Hrmm. You're cold," you murmured into his chest.
"I am… aware of that, dear." A pause. "In return, it is nice to have you… this close to me. You seem to be always so warm."
You smiled against his shirt.
"Is that a complaint?"
"No." His voice dropped to barely a whisper. "It is one of my favorite things about you."
Your throat tightened as you curled your fingers into the fabric of his vest, pulling yourself closer. His arms tightened around you in response, a slow, careful pressure - like he was afraid of holding too tight, but more afraid of letting go.
"You can stay as long as you want," you whispered.
"Hmm. That might be a very long time."
"I hope that's okay."
"It's more than okay."
The weight on your chest - the ordinary, exhausting weight of being alive - had not vanished. But it had shifted, redistribute, some of it rested on the broad, angular shoulders of a man who had spent eternity managing the universe but had never been taught how to hold someone's heart. He was learning, slowly, with your patient guidance. His fingers continued their slow path through your hair, his heartbeat continued its steady rhythm, the world feeling small and safe again.
"This is nice," he said after a long while, his voice drowsy, unguarded. "Just… this. Sitting with you."
"You… you really think so? I’m a mess."
"Nonsense. You are just being human, my dear. My human."
You felt his cheek rest against the top of your head. His breath evened out, slow and peaceful. The great, terrible weight of your life could wait. Right now, there was only this: your warmth, his quiet presence, and the simple, profound act of holding and being held.
Everything has a platonic explanation if you’re not a coward, even lifting off your friend’s front panel and seeing their nerves (wires) all exposed in front of you and realising that their life is quite literally in your hands now as you reach in to make an adjustment and oh my goodness am I hurting you right now but you trusted me, you trusted me enough to do this and not even realising you’re holding your breath as you touch only whatever needs to be so carefully-
i wanted to say quick, that i absolutely love your writing!! & your g-man fics are absolutely phenomena! (ig im biased because im a selfshipper with him XD)
may kindly i request something fluffy (not nsfw, that is) cute and cozy, of G-Man getting pampered, (like hair brushing, adjust/change clothing, tucking in) by fem!reader ?
he needs a good break, especially after working for so much ;(
of course, you don't have to if you don't want to!
ʕ˘з˘ʔ this request has been in my inbox FOR AWHILE but I hope I can satisfy all your g-man needs since apparently there is a rise of horniness in his tag and I shall add more.
Also hell yeah for self-shipping! Yall are so brave I only do it in my head.
Here's a full-on SFW cozy time with G-man and his beloved!
Enjoy!
ʕ♥ᴥ♥ʔ
He didn’t come through the door, or created one for himself. That was a habit of him – changing the place to accommodate his rightful presence near you. The air didn’t so much as stir when he arrived; it simply accepted him. But you felt the difference as he taught you - the subtle drop in temperature, the prickle of static, the profound weight of a presence more than a human being should endure. You turned from the stove, where a pot of tea was steeping, and saw him. He sat on a chair behind you, his briefcase held loosely at his side, as if it had grown too heavy to clutch with his usual firmness. He was… diminished. The blue wool of his suit seemed grayer, hanging on his frame like a shroud. His skin, always pale and covered with markes, was now almost translucent, the faint tracing of purple veins visible at his temples. The harsh lines of his face were drawn tight, even tigher, not with calculation, but with an exhaustion so deep it seemed to leach the color from the very air around him.
He didn’t speak. He just looked at you, and in the glacial blue of his eyes, you saw a silent, staggering plea.
“Long day?” you asked softly, crossing the room to him. His thin lips twitched, the ghost of a smile that never fully formed. It wasn’t days. It could be weeks. Or months. Eons or seconds.
“The… negotiations… were… protracted.”
You didn’t ask for details. You simply reached for him. Your hands went first to his shoulders, sliding beneath the heavy, coarse fabric of his suit jacket as you settled on a chair’s arm. He stiffened for a fraction of a second - a creature not used to being handled - then surrendered to your touch with a barely audible sigh, as if he remembered, just now of a special creature you were. You pushed the jacket from his shoulders, with a little help from him, letting it fall to the floor in a heap of ignored protocol. The starched white shirt beneath was crisp, but you could feel the unnatural, almost electric chill of his skin through it. Gently, you took the briefcase from his numb fingers and set it aside down as well, next to the discarded jacket. It felt weightless in your hand, but you knew it was important.
“I missed you,” you murmured, pouring every bit of love you had for this being into your voice. Next, your fingers found the knot of his tie, loosening it, then began on the buttons at his throat, giving him space to breathe. A sound acin to an animal’s rumble escaped his throat and for a second, you were afraid you overstepped some line.
“Please,” you said then, your fingers still working.
“I want to take care of you.”
Then, you let your hands settle on the rigid cables of his shoulders. The tension there was biblical, as if he’d been holding up the sky.You began to knead, your thumbs pressing into the knots of stress. A low, shuddering breath escaped him, his eyelids fluttering close, concealing the universes of his eyes from you. His head bowed forward, a strand of his strange, coarse hair falling across his brow. You brushed it back, your fingers then carding slowly through the salt-and-pepper strands. It was an intimate, grounding rhythm. With each pass of your hand, you felt a fraction of the terrifying weight he carried bleed away into the quiet of the room.
“You are… not required… to do that,” he muttered, his voice a dry, rustling paper in the stillness.
“I am,” you answered, your voice warm. You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to the cool skin just behind his ear.
“You have done more for me.”
The man let out another sigh, this one deeper, more resonant. The line of his spine softened, just a degree and he sunk further into the chest. He didn’t purr, didn’t melt -such things were beyond his architecture. But the dreadful, humming stillness of his exhaustion began to transform into something else: a quiet, profound relief. Here, in this chair, with your hands in his hair and your warmth seeping into the edges of his perpetual chill, there were no employers, no contracts, no fragile timelines.
Just his point of contact, just your fingers in his hair. Your other hand moved from his shoulders, now resting lightly over his heart, feeling the slow, steady, decidedly non-human rhythm beneath the crisp cotton of his shirt.
“You know,” you began talking again.
“I spend all day waiting. All of this?.. It’s not just for you,” you confessed, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw, his eyes opening, the beauty of them making your heart full and aching.
“It’s for me. My day doesn’t feel complete until I’ve… until I’ve gotten you back. I need this,” you whispered, your forehead now resting against his temple, your arms coming to wrap around his shoulders, holding him, holding onto him.
“I need to take this weight from you. I need to feel you let me. It’s the only thing that makes me feel like I have a purpose as… real as yours.”
For a long moment, there was only silence. The deep, resonant silence of a void listening. Then, one of his long, pale hands came up, moving with a strange, sluggish grace. His fingers, cool and dry, found yours where they were laced over his heart.
“A… reciprocal… dependency,” he said, the words forming slowly, as if being translated from a language of pure concept.
“An… unforeseen… but… stable… equilibrium.”
It was the closest he would ever come to saying 'I need this, too.'
There was a long, comfortable pause, filled only by the rust of fabric and your breathing.
“I… do not know how to… be… taken care of,” he finally admitted. The confession was stark, humbling said in the voice not of the interdimensional alien with fates woven in his veins. It was the voice of a profoundly lonely being, a creature who had only ever been a tool or a master, never simply someone’s.
“You’re learning,” you said, smiling, pressing a kiss to his temple.
“See? You’re already doing it. You’re here. You’re letting me.”
He hummed, pulling you gently around and into his lap, his long arms encircling you, his face burying itself in the curve of your soft neck. He held on, not with the desperate, possessive grip of many nights before, but with the clinging gratitude of a man who has been walking in a vacuum and has finally found air.
“Then… do not stop, my dear. Your… need. It is… the most efficient system… I have encountered… in a very… long time.”
And in your arms, the most powerful being you knew finally stopped managing, stopped calculating, and simply… was.
i wanted to say quick, that i absolutely love your writing!! & your g-man fics are absolutely phenomena! (ig im biased because im a selfshipper with him XD)
may kindly i request something fluffy (not nsfw, that is) cute and cozy, of G-Man getting pampered, (like hair brushing, adjust/change clothing, tucking in) by fem!reader ?
he needs a good break, especially after working for so much ;(
of course, you don't have to if you don't want to!
ʕ˘з˘ʔ this request has been in my inbox FOR AWHILE but I hope I can satisfy all your g-man needs since apparently there is a rise of horniness in his tag and I shall add more.
Also hell yeah for self-shipping! Yall are so brave I only do it in my head.
Here's a full-on SFW cozy time with G-man and his beloved!
Enjoy!
ʕ♥ᴥ♥ʔ
He didn’t come through the door, or created one for himself. That was a habit of him – changing the place to accommodate his rightful presence near you. The air didn’t so much as stir when he arrived; it simply accepted him. But you felt the difference as he taught you - the subtle drop in temperature, the prickle of static, the profound weight of a presence more than a human being should endure. You turned from the stove, where a pot of tea was steeping, and saw him. He sat on a chair behind you, his briefcase held loosely at his side, as if it had grown too heavy to clutch with his usual firmness. He was… diminished. The blue wool of his suit seemed grayer, hanging on his frame like a shroud. His skin, always pale and covered with markes, was now almost translucent, the faint tracing of purple veins visible at his temples. The harsh lines of his face were drawn tight, even tigher, not with calculation, but with an exhaustion so deep it seemed to leach the color from the very air around him.
He didn’t speak. He just looked at you, and in the glacial blue of his eyes, you saw a silent, staggering plea.
“Long day?” you asked softly, crossing the room to him. His thin lips twitched, the ghost of a smile that never fully formed. It wasn’t days. It could be weeks. Or months. Eons or seconds.
“The… negotiations… were… protracted.”
You didn’t ask for details. You simply reached for him. Your hands went first to his shoulders, sliding beneath the heavy, coarse fabric of his suit jacket as you settled on a chair’s arm. He stiffened for a fraction of a second - a creature not used to being handled - then surrendered to your touch with a barely audible sigh, as if he remembered, just now of a special creature you were. You pushed the jacket from his shoulders, with a little help from him, letting it fall to the floor in a heap of ignored protocol. The starched white shirt beneath was crisp, but you could feel the unnatural, almost electric chill of his skin through it. Gently, you took the briefcase from his numb fingers and set it aside down as well, next to the discarded jacket. It felt weightless in your hand, but you knew it was important.
“I missed you,” you murmured, pouring every bit of love you had for this being into your voice. Next, your fingers found the knot of his tie, loosening it, then began on the buttons at his throat, giving him space to breathe. A sound acin to an animal’s rumble escaped his throat and for a second, you were afraid you overstepped some line.
“Please,” you said then, your fingers still working.
“I want to take care of you.”
Then, you let your hands settle on the rigid cables of his shoulders. The tension there was biblical, as if he’d been holding up the sky.You began to knead, your thumbs pressing into the knots of stress. A low, shuddering breath escaped him, his eyelids fluttering close, concealing the universes of his eyes from you. His head bowed forward, a strand of his strange, coarse hair falling across his brow. You brushed it back, your fingers then carding slowly through the salt-and-pepper strands. It was an intimate, grounding rhythm. With each pass of your hand, you felt a fraction of the terrifying weight he carried bleed away into the quiet of the room.
“You are… not required… to do that,” he muttered, his voice a dry, rustling paper in the stillness.
“I am,” you answered, your voice warm. You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to the cool skin just behind his ear.
“You have done more for me.”
The man let out another sigh, this one deeper, more resonant. The line of his spine softened, just a degree and he sunk further into the chest. He didn’t purr, didn’t melt -such things were beyond his architecture. But the dreadful, humming stillness of his exhaustion began to transform into something else: a quiet, profound relief. Here, in this chair, with your hands in his hair and your warmth seeping into the edges of his perpetual chill, there were no employers, no contracts, no fragile timelines.
Just his point of contact, just your fingers in his hair. Your other hand moved from his shoulders, now resting lightly over his heart, feeling the slow, steady, decidedly non-human rhythm beneath the crisp cotton of his shirt.
“You know,” you began talking again.
“I spend all day waiting. All of this?.. It’s not just for you,” you confessed, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw, his eyes opening, the beauty of them making your heart full and aching.
“It’s for me. My day doesn’t feel complete until I’ve… until I’ve gotten you back. I need this,” you whispered, your forehead now resting against his temple, your arms coming to wrap around his shoulders, holding him, holding onto him.
“I need to take this weight from you. I need to feel you let me. It’s the only thing that makes me feel like I have a purpose as… real as yours.”
For a long moment, there was only silence. The deep, resonant silence of a void listening. Then, one of his long, pale hands came up, moving with a strange, sluggish grace. His fingers, cool and dry, found yours where they were laced over his heart.
“A… reciprocal… dependency,” he said, the words forming slowly, as if being translated from a language of pure concept.
“An… unforeseen… but… stable… equilibrium.”
It was the closest he would ever come to saying 'I need this, too.'
There was a long, comfortable pause, filled only by the rust of fabric and your breathing.
“I… do not know how to… be… taken care of,” he finally admitted. The confession was stark, humbling said in the voice not of the interdimensional alien with fates woven in his veins. It was the voice of a profoundly lonely being, a creature who had only ever been a tool or a master, never simply someone’s.
“You’re learning,” you said, smiling, pressing a kiss to his temple.
“See? You’re already doing it. You’re here. You’re letting me.”
He hummed, pulling you gently around and into his lap, his long arms encircling you, his face burying itself in the curve of your soft neck. He held on, not with the desperate, possessive grip of many nights before, but with the clinging gratitude of a man who has been walking in a vacuum and has finally found air.
“Then… do not stop, my dear. Your… need. It is… the most efficient system… I have encountered… in a very… long time.”
And in your arms, the most powerful being you knew finally stopped managing, stopped calculating, and simply… was.
i wanted to say quick, that i absolutely love your writing!! & your g-man fics are absolutely phenomena! (ig im biased because im a selfshipper with him XD)
may kindly i request something fluffy (not nsfw, that is) cute and cozy, of G-Man getting pampered, (like hair brushing, adjust/change clothing, tucking in) by fem!reader ?
he needs a good break, especially after working for so much ;(
of course, you don't have to if you don't want to!
ʕ˘з˘ʔ this request has been in my inbox FOR AWHILE but I hope I can satisfy all your g-man needs since apparently there is a rise of horniness in his tag and I shall add more.
Also hell yeah for self-shipping! Yall are so brave I only do it in my head.
Here's a full-on SFW cozy time with G-man and his beloved!
Enjoy!
ʕ♥ᴥ♥ʔ
He didn’t come through the door, or created one for himself. That was a habit of him – changing the place to accommodate his rightful presence near you. The air didn’t so much as stir when he arrived; it simply accepted him. But you felt the difference as he taught you - the subtle drop in temperature, the prickle of static, the profound weight of a presence more than a human being should endure. You turned from the stove, where a pot of tea was steeping, and saw him. He sat on a chair behind you, his briefcase held loosely at his side, as if it had grown too heavy to clutch with his usual firmness. He was… diminished. The blue wool of his suit seemed grayer, hanging on his frame like a shroud. His skin, always pale and covered with markes, was now almost translucent, the faint tracing of purple veins visible at his temples. The harsh lines of his face were drawn tight, even tigher, not with calculation, but with an exhaustion so deep it seemed to leach the color from the very air around him.
He didn’t speak. He just looked at you, and in the glacial blue of his eyes, you saw a silent, staggering plea.
“Long day?” you asked softly, crossing the room to him. His thin lips twitched, the ghost of a smile that never fully formed. It wasn’t days. It could be weeks. Or months. Eons or seconds.
“The… negotiations… were… protracted.”
You didn’t ask for details. You simply reached for him. Your hands went first to his shoulders, sliding beneath the heavy, coarse fabric of his suit jacket as you settled on a chair’s arm. He stiffened for a fraction of a second - a creature not used to being handled - then surrendered to your touch with a barely audible sigh, as if he remembered, just now of a special creature you were. You pushed the jacket from his shoulders, with a little help from him, letting it fall to the floor in a heap of ignored protocol. The starched white shirt beneath was crisp, but you could feel the unnatural, almost electric chill of his skin through it. Gently, you took the briefcase from his numb fingers and set it aside down as well, next to the discarded jacket. It felt weightless in your hand, but you knew it was important.
“I missed you,” you murmured, pouring every bit of love you had for this being into your voice. Next, your fingers found the knot of his tie, loosening it, then began on the buttons at his throat, giving him space to breathe. A sound acin to an animal’s rumble escaped his throat and for a second, you were afraid you overstepped some line.
“Please,” you said then, your fingers still working.
“I want to take care of you.”
Then, you let your hands settle on the rigid cables of his shoulders. The tension there was biblical, as if he’d been holding up the sky.You began to knead, your thumbs pressing into the knots of stress. A low, shuddering breath escaped him, his eyelids fluttering close, concealing the universes of his eyes from you. His head bowed forward, a strand of his strange, coarse hair falling across his brow. You brushed it back, your fingers then carding slowly through the salt-and-pepper strands. It was an intimate, grounding rhythm. With each pass of your hand, you felt a fraction of the terrifying weight he carried bleed away into the quiet of the room.
“You are… not required… to do that,” he muttered, his voice a dry, rustling paper in the stillness.
“I am,” you answered, your voice warm. You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to the cool skin just behind his ear.
“You have done more for me.”
The man let out another sigh, this one deeper, more resonant. The line of his spine softened, just a degree and he sunk further into the chest. He didn’t purr, didn’t melt -such things were beyond his architecture. But the dreadful, humming stillness of his exhaustion began to transform into something else: a quiet, profound relief. Here, in this chair, with your hands in his hair and your warmth seeping into the edges of his perpetual chill, there were no employers, no contracts, no fragile timelines.
Just his point of contact, just your fingers in his hair. Your other hand moved from his shoulders, now resting lightly over his heart, feeling the slow, steady, decidedly non-human rhythm beneath the crisp cotton of his shirt.
“You know,” you began talking again.
“I spend all day waiting. All of this?.. It’s not just for you,” you confessed, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw, his eyes opening, the beauty of them making your heart full and aching.
“It’s for me. My day doesn’t feel complete until I’ve… until I’ve gotten you back. I need this,” you whispered, your forehead now resting against his temple, your arms coming to wrap around his shoulders, holding him, holding onto him.
“I need to take this weight from you. I need to feel you let me. It’s the only thing that makes me feel like I have a purpose as… real as yours.”
For a long moment, there was only silence. The deep, resonant silence of a void listening. Then, one of his long, pale hands came up, moving with a strange, sluggish grace. His fingers, cool and dry, found yours where they were laced over his heart.
“A… reciprocal… dependency,” he said, the words forming slowly, as if being translated from a language of pure concept.
“An… unforeseen… but… stable… equilibrium.”
It was the closest he would ever come to saying 'I need this, too.'
There was a long, comfortable pause, filled only by the rust of fabric and your breathing.
“I… do not know how to… be… taken care of,” he finally admitted. The confession was stark, humbling said in the voice not of the interdimensional alien with fates woven in his veins. It was the voice of a profoundly lonely being, a creature who had only ever been a tool or a master, never simply someone’s.
“You’re learning,” you said, smiling, pressing a kiss to his temple.
“See? You’re already doing it. You’re here. You’re letting me.”
He hummed, pulling you gently around and into his lap, his long arms encircling you, his face burying itself in the curve of your soft neck. He held on, not with the desperate, possessive grip of many nights before, but with the clinging gratitude of a man who has been walking in a vacuum and has finally found air.
“Then… do not stop, my dear. Your… need. It is… the most efficient system… I have encountered… in a very… long time.”
And in your arms, the most powerful being you knew finally stopped managing, stopped calculating, and simply… was.
i wanted to say quick, that i absolutely love your writing!! & your g-man fics are absolutely phenomena! (ig im biased because im a selfshipper with him XD)
may kindly i request something fluffy (not nsfw, that is) cute and cozy, of G-Man getting pampered, (like hair brushing, adjust/change clothing, tucking in) by fem!reader ?
he needs a good break, especially after working for so much ;(
of course, you don't have to if you don't want to!
ʕ˘з˘ʔ this request has been in my inbox FOR AWHILE but I hope I can satisfy all your g-man needs since apparently there is a rise of horniness in his tag and I shall add more.
Also hell yeah for self-shipping! Yall are so brave I only do it in my head.
Here's a full-on SFW cozy time with G-man and his beloved!
Enjoy!
ʕ♥ᴥ♥ʔ
He didn’t come through the door, or created one for himself. That was a habit of him – changing the place to accommodate his rightful presence near you. The air didn’t so much as stir when he arrived; it simply accepted him. But you felt the difference as he taught you - the subtle drop in temperature, the prickle of static, the profound weight of a presence more than a human being should endure. You turned from the stove, where a pot of tea was steeping, and saw him. He sat on a chair behind you, his briefcase held loosely at his side, as if it had grown too heavy to clutch with his usual firmness. He was… diminished. The blue wool of his suit seemed grayer, hanging on his frame like a shroud. His skin, always pale and covered with markes, was now almost translucent, the faint tracing of purple veins visible at his temples. The harsh lines of his face were drawn tight, even tigher, not with calculation, but with an exhaustion so deep it seemed to leach the color from the very air around him.
He didn’t speak. He just looked at you, and in the glacial blue of his eyes, you saw a silent, staggering plea.
“Long day?” you asked softly, crossing the room to him. His thin lips twitched, the ghost of a smile that never fully formed. It wasn’t days. It could be weeks. Or months. Eons or seconds.
“The… negotiations… were… protracted.”
You didn’t ask for details. You simply reached for him. Your hands went first to his shoulders, sliding beneath the heavy, coarse fabric of his suit jacket as you settled on a chair’s arm. He stiffened for a fraction of a second - a creature not used to being handled - then surrendered to your touch with a barely audible sigh, as if he remembered, just now of a special creature you were. You pushed the jacket from his shoulders, with a little help from him, letting it fall to the floor in a heap of ignored protocol. The starched white shirt beneath was crisp, but you could feel the unnatural, almost electric chill of his skin through it. Gently, you took the briefcase from his numb fingers and set it aside down as well, next to the discarded jacket. It felt weightless in your hand, but you knew it was important.
“I missed you,” you murmured, pouring every bit of love you had for this being into your voice. Next, your fingers found the knot of his tie, loosening it, then began on the buttons at his throat, giving him space to breathe. A sound acin to an animal’s rumble escaped his throat and for a second, you were afraid you overstepped some line.
“Please,” you said then, your fingers still working.
“I want to take care of you.”
Then, you let your hands settle on the rigid cables of his shoulders. The tension there was biblical, as if he’d been holding up the sky.You began to knead, your thumbs pressing into the knots of stress. A low, shuddering breath escaped him, his eyelids fluttering close, concealing the universes of his eyes from you. His head bowed forward, a strand of his strange, coarse hair falling across his brow. You brushed it back, your fingers then carding slowly through the salt-and-pepper strands. It was an intimate, grounding rhythm. With each pass of your hand, you felt a fraction of the terrifying weight he carried bleed away into the quiet of the room.
“You are… not required… to do that,” he muttered, his voice a dry, rustling paper in the stillness.
“I am,” you answered, your voice warm. You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to the cool skin just behind his ear.
“You have done more for me.”
The man let out another sigh, this one deeper, more resonant. The line of his spine softened, just a degree and he sunk further into the chest. He didn’t purr, didn’t melt -such things were beyond his architecture. But the dreadful, humming stillness of his exhaustion began to transform into something else: a quiet, profound relief. Here, in this chair, with your hands in his hair and your warmth seeping into the edges of his perpetual chill, there were no employers, no contracts, no fragile timelines.
Just his point of contact, just your fingers in his hair. Your other hand moved from his shoulders, now resting lightly over his heart, feeling the slow, steady, decidedly non-human rhythm beneath the crisp cotton of his shirt.
“You know,” you began talking again.
“I spend all day waiting. All of this?.. It’s not just for you,” you confessed, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw, his eyes opening, the beauty of them making your heart full and aching.
“It’s for me. My day doesn’t feel complete until I’ve… until I’ve gotten you back. I need this,” you whispered, your forehead now resting against his temple, your arms coming to wrap around his shoulders, holding him, holding onto him.
“I need to take this weight from you. I need to feel you let me. It’s the only thing that makes me feel like I have a purpose as… real as yours.”
For a long moment, there was only silence. The deep, resonant silence of a void listening. Then, one of his long, pale hands came up, moving with a strange, sluggish grace. His fingers, cool and dry, found yours where they were laced over his heart.
“A… reciprocal… dependency,” he said, the words forming slowly, as if being translated from a language of pure concept.
“An… unforeseen… but… stable… equilibrium.”
It was the closest he would ever come to saying 'I need this, too.'
There was a long, comfortable pause, filled only by the rust of fabric and your breathing.
“I… do not know how to… be… taken care of,” he finally admitted. The confession was stark, humbling said in the voice not of the interdimensional alien with fates woven in his veins. It was the voice of a profoundly lonely being, a creature who had only ever been a tool or a master, never simply someone’s.
“You’re learning,” you said, smiling, pressing a kiss to his temple.
“See? You’re already doing it. You’re here. You’re letting me.”
He hummed, pulling you gently around and into his lap, his long arms encircling you, his face burying itself in the curve of your soft neck. He held on, not with the desperate, possessive grip of many nights before, but with the clinging gratitude of a man who has been walking in a vacuum and has finally found air.
“Then… do not stop, my dear. Your… need. It is… the most efficient system… I have encountered… in a very… long time.”
And in your arms, the most powerful being you knew finally stopped managing, stopped calculating, and simply… was.
i wanted to say quick, that i absolutely love your writing!! & your g-man fics are absolutely phenomena! (ig im biased because im a selfshipper with him XD)
may kindly i request something fluffy (not nsfw, that is) cute and cozy, of G-Man getting pampered, (like hair brushing, adjust/change clothing, tucking in) by fem!reader ?
he needs a good break, especially after working for so much ;(
of course, you don't have to if you don't want to!
ʕ˘з˘ʔ this request has been in my inbox FOR AWHILE but I hope I can satisfy all your g-man needs since apparently there is a rise of horniness in his tag and I shall add more.
Also hell yeah for self-shipping! Yall are so brave I only do it in my head.
Here's a full-on SFW cozy time with G-man and his beloved!
Enjoy!
ʕ♥ᴥ♥ʔ
He didn’t come through the door, or created one for himself. That was a habit of him – changing the place to accommodate his rightful presence near you. The air didn’t so much as stir when he arrived; it simply accepted him. But you felt the difference as he taught you - the subtle drop in temperature, the prickle of static, the profound weight of a presence more than a human being should endure. You turned from the stove, where a pot of tea was steeping, and saw him. He sat on a chair behind you, his briefcase held loosely at his side, as if it had grown too heavy to clutch with his usual firmness. He was… diminished. The blue wool of his suit seemed grayer, hanging on his frame like a shroud. His skin, always pale and covered with markes, was now almost translucent, the faint tracing of purple veins visible at his temples. The harsh lines of his face were drawn tight, even tigher, not with calculation, but with an exhaustion so deep it seemed to leach the color from the very air around him.
He didn’t speak. He just looked at you, and in the glacial blue of his eyes, you saw a silent, staggering plea.
“Long day?” you asked softly, crossing the room to him. His thin lips twitched, the ghost of a smile that never fully formed. It wasn’t days. It could be weeks. Or months. Eons or seconds.
“The… negotiations… were… protracted.”
You didn’t ask for details. You simply reached for him. Your hands went first to his shoulders, sliding beneath the heavy, coarse fabric of his suit jacket as you settled on a chair’s arm. He stiffened for a fraction of a second - a creature not used to being handled - then surrendered to your touch with a barely audible sigh, as if he remembered, just now of a special creature you were. You pushed the jacket from his shoulders, with a little help from him, letting it fall to the floor in a heap of ignored protocol. The starched white shirt beneath was crisp, but you could feel the unnatural, almost electric chill of his skin through it. Gently, you took the briefcase from his numb fingers and set it aside down as well, next to the discarded jacket. It felt weightless in your hand, but you knew it was important.
“I missed you,” you murmured, pouring every bit of love you had for this being into your voice. Next, your fingers found the knot of his tie, loosening it, then began on the buttons at his throat, giving him space to breathe. A sound acin to an animal’s rumble escaped his throat and for a second, you were afraid you overstepped some line.
“Please,” you said then, your fingers still working.
“I want to take care of you.”
Then, you let your hands settle on the rigid cables of his shoulders. The tension there was biblical, as if he’d been holding up the sky.You began to knead, your thumbs pressing into the knots of stress. A low, shuddering breath escaped him, his eyelids fluttering close, concealing the universes of his eyes from you. His head bowed forward, a strand of his strange, coarse hair falling across his brow. You brushed it back, your fingers then carding slowly through the salt-and-pepper strands. It was an intimate, grounding rhythm. With each pass of your hand, you felt a fraction of the terrifying weight he carried bleed away into the quiet of the room.
“You are… not required… to do that,” he muttered, his voice a dry, rustling paper in the stillness.
“I am,” you answered, your voice warm. You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to the cool skin just behind his ear.
“You have done more for me.”
The man let out another sigh, this one deeper, more resonant. The line of his spine softened, just a degree and he sunk further into the chest. He didn’t purr, didn’t melt -such things were beyond his architecture. But the dreadful, humming stillness of his exhaustion began to transform into something else: a quiet, profound relief. Here, in this chair, with your hands in his hair and your warmth seeping into the edges of his perpetual chill, there were no employers, no contracts, no fragile timelines.
Just his point of contact, just your fingers in his hair. Your other hand moved from his shoulders, now resting lightly over his heart, feeling the slow, steady, decidedly non-human rhythm beneath the crisp cotton of his shirt.
“You know,” you began talking again.
“I spend all day waiting. All of this?.. It’s not just for you,” you confessed, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw, his eyes opening, the beauty of them making your heart full and aching.
“It’s for me. My day doesn’t feel complete until I’ve… until I’ve gotten you back. I need this,” you whispered, your forehead now resting against his temple, your arms coming to wrap around his shoulders, holding him, holding onto him.
“I need to take this weight from you. I need to feel you let me. It’s the only thing that makes me feel like I have a purpose as… real as yours.”
For a long moment, there was only silence. The deep, resonant silence of a void listening. Then, one of his long, pale hands came up, moving with a strange, sluggish grace. His fingers, cool and dry, found yours where they were laced over his heart.
“A… reciprocal… dependency,” he said, the words forming slowly, as if being translated from a language of pure concept.
“An… unforeseen… but… stable… equilibrium.”
It was the closest he would ever come to saying 'I need this, too.'
There was a long, comfortable pause, filled only by the rust of fabric and your breathing.
“I… do not know how to… be… taken care of,” he finally admitted. The confession was stark, humbling said in the voice not of the interdimensional alien with fates woven in his veins. It was the voice of a profoundly lonely being, a creature who had only ever been a tool or a master, never simply someone’s.
“You’re learning,” you said, smiling, pressing a kiss to his temple.
“See? You’re already doing it. You’re here. You’re letting me.”
He hummed, pulling you gently around and into his lap, his long arms encircling you, his face burying itself in the curve of your soft neck. He held on, not with the desperate, possessive grip of many nights before, but with the clinging gratitude of a man who has been walking in a vacuum and has finally found air.
“Then… do not stop, my dear. Your… need. It is… the most efficient system… I have encountered… in a very… long time.”
And in your arms, the most powerful being you knew finally stopped managing, stopped calculating, and simply… was.
People who like to sing: your f/o loves it, by the way. When you hear a song you like and start singing along to it, when you just randomly start to sing because you got reminded of a song, or if you're practicing on your singing voice if you do that, your f/o loves hearing it more than words can describe. Seeing you doing something you enjoy makes them so happy. They think your singing voice is amazing, too.
And if your f/o also likes to sing, imagine them singing with you! :)
Or if they don't sing... Maybe you can convince them to try it...?
🌌Fantasy Is Not A Crime🌌 @redactedlove - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
