#now I have to draw her and Mikey

[rockhousejai]

Mouse mermaid 🐭🧜‍♀️

[turtleblogatlast]

Things I make for myself when insomnia kicks in

Just a chart about what I wanna change up and keep consistent in my art - I mainly wanna draw Raph with a tail because he deserves one, it fits too well. Donnie gets a long tail too because I didn’t realize how dino-like he looks until I gave him one, and now it’s a must for me haha.

[sodaspons]

thinking about how they were in s1…

[shorlinesorrows]

don’t be a coward

*aroaces your rottmnt leo*

[anisespice]

“ accidents happen ” || tokyo rev.

cont. two

synopsis: in which they discover you had their child and kept it from them all these years later.

pairing: bonten x fem!reader [ mikey, ran, sanzu ]

warnings: mature content ahead. MDI. mature language, crude humor, angst (if you squint really hard), deadbeat!bonten (unintentionally), not proof-read so there may be errors lol and i think that’s it :))

notes: i just want the drama >:) may make more parts, and even extend said headcannons into longer fics in the future, but wanted to post something quick for mother’s day. hope you enjoy!

When you disappeared off the face of the earth, MIKEY had never been the same. One fight. One argument that spiraled out of control, and you were just gone...

He had people looking for you for about a couple years, the trail ran cold after a while and he had half a mind to think you were dead. Up until he got intel of your whereabouts one morning during a meeting.

That man got up and left immediately.

He wasn’t accompanied with any of his men, only because he didn’t want to draw any unwanted attention in the broad daylight. Sure, him wearing a black hood, ball cap, and mask in a park didn’t really help him look inconspicuous but it at least concealed his identity enough for him to blend in. Mikey sat on a bench for a good forty minutes, anxious, making anyone who passed him shiver from his intense aura alone; even birds walked around him. After almost an hour of waiting, he began to feel frustrated. Perhaps, the intel was false. Just as he went to stand, already conjuring up ways to have Sanzu execute the idiot who wasted his time, he heard it.

Your voice. Seizing him, like a siren’s call.

His eyes were alert, darting around until they landed on your figure, spotlighted by the sun, like an angel descending from the heavens. You looked good, healthy. That was good. An array of emotions fought for their turn in Mikey’s heart—Relief, distress, anger, nostalgia. He couldn’t just pick one, especially when it came to you. As he watched from his spot, doing his best to not seem suspicious, he clocked the people you were approaching with excitement, your peppy stride as you waved at, what he presumed, to be mother and daughter.

However, his entire world turned upside down when the little girl extended out her arms towards you, and said “Mama!”

“Hello, my darling.~” You cooed, taking her into your awaiting arms from the woman, embracing the toddler tightly. “Mama missed you so much.”

“Missed you, mama!” was the child’s reply, followed by her giggles.

A bucket of cold water would’ve been better than this. Watching you converse with who he now assumes to be the babysitter, Mikey felt faint. Vision blurring, head pounding, heart clenching. You…you…no. There’s no way. You wouldn’t have moved on…you couldn’t have, not like this, not from him. You loved him, didn’t you? You still love him, didn’t you?

How could you…how could you?

Before he knew it, he started to follow you around. From the park, to the store, all the way back to your apartment. He already phoned some of the executives to start working in on the babysitter, and anyone else in your new found circle for information. He wanted answers. He needed them.

By the time you began fixing dinner, with your daughter laid down for a nap, you receive a knock at your door. Who could that be at this hour?

RAN was chilling outside the rendezvous spot for something the boss and a few other execs were participating in, having a smoke, minding his business, up until he sees a little girl with pigtails wearing a school uniform approaching, standing before him and just…staring. She barely came up to his thighs, could've been no older than seven. She was practically staring into his soul with bright lavender eyes that scarily reminded him of Rin’s when he was that age.

He stared back, head tilted as he blew out the smoke from the corner of his mouth. The hell was a kid doing on this side of town?

Then, after an uncomfortable staring contest, the little girl points at his cigarette. “My ma says those things are bad for you.”

Ran raised a brow, “Does she now?”

“Mmhm! She says it makes people unhappy.”

He offered a thoughtful nod, an amused grin spreading across his face. “Mm. Do I look unhappy?”

The girl looked at Ran for a minute, eyes squinted. Eventually, she shook her head. “No. But, ma also says people who are always unhappy get better at hiding it.”

Ran’s grin faltered. Her unwavering stare started to unnerve him, especially after hearing such a heavy statement come from such a small package.

After a brief moment of silence, he chuckled softly, taking one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it away. He exhaled. “Smart woman.”

The little girl beamed, “Mmhm! My ma knows a lot of stuff.”

“Tsk. But not ‘Stranger Danger’, apparently.”

She tilted her head, curious. “Huh?”

“You shouldn’t be wandering around by yourself, let alone approaching someone you don’t know. ‘s not safe. Especially for nosy little girls who stick their noses in other people’s business. Your ma never taught you that?”

The little girl rolled her eyes, hands on her hips. “Duh. Of course she did. Everyone knows that rule,” she exasperated. Ran snorted, but yielded when she squinted at him, pointing as she sassed. “And I do so know you, so you’re not a stranger.”

This time, Ran couldn’t help the incredulous laugh. “Oh, you know me, huh? That’s not good. ‘m supposed to keep a low profile. Say, you ain’t a cop are you?” He teased, earning another eye roll.

“No. Too small to be a cop, dummy.”

“Oh, pardon me, I didn’t notice. Where do you know me from, then?”

The little girl pointed over to the building..where the executives were having their meeting. She beamed, “Ma’s works in there. On important people days she can’t get me from school, so she tells me to come straight here, and to not talk to the purple man that stands near the building. She says you’re mean.”

Ran smirked, then gave a half-hearted shrug.

“She also says you’re my pa. But, I never believed her. You’re too old.”

Ran’s smirk dropped.

Whether more from the first comment or the last, you decide. But, one thing was for certain: he needed another cigarette.

SANZU cackled watching some guy struggle to round up a couple of rowdy twins at the convenience store. One was knocking shit off the shelves while the other ran circles around the guy. It was what he needed for his bitch of a hangover, a good laugh to distract from the ache in his skull.

However, he wasn’t laughing for long when you came around the corner of the isle, holding a few items with a smile on your face that soon faded once you saw the scene unfolding before you; the pinkette thought he was still tripping balls. Blinking a few times to allow any after effects of the drugs to clear up, when you didn’t disappear he used his long legs to swiftly yeet behind one of the shelves, peering around it like some paranoid stalker. The last time you had spoken, you had threatened to castrate him with your teeth if you ever saw him again.

And he’d be damned if he tried your bluff.

He watched in awe as you straightened those twins up quick. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought they were trained to obey you, and only you. Any other authority be damned. While the guy was putting all the stuff back on the shelves, sweaty and out of breath, you gently reprimanded them for causing trouble. You still made that cute pouty face you always did whenever you were mad at him…

“What did we talk about earlier? Hm? Mr. Satoru was very kind to help mama today, you know. You two promised me you’d be on your best behavior for him.”

Sanzu gagged. This was the rebound you let nut in you? This huffy moron who can’t handle a couple of ankle biters, this was your king? He had half a mind to just gut the guy to put him out of his misery from that pathetic display from earlier, alone. He couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be back home. He remembers when he was that age—Rowdy, reckless, the Antichrist. Adorable, but deadly. God bless that poor bastard’s soul.

Wait…Mister? Not…dad?

The first twin whined, stomping their feet. “He’s too boringggg!”

Come to think of it…if Sanzu squinted…the longer he looked at the little family…he swore the more he saw the resemblance of himself in the tiny gremlins. From the hair, to the eyes, all the way down to the mannerisms…Hang on. When had been the last time you two fucked? Three…no, was it four years ago?

The second twin huffed, pointing at the man. “Yeah! And he’s jus’ being nice so that he can sleep in your bed, mama!”

You flushed, nervously chuckling as you looked around to make sure no one heard. Sanzu ducked behind a bag of chips, now nothing but eyes peeking through the gaps of food on the shelf.

So…that loser’s not the father? Then…could that mean..?

“He’s mama’s boyfriend, remember? He’s allowed to do that. And he’ll be around for a while, so I want you two to be nice, okay?”

“…okay, mama.” They grumbled.

Sanzu almost popped a blood vessel, fist clenched around a bag of Lays and nearly busting it. He chuckled darkly, “Oh. We’ll see about that.”

© 2024-2025 anisespice ッ all rights reserved.

likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

[eggbem]

1k DtiYS!!!

Ice Cream Kitty is a mama cat now :)

Details and close-ups below:

I've been back to posting on this website for about 7 months now. When I restarted my blog, all I wanted was to engage with the Rise and art community, practice my drawing, and have fun.

And I achieved all of those things! Since then, I've met so many cool, talented and kind people, learned so many valuable lessons in my drawing and art, and have had so much fun!

But I was not expecting the sheer amount of love and support I've been shown so far!

I can't believe I'm at 1,000, quite honestly. That's just... so many people. Thank you all so much for your support and care. This is more than I could ever ask for!!

The Rules (they're more like Guidelines):

There isn't a deadline or competition for this. Mostly I just wanted to celebrate by drawing MP!Mikey with Ice Cream Kitty and her babies :) IF you do want to draw them, feel free to remix this in any way you want (while still keeping the general theme of MP!Mikey and cats). It doesn't have to be the same pose or outfit or stickers, heck, even all of the cats; you could just draw one!

The point is to have fun!

All I ask is that you remember to tag my username, and use the hashtag "eggbem 1k dtiys" so I can see your work!

(Oh yeah, and no AI please and thank you)

Again, thank you to everyone who has supported me in any way. It is such a joy to be in this community, and I consider myself extremely blessed to have found others who appreciate my work and love Rise just as much as I do.

All glory to God!

Psalm 100

[aerishey]

for me, THE main reason I think the show is gonna go with the romantic route, is the hamachi dish.

in s1, we get to know that Sydney's best meal was what Carmy made in New York

in s3, we get to know how much abuse he took in new york, how with the fennel it wasn't his dish anymore, but was forced to make that way, and that one day, after Mikey died, he said fuck it, this plate, this one plate is gonna be mine, he rebelled against the abuse, and that one plate was the one Sydney got. The one that was life-changing, and probably was a big part of why she took the job at the Beef. (And also, it looked like a bleeding heart.) She had a taste of the best of him, that spark that was there despite all the abuse, the anxiety, the sudden grief and guilt, that spark that in s4, we know he can't draw from anymore. and that best part was the best she ever had.

in s4, Sydney tells Donna that she flew to new york, becuse she wanted to taste his food so badly, and hands down that was the best meal of her life, and that "i don't even know if he knows this"

They keep bringing this up, telling us that he doesn't even know this. Why is it important? It could be professional reasons. That they are really platonic soulmates in the kitchen, that she's gonna be his legacy - he made her best meal, now she's gonna do the same to someone else.

And it would make sense, because season 4 was all about that:

in s3, they have a talk about legacy, and if he's gonna leave something behind, he wants it to be panicless, anxiety-free, he has to filter out the bad to make it good

and in s4, we see the absolute calmest, almost sensual sequence with Sydney making the scallop dish, then he sees her plate the cavatelli under 3 minutes, without even really trying, when that's something even he couldn't do, and realizes, that this is it. Syd is the panicless, anxiety-free version of the restaurant, that he can leave behind. And to make it good, he has to filter out the bad, aka himself, and he has to leave to change, it's the best for the restaurant and him (and he believes for everyone, including Sydney).

him realizing that she's just plain better than him, and more, she's better without all that extra trauma he had to endure to get to that level

and that, well, is painful for him, and is jealous a bit (as Sydney tells TJ, he acts weird and funky with her when she's better), but the season shows us that he ends up accepting it, embracing it, welcoming it (he fully expects her to get that best chef title, with a gentle smile on his lips, absolutely no jealousy or hurt there anymore) (also, there's a big visual emphasis on when he gives her his signature spoon, like it's her turn, she's his legacy)

And the revelation of the hamachi dish would fit in this so well. It could have been like: all the best that he still had in himself, he gave it to her, only her, and she ate it, she internalized it, and now it's hers, and he doesn't have it anymore. It would fit the legacy theme so well.

But they didn't do that. Instead, the crescendo of the theme is their arguing in the finale: "Syd, you're everything I'm never gonna be. I believe in you more than I believed in myself. You're The Bear."

And it feels final. Syd accepts it. She has self-doubt, of course, but she doesn't say "You're wrong." She says "And what if you're wrong." Because she knows it's true. "I know I don't need you." Their argument isn't about the restaurant. That's done. He knows it, she knows it.

So what else is there? What else could they use that reveal of the hamachi dish?

back to the legacy conversation, he says in order to leave something anxiety-free behind, he's gonna have to be square with everyone, and that's what we're seeing he's doing

he apologizes to Claire, calls her and tells her what he should've told her many-many times before, he finds her sweatshirt to give it back to her, to open up a way to see her again

he visits Donna, he lets her apologize, cooks for her, maybe it's a start to be in each other's life

I didn't put a picture, but he calls Cicero to thank him and telling him how much he appreciates him

at the news of him leaving, Nat is just plain happy for him, she hugs him, that's all she wanted for him, to get better, to find peace and joy

even with Richie, their argument came to an end, it was the revelation that he did in fact came to the funeral, he did resent Richie because he was more a part of his family than he was, and that he was blind to the fact the Richie lost someone, too. Then Richie confessed he feels the guilt, too, because he couldn't help Mikey, and he though that's why Carmy didn't go to there funeral. Richie tells him he resented him, too, and missed him. Carmy tells him they're more than cousins. They cleared the air.

However, Sydney and Carmy's argument wasn't over, it was interrupted by Richie. By then, it was already established that she's The Bear, she's everything he's never gonna be, and that she doesn't need him.

"but that's not the point" - Syd tells him, and it tells that it's not about the restaurant and whether or not she could do this without him

"you're my partner" "i'm your friend" "you're not acting like it" "i'm your fucking friend" - they are literally arguing about what they are to each other when Richie stops them

and it's not resolved

when Richie and Carmy fights, at the end of the scene, she already accepted that Carmy leaves - the reality of it at least, and now they have a new plan. So the emotional side of the restaurant's future - it's resolved.

more than that, when Nat asks Carmy "Bear?", like "tell me, is this true?", it's cut to Sydney and Carmy having a silent conversation, nodding to each other, as if Sydney is giving him some kind of "permission" to tell Nat, making it final, making it reality, and just after that he turns to Nat.

but the thing they last argued about, what they are to each other - it's not resolved in the slightest, not like with the other characters.

Carmy said in order to leave, he's gonna have to be square with everyone - and that leaves Syd in S5. It has to be some kind of change in their dynamic, some kind of turnover, and I think that the reveal of the hamachi dish will be the catalyst, like, the realization of love. (He literally gave her his one and only bleeding heart.)

Because they shouted "partner" and "friend" at each other - it would be really disappointing if the resolution of their conflict would be - yeah, we ARE partners and friends. I think it should be a third thing, one that they are both blind to at this point. Like, from a storytelling perspective.

So how I think will turn out? Well, we were given:

we were shown Sydney taking a picture of the hamachi dish

in s4, we were shown Sydney taking a picture of the lamb dish, inspired by her dress she wore at the wedding, where

Sydney's and Donna's conversation took place - Donna now knows how inspired Sydney is by her son, and that he cooked the best meal of her life, she says "wow", because yeah, that's a wild little coincident, and a good story

Carmy mentions the photos at his place, then Donna eventually got him to bring them to her, which leads to this:

"when I saw you at the wedding, and you're all grown, and you're this guy and so handsome, and I'm happy for you" and "people say such nice things about you and tell me how wonderful you are, and I hear about what you do" (that was all Sydney btw) "I hear about your life from other people, I don't know you and you don't know me and i did that, and I know that me saying this doesn't mean anything except that i'm trying, i'm trying to be responsible and accountable and apologize and trying to make things better" "and i'm here asking if i can be part of your life again"

she wants to know her son, because he lived a whole life she wasn't part of

So I can see her trying gather as much knowledge as she can about her kids, Carmy, looking and collecting articles, photos, then maybe reaching out to Sydney (maybe through Nat), asking if she has a photo of his dish, because it was so good to hear how her son did that, inspired someone so much. So maybe Sydney gives her a photo, and maybe Donna one day shows him an album she made about her kids, to show him that she's trying to get to know him. And he's turning the pages, smiling, then bam. He's facing a photo of the blood orange hamachi, and it's like he's hit by a train. It shouldn't be possible. How the fuck is this possible? So he asks Donna, and she tells him this cute story that his coworker told her at the wedding, and that she just had to ask for a photo... and the world is upside down, things clicking into place.

I think it would be such a satisfying revelation, and such a strong resolution to Carmy's and Sydney's interpersonal conflict of "what are we?", and I think with this route, it has to be romantic, bc what other resolution is there? "omg, she's INDEED my friend?" come on.

(btw, I'm literally writing a novel-length fic with this theory right now, bc i'm feeling feral about this idea)

what do you guys think?

[iscdisc]

This is a 2012 take I've had for a while now, and I'm so happy I made art about it today because I genuinely love talking about it !! 🗣️

This isn't meant to be 2012 Leo slander whatsoever, because I adore him and don't think he's terrible or anything (He's literally my favorite pick for the 2012 Turtles-) ! But I do feel that he admittedly had a lot of poor leadership moments at times (Especially in late Season 3 to Season 4- 💀), and I feel like a lot of the burden of having things accessible / ready / or even remotely feasible in order to have Leo's plans actually work out fell on Donnie. Without much appreciation or acknowledgment of that fact from Leo or anyone else for that matter.

I feel like if any of the brothers had a right to argue with Leo about leadership or how things were being run under him, it should have been Donnie, because Donnie had more than enough of a leg to stand on for that argument. I'm not trying to invalidate Raph's feelings or perspective, because I'm not saying I don't understand the angle of him being upset about Leo's blatant favoritism when it came to their Father and that being a big reason why he was so obstinate with Leo- But that aside, I don't feel like he had much of an argument to make when it came to presenting himself as a better option as far as leadership-?? I get retconning canon and that this could've just been the writers depicting Raph in a way that some of you may disagree with, but if we're basing this opinion on the Season 1 episode, "New Girl In Town", we can clearly see that he wasn't very well equipped to fill that role in the way that Leo was. And speaking of that particular episode, it was actually Donnie who stepped up when things were getting really bad with Snakeweed in the sewers- 👀

This is why I depict Raph in this scenario accepting this outcome and not being super defensive or acting like he should be included in the conversation, because I kind of have him admit that he wasn't the best at it-!

I'm also sorry, because there was so much more I wanted to draw, and instead of being able to show those things I'm just going to say them here-! For example, Splinter's involvement in the situation. I pretty much don't have him do anything about the unanimous vote, because in his eyes, this team's dynamic / structure is this team's business and he doesn't really have a place to say whether or not they change who leads the team. Sure he chose Leo in the beginning, but if they decide to come to a different decision, they're fully in the right to do that. So Leo couldn't exactly get Splinter to come to his defense,, 👍 || I also wanted to show more of Donnie and Leo both being pretty content with this new dynamic change after a while ! I somewhat got to explore that with the last image of Leo being able to fully explore his hobby / interest in astronomy, but I also wanted to show Donnie feeling very fulfilled and respected within this group of siblings and friends now that he is the team leader, with that being really satisfying for him ! || I also wanted to show Donnie having his first leader breakdown post the Kraang Invasion of Season 2, with Leo comforting him at the Farmhouse and expressing empathy having been in his position many many times before,, He just never really told his brothers about it because he didn't want them to worry and he honestly felt ashamed for breaking down so much,, <:/

Also, you know I can't resist putting 2012 Jonatello in everything I make, so of course this is going to have Jonatello moments too ! I just didn't get around to it yet- One of those things was going to be Casey becoming the second mechanic in the group in order to take off some of the work load on Donnie since now he's juggling even more than he used to-! The way Casey expresses not only concern but so much support for Donnie gives Donnie butterflies, okay- 👀💜🖤✨ Lmao

I guess the last thing I'll mention is kind of April's role and everything, since I want her to join Mikey in encouraging Leo to really explore himself as an individual now that he doesn't have to be defined by the leadership role anymore ! She's very supportive of him just being able to be himself and figure that out during this time ! But I also wanted her to better explain to Leo why she also agreed with this leadership change, since I can see him feeling a little betrayed by her. With Leo most likely assuming that she would have tried to reason with Donnie or get him to see a different side of the situation. I wanted to be very clear that she did not agree with Donnie because she felt bad for him or because of the weird crush he had on her and she didn't know how to be honest with him, etc. etc., you know what I mean? 👍✨

[stellaspectral]

okay i read your latest bayverse raphael x female reader (don’t know when you’ll read my request so i’ll add that it’s the one where she ask raph for things to draw in her sketchbook and the brothers are watching them and teasing raph) and i want to ask a continuation to that! i’m not the anon who asked that request but it was sooooo cute and funny and my heart melted and i need moooooore! maybe the reader ask if she can draw raph because she thinks he’s handsome and he just short-circuits because what? the girl of his dreams finds him, a giant-mutant-talking-turtle with anger issues, handsome!?!? and then maybe the reader finds the courage to ask him out on a date because she can see that raph is really insecure and he would probably never ask, but she likes him a lot too and she wants to start a relationship with him. i just need more fluff and softness between them and someone who will show to raph that he can be loved even if he doesn’t think so! if you add some teasing but very happy for him brothers in the background again i would be very happy! you write their personalities so well, i was grinning and kicking my feet the whole time!

A/N: I’m so happy you enjoyed Drawn to You enough to request a follow-up! For anyone who hasn’t read it yet, please do so—because this sequel won’t be as impactful without its context!

I didn’t make Raph’s brothers appear quite as prominently as last time. Because I’d like to think Leo told Donnie and Mikey to give them some breathing room so Raph and the reader can figure things out. Gotta have the oldest look out for his younger brother after all—though even he can’t resist a little teasing himself. 😉

Sketched in My Heart (fluff/mild angst)

❤️ Bayverse Raphael/Female Reader ❤️

CWs: Fluff, mutual pining, insecurity, mild angst, confessions, teasing siblings, and some light swearing. All characters are aged-up.

You’re back on your perch on the couch in the lair.

Already, you’ve sketched a few things: one of Leo’s katanas resting beside a meditation mat, the lava lamp on the stand beside you, and a mug with Sensei-tional Brew written on it (a gift from Mikey to Splinter) on the coffee table. But you find your attention drifting.

In his room, Raph is delivering a series of powerful strikes to the punching bag—the one you had drawn a week ago. You recall how adorable he was describing each tear and flaw in the material. But it isn’t long before you start watching him, how the muscles beneath his skin coil and release like massive springs. How he moves with a brutal but captivating grace.

He finishes a combination with a final, resounding thwack, making the chains suspending the bag groan as it swings wildly. For a moment, he stands, chest heaving, sweat highlighting the planes of his formidable physique. He turns, wiping his brow with the back of his hand—and his eyes meet yours for a split second before he glances away.

Your pulse skips like it always does when Raph catches you staring. Softly, you clear your throat and look down at your sketchbook, pretending to adjust a detail, even though your pencil hasn’t touched the paper in at least five minutes. You take a breath and attempt to focus on your art, but it’s no longer a good enough distraction.

You steal another glance at Raph. He’s toweling off now, muscles flexing with the motion. You bite your lip as it hits you all over again; how can he not know what he does to you? The guy moves like a walking tank and has the gentlest soul hidden under all that metaphorical armor. You want to draw that—the real Raphael.

And maybe, for once, say out loud how you see him.

You stand up before you can chicken out, sketchbook in hand, your legs carrying you across the lair before your brain catches up. “Hey, Raph?” you ask, gently tapping the frame of his open door.

He startles a little, caught mid-dab with the towel. “Oh—uh. Hey,” he says, voice rough but soft in the way it always is when it’s you.

“I was wondering …” You chew on your bottom lip, then force yourself to look him in the eyes. “Would you mind if I … drew you?”

His towel pauses halfway to his broad shoulder. “… Huh?”

“Like—you, you. I just …” You take a breath, clutching your sketchbook like a shield and hoping you don’t sound as nervous as you feel. “You’re … really handsome. And you don’t have to pose or anything! Just be you.”

His jaw drops, eyes wide. He’s short-circuiting. You can see it—Raph, the brawler, the bruiser, the guy who once stood toe-to-toe with Shredder solo, is now rendered momentarily speechless by your words. His towel hangs forgotten in his hand and he looks at you like he’s not sure he heard right. “You … think I’m handsome?” he finally says, like the idea never even occurred to him before.

“I know you are,” you say, softly but firmly.

He makes a noise—something between a cough and a choke—and turns half-away, rubbing at the back of his neck, clearly trying to play it cool. But failing miserably. “I, uh … yeah. Sure. If ya want.” His voice is lower now, shyer. “Don’t see why ya’d wanna draw me, though.”

“You’re strong. And you carry so much on your shoulders, but you still protect everyone. That’s amazing, Raph.” You flush a little but push on. “And yes, you’re really handsome.” You offer a small, tentative smile. “And I think you should see how I see you.”

You don’t think it’s possible, but somehow his face gets so red, you think it might match his mask.

He swallows, a visible bob in his throat. The hand holding the towel clenches, then slowly unfurls. His gaze, which had skittered away, flicks back to yours, wide and uncharacteristically uncertain. The usual hard glint is missing, replaced by something softer. “Damn. That’s … that’s somethin’, alright.”

You tilt your head. “Is that a yes, then?”

He chuckles. “Yeah, yeah. What the hell—draw away.” He backs up and flops onto the floor mat with a heavy thud. “Just don’t make me look all broody like Leo in meditation, alright?”

You grin, finding a spot to sit nearby before flipping to a fresh page. “No promises, but you do have that tortured soul thing going on,” you tease.

“Ugh,” he groans. “You sound like Mikey.”

He shifts a little, trying to find a comfortable position on the mat, one arm draped loosely over his knee. His other hand toys with the edge of the towel, still fidgety in a way that makes your chest ache with affection.

You set your pencil to paper, letting the first strokes flow. You sketch his strong jawline, the furrow in his brow that never quite smooths out, and those eyes. Even when they’re avoiding yours, they hold a thousand emotions.

He stays still, though you can tell it’s not his natural state. Occasionally, his eyes flick to your face, then dart away again like he’s trying not to be caught looking. You pretend not to notice, even as your heart thuds louder with each glance.

After a while, you break the silence. “You know, you don’t always have to carry it all alone.”

He blinks, looking like you caught him off guard. “Huh?”

You look down at the sketch, then back to him. “The weight, the anger. The way you think you’ve got to be the strong one all the time.” You offer him a gentle smile.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just studies you, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he exhales a slow breath. “Yeah. I know. I just …” His gaze drops. “Sometimes it feels like I gotta be the wall. So nothin’ breaks through. For the family, you know?”

“I get that,” you murmur. “But walls don’t just keep things out. They can trap things in, too.”

He looks at you again, and this time, something in his face softens. Like a wall starting to crumble. “I ain’t used to people seein’ past the tough guy stuff,” he admits.

You hold up the sketchbook and turn it toward him. “Then maybe it’s time someone did.”

His eyes widen as he sees the drawing. It’s not perfect; some lines are rough, a few details unfinished. But the likeness is unmistakable. And more than that, it feels like him. Strong, yes. But thoughtful. Kind. Gentle. You didn’t just draw what he looks like.

You drew what he is.

He stares for a long moment, jaw slack. Then he huffs a breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “You got me lookin’ like I’m worth a damn.”

“You are worth a damn, Raph.” You meet his eyes and don’t look away. “You’re worth everything.”

The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. It’s charged, full of something neither of you have quite named yet. And honestly? It’s also about time someone did put it into words.

Raph’s voice is a low rumble when he finally speaks. “You really think all that?” He gestures vaguely between himself and the sketchbook, still looking a little dazed.

“Every word,” you confirm.

You see the flicker of disbelief in his eyes, the way he almost shrinks into himself, as if your praise is a physical weight he’s not used to carrying in a positive way. He’s so used to criticism, to being the tough one, that genuine affection seems to throw him completely off balance.

His gaze drops to the floor, and he mumbles, “Nah, c’mon. Don’t say stuff like that.” The insecurity is palpable, a heavy cloak he wears too often.

And that’s when you know. You can’t wait for him. He’ll second-guess himself into oblivion, convince himself he’s not good enough, that you couldn’t possibly mean it. But you do.

Your heart hammers against your ribs as you take a deep breath, the air in the room suddenly feeling thick. “Raph,” you begin, your voice a little shakier than you’d like, but you press on. “I really like spending time with you. And … and I like you. A lot.”

He looks up at that, his eyes wide and searching yours. The blush that had started to fade from earlier creeps back up his neck.

“So,” you continue, forging ahead before your courage can desert you, “I was wondering … if maybe … you’d want to go on a date with me?” You rush the last few words out, then clamp your lips shut, waiting, your own cheeks heating up.

The silence stretches as Raph just stares, his mouth opening before closing again. You, on the other hand, feel like your heart is trying to escape your chest with how fast it’s beating. Self-consciously, you wipe your sweaty palms on your pants but still refuse to break eye contact as you wait for his answer.

“A … date?” he finally chokes out, his voice cracking on the word. “With me?” He points at himself, as if to clarify which giant talking turtle with anger issues you could possibly be referring to.

“Yes, Raph. With you,” you say, a small, hopeful smile playing on your lips. “Unless over six-foot-tall, red-masked ninja turtles with a surprising soft spot and impressive muscles are forbidden from dating?” You try for a light tone, hoping to ease the shock radiating off him.

He runs a hand over his head, his eyes darting around the room as if looking for an escape route or perhaps a hidden camera crew. “But why?” he asks, his voice raw with confusion. “I mean, look at me. I’m … this.” He gestures to himself again, a wave of that familiar insecurity washing over his features, momentarily dimming the hopeful spark you thought you saw.

“I am looking at you, Raph,” you say, your voice soft but firm, full of all the sincerity you feel. Gingerly, you move closer. “And I see someone amazing. Someone brave, and loyal, and yeah, a little rough around the edges,” you concede with a gentle smile, “but someone who cares so damn much it practically pours out of him. I see you. And I like what I see. A lot.”

Finally, he grins and shakes his head sheepishly, chuckling softly. “You really don’t quit, do ya? Seriously. A date?”

You nod. “Yeah. We can start small. Grab a slice. Watch a movie. Or, you know, sit in awkward silence and pretend we’re both not nervous wrecks.”

Raph stares at you for another beat. Then, slowly—carefully, like he’s touching something fragile—he reaches out and taps the edge of your sketchbook with one large finger.

“I ain’t good with words,” he says, apologetic. “But yeah. I’d like that. A date. With you.”

Your smile widens. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he breathes out, the word husky and full of a warmth that makes your insides melt. “Really.”

Just as sweet relief and giddiness bubble up inside you, a voice shatters the moment.

“Oooooooh, Raphie’s got a giiiiirlfriend!”

Of course, that sing-song taunt could only belong to one turtle: Mikey. He stands in the doorway, cupping his hands around his mouth like he wants to announce the news to the whole sewer.

Raph jumps about a foot in the air, whirling around at him. “MIKEY! GET OUTTA HERE, YA LITTLE SNOOP!” he roars, his face instantly turning a shade of red that rivals his mask.

Close on his heels, Donnie peers inside, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “Statistically speaking, it was only a matter of time before someone found your emotionally repressed, brooding rage charming.”

“Get outta here, ya knuckleheads!” Raph snaps, balling his fists. “Ain’t you got somethin’ better to do than spy on people?”

“Spying? Us?” Mikey feigns an offended pout, placing a hand over his plastron. “Never!” He flops dramatically onto Raph’s mat, right next to your sketchbook, peering at it with stars in his eyes. “You drew him? Like one of your French turtles?!”

“MIKEY,” Raph snarls, lunging toward him, but Mikey rolls away with a laugh, skidding to a stop against the wall.

Leo appears beside Donnie, arms crossed and expression stern in the way only an older brother’s can be. “Alright, enough. Show’s over,” he scolds, nudging past Donnie to lean down and pat the back of Mikey’s shell. “Let’s give them some space.”

“Awww, but we just got here,” Mikey whines as he stands.

Leo sighs. “You’ve caused enough chaos,” he says, steering his chuckling, protesting brothers outside of the room. Before stepping over the threshold, Leo’s eyes flick toward you, then to Raph, his expression softening with understanding.

Though even Leo can’t resist a bit of teasing.

“We’ll leave you two lovebirds alone.”

Mikey is still making kissing noises as Leo herds them out. He gives the two of you an apologetic smile before firmly shutting Raph’s door, the room suddenly becoming silent. Finally, you feel like you can breathe again.

Raph groans, rubbing a hand down his face as if trying to erase the past sixty seconds from existence. “I am gonna pulverize them,” he mutters, before looking at you with a grimace on his face. “Sorry ‘bout that. They’re … a handful.”

“Well, they are your brothers,” you point out. “Endless teasing is practically an unspoken clause in the sibling contract, right?”

“Yeah. You get used to it. Mostly.” He glances towards the closed door, a muscle working in his jaw as if he can still hear Mikey’s teasing. “They ain’t ever gonna let me live this down.”

You smile gently, closing your sketchbook and setting it beside you. “Maybe not,” you agree as you reach out to brush your fingers lightly over the back of his hand. “But I think that just means they’re happy for you.”

He looks down at your fingers, as if processing the sensation. Then, almost imperceptibly, the tension in his shoulders ease. “Yeah, well,” he mutters, glancing at the door again, “they’re happy they got fresh teasing material for the next decade, more like.” But there’s no actual heat in his words. “Guess you’re right, though. S’pose they’re happy … in their own annoying way.”

He shifts his gaze back to your hand on his. Slowly, hesitantly, he turns his palm upwards, fingers brushing against yours. You gently lace your fingers with his, a pleasant jolt shooting up your arm. He clears his throat, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, then quickly darting away again, a faint blush still dusting his cheeks.

“So, uh … this date thing,” he says. “You’re sure, sure?”

You bring your other hand up to cup his cheek, your thumb stroking the slightly rough skin just below his mask. His eyes widen at the contact, but he leans into your touch. “I’ve never been more sure about anything,” you say earnestly.

He swallows, his gaze locked on yours as he brings his free hand up to cover yours on his cheek, holding it there. “Damn,” he breathes, his voice thick with emotion. “You really know how to knock a guy off his feet, don’t ya?”

“Only the deserving ones.”

A small, almost shy smile touches Raph’s lips. “Deservin’, huh?” He looks down at your intertwined hands, then back up at your face. “You got a funny way of lookin’ at things. A good way.”

“I just see what’s there,” you murmur, your thumb continuing its soft caress on his cheek. He leans further into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

When he opens them again, there’s a new resolve, a flicker of excitement. “So … this date.” He clears his throat again, the blush still present but fainter now, more like a warm glow. “When were you … uh … thinkin’?”

“Whenever works for you. We could keep it simple. Your lair’s got character,” you say, a teasing glint in your eye, “but maybe somewhere a little more private for a first date? My place, if you’re up for it? Or if you know a quiet spot topside …”

“I know a few spots. Rooftops, mostly. Quiet. Good view of the city. Nobody bothers ya up there.” He looks at you, a silent question in his eyes, as if offering to share something personal.

“A rooftop sounds perfect,” you say softly. “And tonight, maybe? If you’re not too tired.”

“Adrenaline’s still kinda pumpin’, actually.” He pauses, then adds, “Tonight sounds … yeah. Good.” He hesitates then, his gaze dropping for a second before meeting yours again, earnest and a little vulnerable. “I ain’t exactly a pro at this whole datin’ thing. Just so ya know. Might mess it up.”

“You won’t mess it up.” You squeeze his hand. “We can just … be. Talk. Look at the stars. No pressure. The most important part is just being together, right?”

His eyes soften, the last vestiges of his tough-guy guard seeming to melt away in the quiet intimacy of his room. “Yeah,” he breathes. He lifts your joined hands, his gaze fixed on yours, and slowly, he brings your knuckles to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss there. “Tonight, then.”

“Tonight,” you echo, your heart swelling.

He holds your gaze for another long moment. Then, with a reluctant sigh, he lets go of your hand on his cheek, though he keeps your other hand firmly in his. “I should, uh … probably clean up a bit more. Before we … y’know.” He gestures vaguely at himself, looking a little self-conscious.

“Take your time,” you say, giving his hand a final squeeze before slowly withdrawing yours. You pick up your sketchbook, a warm feeling spreading through your chest. “I’ll wait out on the couch.”

“Won’t be long.”

You return to the communal area and find your perch on the couch again, giddy as you replay the last hour in your mind. Thinking of the feel of his hand in yours, the tenderness in his eyes, the brush of his lips. You open your sketchbook, flipping back to the portrait of Raph. It’s still unfinished. But in a way, that feels right. There’s more to him yet to draw, more to learn, more layers to peel back.

And tonight, under the stars, maybe you’ll start to uncover them.

[paradiseismine]

Finnverse kinks - Headcanons

Pairing: Finnverse characters x f!reader

Warnings: pretty spicy (duh), but no actual smut scenes.

Summary: kinks I believe each Finn character would have hehehe

Love note from Nina: would you like me to turn each kink into a full fic? let me know, lovelies!

Boris Pavlikovsky

💋 SUI (sex under the influence)

We all know that he’s a stoner, but Boris lovesss to see you all sensitive from some MDMA, shivering and moaning at the softest graze of his fingers; or laughing while riding him with a joint in your hand (he thinks you look specially sexy while doing it). Boris is already insatiable sober, but when you get high with him is a whole different story - let’s just say you’ll be really satisfied (and well, a bit sore) the next morning.

💋 Pet kink

He’ll call you bunny, kitty and other pet animal names. He got you a choker that resembles a collar, and you wear it nearly every time you two have sex. He’ll pull your face closer to his by your collar, telling you to be a good pet and do as he says. It all started with him jokingly saying that you were an animal in bed, but as time went on, he got a bit more literal with that.

💋 Daddy kink

Expect that delicious Russian accent to tell you to “cum for daddy” or to “come suck dick for daddy” multiple times during your intimacy. And of course, you have to call him daddy as well, giving him the “yes sir”, and the big pleading eyes.

If you don’t oblige, he’ll flip you over his lap and spank you until you call him daddy. “What did you want from daddy, my little girl?” and you’ll babble, so horny you’ll sound drunk “Your cock, daddy, I need your cock in my pussy, need you to stretch out my little hole real good, please”

Mike Wheeler

💋 (Not so) secret hickeys/love bites

Mikey absolutely loves to mark you as his, leaving little purple bruises on your neck, on your breasts or on your shoulders. He won’t say it to your face, but if he left a hickey on your breasts and you decide to wear a low cut shirt later that day, showing off the bruise to all of your friends, he’ll fuck you extra hard when you two get alone. Something about other people seeing how you belong to him sends this boy over the edge, and it’s his pleasure to let you know how he feels.

💋 Risky sex

Oh, so you two are going to the movies? Make sure to wear a skirt, and make sure it’s shorter this time, so you won’t draw so much attention when he starts fingering your pussy and making you stifle your moans halfway through the movie. Going camping? Good, he always wanted to get his dick sucked under a tree beneath the stars.

Basically, Mikey wants to have you in places where you two could possibly get caught, that thrill gets him rock hard in a second - and let’s face it, you have a lot of fun with it too.

💋 Panties in his pocket

Now, if you really want to drive Mike wild, try going to the bathroom, taking off your panties and sneaking them in the back pocket of his pants. You did this once at a friend’s house party, and the way he fucked you afterwards still gives you chills just thinking about it.

You can do that at a restaurant, at a trip or something along those lines - knowing you’re so naughty just for him, and so eager for him to please you that you can’t even keep your underwear on is sure to make him lose his mind. He’ll grab you by the hips as soon as you’re alone and whisper to your ear, “Does my princess need her man to take care of her, yeah? I got you, sweet girl”

Miles Fairchild

💋 Shibari

It goes without saying that this one here is a dom - we all know it by now - but he absolutely loves to tie you up. Mostly he uses actual ropes, but he has bought a myriad of different materials to tie you up with, just to, you know, switch things up. He’ll tie you up to the ceiling, completely naked, and fuck you without moving a muscle himself, just from your swinging at the ropes. He’ll bounce you on his cock and say something like “ah, now you’re just the way I like it, all exposed and tied up for me to use, my little puppet sex doll”

💋 Free use

Speaking of “use”, Miles loves some free use. He loves to lower your pants or lift up your dress out of the blue and fuck you senseless. He’ll also lower your top’s spaghetti straps and suckle on your boobs like a starving baby whenever he wants, stroking himself in the mean time.

It goes both ways, though: you’re free to pump him hard and make him fuck your tight slit as much as you want and whenever you want, or force his face onto your pussy to get him to eat you out. He basically never says no, and is always eager to please his slutty princess however she wants.

💋 Knife play

He gets all hot and heavy when you declutter your closet: that means that some old/stained clothes, that would normally be discarded, now get to be cut through by his knife. Miles gets FERAL when you let him cut through your clothes to undress you. It’s all about how dominant he feels doing that.

On special occasions, you’d even let him do a small cut on a less visible/less prone to excessive bleeding part of your body. That boy is a sucker for your blood and will lick it all off in a split second.

Trevor Spengler

💋 Soft domination

Trev is a softer dom - he’s way more likely to praise you instead of degrading you and doesn’t leave as many bruises or marks on your body, preferring his dominance to be more mental. But you must remember: he’s in charge, and he’ll gladly remind you of that if you dare forget it for a mere second.

Prepare yourself for some hair pulling, sensual biting, spanking and harsh groping, lotsss of getting asked “whose pussy is this, baby girl?” and “all wet and needy, aren’t you? what should I do to you first?” as his delicious raspy voice makes your brain melt away with lust.

💋 Breeding

Huge breeding kink, this one. It all boils down to his “modern hero” nature - he wants to save you, to protect you, to be your lifeline. And knowing that you would potentially trust him to father your children drives this boy wild.

He’ll always say things like “You got such a tight little pussy, princess, can I cum inside you already?”, “I’m gonna fill you up to the brim tonight, love” or “I’m gonna pump you so full of my cum, you won’t even be able to hold it all inside you”. So, uh…Pulling out? Not his game. Your pussy leaking with his cum and it dripping down your legs the whole day sounds way more fun.

💋 Car sex

The Ectomobile and Trevor have a long history together by now, and he wants you to be part of it. Whether you are sitting on the hood of the car or bent over it, or lying on the backseat, or got one leg to each side of his waist behind the steering wheel, Trev will never deny any sexual advances in his car. Quickies? Long, elaborate sex? He’s down. Sucking his dick while he drives is a particular favorite, and it makes him cum a lot sooner than usual, he just can’t hold it in - you look so hot, so slutty, so submissive doing that, he loves it.

Ziggy Katz

💋 Sex tape kink

Besides also liking nudes and sexting, it’s when you’re home and his camera is fully charged that this boy gets the most throbbing erections. You don’t even have to actually press the record button if you don’t want to, but just the fantasy of recording or (even better) live-streaming your sex makes Ziggy feel like he might explode. He’ll tell you to “smile for the camera” as he cums in your face, get you on all fours and pound into your pussy from behind as you moan and watch your own face contort in pleasure by looking at the camera’s viewfinder.

💋 Exhibitionism

Filming your intimacy is merely a small part of Ziggy’s main kink: exhibitionism. He absolutely loves to discreetly grab your butt in public while you two walk together, to swiftly get his hand under your skirt while kissing at a corner of a party, all that silly stuff. He just wants everyone to know he bagged such a babe. You’re so pretty he still can’t believe you like him and wanted to be his girlfriend - so now he’s gotta show you off as much as he can (well, as much as you’ll let him, ‘cause this boy would fuck you in front of an audience if he could).

💋 Feet

Ziggy will kiss your feet whenever they’re reachable when you two are getting it on. He’ll always compliment your pedicure, call you his goddess, say how soft and beautiful your feet are. Occasionally, he’ll ask for a footjob, saying things like “You’re so gorgeous, love, I bet you could make me cum using only your feet” or “let’s put that red pedicure you just got for a better use, huh?” He just worships you all over, but there’s something about your feet that gets him specially hard.

[kazutora-kurokawa]

Helloo! It's my first time requesting:)) I love your fics lol. You write so good!!

Can I please request yandere bonten men with a slightly chubby bimbo reader who's insecure about her weight. She's bubbly, gullible and naive. They caught her talking to someone who's tryna hit her up. For the nsfw part can I please get belly bulging 😔

no? *sigh* fine.. here's my offering..

🫱🏼(‿o‿)🫲🏼

Yandere!Bonten!Mikey x Chubby!Insecure!Bimbo!Reader

♡ NSFW, fem reader, wife!reader, mention of Sanzu and Bonten execs, brief mention of murder, gun use, lowkey naive!reader, size kink, belly bulging, big dick!Mikey, spanking, unprotected sex + creampie, kinda rough sex, not proofread ♡

note: I didn't know if you wanted a poly relationship or separate, so I just chose Mikey (I couldn't do all of them, I'm sorry but my brain is fried), I'm trying to keep the note short so anything else I have to yap about is in the tags

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You, your husband, and the Bonten executives were out at one of their nightclubs, trying to enjoy the little bit of time they had to spare due to their demanding jobs. You were in your cutest little dress, Mikey's favorite dress to be more precise. The one that hugged your curves just right and drove him damn near insane from how bad he wanted to rip it off of you.

Bonten had all gone their separate ways throughout the night, essentially leaving Sanzu in charge of watching you. He walked away from the booth you were sitting at for not even five minutes just to turn around and see a man, who he recognized as one of your coworkers, sitting across from you and quite obviously flirting with you.

Sanzu's first thought is to get this man away from you, by any means necessary. He walks back over to the booth, drawing his gun and pressing it to the man's temple.

"I don't know if you know this, but this lady right here is my boss's wife. So I suggest you move unless you want a piece of metal in your brain."

As soon as he's made aware of the situation, Mikey gets security to escort the man out the club, you can tell he did it because he has the slightest of smirks on his usually blank face. He sits down next to you and pulls you into his lap, his hands gripping your thighs tightly as if to give you a warning.

"What did I say about talking to strangers?"

"But he's not-"

"Don't talk back to me, I could have this whole place burned to the ground in a matter of seconds with that bastard trapped inside."

Soon, the rest of Bonten comes over and surrounds you at the table, naming off all the things they could do to your coworker.

"We could send some of our men to his house, teach him a little lesson without-" Koko tries to suggest.

"Or we could just take care of him ourselves." Sanzu interjects, itching to whoop some ass.

They couldn't care less about the man being your coworker because employees are always replaceable and they know Mikey would rather you not work with him anyway, so they all silently agree to take care of him permanently later on. For now, Mikey has to take care of you. He excuses himself, dragging you from the club into the car, and as soon as he gets you home he's bending you over the kitchen counter and pushing your dress up past your hips.

"C'mon baby, you know better than to test me like that, don't you?"

Mikey brings his rough, calloused hand down on your ass, smirking as he hears the little squeak that slips out your mouth. He grips your soft hips, his bulge pressing right against your pussy through your panties. He unbuckles his belt and pulls his pants and underwear down. His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down your plump thighs to reveal your soaked cunt.

“Look at you, all wet and ready for me.”

His middle finger slides back and forth between your folds, brushing lightly against your clit and making you weak in the knees. He lines himself up with your entrance and eases in, his fat cock stretching you out and causing a painful yet pleasurable burning sensation deep in your stomach. You can feel the tip of his dick knocking against the inside of your tummy, bulging through and pressing you firmly against the counter.

"Fuck! You're squeezing the life outta me."

"T-too big 'Jiro.."

"Too big? C'mon you can take it baby, you always take me so good."

His hips slap against your ass as he thrusts hard, his hand burying itself in your hair and pulling you off the counter to get a deeper angle. His free hand reaches around, cupping your tummy and applying pressure to the bulge formed there.

"You're so full of me, aren't you baby?"

All you can do is nod hurriedly and spew out nonsense in the form of moans, too fucked out to form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence. He presses soft kisses down your neck to your shoulder, his thrusts slowing down as he feels your pussy clenching around him as you cum. He lets out a raspy grunt shortly after as he starts to cum, filling you with his hot, gooey load.

He chuckles breathlessly as he pulls out, high off of his orgasm as he watches his cum leak out of you and drip down your thighs.

"You did so good princess. Gonna start behaving now, right? No more talking to strangers yeah?"

You mumble a soft 'Mhm' as your legs start to give out and you lie against the counter.

"Good." He peppers kisses on the nape of your neck before fixing his pants and helping you walk to the bathroom, knowing that he wouldn't have to worry about anyone stealing you away.

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Taglist

@arlerts-angel @i-literally-cant-with-this @trevengersprincess @giugiette @katkusuo @happy-trenchcoated-impala @drunkcheesecake @darkstarlight82 @reiners-milkbiddies @manji-hoe @southside-otaku @xxchthonicreaturexx @evergreen-endo @hanmaslilslut @dystop4in14nd @mysouleaten @mdsbabygirl

[ghostiesnightmare]

Your writing is EVERYTHING - from the details to the plot, I cannot describe how you can do that !

Request ;Michael sparing your life when you do something that makes him curious and excited - like kneeling in front of him or something like that ! I writed something like this on another account, but you write so good you have to do something with this !

With blood, knife Play, choking, some very very brutal Mikey, Pain kink-

Sorry for my bad english, my first language is french 😘

Salvation

Pairing: Michael Myers x Female Reader Summary: You were never supposed to survive him. You could have fled and buried the haunting memory of that fateful night– yet something draws you back to the ruins of faith and blood. Back to a place where your fear turns into something more like devotion. TW: DARK content, heavy religious influences, dubcon, blood, gore, knifeplay, choking, foul language, BLASPHEMY, unprotected sex, rough sex, vivid descriptions of pain, power imbalance, abuse, and more. Read at your own risk Word Count: 8,081 MDNI-NSFW A/N: This fic is HEAVILY reliant on Christian influences, so please read at your own risk. I recommend listening to Christian Woman by Type O Negative, which I had on repeat while writing this fic. I really struggled with this one, ngl... enjoy!

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They say fear is the oldest and strongest emotion– primal and unrelenting.

It’s an instinct woven into every creature, the deciding factor between life and death. The fear of the unknown is the greatest thing of all, or so Lovecraft once claimed. Yet, something about the quote never sat right with you. Fear is a fleeting thing– it tends to lack depth. It’s a faceless ghost– the sensation of goosebumps prickling against skin, the jitter in your bones as you shiver from adrenaline.

But no matter how hard you tried to picture it, to show it, the emotion evaded you. 

You groaned, fingers moving instinctively across the page of your sketchbook as you tried to capture the essence of the scene before you. The town square was buzzing with movement– costumed figures prowling through the streets, faces covered in an assortment of masks and bodies disfigured under layers of fabric.

Children clutched worn pillowcases, bounding from vendor to vendor in order to get their hands on a new sweet treat, parents following closely behind. Haddonfield’s annual Halloween Jamboree was nothing short of tradition, the mid-sized town throwing a lavish festival the Friday before the week of Halloween, something about being family friendly– as the mayor had said a few years back.

The event itself was always a hit, with college students flocking the scene from the nearby campus once the sun had fully set and the adults could come out and play. The festivities, as cheerful and decorative as they were, hid a much darker secret. 

As Halloween approached, so did the threat of death.

As much as people tried to ignore it, no matter how close parents held their children, no matter the curfews or buddy systems– death always came to collect. A heavy exhale escaped you, thumb smudging the shadows of the sketched scene, darkening the edges– there, it almost looked real. Almost alive.

Gazing over the sketch of haunting figures parading down the sidewalk, something caught your eye. A frown caught on your lips, brows furrowing. Holding up the sketch to the darkened sky, you glanced upwards, comparing fiction from reality. A muddled shape etched into the background of the town square– had you meant to draw that?

A smudge… no, a figure, so faint it was nearly swallowed up by the charcoal shadows, standing just in front of the treeline– watching.

“You’re doing it again.” The sound nearly made you jump out of your skin. Whirling your head around, the sketchbook clattered onto the wooden bench, now forgotten. Tiffany leaned over your shoulder, brow cocked in amusement at your jumpy state. Rolling your eyes at her antics, you quickly scooped up the sketchbook, frustration bubbling in your stomach.

“Jesus Tiff, you scared the shit out of me–” Your gaze caught the shape of the charcoal pencil on the concrete, “–ugh, my pencil! You owe me a new one.” You huffed out, gingerly rolling the ruined utensil between your fingers. Tiffany mumbled out an apology while moving around the bench, the scent of cigarettes invading your nostrils as she collapsed next to you.

“Seriously babes, it’s almost Halloween– not some art critique.” Her nose scrunched at that, and you shoved her shoulder halfheartedly. She squealed at your assault, shoving you back before continuing. “...Can you put down the creepy sketches for one night? Jennifer and I skipped the callbacks afterparty to be here.” She pouted, those damn doe eyes burning into you, guilt gnawing in your stomach. 

You sighed, tucking the sketchbook into your backpack. “I know, I know… I’m just–” “–Being a little weirdo like always?” Jennifer cut in, plopping into the open spot to your right on the bench. She grinned at you, pushing a beer bottle into your hand, the other gripped around another glass. You instantly took a swig, grimacing as the warm taste of stale beer invaded your senses.

“C��mon, this is like the last Friday we have together before rehearsals start! We have to do something fun.” She mused, Tiffany nodding along absentmindedly while she fiddled with her jeans. “This is fun!” you protested, but you couldn’t help but smile at them, knowing they had already won you over. Tiffany and Jennifer were your vices– they could convince you to do just about anything, no matter how much you disagreed with them. That’s what made your friendship so strong, they pushed you out of your comfort zone, and you kept them from going off the deep end. 

Something about tonight, however, felt different.

The Halloween Jamboree was too loud, too bright, too crowded. The air buzzed with anticipation of an unnamed influence, something that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up straight. Jennifer drained the last of her drink, tossing the bottle haphazardly behind her with a smirk. She straightened suddenly, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she looked you and Tiffany over.

“You know what we really need?” She questioned, and your stomach dropped a bit. The last time she uttered that phrase it resulted in you being banned from half the frats on campus after she stole the composite pictures from Lambda Chi Alpha. You chuckled slightly, the image of her drunkenly tackling a pledge like a linebacker with the picture cradled in her arms flashing in your mind.

Tiffany cocked a brow, apprehension coating her response, “What?” Jennifer flashed a wolfish grin, plucking the beer from your hand, ignoring your whines. She took a swig, contemplating her words before speaking, “–We need a real scare. I say we do something actually terrifying…”

She glanced at the costumed children in front of her, brows furrowing before she added, “-None of this kiddie haunted house bullshit.” Tiffany was instantly intrigued at the prospect, but you were less assured. “Like what?”, you questioned, yanking the beer bottle back into your hands and taking a sip.

Jennifer shrugged, but Tiffany’s eyes gleamed– an idea popping into her head and she grabbed your shoulder. “I mean… There is that old church just outside of town.” She mused, Jennifer quickly taking the bait. “That’s perfect! You’re a genius, Tiff.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the suggestion. The church. 

You had heard the rumors, the stories. Some said it had been abandoned for decades after the fire ravaged the building, leaving the charred remains scattered along the forest floor to rot. Others said it never had been abandoned, the decaying steeple housing something much more sinister.

Whispers of the couple that was brutally murdered earlier this year quickly fluttered through your mind, their warped corpses draped over the altar. “Demon worshipers”, the sheriff had said, but you weren’t so sure. The church was your secret– having been obsessed with the dark ruins that seemed to swallow you up every time you walked through the doors. You had sketched it from memory countless times, the skeletal archways and dusty pews burned into your brain.

Something about it always called to you. 

Jennifer’s grin only widened, and you fought to keep your expression neutral. “What do you think, scaredy cat?” She mocked, the beer turning sour in your mouth at the taunt. “–Think you can handle it?” You swallowed thickly, debating saying something. You wanted to say no, the idea of having your friends trample around your safe space making your stomach churn. ‘It’s not safe’, you wanted to plead, ‘–it’s dangerous’.

Instead, you found yourself pulling your backpack over your shoulders. “Let’s go.” You mumbled, causing an excited squeal to erupt from your friends, who were hot on your heel. You quickly finished the beer, tossing it into a stray trash can as you passed, a heavy sigh building in the back of your throat.

Three girls exploring a haunted church a few nights before Halloween… what’s the worst that could happen?

__

The church was always grim at night.

Like an icon to broken faith, it loomed over the treeline– the charred steeple cutting through the horizon like a knife. The rusted iron gate stood ajar, the hinge groaning as you pushed it further open, like a mouth leading into darkness. The wind howled in the distance, whipping through the shattered windows– making the building sound as if it were breathing.

You shivered against the cold, braving onwards. Leaves crunched under your boots as you walked, Tiffany and Jennifer following closely behind. Weaving through the asymmetrical headstones of the cemetery, you paused at the entrance of the church, Tiffany tripping over her feet as she glanced upwards. The wood of the heavy doors had deteriorated over time, moss and mushrooms sprouting from the ground upwards.

You leaned against the heavy door, pushing one open with a grunt. The wood gave way, the rusty hinges screaming as you opened the door. Stepping inside, the three of you gaped upwards, taking in your surroundings.

“I need a cigarette.” Jennifer mumbled, eyes trailing the stained glass depicting different saints and angels. The moonlight streamed through the gaping holes in the ceiling– the rafters in various stages of decay as your eyes adjusted to the lack of light. Sidestepping a fallen pew, you made your way forwards, navigating through the familiar maze of stone and wood.

The air was thick with rot and dust, hanging heavy around you like a weighted blanket. Your hand traced the ornate carvings of a confessional booth, the wood now splintered and covered in graffiti. A place once considered to be holy– now desolate and abandoned. Jennifer rammed into the overturned pew, obscenities flying from her mouth.

Ushering the duo over, you pulled them to the back of the church, the cracked marble of the altar glowing faintly under the moonlight. The air stilled here, a chill seeping into your bones as you stared forward. Tiffany straightened, swallowing thickly. “Is... is that where–?”

You nodded, the gruesome crime scene photos from the newspaper flashing in your mind. Jennifer, ever fearless, moved forward. Brushing her hand against the altar, she hopped up, legs swinging as she sat on the resting place of two unfortunate souls. Your stomach boiled at the disrespect, but you held your tongue. “Ya know…” She started, fishing out a cigarette from her pocket. Lighting it, she took a drag before continuing. “Some say they saw the devil before they died. That’s why the police never found their killer.” Tiffany shuddered at the statement, eyes catching a drop of dried blood hidden underneath the altar.

You rolled your eyes.

“Their friends were drunk. I mean…” You gestured around yourself to the decaying church, “-Who else comes to a church to play the Ouija board? They were seeing things.” Jennifer pushed off of the altar, heels clicking against the dusty floor as she took another drag. She exhaled, blowing the smoke into your face– your eyes stinging as a cough ripped from your throat. 

You snatched the cigarette from her fingers, anger building.

“Whether you believe in it or not, go smoke outside. You’re being rude.” Jennifer’s brows furrowed, an angry pout building on her lips as she glowered at you. “Jeez, someone’s got their panties in a twist tonight.” She huffed out, taking the butt of the cigarette from your hands and moving towards the front door. “I’ll be a minute…” She called over her shoulder, eyes meeting yours with a twinge of irritation. “–Don’t wait up.” Her footsteps retreated outside, and

Tiffany sank into a wooden pew– trying to steel her nerves. Your fingers twitched, itching for your sketchbook. You wanted to capture the essence of the church, something about it so harrowing it stayed with you every time you left. The cracked altar, the rusted candelabras, the splintered organ shoved into the corner– it whispered to you, begging you to explore, to dive into the depths. 

You glanced at the altar once more, trying to imagine the final moments of those who came before you.

The hiss of spray cans against stone, the clink of beer bottles and the smell of cigarette smoke. The whispers to a wooden board, the shrieks of excitement as the planchette moved. An unexpected visitor– a struggle, a piercing shout– then nothing. Was the violence in a place deemed sacred the reason for your obsession? Or was it something darker, a force calling you from the bowels of the church?

Did they pray to a god they didn't believe in as they were slaughtered, or did they know that they were forsaken? Your mind spun with the possibilities, fingers burning to sketch the outline of the saints etched into the wall. They had to have seen, they had to have known, yet nothing saved them… why? 

A gurgled scream tore through the stale air, causing your spine to stiffen.

Your head whirled, eyes meeting the frantic Tiffany, who shot out of the pew. You both turned towards the noise, fear settling in the pit of your stomach. Jennifer. Your throat dried, heart pounding in your chest as you called out– a piece of you begging, pleading for a response. Nothing. The silence seemed to swallow you whole, your feet anchoring you in place. God, that scream– the sound seared into your brain as you gaped at the door.

Tiffany bolted towards the front door, feet skittering across the assortment of debris littering the floor. Your brain yelled at you to move, to run and follow Tiffany, but you were frozen in place. Stumbling forward, she reached the expanse of the open door, darting out momentarily. Your heart leaped within your chest, mouth opening to speak– but any semblance of words died on your tongue. You looked upwards. The iconography of forgotten saints glaring down at you in the haze of night, solemn faces weathered by time.

Is this how it felt to feel the wrath of God?

Tiffany rushed back inside, slamming the wooden door with a force so strong it made the church tremble. Deathly pale, she stumbled over the debris, collapsing in a heap a few feet from the doors. The smell of vomit filled the air, and you flinched. The sight of her– broken, trembling, driven half mad– snapped you from your trance. You whispered across the darkness, arms beckoning her towards you, but she remained rooted in place. 

“What… What did you see?!” Tiffany choked on a sob, breath hitching. Snot ran down her face, and she whipped her face with her damp sleeve. “Tiffany–” Your voice hardened, urgency rising like bile in your throat. “–Where is Jennifer?” At the mention of her name, Tiffany went rigid. She shook her head violently, as if the words themselves would summon something terrible.  

“She’s…”, Her fingers dug into the floorboards, clawing for something solid. “Oh god– she’s dead.” 

The words hung in the air– and a piece of you begged that it was some kind of joke. But nothing about the trembling girl in front of you seemed staged, it was all terrifyingly real. You swallowed hard, straining your ears for any sound of movement. Adrenaline began to flood your senses, your heart feeling like it was going to burst from your chest.

The church was quiet– too quiet– the only sound coming from the wind whipping through the rafters.

The heavy door shuddered slightly as it was pushed open once more, the shriek of the hinges catching your attention. The open doorway was a gateway to the void, no matter how hard you squinted darkness met your vision. Hope rose within your chest, pushing your shaking legs forward– one step, two. Maybe Jennifer had gotten hurt, maybe Tiffany saw the blood and panicked, maybe– just maybe your mind was playing tricks on you.

A shadow passed through the threshold of the doorway, thick and oppressive.

Tiffany let out a pitiful whimper, shrinking further into the floor, refusing to look behind her and into the doorway. You squinted against the darkness, trying to make out the shape you swore you saw move into the entrance of the church.

The stale air in the church thickened, and you swallowed dryly, eyes tracing the doorway. A stream of moonlight broke through the battered steeple, cutting through the darkness– and then you saw him. That godforsaken pale mask you had only heard of in ghost stories, those hollow eyes that burned into your skull. Like death itself, the boogeyman of Haddonfield had come to pay his due.

Michael Myers.

A part of you knew, deep down that Jennifer wasn’t coming back. Whatever had made her scream had already decided her fate, and even worse– you were next.

The church seemed to tighten around you, the air growing suffocatingly thick. Your knees locked in place, fear crackling through your veins. You should have known better, that there was no salvation in a house of God– not here, not tonight. Michael stepped further into the church, breaching the line of sanctuary, and you knew– no prayer would save you now.

Tiffany tried to run, she really did– but nothing could keep her foot from catching on the edge of an upturned rock. She stumbled, a frantic yelp ripping from her throat as her twisted limb crumbled beneath her. Her fingers clawed at the floor, desperately trying to drag herself from the shadow looming over her. Gasping for air, she outstretched a hand– praying, begging for salvation.

Like a lamb sent to slaughter.

Your mouth went dry at the absolute irony of it all– hunted down in a revered sanctuary. Mentally you screamed at your legs to move, to give out, to do anything other than stand there and gape like a deer caught in headlights, but your feet remained rooted to the floor.

“God, please help me–” Tiffany sputtered out, calling out your name like a lifeline, tears streaming down her face as she writhed like an overturned bug. “... I don’t want to die–”. The pitiful words pounded in your skull, yet you couldn’t tear yourself away from the scene. Michael refused to stop, hand gripping the back of her hair and pulling her head upwards off the floor. Her eyes met yours, and the blood drained from your face.

The saints loomed overhead, their engraved expressions frozen in silent judgement, empty eyes watching, waiting. Their lips did not move to save her– for she was already damned.

The knife came down in a single, unceremonious slice, severing the fragile skin of her throat. Her prayer gurgled on her tongue, blood spilling over her hands as she clawed at her throat. Tiffany convulsed, her eyes bulging from her skull as she choked on her own blood before deteriorating to the dusty floor. 

Silence fell over the church once more, and you felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your knees buckled beneath your weight, a dull pain stabbing into you as you collapsed. The stone needled through the denim of your jeans, and your hands trembled, barely supporting you. Michael moved onwards, a shadow cast by the hand of God– silent, inevitable.

His gaze burned into you, scorching your flesh as you stared, unable to look away. The sickening dribble of blood, a calculated step, two. And then– slowly– you lowered your head. Your fingers curled into fists as your head dipped, breaths coming out in frantic huffs as you knelt, body possessed by something ancient, something primal.

His overwhelming presence bore down on you, the outline of his boots barely visible under the curtain of hair pooling from your head, obstructing your view. Another deep sigh came from Michael– your judge, jury, and executioner– the knife, your penance, gripped tightly in his fist. 

“Please,” the word slipped from your lips before you could stop yourself, voice hoarse, resolve shattered.

You couldn’t decipher what you were pleading for… the finality of your punishment– or deliverance? Your prayer echoed around the space, the weight of his gaze bearing down against you. The church walls stood, unmoving. The saints did not weep– the grounds did not split, swallowing you up into the depths of hell– just silence.

You remained frozen, head bowed to the floor like a deranged sign of reverence. You didn’t dare to raise your gaze, not when you could feel him standing over you, his presence practically suffocating. Michael did not move, motionless above you. You could have sworn you heard him breathing– slow, steady, somehow human– but everything else surrounding him embodied the unnatural. The moment seemed to stretch into eternity, time itself faltering around him, heavy and stifling. 

Then, footsteps– slow and calculated.

You squeezed your eyes shut as they receded, the jostling slam of the wooden door swallowing his form into the night. The cold rushed through your lungs as you gasped for air, shuddering as you released a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in. Just as soon as he appeared, he was gone. For the first time since his untimely appearance, you forced your body to move– hands flattening against the floor as you shakily pushed yourself upwards.

Blood coated the soles of your boots as you stumbled towards the entrance of the church, and you forced yourself to look. Tiffany’s motionless body lay mere inches from your laces, lifeless eyes staring blankly at the vaulted ceiling– eerily mirroring the saints glaring down at you.

 You knew Jennifer wasn’t going to be any better, another lost soul put in the wrong place, wrong time. Your fingers dug into the splintered wood of the door, and you pulled the door open, the frigid nighttime air biting into your skin.

They were dead, but you– you were alive. Your stomach lurched, a strangled sob ripping from your throat as you dry heaved against the doorway. Your body shivered, wracked with fear, with grief, and something much worse.

Something that burned in your chest like shame– something that felt like gratitude. 

__

The funeral was a blur.

Jennifer’s family was a wreck, her mother sobbing openly as they lowered the casket into the ground. She clawed at the wooden box as if to drag her daughter back into the light– to life. Tiffany’s parents were more solemn, her father silently watching the scene unravel as he held his wife to his chest.

There’s a saying you read in a book once, that parents only feel true sorrow when they bury their children within their lifetime. Seeing it all now, however, the saying was all the more horrific. You stood at the back of the service, nails digging into the palms of your hands– leaving crescents in their wake. The questions from the officers interrogating you just days before still swirled in your head, voices muffled against the sobs of the funeral party. 

We just wanted to explore, you had said. They ran– but I don’t know why I didn’t, too. You expected disbelief, the fragmented pieces of information you remembered painting a picture of the boogeyman you were sure had been blamed for many other crimes. In the end, the weight of two bodies– killed days before Halloween– seemed to be enough evidence that mirrored your claims.

You didn’t cry– you couldn’t, not when you had survived.

The guilt gnawed at you, clawing through your ribcage to the point where you felt like you couldn’t breathe. It was immeasurable, but there was something else growing within you– something darker. Michael had spared you, not due to mercy or luck, but from something you couldn’t quite place. He had watched you– stood over you with your life practically balanced between his fingers– and he walked away.

Your mind couldn’t let it go, replaying the moments like a broken record, trying but failing to analyze what could have been your saving grace. 

You had stopped sleeping since that night.

Every time you closed your eyes, he would be there, towering over you– a silent threat. You dreamed of him, not as the brutal murderer that ripped the life from your friends, but as something far from human. He was always there, lurking in the back of your mind like a shadow. Throughout the restless nights, you would toss and turn, the events of that forsaken night playing in an endless loop.

The church. The knife. The screams. But most importantly, the haunting silence that followed.

The air always felt heavy during the night, as if you were being watched– the hair on the back of your neck standing straight up as you tried to force your bloodshot eyes shut. You tried everything to relieve the stress: chamomile tea, lavender lotion, weighted blankets, a noise machine. Yet the sweet solace of sleep never came, the only semblance of rest coming from the daydreams that followed your every waking moment. 

You became withdrawn from school, the days bleeding together after the funeral into a mess of smeared memories. Your classmates assumed you were grieving the loss of your friends, the trauma uprooting your life in a way that left you… different. If only they knew the truth, the nightmares plaguing you at night, the guilt of it all, weighing down on you like a wet blanket.

He consumed your life, from the moment you dragged yourself out of bed to the second you shut your eyes. It was as if you missed him– the thought alone made you feel sick. But it was there, those dark thoughts crawling within your chest, feelings you could only describe as a fucked up gratitude. Michael had spared you, leaving behind nothing but unanswered questions.

And no matter how hard you tried to push the feelings down and snuff out the curiosity, you wanted to find out why. 

The darkness manifested itself within your work. At first, you didn’t even notice– mindless doodles on your notes as the professor lectured in class, sketches charcoaled in your notebook during the nights you dreaded sleep. Somehow, he always managed to take form.

The curve of the blade of the knife, the angle of his shoulders, the hollow outline of his mask.

As your mind wandered, the page would fill with details you only could have imagined– the sharp curve of a nose, a widow’s peak of dark hair, steely eyes. Fingers would haphazardly turn the page, having a mind of their own as you zoned out. One page, then two, then three. By the time you looked down, snapping out of your haze, the paper was riddled with him.

Your paintings began to darken– landscapes draped with shadows, an outline of a figure in the distance at the focal point. Images of the icons within the church became anything but saintly– empty sockets sunken into withered heads, the sight ghastly morbid. Clay sculptures related to broken bodies filled with deep slashes, hands outstretched for any semblance of mercy. 

During class critiques, even your professors noted the sudden change in your content– casting worried looks your way as their eyes scanned your work. “This feels… heavy. Haunted, almost.” You brushed the comments off, lying through gritted teeth. Some bullshit excuse on the study of trauma– yet you knew that it was further than the truth.

But when you returned to your room, you found it transformed into a gallery of him. The paintings, the sketches, the sculptures burning holes within you– calling to you, taunting you. He was everywhere, like a stain you couldn’t scrub away. And although you hated to admit it, a part of you knew you couldn’t if you tried. 

You started to confess.

Not to a priest or a therapist– but to your bathroom mirror, the warped reflection in the glass being your only comfort. Your fingers would trace the cool surface, hushed whispers filling the dim space. “I should have died–”, breath fogging up the glass as your dark confession echoed against the tiled walls. Voice shaking, you added: “... with them.” They were sane, choosing to scream and run in order to try and beat death.

But you, you had knelt– and for that, you lived.

Your nails dug into your palms so hard it drew blood, the dull needling through your skin in a way that made your head spin– the pain buzzing through you like a draw of a cigarette. You barely recognized the individual that stared back at you: skin flushed, hairline beaded with sweat, hands clammy. But the most unnerving was the look in your bloodshot eyes, swimming with a darkness you couldn’t quite place. 

It was wrong– falling into the abyss of sin, playing back the memories of that night with an almost obsessive admiration.

You should have moved on by now, gone to therapy, maybe started medication and begun to pick up the shattered pieces of your life. Instead, you stood in front of the bathroom mirror, chanting your own damnation like a prayer– fingers subconsciously tracing the shape of his mask against the glass. Images of you on your knees in the church flickered through your mind, and your chest tightened with something far more sinister than fear.

Something worse… something reverent.

You could still feel the weight of his gaze when he towered over you, encompassing you so thoroughly you could feel it in your soul. Tearing your gaze away from the mirror, the damp skin of your forehead pressed against the cool glass for comfort, mantras swirling in your head like a broken record player.

There is no salvation in a house of God. 

You flicked your gaze to the bathroom door, an idea seeming a little too much like temptation sprouting within your mind. Maybe– just maybe– if not salvation, there was clarity found only in the place you had sunk to your knees all those nights ago. Pushing yourself away from the mirror, determination began to stir within your gut. You had to go back– to see.

You couldn’t run away from your demons, you had to confront them. Slipping into the night air, a chill settled within your bones, an unknown force spreading goosebumps across your skin. As you trudged through the dark, you thought back to the pivotal moment: the scrape of the stone against your knees, the sound of his ragged breaths, the crushing tension crackling in the air like wildfire. It had felt– holy, the sensation gnawing at your stomach, clawing into your throat in a way that made you question your own sanity. 

No… not holy. But something dangerously close. 

__

The church loomed over you, eerily identical to that night.

A sleeping beast– the rusted gate resembling a gaping mouth to the pits of hell, inviting you inside. You stepped through the threshold, the crunch of gravel the only noise as you approached the heavy doors. A part of you cursed your actions, the idea of coming back being nothing short than madness. You were chasing answers that were ghosts, fueled by trauma and grief– not by reasoning.

And yet, you pushed onwards, hands steeled against the heavy wood. In your peripheral a small pool of dried blood painted the stone walls of the church, hosting the last moments of your friend’s life. You refused to look, swallowing thickly as you finally pushed the door open. The church welcomed you with open arms, the pull so heavy you felt as if you were possessed. 

Moonlight crept through the open ceiling, casting the interior in a ghostly haze. The church seemed frozen in time since your last visit– the cracked marble altar glaring back at you in an almost inviting manner. Your knees ache at the memory of kneeling there, a subconscious feeling of guilt burning against your throat, pulse quickening as you retraced your steps. Approaching the back of the church, the familiar scent of dust and rotting wood filled your nostrils– along with the undertone of something metallic.

Your jaw clenched at that, eyes wandering to the broken pew that resulted in Tiffany’s death. The stale air suddenly shifted, and then you felt it– the weight of a presence behind you. Your breath caught in your throat, yet you refused to turn, already knowing the source.

His boots scraped against the uneven stone, measured, calculated.

The sound sent an electric current down your spine, causing you to stiffen beneath his gaze, eyes trained forwards towards the altar. A small part of you had imagined this moment, the possibility of returning to the scene fueled by the same darkness invading your artwork, your life.

But the reality of him standing there, mere feet away from you was too much, consuming you whole. Your fingers twitched at your sides, forcing your body to move, to look– and there he was. Michael Myers stood behind the last row of pews, the moonlight casting his shadow across the church like death, untouched by time.

The mask that plagued your dreams caught the light, its hollow eyes drinking in your frozen form, the call of the void. The knife was gripped loosely in his hand, dangling at his side– a stark reminder of his sins. You should be terrified, but for reasons you couldn’t even begin to explain, you weren’t. Something buzzed against your skin like an unspoken prayer, and you found yourself speaking before you could stop yourself.

“I… I knew you would come back.”

Michael’s head tilted ever so slightly, silent at your words. He never spoke, you knew that much, but you felt his response– the action in itself almost mocking you. You could feel him, his presence so thick with tension it coiled around you like a snake, poised and ready to strike.

You swallowed thickly, body betraying you as your knees buckled under his gaze, and before you could stop yourself, you were sinking to the floor. The cool stone dug into your knees, the familiar sensation almost comforting against your skin. A trembling breath escaped you as you knelt before him, unable to do anything but watch.

Michael took a step forward, then another– the air thinning as he approached, boots halting inches from your knees. You craned your neck upwards, stomach churning as you gaped at the silent killer. He was so close you could feel his warmth, the scent of metal and something much more primal seeping into your senses. Your lips parted, but any semblance of begging died on your tongue. 

Instead, you whispered a confession– one that would seal your fate.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you.” You don’t know the things you do to me. There was a pause, a shift in the air as Michael looked down at you– studying you. The cold metal of the knife brushed your cheek, yet you did not flinch, your body rooted in place, entranced. You felt chosen– a sacrificial lamb that should have died all those nights ago, but somehow didn’t. But now here you were, offering yourself to him willingly.

The knife nicked your cheek, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip at the sting, the blade glinting in the moonlight. Your heart hammered in your chest, threatening to crawl out of your throat. Would he end it now and finish what he started? Or– your eyes shifted from the blade to that unholy mask– would he let you live? The decision was his alone, his cross to bear. The knife inched closer, pressing into the cut so suddenly a whimper bubbled in your throat, leaving you waiting– wanting. 

The knife never strikes.

Instead, it traces along your cheek, the tip ghosting along your jaw. Your breathing is shallow, uneven puffs filling the cool air as the metal pressed ever so slightly into your skin– a warning. You tilt your head upwards, bearing your throat to him– your offering. The action causes the tension in the air to snap, you feel it in the way the air becomes too heavy you feel as if you were suffocating.

Michael doesn’t speak– he doesn’t have to, you know what he wants, what he has always wanted, and what the devil inside of you wants too.

Forgive her, for she knows not what she does.

Heat pools like hellfire in your stomach, and your tongue darts oh so subtly to lick your chapped lip. He moves at that, inevitable. A hand wraps around your throat, pulling you upwards with strength that seems far from human. Your hands clench into fists at your sides, fighting the urge to struggle against the touch as your toes scrape against the stone, begging for leverage.

His fingers wrap around your neck so forcibly your jaw groans from the pressure, thumb pressing against your hammering pulsepoint– beating for him. Your pulse flutters against his skin, throat bobbing as you try to breathe. You should be struggling, should be fighting, but something about the way his hold makes you feel owned ignites fire across your skin.

His hold softens ever so slightly, and you greedily gulp in a breath, thighs clenching as something sinful churns in your gut.

He leans down, mask scraping against your forehead as you drown in his gaze. The light catches, and a ghostly blue devours you, your blood turning to ice at the sight. His breath comes out in ragged huffs, escaping through the holes in his mask– washing over you like a baptism.

You were drowning in him, but it was anything but holy; it was something much worse. 

You don’t know who moves first. All you know is that one moment you are gasping for breath in his hold, and the next he has his fist wrapped in your hair, dragging you towards the altar. Your scalp screams for relief under his hold, your legs struggling to root yourself as you are all but practically thrown on the altar. The marble is cold against your back, sinking through the thin material of your top– but not as cold as his touch.

His hand wraps around your throat once more, holding you in place against the altar as goosebumps erupt across your skin. The knife trails down your chest– and before you can protest, the blade is cutting through your top, slicing the flimsy material into shreds. Your nipples harden against the frigid air, chest heaving as you look helplessly upwards.

The tip of the knife traces over your left breast, tapping slightly against your pebbled nipple, causing a shudder to rip down your spine. The knife trails to the valley of your breasts before halting at the flesh above your heart, digging into the skin slightly. You grit your teeth at the sensation, a droplet of crimson rising to the surface from his ministrations.

It was so wrong– knowing you were mere inches from death, yet the fire licking at your stomach left you spiraling towards sin.

You clenched subconsciously, skin feeling suddenly too hot as the knife retreats from your skin. Thrown to the side, the knife clatters loudly against the marble, Michael’s hand cupping the abused mound roughly. His thumb dips into the blood, smearing it against your skin– tainting you. The hand around your throat squeezes teasingly, and your hips buck ever so slightly at the sensation.

Your breath stutters as he paws at your breasts, rolling the sensitive flesh beneath his fingers. You shudder, a whine building in your throat from the pressure, tears pricking your eyes at the needling pain. You had never felt this way before– the pain coating your skin in a way that left your head spinning, thighs clenching around nothing as you squirmed against his touch.

His fingers brush down your naval, crudely unbuttoning your jeans before ripping them and your panties down your legs, leaving you naked against the marble. Your breath stutters, spine aching against the hard surface as Michael slots himself between your parted thighs.

Your body is an offering– a sacrifice for the taking as your sins are laid bare.

Michael’s fingers dig into the fat of your ass, hauling you closer to the edge of the altar, pressing your flesh against the scratchy denim of his jumpsuit. Your jaw trembles as your clit scrapes against the jumpsuit, sending overstimulating sparks up your spine. You jolt at the contact, Michael brazing onwards, groping, prodding at you like an unwrapped gift.

His fiery touch was anything but gentle, his calloused fingers digging so hard against your skin you moaned weakly, wincing at the realization that bruises would be left in their wake. Michael let out a huff, seemingly pleased with your body laid out before him, hand retreating from you to unbutton his jumpsuit. Still held in place, you squirmed slightly, back screaming as you moved against the unpolished marble, chafing your skin. 

Every movement resulted in an intoxicating pain that sent you reeling, your penance.

The worn stained glass cast a kaleidoscope of colors on Michael’s mask, the saints above watching in silence. Do the saints weep at your sin? Do they turn away? Your thoughts are torn away when the tip of his cock brushes against your folds.

You panic, trying to push yourself upwards, babbling nonsense with his hand around your throat. You aren’t ready, you don’t think it will fit– but Michael is undeterred. Jutting his hips forwards, his cockhead dips between your folds, stretching you uncomfortably. You realize that it’s pointless to reason with the devil– if he wants something, he takes it.

Your insides are screaming as Michael pushes onwards, driving into you inch by inch. The tears fall at that, stinging as they mingle with the blood on your cheek. You feel as if you are being split in two, thighs clenching so hard you worry you’ll snap. Michael’s hips meet yours, and you swear you can feel him in your throat. 

Leaving you with no room to adjust, Michael bottoms out, snapping his hips forward and starting a brutal pace. All you can do is take it, fingers reaching out to clutch at the fabric of his jumpsuit, the only thing grounding you as his hips stutter forward. You gasp, the stretch feeling as if you were burning from the inside out, tits bouncing as your back scraps against the altar.

You openly sob now, the pace too intense, too rough– so full you feel as if there is nothing left but him. The denim of the jumpsuit brushes your clit again, sending an electrical current across your skin, tearing a broken moan from your throat.

You were melting, skin so hot that you already feel as if you are in the pits of hell.

Michael grunts, cock plunging into your gummy walls with such force your head spins. The sounds of your staccato gasps echo in the church, accompanied by the lewd squelch of your pussy sucking him in. If you were a better woman, you would have felt shame, yet the only thing you could feel was the ache between your thighs. 

With every thrust, the signing pain began to subside, turning into something so intense your mouth gapes. You suck in a shuddering breath, eyes rolling as his tip hits that oh so sensitive spongy spot, causing your toes to curl. The hand around your neck tightens, his grip unrelenting as you gasp for air.

God, it's too much– your head spiraling from the shards of pain shooting up your back from the friction– yet you couldn’t do anything else but moan. “Michael–”, his name is a breathless plea, a wicked prayer as his weight sinks into you. Your body arches beneath him, a sinner consumed by rapture. A sheen of sweat coated your skin, dripping down the valley of your breasts.

Michael’s hips rolled against you like a man driven mad– but you knew better, he was no man. 

The hand wrapped around your throat in a vice-like grip released, hips abruptly leaving yours as he pulled out, causing your pussy to flutter around air. Fingers digging into the fat of your hips, you were flipped as if you weighed nothing, tits crushed against the cool marble as you were pushed face down onto the altar.

Your hair was quickly bundled around his fist, forcibly arching you against him as he realigned himself to your leaking hole– pushing himself back inside with ease. Your tongue lolled from your lips at the sudden shift in position, Michael’s cock delving even deeper within you.

Pain shot through your already tender scalp, white sparks flying across your vision as you stared into the abyss of night laid out above you. Stars poked through the gaping hole of the church ceiling, the heavens glaring down at your sin– mocking you.

Oh God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

Your hips ground against the stone edge, your legs trembling under the weight of his brutal thrusts. You had long abandoned any semblance of sanity, openly weeping as you fell from grace, utterly corrupted by the way his hips rolled against your ass. You clawed at the altar-top, nails chipping from the force as Michael barred down fucking into you so roughly your breath caught in your lungs.

Heat pooled in the pit of your stomach, pussy fluttering as the tension built within you– a testament to your sin.

The action was anything but holy, the scent of sex practically dripping from your shaking form as you were bullied into from behind. The taste of metal invaded your mouth, teeth gnashing against the flesh of your cheek as a pitiful attempt to stifle your moans.

You were his offering– his to take, his to taint, and you were falling fast. Your stomach tightened, tension becoming unbearable as your spongy walls were all but abused. The knife was still there– lying beside your head, discarded as if it was no longer needed.

Then you realized– it wasn’t, he owned you now.

And with that, the heavens collided.

A scream tore from your throat as you came, relief flooding your body as your brain short-circuited, toes curling from the force. Michael fucked you through the orgasm, balls slapping against your clit in a way that left you in a sobbing, overstimulated mess. You clenched around him, his pace beginning to falter as Michael climbed towards his own release. Your knees gave out, your hair being the only anchor keeping you from collapsing.

Michael’s breaths came out in primal huffs, a low growl slipping as he came– thick ropes of cum filling you to the brim. You shuddered at the feeling, mind blank with nothing but the sensation of the shallow thrusts of Michael stilling against you, pushed to the hilt. You struggled to catch your breath, heart practically beating out of your chest as you went lip under his hold. 

Michael pulled his softening cock from your folds, the sensation making you whine. Your lips fluttered at his retreat, cum spilling down your thighs as the void overtook you. Your hair was freed from his grasp, scalp tingling as you limply pressed your temple to the cool surface of the marble. His weight abruptly vanished, yet you were too fucked out to care.

For a moment, you didn’t dare move, skin damp with sweat– with sin.

Every inch of your skin burned, scrapes and bruises coating every surface, the corruption sinking into your soul. You were ruined– and yet you found yourself blindly reaching for him, fingers swiping air. Confusion wracked your form, and you weakly turned, fingers gripping the altar for support– but he was gone.

The ritual was complete, the offering devoured. You had given him everything: body, mind, soul– and now there was nothing left.

Your discarded clothes pooled at your feet, a soulless reminder of the events that had taken place. A raw, broken sound escaped your chest– a laugh bubbling past your sobs. This was your penance, your punishment for offering yourself so willingly to something that would destroy you.

Now, you were alone– utterly and completely at the mercy of God himself.

A shiver crawled down your spine at the thought, knowing he had left you once before, yet you had returned. So what was stopping you from doing it again? Your lips parted ever so slightly, a single prayer slipping past– not to God, but to him.

“Michael…” You knew there would be no response, only silence. But as you slowly gathered the ruined fabric at your feet, you knew deep down that he was listening. He was always listening. And now that you had offered yourself to him, he wouldn’t have to come for you; you would go to him. 

Because there is no salvation in a house of God, only him– and he is the only one left to worship.

[nyuklai]

hi guys i actually have absolutely nothing decent to post but I feel obligated to because so many people liked the last one.. which THANK YOU????? I was definitely not expecting the amount of love that post got, especially with my dead ass account. but anyways here’s some doodles I did on magma awhile ago.

today we have rise Cassandra because I LOVE HER? I just wish we got to see more of her in rise and it is a crime that we didn’t. So yeah that was actually my first time drawing her and I have yet to find a good outfit for her that’s not the weird foot clan ninja uniform. also raph. he’s my favorite I have nothing to say.

I also did some future bad timeline raph, mikey, and BABY CASEY JR. it was purely self indulgent because I love him. I have a million things to say but this is long enough already so I will hold off on that for now. (If y’all are interested maybe I’ll elaborate…) also the one with Donnie is random Au plot my pookie made about rise Donnie going on his 2003 Donnie trauma moment. Basically thrown into the future timeline. Just for funzies yk?

MY GUILTY PLEASURE AND COMPLETELY SELF INDULGENT MIYAMOTO USAGI ART. Guys literally shut up it’s donsagi and I admit I am so cringe but guys please. Anyways Leo totally FUMBLED a bad bitch and I am actually still really salty they never got to talk again after Leonardo’s angst arc in 2003, because what the hell. It made me so sad bc I LOVE usagi and I always want to see more of him. I love the comics and will definitely be posting content of him soon. (I have a fake rise crossover in the works rn but SHHHH.)

Anyways it’s Donsagi because I just think they’re cute and have a fun dynamic in the 2003 show. And also sneak peek Jotaro and Mariko.

Alright enough of my insane ramblings, I hope this post isn’t too long and finds the appropriate audience because HELPPP IM OBSESSED.

[cupcakeslushie]

3am AU idea. As some of y’all might’ve seen, I’ve been doing a Buffyverse rewatch.

Now I’m thinking of an AU where we get to see our human characters shine. April as Buffy OBVIOUSLY. Kendra could be Willow. Casey or my Timothy either could be Xander, but Casey has her whole evil phase and she would also make a good Faith (also the gay Fuffy foil to the Capril pipeline is too good to pass up). Sunita could be Anya (they both have that Autism Queen swag).

A human Splinter could be Giles…just like Giles has his teen punk phase, Splints has his own crazy, pre-Watcher past to reveal.

I just don’t know what I’d want to do with the boys.

(Turtle?) Demons? Or maybe give them human designs and make them Vamps? Oooo like Raph and Mikey somehow got their souls back, and they go to the Slayer to try and get her to help them save Leo and Donnie??

Instead of Shredder being a ninja clan leader, he would be like the ultimate Vamp. He’s the one that turned one of the boys and set him loose on the others to turn them. No idea which order would hurt the most. Thinking either Leo or Mikey. But Michelangelo would probably be more likely to want to change the rest of his family.

Idk. Just spitballing at 3am. I very much wanna draw for this, I hope I can find the time soon. I know I don’t need another au but omg I love BtVS so much lol

lol I did get an ask a while back saying I needed an angsty AU for Raph and Mikey to make the complete set. This could be Mikey’s. Turning your brothers into soulless monsters and damning them for eternity would be pretty good angst.

[sweeneydino]

More dragons sketches

Redesigned them a bit to be more dragon like, specifically the 2003 dragons. Might continue till I got something I'm pleased with.

Tried to make Raph be more intimidating and the most dragon of them. He seems so dangerous, and he is, but he's still a softy. And he's huge.

Leo and Donnie are more sleeker and were meant to resemble wyverns, but I missed the mark with the wings rip. Maybe they just like to swim more-

Mikey will remain the smallest no matter what. He's got no wings, for now, and is fluffy.

And, of course, Casey Marie/Shadow. She's having the time of her life experiencing how to train your dragon.

And yes, they are all rideable, although Donnie requires his equipment. I might do some sketches on the dragon riding.

I just wanna draw more dragons...

[iscdisc]

I made this drawing out of spite, I gotta be honest, because finding out about this deleted 2012 scene from Season 5 today infuriated me- LMAO

To think that we could have gotten this in the episode, "Heart of Evil" but we didn't dude. Probably because it makes Donnie look bad, which makes sense because he has weird behaviors all the time around April- So yeah, he looks bad. 💀 Lmao

I feel like they didn't include this scene because they wanted to keep the illusion that they had with Donnie and April in Season 5- Where 2012 Apritello is "so much better now" and their dynamic is "completely fixed" and there's nothing to discuss because "look at them now". But that's also why I kind of love this clip, because look at April's expressions here and notice the tone in her voice?? She's very unhappy and this is very reminiscent of their dynamic in Seasons 2 + 3 to me.

This is speculation on my part, but if the show was trying to imply that they're a couple now at this point with Season 5 (Considering the, "When World's Collide" special / Which technically came after, "Heart of Evil but I'm still counting it- / and the Ice Cream Kitty Music Video that in my opinion got ruined because they included that kiss between them at the end- 💀 Lmao), This would have totally ruined that image. Because if they were together, why would April be so annoyed that her supposed boyfriend (Or almost boyfriend-) put the the team name, "Kick Butt Babes" on her instead of, "Team More Awesome"? 🤨

Also I didn't have enough energy to draw this part, so I'm just going to say it here instead, but this is also gross because of Leo too. Mikey said Team Brainiac was adamant about the name, which includes Leo. I mean, notice how quickly Leo decided to change the subject in the deleted scene- 💀 Lmao

(Here's the clip for anyone who hasn't seen it ! Credit to 8 Bit Paul on YouTube !)