#[me wandering around in a haze] why do I feel So Bad

[obstinaterixatrix]

oh I think I've got it, I've been waking up earlier because my room is getting more light which means I either wake up way earlier and go back to sleep or I wake up an 1-2 hours earlier and just roll with it

[sukirichi]

VIRGIN KILLER TRIO !! & their habits

→ oliver aiku + karasu tabito + otoya eita

→ nsfw. smut. wrote this impulsively on my notes because karasu has me feeling things. aged up characters. toxic men. fingering. oral (f receiving) otoya is a cheater (canon but i love him) unedited. size kink kind offf. aiku hits it and quits it.

+ I NEED AIKU SO BAD. i also hc that karasu is a manwhore but he would teeat you so well <3

it’s hard not to catch sight of the virgin killer trio in every afterparty. there’s oliver — the smooth talker who can never remember a girl’s name, karasu — who reads your every move and can tell from across the room how badly you want him, and otoya — the quietest of them all. but don’t let his demeanor fool you. rumors have it that he’s as great in bed as he is at breaking hearts.

pick your poison, they said. don’t let the night go to waste, they said.

but all is easier said than done when oliver has forgotten his cold beer on the counter as he presses you against it during a party. he calls you names that are outright dirty and should not have made you this wet. he smells like smoke and liquor — like danger, like everything you should avoid. you know he won’t remember you the next morning and you’ll most likely wake up in an empty bed. no notes, no small gift left behind. it would be hard to tell he was ever there if it were not for the ache between your thighs and the bite marks he’d left all over your skin.

oliver fucks like the way he wins — luring his opponent and trapping them against him until you give in and submit. what’s the point of fighting anyway? you know it’s futile. you should just let him do as he pleases — to hammer into you from behind, his large hands squeezing your hips in a vice-tight grip. oh no, he’s not letting you go. he’ll keep you there until your thighs quiver and your head drops down to the pillow, the sheets drenched with sex and sweat. he’ll keep you there until his legs are tangled with yours, your tongue lolled out as he fucks out the most delicious moans from you.

oliver aiku is dirty, intoxicating, and when he leaves his mark on you, he only has one goal in purpose — to ruin you for any other man who comes next.

karasu is different. he’s sweeter, more tender with his words and gestures. he doesn’t seduce you right away. no, he likes to watch his prey first from across the room, letting his gaze wander to your pretty face and picturing if you’d look better when you’re finally coming around his cock. when he makes himself known, it’s too late. he’ll know everything about you already, just like how he knows he’ll have you putty in his hands by the end of the night. the only thing left is to prove his theories right — don’t even try to think you can hide your weaknesses from him. he can read you like an open book. he can tell from the hungry way your eyes roam over him that you’d take it like a good girl, and your eyes would roll back when he slides himself in deep.

unlike aiku, karasu doesn’t cage you under his arms and suffocates you. this isn’t a battle for him, because battles mean there’s equal chances of winning, and there’s none of that in the bedroom. karasu knows he’s stronger and has the upper hand. he knows you’re entirely at his mercy when he pins your hands above your head, his long fingers locked around your wrist. and oh, he’s sweeter, so much sweeter. he calls you beautiful and gorgeous. he worships you and leaves kisses on your body, murmuring sweet nothings like a mantra against your skin. he isn’t rough, but he fucks you hard and deep. hard enough you’re seeing stars and your toes are curling, pussy fluttering around his girth. and when he’s pushed you to the edge, he’ll make sure everyone at the party knows who made you feel that good.

karasu doesn’t leave a note. he stays the night and kisses you again, his eyes droopy in a post sex-haze. he gives you his number, because why not? he sure wouldn’t mind sleeping with you again the next time you run into each other.

the next time you attend these events, it isn’t the dominant oliver or endearing karasu who charms you. instead, otoya comes unexpectedly — slithering his way into your heart (and pants) before you could realize it. he’s subtle, and doesn’t stand out much from the crowd. it comes like a shock to you when you find yourself pressed up against a wall in a random hallway with his lips against your neck. he doesn’t say sweet things like karasu, or teases you on how you’re such a dirty whore like oliver would. no, otoya speaks with his words, and you get the message clear enough when he’s pumping his fingers in you. he’s quiet still, giving you only breathy moans and low groans when you squeeze around him — but by the heavens, he sounds the prettiest.

there is nothing quick and swift when it comes to otoya, unlike how he is when he’s speeding through the field. he takes his time with such confidence and patience that karasu would lack, since he’s too eager. and he touches you in the gentlest manners briefly reminding you of karasu, but when otoya looks at you, it’s different. with his handsome face above you, his reddened lips parted with a shuddering breath, and his eyes narrowed as he watches your cunt swallow him to the hilt. he isn’t the sweetest, but he is the most romantic. lacing his fingertips with yours, otoya swallows all your moans in a devouring kiss. his hips plunging into you in a way that you’re sure you’ll feel him for days. and he kisses like he means it — kisses your sweet pussy with his eyes closed and rough hands kneading your ass like a starved man.

and when he leaves, it’s with a hole in your heart. otoya is a silent killer, who comes and disappears into your life, but not without ensuring he’s more than just a silly fuck. because otoya didn’t have to make out lazily with you, or ask about your passions. he didn’t have to be genuinely interested in getting to know you and smile like he’s fallen in love. he didn’t have to hide that it was all a mistake — that he was already with someone else, and simply couldn’t ignore his needs when you set foot into the room and your scent got him hard.

and when the regret sinks in, otoya will barely look you in the eye. he doesn’t stay the night because there’s someone waiting for him at home.

he doesn’t ask for your name or number because it’s easier to pretend nothing happened between you. just as silently as he made his way to your heart, otoya leaves with a final resounding click of the door being shut.

because just like his friends, otoya never stays.

and they’ll be on their way to find their next conquest.

[stellar-haikyuu]

dependable ace ☆ ushijima wakatoshi x reader

synopsis: when reader develops a fever after training camp ends, she quickly realizes why ushijima is a dependable ace—just in a different way. details: fluff, sickfic, ~1.3k words, f! reader, relationship leaning toward romantic. warnings: none, other than this isn't proofread lol. also what's with me putting my readers through sickness in my shiratorizawa fics...

It was rather unfortunate that you developed a fever on the last day of the team’s training camp. 

With the inter-high tournament approaching rather quickly, you wondered if the stress and exhaustion from keeping up with the team had finally caught up to you. Then again, you didn’t exactly have the best immune system to begin with.

That morning, you were still fast asleep in your assigned room as everyone prepared to leave. Goshiki had knocked on your door, asking if you were alright. All you could do was hum weakly in response.

At some point, more voices started to appear from different directions. You assumed the coaches and the other members had come to check in on you, but their words just blurred together.

However, one voice cuts through the fog with startling clarity.

“She is not feeling well. What should we do?”

You force yourself to open your eyes. Multiple blinks later, Ushijima’s face finally comes into focus. For a moment, you wonder if it’s a fever dream—there’s something different about his usually stoic expression. It’s much…softer.

The chatter of the team fades into background noise as you focus on the team’s ace. Something about him just keeps you grounded in all the haze.

Your breath hitches when he suddenly makes eye contact with you and calls your name.

“Can you understand what I am saying? Would it be alright for me to carry you to the bus?”

Carry me?

You blink at him, nodding slowly. There’s not much you can do about it anyway—it feels like a hundred bricks are weighing your body down.

Someone gently peels your blanket away and Ushijima squats down in front of you.

“How should I carry her?” He looks at the rest of the team for help. Suggestions are thrown around, but in the end, everyone agrees that the best way is to ask you.

The thing is, you don’t know the answer to his question. 

You take a few deep breaths to think. As your eyes wander, you notice the sunlight slowly creeping across the room, nearly reaching your futon. Some of it shines on Ushijima, bathing him in an ethereal glow.

In your feverish delirium, you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “Doesn’t matter…I trust you.”

The world seems to stop as the words leave your mouth. His eyes widen a fraction before he nods once, resolute. “Alright.”

He slowly moves forward to pick you up, his movements careful. You try your best to be helpful, adjusting yourself when he slides one arm under your knees and the other under your back.

“Ah, bridal style.” You hear a snicker from somewhere. “Not bad, Wakatoshi-kun.”

As Ushijima pulls you securely to his chest, you feel the rumble of his voice. “Bridal style? Then…is this inappropriate?”

“No, no, that’s just what it’s called. Don’t worry, lots of people do it, not just married couples.”

“Ah. I see.”

You glance up at his face, taking in the solid line of his jaw and his calm, focused expression. For a fleeting moment, the thought of being Ushijima’s bride runs through your mind. How lucky his future wife would be…

The thought lingers longer than it should, but your imagination is cut short when Ushijima lifts you effortlessly. The sudden motion and slight shift in your orientation make your head spin, drawing a soft groan from your lips. Instinctively, your hands reach out to steady yourself.

Ushijima stiffens for a brief second, and you realize that your arms are wrapped around his neck.

Although you’re pretty sure your entire body is a furnace, you feel more heat rise to your face. Thankfully, no one comments on what you did.

“Her body temperature is very high. We should move fast so she can recover as soon as possible.” 

He directs the rest of the team, following a clear, continuous train of thought. You hear something about retrieving your belongings, checking for forgotten items, tidying up the room, things to buy at the convenience store, and lots more you can no longer process.

At some point, you nod off. It’s the absence of his deep voice that jolts you awake, just as he starts walking out of the room. 

You shift in his hold, braving another glance at his face. He notices and returns your gaze, but none of you say anything for a while.

(And well, it might be better not to, since he’s about to descend the staircase.)

It’s rare for someone to be carried by the Ushijima Wakatoshi, so you try to etch this memory in your mind forever. You focus on his strong arms and how they have not wavered once since he lifted you. 

When he reaches the parking lot, the cold morning breeze hits you. You involuntarily shiver, wishing you had worn your team jacket. 

“You are cold,” Ushijima comments. “Even though your body temperature is rather high.”

“Y-Yeah. That’s how a f-fever works,” you chuckle at his observation. You can’t help but pull yourself closer to him, arms tightening around his neck. “S-Sorry.”

“You do not need to apologize.” He continues walking and the bus quickly comes into view. A pang of disappointment hits when you realize that this moment with him will soon end.

As he brings you onto the bus, you tense at the temperature. A chill runs up your spine as you realize the air conditioning is at full blast. A shaky breath is all you can manage when Ushijima looks at you with…great concern.

“Tendou told me that cuddling increases body heat. Would that help you?”

You freeze, rendered absolutely speechless at his offer. “W-what?”

“He said that it makes a cold person feel better. Do you agree?”

You cannot bear another second dealing with your body’s baffling thermoregulation. At the same time, you want to fulfill a selfish wish to keep him closer to you for as long as possible.

“Yes,” you respond with no hesitation, sucking in a breath.

Ushijima nods at your consent. As he takes the paired seat in front, he gently lays you down next to him. To your surprise, he takes off his team jacket and silently offers it to you.

The generous action nearly makes you swoon. You thank him softly with a promise to return it later.

Ushjima waits patiently until you finish putting his jacket on. As expected, it’s quite big, but you’re just grateful for the extra layer over your pajamas.

“How would you like to...” There’s a tinge of uncertainty in his voice that you’ve never heard before. You can’t help but grin at how endearing he is.

“Um…” You turn towards him, shifting a little closer. Initiating the contact is a lot more daunting than you thought. Slowly, you lift your legs to rest them over his thighs. Then, you lean into him and wrap your arms around his torso.

“Is this okay?” Your voice comes out a little breathless. “If it’s uncomfortable, I can-”

“I am fine with this.” Ushijima responds, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “Would you like me to do anything else?”

His earnest desire to make you feel better tugs at your heart. “You can wrap your arms around me too.”

Ushijima hesitates for a moment, unsure of where to place his arms. You guide him gently, adjusting until the two of you settle into a comfortable embrace.

You close your eyes, sighing in content as his warmth finally envelops you. Throwing caution to the wind, you rest your head on Ushijima’s broad chest. The steady rhythm of its rise and fall is relaxing. 

“I feel better,” you mutter.

“I am thankful that is so.”

Would Washijo-sensei kill you if he sees this? Whatever, you can always blame it on the fever.

As the seconds pass by, you start to hear the thumps of his heartbeat. The rate is a little rapid, but you suppose it’s because he just spent the past few minutes carrying you. It doesn’t matter though, it’s soothing either way.

Before falling into slumber, you hear him speak in a low voice. “Thank you for your trust in me.”

“Of course, Ushijima-san,” You whisper in response. “You really are the dependable ace.”

masterlist

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Code of Conduct 2

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as cheating, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your boss has a difficult time keeping his personal life from bleeding into his work. 

Characters: Steve Rogers, this reader is known as Rosie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

"This is a nice place," you look around a the brunch bistro and rub your arm. The upscale venue isn't your usual joint. You're a grab and go girly aside from your girls' nights. 

"Peggy likes it," Mr. Rogers spreads his shoulders wide as he peruses the menu in his hand, dwarfing the patio style chair, "I'm more of a pub food guy but guess it's a bit early for that." 

"Oh, well, thanks for bringing me," you smile, "I... I don't eat out a lot." 

“No?” He wonders, “guess it’s no fun eating alone,” he chuckles and tilts his head, “kinda why I asked you to come.” 

“Uh, yeah, I don’t mind so much but I’m a homebody. I like to sit at home with Mitzy and knit.” 

“Mitzy?” He narrows his eyes, “so not a husband, a girlfriend. 

You chortle, “my cat.” 

“Oh,” his cheeks tinge a little pink, “right, the picture on your desk.” 

“Yeah, her,” you smile broadly, “she usually steals my yarn though so I don’t get much done.” 

“That’s cute. Peggy doesn’t like pets,” he sits back and puts down the menu. “I cat sat for Bucky for a week back when we were engaged...” 

“Mr. Barnes has a kitty?” 

“Don’t let his hard exterior fool you, he’s not as bad as he looks,” he scoffs. “So...” he slaps his chest and drags his hand down to his stomach, “getting peckish? Whatcha thinking of getting?” 

“Hmm,” you lean forward and browse the offerings, “maybe the beet salad.” 

“Beets?” He makes a face. 

“Uh, yeah, my mom always used to have beets. I dunno.” 

“Oh yeah, you’re close with your mom.” 

“Was,” you keep your eyes on the menu, “she... passed.” 

“Uh, wow, I’m sorry. I...” 

“It’s fine. Oh, reminds me, I sent your mom her flowers for the month. Lilies.” 

“Ah, thanks. Yeah, I should call her,” he says, “but lately, I just haven’t had a chance. Every time I do, it’s just another argument with Peg--” 

He stops himself as the server returns. Your chest pangs in sympathy. Peggy hadn’t sounded happier earlier. You wonder why. Marital stuff. You’re not so sure you ever want to find out. 

“Do we know what we want?” The pretty redhead smiles. 

“Ladies first,” Mr. Rogers gestures to you. 

“Oh, sure, um, could I get the beet salad?” You say. She scribbles on her pad and looks at Mr. Rogers. 

“Ah, sure, I’ll get the roast beef with the caesar salad, dressing on the side please,” he smiles and offers his menu, “oh, and a refill on the coffee.” 

“Sure thing,” she takes both menus and heads off.  

You turn your attention to the window and look at the flower boxes just on the other side. Your eyes wander up to a passerby walking a tiny white dog and you grin. You continue to watch the world pass by, a serene glaze rolling over your vision. 

As the waitress returns with the carafe to fill Mr. Roger’s cup, you sit up and blink away your haze. He smirks over the rim of his cup and sips. You give a guilty shrug. 

“Sorry.” 

“No, it was... it’s fine. You looked... peaceful,” he says, “what are you thinking about?” 

“Nothing, really, croissants.” 

“Croissants?” He muses as he places his mug on the table. 

“Yeah, for next weeks meeting. Croissants or scones.” 

“Both?” He suggests. 

“That works,” you agree. 

“Hm, you look like that, thinking of work?” 

“I was thinking but not,” you say.  

“Right,” he nods and looks down glumly. “Wish I could get my mind to stop.” 

“Mm, I guess... I guess you’d have a lot to think about.” 

“Well, I can’t complain, you take care of most of it,” he runs his fingertips along the cup handle, “you really do just make everything easier. I never have to worry about you, Rosie.” 

“It’s my job,” you trill. 

“And you do it well and with a smile on your face. Some days... that smile keeps me sane,” he says. 

It’s your turn to blush. He can be so cheesy. You’re quiet, not sure what to say. You should thank him, maybe? 

“Well, what about a gift basket?” You cheep. 

“Huh?” Confusion lines his forehead. 

“Oh, my, sorry, I was thinking out loud,” you giggle and sit forward, “for Mrs. Rogers? She seems stressed, you too. You could send her a surprise and maybe... maybe take her somewhere nice. Not a restaurant, too busy but—but--” you keep yourself from rambling and press your fingers to your lips as you cup your chin. “Sorry.” 

“No, no, I like it. A gift basket, yeah, chocolates?” 

“She likes vanilla lattes so maybe a gift card too? She can treat herself.” 

“How do you know that?” He asks. 

“She always sends me for one when she comes in,” you shrug, “I’m more into the cinnamon dolce myself.” 

“Cinnamon, hmm, me too,” he agrees. “Where we you thinking I should take her?” 

“Oh, now I think of it, it might be expensive,” you cringe and drop your hand to the table. 

“She’s my wife, I shouldn’t worry about the money,” he says, “so?” 

“I’ve never been but um, like, a spa? Or maybe a massage place? A couples’ massage? Get the tension out?” 

“Mhmm,” he nods and his eyes narrow, “that isn’t a bad idea.” 

You grin and twiddle your fingers restlessly. Now that you can smell the kitchen, you are pretty hungry. You jitter your leg under the table as Mr. Rogers toys with his tie. 

“Too bad,” he says, “any man would be lucky to call you their wife. Maybe one day, huh?” 

[beanmachine69]

Movie Night | Fernando Alonso

It was supposed to be an innocent movie night, it really was. Except you were completely and utterly turned on- not wanting to admit it because Fernando seemed so excited to watch this movie. You really wouldn't be in the desperate state you were if he hadn't come out of the shower, dripping wet and leaning on the door frame and all- you really were set up for failure.

So there you were, head on his shoulder, with his arm wrapped around you as you clenched and rubbed your thighs together to get some friction going. You could feel his calloused hands rub your shoulder occasionally and that was not helping at all- it was actually doing the exact opposite, it was making you so desperate and needy you felt like you could scream. Jus the feel of his hands against your skin burning desires into you. But he seemed so interested in the movie and just didn't seem as horny as you were, plus you felt bad since this was the first time in a while where you two managed to sit together and relax. Except for you though, you were definitely not relaxed.

You frankly had no idea what you were watching, you'd even manage to forget the name of the movie in the haze you were in. All you focused and cared about were his stupid grey sweatpants and how good his arms looked through his t-shirt and good he'd feel if he just fucked you into the couch right now-

"Is the movie not good?" He asked, face turned to yours, smirk tugging on his lips.

"No no, it's great." You chirped, lying as to cover up your thoughts. Even after all this time, he still made you all flustered.

"Hm, yeah you like it?" He asked, now completely turned to you, his face exhibiting a sort of cockiness you were far too familiar with; he had caught onto your lie and was going to make you admit to it.

"Yeah, it's nice, I'm glad we get to do this." You smiled nuzzling into him to distract him.

"Yeah, yeah." He replied, kissing your head and drawing circles on your arm before chuckling and continuing, "Except I've noticed something."

You shut your eyes in his chest, you knew where he was taking this conversation.

"You seem a bit, uh, distracted." Without seeing his face, you could tell he was smirking.

"Oh really? yeah sorry I must be uh, zoning out." Now you had to hold your ground, you weren't going to give up so easily.

"Hm yeah, is that why you were rubbing your thighs during a funeral scene?" He asked, almost unable to contain the laugh that vibrated through his chest. "Is there something you want to tell me? Cariño are you getting turned on at funeral scenes? Or is something else on your mind?"

The blood was rushing straight to your face. You were so distracted that you hadn't noticed that he'd not only see you rub your thighs, but he was fully aware of your lack of interest in the film.

"I don't know what you're talking about." You huffed, pretending to be offended.

"Hm, you don't?" He asked, pulling you away from him so he could see your face.

"Nope." You lied again, despite knowing that he was on your case. You couldn't even look him in the eye, nor could you look at any other part of him, his arms holding you felt so good, your thoughts were at the verge of wandering away again, despite your circumstances.

"You're not turned on?" He asked again, eyes crinkling on the sides from his smirk.

"Nope." You couldn't get any other word out, afraid that your lie would get caught.

He didn't reply this time, only pushing you further away till your back hit the couch, making your eyes widen in response. His silence made you nervous, his devilish smirk not aiding your cause. He brought his face close to yours, close enough where you could feel his breath on your lips. One of his hands propping him over you, while the other slid down your waist, pausing at the hem of your panties, stretching it and letting go abruptly, the noise clearly audible despite the movie in the background. Your yelp only made him chuckle.

"You know I don't like it when you lie y'know."

"But I'm not lying." You whined, trying to get yourself out of the trouble you'd be in momentarily.

"You're not? What if I put my hands in your little soaking panties to check, hm?" He asked, his hands already making their way to your very wet entrance. "Oh, would you look at that, my naughty little girl was lying."

You gulped, eyes fixated on his, chest heaving against his, anticipating his every move. You knew how hot he'd get when he'd punish you, and you knew that despite your futile efforts, that movie had been long forgotten between you two.

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A/N: I don't talk about my second favourite Spaniard enough, god he's so hot I need him like I need air.

Anyways, hope you enjoyed the blurb. As usual, send in requests or criticism, love u all<3

[sentientgolfball]

for the smut prompts, Cirrus and Swiss with #9? <3

Swiss ghoul's favorite position is amazon, in this essay, I will--

Send a prompt and a pair !

Cirrus prides herself on staying in control. She stays focused on her music during rituals even with the thick cloud of sweat and arousal that usually comes from one of the others. She doesn’t get riled up by Swiss’ antics both on and off stage no matter how persistent he is. She keeps her hands to herself when Cumulus wants her opinion on a new outfit, even if all she wants to do is rip the clothes right off her. She can even hold out through doses of quintessence that would have any other ghouls shaking. Aether was pleasantly surprised when he found out that one, it’s all the more rewarding when he finally gets her there. She is perfectly in control of her mind and body and she likes it that way. 

But twice a year when summer turns to autumn and winter to spring, she loses that control. She hates it. It’s not necessary. She doesn’t understand why out of all the things that clung to them when moving from the Pits to Topside it was this. Though at the moment her brain is too muddled by heat to think of anything other than chasing pleasure. 

It hit earlier this year, she has no idea why. That doesn’t matter right now though. What matters is that her clothes are sticking to her and she can feel slick soaking into her underwear. Cumulus wasn’t with her. She spent the night with Mountain. Surely that’s why her gut is twisting. She needs Cumulus. She wanders through the hallway in a haze. Her only goal is to get to Mountain’s room. She needs to get there. She needs to bury her nose in Cumulus’ soft hair and lick her until she cums on her face. 

“Cir?” 

She turns at the call of her name. Swiss is standing in his doorway, half asleep and shirtless. He blinks at her, eyebrows pulled together. 

“You okay?” His voice is still raspy from disuse. 

Cirrus can’t stop herself from striding towards him. His eyes widen as she quickly closes the distance between them. She runs her nose up the column of his throat, breathing in his amber and spice scent. It hits her all at once, a desperate need to smell like him. To taste him. She wasn’t burning for Cumulus. She’s burning for Swiss. She pushes him back into his room, kicking the door shut behind her. 

“Cirrus what—?” He wraps his hands around her biceps. 

“Need you. Need you right now.” She looks up at him. 

It hits him then. Cirrus never looks desperate, but that’s the only word to describe the look on her face. With his mind starting to fully wake up he finally registered the horribly sweet scent radiating off of her. He blinks. She’s in heat. And she wants him to help her break it. Him. Not Cumulus. Him. A grin slowly spreads across his face. 

“Oh my sweet little harpy you must need it bad if you came to me. What? Too stupid to go find your mate? Had to jump the first person you see?” 

She leans forward and sinks her fangs into his scent gland making him yelp, “Shut the fuck up. Strip. Lay on the bed.” 

He does so immediately. He may like to tease, but he won’t hold out on her. In any other circumstance he would. He would want to see what would be the magic words to get her to tie him up and leave him in the common room with the biggest plug she could find shoved up his ass, but not now. Not with something like this. So he rips his sweats off and lays back on the bed. 

She undresses as quickly as she can, sports bra and lounge shorts thrown who knows where. She crawls onto the bed, resting between Swiss’ legs. Her eyes rake over him, figuring out how she wants him. Swiss on the hand can’t look away from where she’s drooling onto the sheets. As wet as a water ghoul. He can start to feel his cock chub up. He’s so distracted staring at her cunt that he jumps when Cirrus wraps a hand around him. She pets up the length of his cock, occasionally squeezing until he’s at full hardness. 

Once she’s satisfied she drops him, letting him lay hot and heavy against his stomach. He watches her with half lidded eyes as she grabs his knees and pulls them up to his chest. 

“Hold,” she growls. 

“Yes ma’am,” he lilts and grabs the backs of his thighs. 

She reaches between his legs and pulls his cock through the gap. She slides up, practically sitting on the back of his thighs. It clicks in his mind as she starts to sink down on him. He groans when that slick heat wraps around him. He laughs, a little breathless already. This is always his favorite thing to do with her. 

“Yeah go on, don’t hold back. Fuck me like how I fuck you.” His hands grab at her hips when she’s flush against him. 

He drops his head back against the pillows when she starts to thrust. Swiss has never been more happy to be the one to break a heat. 

[neuvistar]

WOW, STRAIGHT INTO IT!

— featuring ┊ kaveh x fem!reader

— warnings / content warnings ┊slight suggestiveness throughout it all, makeout sessions(?), neck kissing(?), kaveh being such a shy yet desperate sweetheart, use of nicknames (angel, pretty, etc), overall (slight) suggestive content || 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT (this is a little short <3)

✦ 𝐊𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐇

kaveh swallowed the lump in his throat, he was nervous. nervous to make you uncomfortable, yet he was aware that he had an advantage over you as he slowly moved his hand closer before running his fingers along your side under the blankets, right past the waistband of your pants. kaveh’s fingers slowly and deliberately fumbled the waistband of your pajama pants. after a few seconds, he removed them, revealing your bare skin beneath. he took his time admiring you, eyes wide as his eyes wandered all over your body, taking in every single detail. yeah, you’re his alright.

“is it alright if i..?—“ he looked at you with such sincerity, one hand along your hips while the other tugged on the hem of your shirt. you nodded as he didn’t waste any time slipping you out of the shirt, seeing that you were covering your body slightly. “why are you covering yourself? there’s nothing to be ashamed of, princess. i want to see you like this.”

“are you telling the honest truth?”

“absolutely.”

kaveh pulled you closer to his body, until you both were practically skin-to-skin. there was a heat and intensity in his embrace that was undeniable and intoxicating; every breath he took and every beat of his heart made you feel it in every inch of your body. you reached down to caress his toned stomach, he breathed in sharply as your hand moved along his skin, his muscles tightening beneath your touch.

“ah.. are you enjoying this, angel?”

“mm. it seems you are as well, kaveh”

“i am, i couldn’t be more happier to experience this with the one i love the most.” kaveh leaned forward and gave you a deep, passionate kiss. he broke away after what seemed like forever, breathing heavily. “i want you now, [name].”

“then have me. who’s stopping you?”

“fuck, angel.. wan’ you so so bad.” his eyes shined with admiration, pride, desire, and lust as he pushed you onto your back, taking control of the situation once more. smiling as his hands slowly followed the outline of your hips, leaning in slowly his lips hovering just above yours. kaveh held this position for an agonizingly long time, both of you and kaveh’s skin barely inches away from touching as he continued to tease you. he was breathing heavily now, and the intensity of his gaze was almost enough to drive you on its own.

“getting straight into it huh, handsome?”

“‘course. i want to feel you around me already. you’re so warm..” his expression wasn’t hard to read, though the heat in his eyes spoke volumes. both of you were breathing heavy and shaky now. kaveh leaned forward, taking the first move once more as his lips latched onto yours, meeting them passionately, moving his tongue against yours as he pushed you down onto the soft mattress underneath. he pulled you in closer, running his hands along your back as he continued, his mouth slowly working its way down your neck teasing and tempting with every single kiss and touch. by the time his lips moved back up to yours, you had both lost yourselves in a haze of pleasure and desire. desire and need for one another

“wan’ to feel you already.” the architect spoke as he pulled back from your neck, a smile on his lips his eyes bright as he took in a slow, deep breath. every breath he took seemed to fill his chest with pride and satisfaction, and he continued to slowly work his way downwards and further along your body. “your body is absolutely divine, ‘s like an angel carved it” so cheesy.. you chuckled. he didn't need any more incentive, kaveh kept going slowly but steadily leaving a trail of kisses over your skin. he was making progress slowly but surely, taking his time to enjoy his work. the heat and intensity in his grasp was undeniable. kaveh smiled a little more. his eyes were half-lidded and they glowed with satisfaction. he started to kiss your lips again, his tongue gently exploring her mouth, desperate to taste you. he moved his hands down, his fingers running along your skin gently as he kept his hands on one of your pretty tits, squeezing and roughly handling it until a whimper left your lips through the kiss you shared

“why don't.. we just get into it? I can't spend all day looking at you without doing anything. you have no idea how much i want you.”

“then, go ahead. touch me, kaveh.” you grabbed his hand, guiding it to your neck. “touch me all you want.” you wrapped your legs around his waist. his fingers move up from your neck and to your chin, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip.

“touch you however I want, hm?” his heart fluttering, his eyes look deeply into your own. “if you want it so bad, then tell me what you want me to do to you, pretty.”

“ruin me, perhaps?“

his widened eyes move to yours, his breathing growing heavier and more ragged. that was the final straw, you asking him to ruin your pretty body tonight? he simply can't control himself now after that. “archons..”

“you want me to ruin you? fuck, then i will.”

[lizzie-is-here]

valentine’s day one shot

poppies and babies’ breath

bucky barnes x fem!reader

bucky really wants to ask you out. but he can’t even dance anymore, much less date.

Bucky Barnes was not very good at dating. At least, not anymore.

No, that skill belonged to Sergeant James Barnes, a dumb, 20-something that hadn’t been made into an assassin for 70 years.

For all of his skills, that one is failing. He can toss a knife like nobody’s business, lift 1000 lbs to impress you on a training day, and speak dozens of languages.

But he can’t figure out how to flirt with you. Don’t even start on asking you out.

It used to be so easy. Flash a smile and the dames would line up to go dancing with a man in uniform.

Bucky can’t really dance anymore. Or he doesn’t want to.

He’s considering all of this as he stands outside of a flower shop, peering in and probably freaking out the kid at the register.

“Uh, sir, there’s a sale on flowers for Valentine’s Day…” the boy says, muffled through the glass. Bucky nods, finally stepping inside.

There are paper hearts strung up around the shop, only reminding him of exactly why he’s here. He’s gonna do it today. He’s gonna ask you out.

Well, he’s also here because he lost a bet with Sam. But that’s not important.

Bucky’s a dark shadow wandering through the quaint aisles, out of place in the colorful array of flowers. He skips over the roses. Too cliche.

He considers daisies, lilies, sunflowers, and flowers he doesn’t even know the names of until he finally finds what he was looking for.

Poppies. Your favorite. Apparently because of some story with opium poppies, wallabies, and crop circles. He was too distracted staring at you to fully grasp the story.

Bucky carefully grabs a handful and starts toward the counter before realizing that the bundle of red in his hand looks pretty bland. So then he adds some small white flowers, a pretty wrapping paper, and calls it a day.

“Can you wrap this for me?” he asks, setting down the items. The kid stares blankly at his metal hand, but nods.

He can’t remember the last time he bought flowers. ‘44, maybe? For his ma? He never bought any of his dates flowers. Too pricey and too significant when the relationships never lasted long.

You, though. You were different. Maybe it was the way you never looked at him like the teen boy in front of him had, with apprehension and questions Bucky didn’t feel like answering. Or maybe the fact that his brain had been through the blender.

But he loves you. And that’s more than he can say for most of his past ventures. He wants to give everything to you while also being selfish enough to take everything you may give him.

Bucky considers that he maybe deserves to be a little selfish sometimes.

The kid finishes wrapping the bouquet and hands it over.

“$25,” he mumbles, still in awe of the war hero in front of him.

Bucky tosses a $50 on the counter. “Thanks, kid.”

———————————————————————

A knock on the door of your room in Stark Tower startles you from your haze.

You’re in a shirt and pajama shorts on your bed, desperately trying to find a show that isn’t about true love.

It all reminds you too much of your own loneliness. How bad you wanted to ask out your own crush but never quite got ballsy enough to do it.

Grumbling as you watch a pair of high school sweethearts reunite in the picturesque Hallmark town, you stand to open the door.

There you find Bucky. The very man you’re conflicted over. Holding a bouquet and in a red henley to match the poppies.

“Hey,” he greets, trying to avoid staring at your legs.

You smile. “Hi, Bucky.”

He holds up the flowers. “I- I wanted to get you something for Valentine’s Day, and also…” He goes beet-red and stares at the ceiling for a moment.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. You shake your head, waiting for him.

“Oof, okay. I wanted to know if you wanted to go out with me? Sometime? Whenever works for you is fine-“

You rest a hand on his arm that’s still cradling the bouquet. “I’m free tonight?”

Finally, a shy grin breaks out on his face.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Bucky swallows, gives you a very real, very swoon-worthy smile, and hands over the flowers.

“Well, doll, do you wanna go dancing?”

Because yeah. Maybe he can’t dance anymore. But he wants to try with you.

[serfuzzypushover]

It's the "Mituna Anon" again, but you can call me / us "Post" or "Script" (I'm a system). Using anon because it won't let me ask from the blog I want, it's forcing me to use my base blog, UnU, anyways- :3

Have another me projecting onto Mituna head canon dump about like- Seizures and disability stuff:

Mituna with PNES (Psychogenic Nonepileptic Seizures).

Mituna who is actually clear and coherent sometimes.

Mituna with Dyspraxia / Fine Motor Control issues.

Mituna who was traumatized by what he saw and always had slight issues and overworked himself to a state that triggered all these other issues like a regression.

Mituna who acts childish for the same reasons someone with dimentia might be. He gets scared but he can't put his thoughts together anymore so he just lashes out or wanders off.

Mituna who needs a caretaker because he definitely will hurt himself on accident if he doesn't have one.

Mituna who doesn't really realize how bad of a state he's in until it's too late and he's already doing something unsafe or has gotten hurt.

Mituna who uses a wheelchair, cane, and crutches to varying degrees as needed.

Mituna who wears like skater pads and a helmet for his own safety because man trips over, bumps into, and falls on all the things because he's usually in a dissociative or derealization blur / haze and nothing around him really feels real or like a threat.

Mituna who basically feels like he's high 95% of the time because that's how seizures can feel sometimes, everything is far away and it's all kinda blurring together and he's dizzy and it's fucking confusing and upsetting but also he's too blurry to actually care that hard so he's just kind of existing. (I have had a seizure that felt like being high, I swear this is a real thing.)

Mituna who gets frustrated that he needs someone to watch him because it's really close to Beforan Culling if someone starts being a little too protective. (Even if you actually need it, it can suck to be in need of caretaking and help when you used to be more capable, or usually are more capable. It can feel like being treated like a kid and it's why *I* pick my caretakers and I hate random people in public trying to help me, they treat me like a kicked puppy and I am in fact, very conscious in my head it's just very hard to communicate or function.)

(Also here's the blog I actually post stuff like this on I guess: https://www.tumblr.com/ps-scene-setting)

ouughh yesss yes these are all great!!

[its-my-whump]

Whumptober 08

No. 8: “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier.”

Overcrowded ER | “It’s all for nothing.”

Hummingbird 08

(Turns out, I may have exaggerated, qhen I said, that everyday can stand for its own. I'm not so sure anymore, sorry.)

(Story starts here if you like) previous

...

An irregual, but still kind of constant beaping sound, like a child playing with a keyboard, pressing down just one key in an unsteady rhythym. Some obstacle in his face, over his mouth and nose.

Breaths came in puffs, it was hard. Mostly because every fibre of him felt like he had an all-body-workout, that lasted days. And his chest hurt even more. The firstly funny sound, got disturbingly louder and hectic, the more alert he got. His eyes moved behind closed lids and only slowly rearranged with the world, when he tried to open them. Everything was blurry, a big rim just in front came into focus. It was an oxygen mask, his tired mind reasoned. The unpleasant fleeling of being strung up was a distant memory, but the heavyness in his arms and legs was very present.

He was laying down. Soft sheets. The cuffs were gone. But he couldn't move, even if he wanted to. He was just exhausted and in pain. His head slowly moved. He was in a nice room. 'Hospital?' A silent question in his mind, yet he didn't know why he should be in one, despite, that he was feeling like crap.

That disturbing unsteady sound really annoyed him. Breathing was so hard, he just wanted one releaving deep breath. But he didn't even finish his attempt of a real inhale, when pain exploded inside his torso. That frantic beaping took up a notch and some shrill alarms screamed in his ears, as he closed his eyes to fight the urging pain. Sweat summond on his forehead, he couldn't slow the tiny desperated puffs. Panic flared up. Everything was too tight.

A steadying hand on his shoulder. "Shhh, hummingbird. Shhh, I got you." Warmth spreaded from his right arm through the IV, he hadn't even noticed. The cacophony of sounds slowed, went down, when blackness pulled him under again.

...

Next time he reached the surface, his hands jerked. The frantic beaping was back. But he was still caught in a haze. A warm presence took hold of his right hand, slightly squeezing. It was more a reflex, than a conscious reaction to squeeze back. It was grounding, it felt real in his fictional fog, he was floating in. That jumbling sound slowed, wasn't screaming at him this bad anymore. The mask in his face was gone, he realised, before he actually saw. An uncomfortable sensation inside his nose, it tickled. But the tickling was the best part, his body was experiencing right now. Everything was sour, his chest was the worst. A big palm brushed through his hair. He felt save. A lingering presence by his side. It was more a feeling, than really knowing, that someone was there, despite that hand holding his own. Words were hovering around him and some finally making sense. The voice, that was producing them was soft, steady, rhymic. It sounded like someone was reading a poem to him. But most of it got lost in translation.

"...

Let the worst parts only be a dream,

There's nothing I can do but scream.

I plea to make me whole, I may not again folder.

I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier."

Slowly Sam resurfaced and his eyes followed his command to open after a few fruitless attempts.

His hand was gently squeezed again. Glazy and tired eyes wandered towards where that voice came from.

"I'm sorry, my little hummingbird." A tired blink, Sam's vision came into focus only slowly.

"You should have told me, that you have a heart condition." The voice was sincier, there was regret dripping out of his words. Sam was confused, he blinked a few times, not understanding what had happened. His head shook on its own in a tiny tired motion.

"Wha... " His raspy voice craked. He swallowed painfully. "I don't." Only a slight whisper. He felt as weak, as he sounded.

"I'm afraid, you do."

That damn annyoing sound was apparently his heartbeat. It was unsteady, he could tell.

"Hospital?" His eyes searched the room, looked at all kind of equipment beside his bed. But the room was too fancy, not enough eggshell color, too warm and cosy.

The other one shook his head slightly, then locking with his tired eyes. "Couldn't bring you to an overcrouded ER, could I?" His voice was sincere, the words sounded like he actually was worried about Sam's heath, not the possiblity of being caught. "You a doc?"

Sam was uncomfortable, too tired to analyse whatever the man had said or indenteded to say, or how. There was only a slight nod to his last question, or so he believed to have seen under his half closed eyes.

Everything hurt, he tried to rearrange his position a bit. A new, sharp pain exploded inside his chest, spreading from the middle right back to his spin. A painful sound and a sharp inhale just happened on their own, making it even worse. A firm, but gentil hand pressed him down by his shoulder. Dots flickered in his vision. "I'm so sorry. I believe I cracked some of your ribs." The man was looking away, shamefully, until his eyes came back, looking down at Sam.

'Really? First he snatched him, bound him, drugged him, fucking electricuted him and NOW he was sorry, because he actually hurt him?' Sam was more than confused. His head was spinning, these thoughts bumping in, but he was too exhausted to acknowlege them. He was too weak, to get angry. And he really didn't understand, what was happening. The disturbing sound had slowed down again, while warmth spread throughout him.

TBC

Hummingbird masterlist

@whumptober-archive

[jotun-philosopher]

Good Omens is living rent-free in my brain...

...and the resulting scenarios floating around in there are pretty varied and won't stop coming, so I hope you like 'em, however improbable they may be!

I'm no great shakes at story-writing or anything, so I can't do much more than fling these ideas into the void, but if you want to use one or more as fanfic/fanart prompts, go right ahead! (and tag me on the result pls! I'd love to see it :D)

Second part here, third part here

Crowley finding Jemimah's pot tucked away carefully in a corner of the bookshop (maybe in the vicinity of Aziraphale's journals?) and getting all sentimental

Crowley getting a text alert on his phone, and when he opens it he gets pelted with origami nightingales folded from pages of notes in Aziraphale's hand -- attempts to figure out his feelings, erotic haiku, doodles of things he'd like to do with Crowley, sketches for possible engagement ring designs, vital information on the Second Coming copied from the hyper-confidential files; the sort of thing an angel undercover might need to hide from the Metatron in a hurry

Aziraphale having really, really bad PTSD after Apocalypse 2 gets resolved/prevented (and Crowley supporting him through it from his own experience of trauma recovery)

Aziraphale barely escaping Heaven with his life when he finally makes the choice to fully break away, and wandering in a haze until he comes across an empty playground and sits disconsolately on one of the swings, trying to figure out what the heck he's going to do now. Meanwhile, Crowley's out for an aimless midnight drive when he passes a playground and-- Hang on a minute! *brakes hard* Pale figure with mangled white wings, looks like they've been dragged backward through a hedge and beaten up? Is it...? Could it be...? Yes, it is! *gets out, goes over and sits on the swing next to his angel* They sit together in silence for a while, quietly reconnecting, and when the moment feels right, Crowley starts speaking to sympathise about how much the permanent loss of innocence really f***ing sucks, whether it happens a bit at a time or all at once

Nina and Muriel separately then jointly figuring out the shape of at least some of the machinations happening, then the rest of the Shopkeepers' Association also figuring out that Something Weird is going on that they want to help with if they can, and sending an envoy to Crowley (who seems to them to be best placed to explain things). He ends up calling an Extraordinary Meeting of the Shopkeepers' Association for the purpose of explaining the story from The Beginning -- involving, among other things, the similar awfulness of Heaven and Hell, a dramatic re-enactment of the whole Job business and at least 30 minutes without hesitation, deviation, repetition or pausing for breath on why he's head over hindquarters for his soft, fluffy angel who gave away his flaming sword <3

Aziraphale correctly and unhesitatingly pronouncing 'Llanfair­pwllgwyngyll­gogery­chwyrn­drobwll­llan­tysilio­gogo­goch' and Crowley reacting appropriately <3

Gabriel and Beelzebub deciding to come back to help prevent the Second Coming (to repay Aziraphale's kindness/compassion? to make amends for all the trouble they caused and 6000+ years of being really awful? the lack of hot chocolate on Alpha Centauri? something else entirely?)

edit to add a couple I just remembered:

Crowley saying in reaction to some discovery or other: "Rrrrrrrrr, I am gonna PAMPER that angel SO HARD when I get my hands on him!!" Aziraphale (chimes in flirtatiously): "Was that a threat or a promise? Either way, I look forward to it!" *waggles eyebrows* Crowley: *flustered snake noises*

Jesus himself offering to cater the Ineffables' wedding for free as thanks for the 'all-the-kingdoms' thing and the world-saving

[sturn777]

fb!chris meeting dealer!reader for the first time . | ( female!reader ) wc 0.7k ( masterlist ) + ( request )

꒰ა " you got me high, you got me high, and i ain't coming down . " ໒꒱

the bass thumps so loud you can feel it in your chest, rattling your ribcage like a warning. the frat house reeks of stale beer, weed, and cheap cologne, the air thick with sweat and bad decisions. you weave through the crowd, the thin material of your top brushing against sticky red solo cups and the occasional wandering hand. you don’t stop, don’t even look back, just give them a sharp elbow or a glare over your shoulder. they get the message — you’re here on business, not pleasure.

chris notices you the second you walk in.

he’s leaned up against the kitchen counter, beer bottle dangling from his fingers, looking like sin in a backwards cap and a hoodie. he’s laughing at something nate said, the sound low and careless, like he owns the world and everything in it. and maybe he does. at least, this world—the frat house, the party, the girls who keep brushing against him, pretending it’s an accident.

but then his eyes land on you, and the smirk slips just a little.

you don’t notice him at first. or maybe you do, but you don’t care. you’re too busy scanning the room, looking for your buyer, the weight of the little baggies in your pocket pressing against your thigh. it’s not until you hear his voice, lazy and dripping with confidence, that you turn around.

"yo, yeah— you. y'gonna sell me sum stuff or nah?"

he’s closer now, standing right in front of you, and you have to tilt your chin up slightly to meet his gaze. his usually icy blue eyes are dark, hooded, like he’s already bored with whatever game he’s about to start.

you raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest. “depends. you got cash, or are you just here to waste my time?”

his smirk returns, sharper now, like he wasn’t expecting you to bite back. most girls don’t. “damn. y’got some bite, huh?” he steps closer, crowding into your space, testing the waters. you don’t move, don’t flinch, just hold his gaze with a steady calm that throws him off. “i don’t bite unless i’m paid extra.”

he huffs a laugh, low and rough, taking a slow sip of his beer while his eyes rake over you. “yeah, a'ight. let’s see what you got.”

you don’t break eye contact as you pull a small baggie out of your jacket pocket, holding it up between two manicured fingers. the overhead light catches on the powder, making it shimmer like something expensive.

he leans in, close enough that you can smell the beer and weed on his breath, the faint trace of something minty. “this the good shit, or you tryna scam me?” you tilt your head, a challenge sparking in your eyes. “best around. can y'handle it?”

his jaw tightens, just for a second, before the smirk’s back in full force. “y'cold, ain't ya?" he mutters, shaking his head like he’s impressed. you shrug, slipping the baggie back into your pocket.

for a moment, he just stares at you, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. then he steps back, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. “how much?”

you name your price, and he doesn’t even blink, just tosses a couple of bills onto the counter like it’s nothing. you hand over the baggie, your fingers brushing for half a second before you pull away. “pleasure doin’ business,” you say, already turning to leave.

but his voice stops you, cutting through the haze of music and voices like a blade. “what’s your name?” he calls out. you glance over your shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “why? planning on writing me a love letter?”

he laughs, the sound warmer than it should be, and for a second, you almost believe it’s real. “nah. just wanna know who i’m gonna be thinkin’ 'bout later.” you roll your eyes, shaking your head as you walk away. but you don’t miss the way his gaze lingers, following you through the crowd like a promise.

[tetraandtheapples]

YEAHHHH YEAHHH SWAPDREAM POST ANÓ SWAPDREAM POST YEAHH YEAHHH YIPPEESE HEHEHHEHEHHE HAHAE SPINS SPINS SPINS PSINS PSISNSIPSSIS

I put a whole ramble in the tags but realised it would probably be better in it's own little section here LMAO under the cut. Obligatory swapdream ramble. Warning, it's very long.

I've always imagined Swad to be quite. overbearing in how he treats night..... In the actual swapdream story Dream very much wanted to protect Night which is what caused ~Ze Incidente~

I feel like the apples caused Swad to take “protect Nightmare” to the very very extreme kinda deal. He will nab him and deposit him in a room in whatever abode swad lives in... I've always imagined him having some sort of a big open coliseum or cathedral almost where his follows (ants LMAO) can freely enter and wander around in a positive haze...... Erp

I like to think he believes that the best way to protect Nightmare is kinda like. A two top priority kinda thing:

"Rescue" (kidnap) brother to keep an eye on him.... This usually involves placing him in a room Dream made specifically for Nightmare while he stays there. It doesn't have much mostly because Night is very private about his own personal life, so it's filled to the brim with the one thing Dream KNOWS he likes - books. Lots of them. Though the titles are very random and the genres are very inconsistent. For example on one shelf there could be a complex book about complex neurology for professional seasoned senior neurologists. and right next to it would be Heather the Violent Fairy from the Rainbow Magic series LMAO He's probably very heavily monitored, and most definitely not allowed to leave at all. Dream spends a lot of these periods where Nightmare is captured to "catch up" and do classic brotherly bonding activities such as talking, eating together, hanging out etc etc like they used to in Dreamtale (and you wait. I will talk about Dreamtale in a hot sec).

Spread his influence and aura across the multiverse. This actually has a bit of a double (possibly triple!) benefit for Swad. (yeah that's right. Numbered list inside of the numbered list) 1. Causes people to become more "docile" when under his influence. People get very... "high" ig when Swad does his thing, causing them to not think straight. He will use this power very willy-nilly (because if he doesn't, then what even was the point of eating those apples?) (I will talk more on this point in a sec. Put another pin in besides the Dreamtale pin LOL) 2. Essentially "starves" Nightmare out, making it easier and easier to find him. With less access to Negative universes, it limits where Nightmare could possibly be in the Multiverse, while giving Dream more power to find him... ...unfortunately, however, this does have the effect of ACTUALLY starving Nightmare out. Less Negativity means less nutrients for Nightmare. He is starving 24/7 because of this. He has, and constantly tries telling Dream about this very real problem, and somewhat very real threat to his existence if Dream keeps going the way he's going. But these complaints either usually get gaslit the hell out of ("Oh, it's not that bad actually" type deal. "Overreacting much? haha you're lucky you're my brother Nighty!") or if he keeps on complaining, gets tentatively "put into consideration" and then conveniently forgotten the next day. (Which, again, ties back into Dreamtale I WILL GET THERE!!! Trust me. Trust the process.) There is no winning against Swad.

Swad to me thinks of himself as above everyone (Ants in his eyes, and he kind of is literally with his giants wings and towering figure LMAO) so the only person he really feels joy in interacting with is Nightmare, who he considers his equal (twins, both guardians, two sides same coin type deal). Nightmare obviously, the more mentally stable of the two, does not agree with this point of view.

Hell, Nightmare has a lot on his plate really.... This is really why I like Anó's version of Swapdream Nightmare.... A very very very popular interpretation of him is this kind of wimpy, cowardly pathetic soggy item. And don't get me wrong, with circumstances up to this point, I could definitely see that happening.

But oh my god do I love snarky Swapdream Nightmare so much. Oh My God.

I usually like to interpret his character because of this as very mellow, soft spoken and polite around new people, using titles like "Sir", "Madam," etc etc. But around Dream he's so hostile omg.... I think if he ever found somebody who he was comfortable with, I think this more snarky side would come out, too, and he can be very brutal when he wants to.

He's also a bit of a master escape artist to me. With the amount of times he's found himself powerless in Dream's grasp, I think he would have a bit of a knack for getting out of sticky situations with barely anything at his disposal....

Back on the subject of his relationship with Dream, I think the reason he's so shitty with him a lot of the time is that Dream is both: (And oh wowie, another numbered list.)

His brother, basically the only other person he's ever had a connection to in his entire life. Despite the very very very bad blood between them now, Nightmare can't stop at least a little part of him that still cares for Dream somewhat.

He views Dream's "situation" (points to ~Ze Incidente~) as largely his own fault... I've got a whole other rant on Nightmare, in general and how I think he felt about his status as a guardian. Which I will not be saying here because this shit is TOO LONG already. But I think Nightmare would not only find guilt in not only being unable to protect the apples despite his status as "Guardian" (bro was 6) but let alone also being unable to protect himself, forcing Dream to take drastic measures in response (bro was also 6). His harsh reaction to Dream, as well as the distance he tries to keep between the two of them both metaphorically and literally is a form of him running away from his problems. This again ties back with the escape artistry I think he has, preferring to run away rather than stay and fight. He also probably doesn't like fighting too due to low magic reserves (little negativity in his system for him to make use of, lol)

Again, two sides of the same coin type deal. While I'm not certain if "Inferiority Complex" is necessarily the right term for Swan (more research needed) I do think Swad very obviously has a huge God Complex. He literally has a halo and everything LMFAO. Just a brief side note on Dream, but I think this God Complex, despite definitely not being helped by the vasts amounts of Golden Apple consumption, definitely gave Dream a greater sense of power/protection from things that may ail him or Nightmare. Again, him placing himself above normal, average people gives him a sense of disconnection from them, making Swan literally the only person he feels he can naturally connect to.

That aside, one last thing I would like to say is this fabled "Dreamtale" segment. Which is maybe a bit of a misleading segment title? Because it's about Positivity vs Negativity in the multiverse, at least for me LOL but I can't be assed to change it. My apologies.

I'm going to start off by saying that I can't actually find this experiment anywhere. When trying to search for it again, I get semi-related, but not quite what I'm looking for experiments, so take what I say with a grain of salt. But it goes something like this:

Rats are very very very intelligent creatures. When left alone, they exhibit normal rat behaviour. Eating, sleeping, etc etc. HOWEVER, some scientists decided hey! What if we just pumped these rats with an endless supply of dopamine? What would happen?

What happened is that the rats, content and happy out of their minds, stopped doing much of anything. They stopped eating even when hungry, because they felt no drive to. And this is where I like to think Positivity as a sort of "feels good, but stagnating" force vs Negativity, the "feels bad, but drives development" force.

With Swad especially, I think he has trouble dealing with any sort of change. His obsession with "protecting" and having a normal relationship with Nightmare but still being unwilling to acknowledge his shortcomings is a result of the overwhelming Positivity flooding his body. Hell, I would even imagine the inverse a bit for OG Dreamtale Nightmare but this wall of text isn't about him lol.

When I say "Dreamtale" in relation to how Swad acts, I think he's really stuck in the "good times" he had with his brother back then, and desperately does anything to get that at the expense of Swan. He's unable to feel the true consequences of this, not really experiencing "negativity" normally (I don't think he's incapable of negative emotions, but more unable to tell when he's experiencing them.)

When I like to think about a "Balance" in terms of emotions, this is usually what I like to think about. Swan is constantly fighting against the overwhelming force of his brother in a multiverse that's slowly being encroached on and stifling out any sort of freedom or change.... I just like them.

TL;DR I'm normal I swear I'm normal guys. Heha

Different multiverse, yet still doomed 😔😔😔

[lychniis]

― FERN AND MONKHOOD.

kaeya alberich x reader.

 “let me protect you / shelter.” + “beware, a deadly foe is near.” + reverse comfort.

WARNING(S) : contains mentions of blood, reader is a medic, kaeya is wounded, kaeya being smitten ( but it's low key ), reader being tired, that sort of shit.

#main masterlist | flos anthalogy masterlist

IT WAS THE STORM that brought Kaeya to you.

Kaeya, who was drenched in rainwater and mud, who leans against the doorframe with practiced breaths that slowly waned and grew weaker, who was dripping red on the wood floorboards of your home. The storm brought Kaeya home to you, wounded and pained and vulnerable and your hands are upon him in an instant with concern in your eyes and on your lips.

He leans his face into your shoulder. You can feel it, the strain on his body, on every muscle and the shaky rise and fall of his chest — you can feel his insistence on letting this stay an inconsequential encounter. “Think of it as a tryst, dear doctor.” he laughs when he is seated on your chair. He stains the cloth with his blood and you’re too busy and too worried to appreciate his joke.

Between the robotic haze and the familiarity of this routine ( he always has you patch him up; some of them easy enough and gifted a safe kiss in the end and some of them intensive enough for you to call upon the young deaconess to aid you through it ) you find yourself hunched over him, sewing his laceration with practiced ease. 

“How did this happen?” you despise how your voice shakes — with anger perhaps? Or was it your anxiety? Perhaps it was both, to have Kaeya be so foolhardy sometimes, to bear these wounds even when his job calls for it ( every knight sports their own scar; from training, from fighting. He was no exception ). You sound selfish, yes, for daring to let your mind wander to the darker parts of you where reason refuses to spread its roots. 

He was silent this time — and Kaeya loved to run his mouth, to tease away the heavy atmosphere. It’s uncomfortable, the quiet and you wanted to shout, to say something to pull off this unwanted blanket.

“Treasure hoarders.” His reply was short and you involuntarily flinched. It explains the stab wound. This was the workings of a human, after all, rather than the local monster. “I hope you don’t mind me barging in so impolitely…I’ll be off your skin soon after this.”

Your head snaps up and you feel everything; the incredulity, the annoyance, the exasperation, the worry and fear, your affection for this foolish, foolish man —

“Ah.”

— you may have tugged the bandages a bit too tight as a result. Kaeya covers up his wince with a weak chuckle, his delicate fingers ( they were worn down, scarred from training. But they were still pretty hands, suited for gifted artists or prodigious musicians ) curling around yours. 

“Absolutely not.” you snap and there is finality in the way you speak, and unmoving stubbornness in how you hold yourself. Kaeya blinks, then he frowns and he lets go of your hand ( and you know that he was not happy with this, happy with your refusal ). “You’re still wounded.” you continue, tying the bandage up while you set aside the bloodied rags and the needle and thread.

Kaeya fixes upon you that impassive blue stare.

“My, my you seem quite worried. It’s not that bad, you know.” he smiles. It’s an innocent gesture but it feels like ice, like the depths of winter; it feels cold and bleak and sullen and deceptively beautiful ( a reflex, you realize ). 

“Yes it is.” you breathe out. You stare at him, then at his bandaged stomach, your palm just hovering over it. Kaeya is still watching you, but his gaze softens, the ice melts and you feel your shoulders sag just a little when his brief annoyance fades to reserved acceptance.

“Why leave?”

“They will come after me.”

“Let them. I’ll just deal with it like I always do.” Your answer is blunt. Kaeya raises a brow. “Come on now…you can lay down on my bed. You look exhausted.” Helping him up, you ease his weight over your shoulder. His warmth engulfs you entirely but his hands are cold when you clasp them. You feel his exhale on your neck. 

“I can make you something hot to drink.” you offer.

“You spoil me, dear doctor.” he muses, letting you tug him along. Kaeya leans his head against your shoulder and you can hear the smile in his voice. In the background, the lightning crackles and the rain washes the dirt down. When Kaeya is laid on your bed, you see how he tilts his head just a bit to rest his cheek on the soft covers of your pillow and he whispers your name.

( Maybe, somewhere else in Teyvat, the weather is a bit more pleasant and a little less grim. But Kaeya crinkles the corner of his eye when you remove his eyepatch and stroke the scarred tissue. Your name is whispered again, you find yourself smiling and the rain and everything else but this very moment was forgotten. )

“I’d like a blanket though.” he says suddenly. 

“That’s it?” you ask carefully. Kaeya hums.

“And maybe you.” he adds with the slightest hint of a grin as he pats the empty space beside him. You laugh softly, and you feel a little less stress on your shoulders as you join him. His snark dissipates once his head is on your lap and he finds his comfort in your warmth, into something shyer, a little less sure. “Thank you.” was his exhausted response as the splendor continues to chip away against you.

“I’ll be right here.” you promise quietly, stroking his hair and his cheeks and everywhere else you knew he liked to be touched in these moments of soft intimacy. “If you ever need me.”

He shuts his eyes. There is a smile on his face and you think you could live a thousand more lives over and over just to see it again. The thunder rumbles once more and the rain pelts down harder. 

Then there was a knock on your door.

❪⠀🎬⠀❫ AINE SPEAKS ;;

requested by @voidlesslove!

nyehehehe yes i'm leaving it at that XD.

taglist — @x-zho, @dustofthedailylife, @deus-lapidis, @silentmoths, @nebulaera, @niverine, @aestellia.

AINE © 2022. do no plagiarize, repost or rework this piece.

[caspercryptid]

viktor and jayce meet for the first time and the first words out of jayce's mouth are "marry me" you decide the rest

OKAY. drunk frat boy jayce. really, really drunk frat boy jayce. some implications of bad shit at college parties and hazing. I would like everyone assured that Viktor gets Jayce's drunk ass home alone (despite Jayce's best efforts) and there is no blurry consent. Enjoy!

___

Viktor likes his job.

Or, really, his volunteer position. If he’s being completely honest, he does it mostly because it keeps him in Heimerdinger’s good books, but well. First of all, that was an important place to remain. Second of all, it gave him an excuse to wander into the open frat parties he’d never have dared to show up to otherwise and harass upperclassmen. Occasionally, it meant he witnessed someone making a bad choice and got to interrupt them. Occasionally, it meant calling the police. Occasionally, it meant... this.

Viktor’s job was very simple. On the nights of the weekend, he went back and forth through frat houses, and made people drink water, checked if they had rides, made sure no one was having any medical emergencies. He usually only took one night a week, because his leg always smarted the next day, but he was never one to let that hold him back.

So. Water. Rides. Calling ambulances.

Fielding marriage proposals.

“I’m afraid I'm married to my work.” He very gently tells the boy half sprawled out backwards on the couch. “Will you sit up?”

“I don’t wanna.” He groans, stretching. His shirt rides up over absolutely perfect abs, and Viktor does his level best not to look down, but the image is burned into his peripheral vision.

“I’ll consider your marriage proposal if you sit up.” Viktor coaxes, and then has to choke down a laugh as the boy sits up, hurriedly, hair flopping. He really is pretty. Probably a new pledge, given how absolutely wasted he is, and the fact that he’s wearing a T-shirt that says bitch on it. Better than conventional hazing, Viktor supposed.

“Thank you,” Viktor tells him, leaning in a little to adjust his weight and snorting when the boy leans in close to him. He puts a hand firmly on his shoulder to push him back into the couch. “What’s your name?” he prompts.

“Jayce.”

“Alright, Jayce. Since you were so moved by my offer of water that you proposed, do you think you could make good on it by drinking some?”

“Your face.” Jayce says, tone informative.

“Is that an insult?” Viktor deadpans. “I like my face.”

“I like your face too.”

“Than– why have you mentioned it.”

Jayce opens his mouth, closes it again, looks confused. “What did you– say?”

“That since you were so moved by my offer of water–” Viktor starts to repeat, patient, but Jayce perks up, like a very content puppy.

“Your face moved me.” He says, like he’s just remembering. “Not the water. Your face. I like your moles. And your chin.”

Viktor blinks, a little surprised. “–thank you.” he says, and then shakes himself. “Water.” he says.

“What?”

Viktor lets out a breath and then just unscrews the lid on the bottle, and then holds it to Jayce’s lips.

“Slowly.” He says, gently, and very resolutely thinks about puppies and nothing inappropriate as Jayce’s lips part around the bottle. He really is pretty. A little dribbles down his chin, and Viktor carefully leans his cane on the couch and shifts his weight so he can gently catch Jayce’s chin and tip it up a little, feeling his sanity fracture a little as Jayce leans into the touch. He pulls the bottle back, and Jayce makes a little protesting noise, even as more water goes down his chin, and Viktor takes another deep breath, and thinks about– puppies.

That is not making him think less about Jayce.

Dammit.

Viktor makes a last minute decision and sets the bottle down in Jayce’s lap, ignoring the way he looks down at it like it’s a new and fascinating toy, and pulls out his phone, shooting off a quick Done for the night text to Heimerdinger and the little group chat of volunteers, and he adjusts to sit down next to Jayce.

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself while you sober up?” he prompts, because honestly, Jayce looks far too hapless to leave alone, especially with the way the frat brothers tended to kick around their pledges.

That was definitely the only reason.

As Jayce perks up, happy, Viktor realizes his lie isn’t even working on himself. Deep in his gut, he just really... wants to keep this boy company. And to make sure he’s okay. Because dammit, the eyes are getting to him.

It’s definitely just the eyes.

[pinnithin-writes]

June 17

Bailey got my number. He caught me late last night when I was walking in from my car with Taco Bell and he was leaving the apartment with a few friends. The group was all pretty tipsy except for him, so I think maybe he was driving. I wonder if he drinks at all, or this just happened to be his designated night to be the sober one. I guess now that I have his number I can ask him.

I have exactly two text exchanges with him: Hi, it’s Bailey! and the smiley face I sent in return, which happened while we were still standing there talking to each other. He asked so casually, like it was a normal, easy question and it didn’t automatically flood his endocrine system with cortisol. If I was the one having to ask him I think I’d puke, and the worm would hate that. 

I kept opening the messenger app, staring at the two messages, and then closing it, over and over again, so I put the phone in my desk drawer and scrolled through some articles on my laptop to give myself something to do. 

One of them was from this holistic healing blog about hunger and raising one’s spiritual vibrations. I’m not sure I entirely buy some of the spiritual aspects of new age medicine, but it’s entertaining to read about. Lots of people have a lot of opinions about what’s good and bad for your aura, how to cleanse your chakras, sound healing and light healing and organic teas that will cure cancer. And if you spend too long in those areas you’ll stumble across the conspiracy theories about how doctors are hushing up these ancient healing practices to make money, and how veganism is the only thing keeping the beef and dairy industries from flooding the planet with methane gas. I probably killed about three hours going over all that stuff. It’s a real exercise in knowing what you’re willing to believe.

But back to the hunger thing. According to alleged experts in energy work, a signal of spiritual ascension is increased hunger and thirst, because the body is expending more energy as it vibrates at a higher frequency. Readers are encouraged not to give into these cravings, as the indulgence dampens your inner voice and quiets what your spirit is trying to tell you. 

I’m not sure it has any merit, but it spoke to me. I like being fed, and I hate being hungry, but I have to admit sometimes I felt a sharp clarity when I was fasting that I rarely feel when I’m full. The article put into words something I’d experienced but never articulated. Having the ability to see everything around me in sharp detail, to feel where I connect with the ground under my feet and the air in my lungs, all because I’m suspended in this weightlessness that an empty stomach brings. 

I spend a lot of time trying to find ways to pass the time, wandering through my life in this fuzzy, numb haze. I break through the numbness by watching things that freak me out and starving myself. No wonder I feel more present when I’m hungry. 

With the tapeworm, I’m never hungry. I keep myself fed so I can keep it fed, and I think that’s better for me than the lucidity brings. But I don’t feel any less spiritual from it. Not that I would know anything about spirituality. My parents were never church people, so me and Audrey never were, either. I went to Catholic mass one time with a friend in middle school and I remember being awed by the vaulted ceilings and the liturgy and the pipe organ the size of a room. And I think the drinking Christ’s blood thing is pretty intense. 

I wonder if religion is just god and humanity feeding off of one another. Am I God to this tapeworm? Are our conversations prayer? I give it life, it eats of my body, and I keep it safe. Or maybe it’s the other way around, and every time I eat I’m giving it offerings, sacrificing pieces of myself to prove my devotion. I think that’s why I still feel real and present even without the hunger. I’m carrying divinity inside me. 

That’s kind of a stretch for a worm that lives in the digestive tract of a sophomore in college. And it’s not making it any easier to have to kill it when the time comes. It’s one thing for God to kill her creation - people die all the time - but if the roles are reversed? How do you kill God?

I don’t think I would call this relationship spiritual. We’re both just worms. 

A Helminthic Romance

Short story about a girl who falls in love with her intestinal parasite, told through entries in the narrator's journal.

[Posting these in short installments in conjunction with the the dates of the journal entries.]

Read on Ao3

<- May//June//

June 1

Will messaged me again. I should just block his number at this point. He seriously asked me if I wanted to hang out, after everything that happened. I don’t know what he doesn’t get about “don’t speak to me again.”

I’m looking back at my entries from spring break and realizing I never actually talked about the aftermath. There’s like, a two week gap where I didn’t even write anything. I guess it was too raw then. Now that it’s been a couple months it’s kind of scabbed over, so I can poke at it a little. 

After he cheated he tried to go back to how things were before. I don’t know if he was counting on me not finding out or was just planning on lying about it or what, but when I tried to confront him about it he just acted like it hadn’t happened. I had to show him the screenshots to make him actually acknowledge it.

“You can’t just act like spring break doesn’t count,” I told him, and he was like, what does it matter? I’ll never see her again. And then he added a passive aggressive comment about how he couldn’t expect me to give him everything he needed, so he filled in the gaps where he could.

I hate to say it but that was my breaking point, not the cheating. I was almost willing to forgive him and let him have another chance after that. I mean, it’s not like anyone has ever shown any romantic interest in me before him, and it’s unlikely I’ll get another shot at love anytime soon. And I did like him. I still do, really.

But then he went and said that? I gave him everything. I carved out hours of my life to hang out with him. I listened to his stories about how his parents hit him and how all his exes used and discarded him and I hugged him while he cried and I held his hand while he learned to heal. 

We could have been something. He was my broken doll and I was his starving dog. The only two people fucked up enough to understand each other. 

I should have known establishing a boundary would have been taken as an attack. He’s been hurt too many times to assume good intentions. But he didn’t have to turn around and cheat on me.

Just because I can’t figure out what I want doesn’t mean I’m not able to tell what I don’t want. I knew I didn’t want to move in with him after only dating for six months. It didn't matter that I was aging out of the dorms. I didn’t want to live with him because that would give him a front row seat to all the weird shit I do behind closed doors and I knew I wasn’t ready for that. 

I think he took me signing the lease with Gina as a sign that I was going to leave him just like the rest of his exes. The first in a series of steps to distance myself after he showed me all the undesirable parts of him, and I’d decided I couldn’t handle it. If he knew all my undesirable parts he’d have known it would take quite a lot for me to draw the line. Maybe he tried to find where the line was early so he could save himself some heartbreak. Or something.

This is so fucking stupid that I just inherently psychoanalyze people. Thanks, Mom. He’s already wasted so much of my time, but here I am wasting more of it figuring out why he thought that was okay.

God. Whatever. The worm’s doing fine. The one inside my body, that is, not the other one. I’ve sort of gotten used to the indigestion, and it’s nice I can eat whatever I want now. It seems to perk up when I feed it chocolate covered pretzels, which is great because I love eating those. 

I really thought for a second about naming the tapeworm Will, just as a funny joke to myself about how Will is a parasite, but this feels like kind of an insult to the worm. It hasn’t led me on for months only to decide I wasn’t worth the emotional effort of waiting on me. All the worm ever does is wait on me, really. It just sits there in a dark little part inside of me I’ll never get to see, waiting patiently for whatever I decide to give it. It doesn’t complain, and it never leaves because it can’t.

I think I want to be kind to it. It didn’t choose these circumstances, much like a child doesn’t choose to be born. The least I can do is treat it well while it’s forced to exist in my digestive tract.

I don’t know. I shouldn’t name it Will, but I should probably name it something, now that I think about it. We’re past the point of avoiding missing it when it’s gone - I’ll miss it. We’ve already spent so much time together and it’s always there with me. But what does one name a worm that’s attached to your intestines, eating when you eat, sleeping when you sleep, fully dependent on you?

And  if we’re being honest I’m a little dependent on it, not only for getting my weight down, but for keeping me on a schedule. I’d probably be in bed all day long if the worm didn’t stir every once in a while, reminding me to go about the daily maintenance of being alive. I actually showered today because my stomach hurt so bad I couldn’t stay curled up in bed any longer. It’s like it’s reminding me to keep being a person.

Hard to pick a name for someone that important.