#Sitting with the mess and your resistance to it!

[revelboo]

Ok but why do we have the same music taste?? I didnt even entirely realise outsude of the I Fight Dragons songs at first but I listen to every single one of those

Great minds think alike 😅

Everything Is Alright Pt 130

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Servos pressing against his chassis over his spark chamber, it’s hard not to fixate on that fragile, little spark tangled in him. Something Megatron had never actually thought to want. Never allowed himself to even consider it as an option. But now that it’s happened? He just desperately wants to protect this. Remembering the feel of you drifting through him, that you’d felt like sunshine, bright and warm. Addictive. It’s not like he’d lied- the spark will need contact with you. Strengthening it by spark bonding again and again. At least, that’s how it’s supposed to work, but the carrier is also supposed to keep the spark.

• Frustrated, he lets himself into the Constructicons’s habsuite looking for Hook and somehow isn’t the least bit surprised to see the biggest of them, Bonecrusher, leaning forward cooing at a little human sitting on his thigh as he offers them a package of some kind of human food. Because of course they’ve got a human, too. Suspects there’s more than a few of them smuggled aboard the Nemesis at this point. It’s the thing they’ve built against the wall that gets his attention, though. Bending slightly to study what they’ve done without his permission. And all of them are frozen, watching him. “What is this?” He asks, forgetting that he’d wanted to ask the medic about sparklings and spark bonds.

• Watching Scrapper come forward, hands away from his frame, Megatron resists the urge to smile at the mech’s obvious discomfort. ‘Just a little habitat. For the human.’ The Constructicon shrugs slightly even as he manages to look guilty. Putting himself between Megatron and his brothers, taking responsibility. ‘No one’s fraggin’ it,’ Scrapper adds as Bonecrusher curls his hand protectively around you. If the Constructicons aren’t fragging theirs, it’s probably just a matter of time until one of them tries to. What is it about humans that makes his troops lose all control? The interfacing can’t just be that good. But studying the little structure with its facilities, he can’t deny the Constructicons are onto something. Maybe you’d like something like this? “Can you build more of these?”

• Staring after his cassettes and their little human, Soundwave’s servos flex against you. Not wanting to give you up, wanting to spend time with you. Ask you to bond to him, do it right this time. Not deal with whatever is going on there. Rumbling when Starscream reaches to take you from him with a haughty, ‘looks like you’ve got a mess to deal with.’ And you look back at him as the Seeker carries you off, your expression making his spark ache. Because there’s always someone else needing him, demanding his time. So used to ignoring what he wants to look after everything else. And he just wants some time with you.

• Soundwave looks so lost, staring after you as Star carries you back to his habsuite. Just immediately sitting on his berth and mass shifting. Wrapping himself around you with a shuddering intake through his vents. And it’s the first time you’ve been alone with him since what he’d done. Since he’d stripped away Soundwave’s bond. Hurt you and Soundwave. “Why did you do it?” You ask, unable to just let it go as his servos run over you, like he’s checking for injuries. Reassuring himself that you’re okay.

• Denta gritting at the soft, hurt question, his wings flick. Because no answer is going to be good enough to excuse that. Doesn’t even know how to start making amends for it. Helm brushing your forehead so he can focus on those eyes he loves, he vents softly. “Jealousy. Fear,” he admits, gripping your arm when you try to lean away. “I thought I was losing you piece by piece. That I was being replaced.” Other hand cupping your cheek to keep you from turning away, his own optics shutter. Ashamed of what he’d done in a fit of jealous anger. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Our sparkling. You’re all I have.”

• That doesn’t make it better. Not by a long shot, but you’d driven him to this. Made him feel that Soundwave was replacing him. “I love Soundwave,” you say and those red optics open, leaning forward to stay pressed against him when he tries to lean back, you grab onto his shoulders. “And I love you. This is all really messed up and I know it.“ Unable to choose between them and accidentally hurting them both over and over. It’s all you, isn’t it? “I don’t know how to stop loving him.”

• And you sound so lost, pressing your face against his shoulder as he cups the back of your head. “I knew when I started falling in love with you, that this wouldn’t be easy. I tried to do what was right by you. To let you go and couldn’t even do that,” he growls, tucking you more firmly against him. “We’re both a bit fragged up.” Hears you snort at him as he forces your chin up. “Are you leaking again?” Venting affectionately, he brushes his mouth against your forehead. “We’ll figure this out together.”

Previous

[wingedhallows]

hey!!!!! i wanted to request something a little light and cute and fluffy. my request is abby attempting to do your makeup bc she claims it’s “so easy” bc she’s seen you do your makeup routine so many times. your writing is just so impeccable 🤌🤌🤌 and fucking amazing just make it your own and add your own little details if you’d like. but you for sure have to add a scene where abby is just so focused and concentrated on not messing up bc she also claims she’s a “perfectionist.”

— TOO CONFIDENT FOR HER OWN GOOD —

— ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ pairing : abby anderson x reader / 1.8k words — ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ plot: When Abby claims she can do makeup just as well as you—if not better—you decide to let her prove it. Confident as ever, she takes on the challenge… only to realize she might be in way over her head. What starts as a simple dare quickly spirals into a hilarious mess of streaky foundation, clumpy mascara, and one very questionable technique. But as the laughter fills the room, it becomes clear—this isn’t just about makeup. It’s about love, trust, and finding joy in the little moments, even when things go horribly wrong. — ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ authors note: hi! i had so much fun writing this! i hope it's what you asked for and that you like it. send me more requests, this was such fun :)

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“What’s that for?” Abby nods toward the headband you’ve just slipped on, her brows raised in curiosity. There’s a knowing glint in your eyes as you catch her gaze, a small, teasing smile tugging at your lips. She’s far too confident for her own good.

“To keep my hair out of my face,” you reply, voice laced with amusement. The answer is obvious, but you can’t resist playing along.

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “I knew that,” she grumbles, and you can tell—just by the slight crease in her brow—that she’s a little embarrassed.

You settle onto the bed in front of her, your makeup spread out between you like an artist’s palette waiting to be used. The thing is, Abby had boldly claimed she could do your makeup just as well as you—if not better—because she had watched you do it sooo many times.

But you know your girlfriend. Abby is stubborn, maybe a little too self-assured at times, and you couldn’t resist challenging her. You dared her to put her skills to the test, and now here you are—your face bare, waiting to be transformed, while Abby sits across from you, staring down at the array of products as if they were some kind of ancient puzzle she suddenly regrets trying to solve.

“Just start with the base,” you encourage, trying to stifle a laugh. Your voice is light, teasing, but you can’t help the warmth in your tone.

She huffs, determined, even as uncertainty flickers in her eyes. She has no idea what she’s doing—but she won’t back down now.

And honestly, you wouldn’t want her to.

You point toward a beige bottle—foundation. “Start with that.”

You don’t offer any more guidance, and you know she won’t ask. Abby is far too proud to read the label, too stubborn to admit she has no idea what she’s doing.

She just nods, feigning confidence as she picks up the bottle. Then her hand hovers over the array of brushes, her fingers ghosting over them uncertainly. For the first time, her eyes flicker to yours, a silent question lingering there.

You bite back a smile and give her a small nod—yes, that’s the right brush. She grabs it, her expression shifting back to one of determination.

But then, to your horror, she squeezes a few drops of foundation directly onto the brush.

Your eyebrows lift slightly. The brush? Jesus…

But you don’t say a word. You just watch. Let her figure it out.

Abby leans in, one hand settling firmly on your thigh. She’d probably claim it’s for balance, but you know better. This is just an excuse to touch you—Abby never misses an opportunity.

You hold still as she begins dabbing the brush against your cheeks, stroking it over your skin in broad, uneven swipes. The pressure is uneven, the strokes unpolished, and you know it’s going to leave streaks.

But you don’t comment.

Not yet, at least.

You feel the brush glide over your cheeks, your chin, your nose—she’s covering all the necessary spots. Well, almost all. She’ll get my forehead too, right?

…Yeah, no.

She moves on, completely skipping over it, leaving your forehead a bare, foundation-less island in the middle of an otherwise blended sea. Great.

You catch the subtle twitch of her brow, a tiny crack in her overconfidence, as if a thought finally nudges its way into her head: This doesn’t look quite right.

You take a slow, deep breath. Good Lord, help us.

Abby sets the brush and foundation down, her expression hardening in concentration. You can practically see the gears turning in her head, grinding so hard you half expect steam to puff out of her ears.

You bite your lip, trying—really trying—not to laugh. But she catches the amusement dancing in your eyes and immediately shoots you a glare.

“Shut up,” she hisses, but there’s no real heat in her voice.

A soft chuckle slips past your lips. “I didn’t even say anything.”

She scowls, picking up the concealer bottle with newfound determination. “Yeah, well, I can practically hear you taunting me in here.” She taps her finger against your forehead pointedly.

That does it—you laugh, reaching up to tangle your fingers with hers. “I would never taunt you, my sweet, lovely girlfriend.”

She rolls her eyes so hard you’re surprised they don’t get stuck.

Then, without hesitation, she dabs a little concealer under your eyes. You wait for her to grab the brush you always use for blending, but instead, she goes rogue.

With her fingers.

Her damn fingers.

You fight the urge to cringe as she smears the concealer across your skin, rubbing it in like she’s applying sunscreen at the beach.

At this point, you’re sure you’ll end up looking nothing short of a full-blown circus clown. But honestly? Watching Abby wrestle with makeup like it’s an enemy she refuses to lose to?

Totally worth it.

"Alright... the eye thing now," Abby mutters to herself, squinting at the array of makeup products like they might suddenly arrange themselves into a tutorial.

You cock an eyebrow, amused. "Eye thing—do you mean lashes, love?"

Her gaze flickers to yours, and instantly, her expression sours. It’s the same look she gives when she spots a spider and desperately needs you to deal with it.

"Absolutely not." She scoffs, shaking her head as she wipes her fingers on a makeup wipe—because, somehow, you're still processing the fact that she applied your concealer with her damn fingers.

"So... mascara?" you ask, tilting your head.

"Ah, yeah—mascara." She nods with confidence and reaches for a tube... except, it’s not mascara.

"Baby, that’s lash glue."

Her head snaps toward you, eyes widening, and a faint blush creeps over the apples of her cheeks. That’s what not reading labels gets her.

"I knew that," she huffs, clearly flustered. "I was just... checking." Her voice dips lower, as if embarrassment alone might make her invisible.

She hurriedly sets the lash glue down, this time taking a moment to actually read the labels before picking up the right tube. Small victories.

Abby unscrews the mascara, but as she leans in, she hesitates. In her head, this is a high-risk operation. One wrong move, and she’s convinced she’ll be the reason you go blind.

She exhales slowly, steadying herself, but her shoulders remain tense. Meanwhile, you simply smile at her, soft and encouraging, before tilting your chin up and looking at the ceiling—your silent way of saying, You got this, baby.

Abby swallows, carefully bringing the wand to your lashes, holding her breath as if that alone will keep her hands from shaking. She moves with the concentration of someone defusing a bomb, praying she won’t stab you in the eye.

And honestly? You’re praying too.

Somehow—miraculously—Abby manages to apply the mascara without stabbing you in the eye, and you silently thank every god who might be listening.

She sets the tube down with a sense of finality, then suddenly—

“All done.”

You blink. Slowly.

…All done?

You take a second to process this. No powder, no eyeliner, no blush—nothing but foundation (patchy), concealer (questionable), and mascara (a crime against lashes). You’re sure you look like a half-finished painting.

But then, you see it. The flicker of uncertainty in her expression. The way her confidence wavers just slightly before she schools her features. She knows.

She clears her throat, her gaze darting away from yours like she can avoid the inevitable.

“I… guess you were right,” she admits, her voice quieter, tinged with reluctant defeat.

Your chest tightens a little because, honestly? Seeing her like this—actually admitting she might not be great at something—is worse than whatever mess is currently on your face.

“I did a shitty job.” She exhales, brushing a few stray hairs from her face, her throat bobbing as she swallows.

You offer her a reassuring smile. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

Then, before she can react, you get to your feet and move toward the vanity.

Instant regret.

Her body tenses, alarm flashing in her eyes. No, no, no—abort mission! But before she can launch herself across the room and physically stop you, before she can wrap her arms around your waist and haul you away from the mirror—

It’s too late.

You’re already staring at your reflection.

And oh. Oh, God.

Abby stands slightly behind you, her heart pounding so hard she swears it might just leap straight out of her chest.

Your foundation? Streaky. The concealer? Blotchy, with distinct smudges where her fingertips had worked it in like a moisturizer. The mascara? So thick and clumpy it looks like it’s actively plotting your downfall.

And the worst part? The tiny smudges in the corners of your eyes, where the mascara shouldn’t be.

It’s bad.

It’s really bad.

You meet Abby’s gaze in the mirror. She looks… devastated.

And despite everything, despite looking like a sleep-deprived ghost, you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

“I… umh… it’s not that bad.” You try—really try—not to laugh.

Abby stands behind you like a statue, her expression frozen somewhere between dread and sheer embarrassment. You can feel her panic radiating off her, but the moment your eyes flicker back to your reflection, the sheer horror of it nearly sends you over the edge.

The foundation is streaky, the concealer is uneven, and the mascara—dear God—is clumpy enough to make you look like you just survived a hurricane. You press your lips together, struggling, desperately trying to hold it in.

Then—

“It’s horrible,” Abby mutters, voice thick with shame.

And that’s it. That’s what breaks the dam.

Laughter bursts out of you, sharp and sudden, your body doubling over as you grip the vanity for support. It’s not even just a giggle—it’s full-blown, stomach-clenching, can’t-breathe laughter.

Abby watches you, stiff at first, but then—when she realizes you’re not laughing at her, but at yourself, at the ridiculousness of it all—her embarrassment melts away.

She cracks.

Then she cackles.

And suddenly, the two of you are howling like a couple of grandmas at bingo night, gasping for air between fits of laughter.

“I look like a damn ghost!” you wheeze between gasps, gesturing wildly at your reflection.

Abby’s laughing so hard she has to clutch her stomach, her whole body shaking as she bends over like some dad at a backyard barbecue. “I tried my best!” she chokes out, her voice barely holding together.

It takes a solid minute before the laughter dies down, leaving both of you breathless. You brace yourself against the vanity, wiping at your eyes as you finally catch your breath.

“If you ever claim to be better at my stuff again, I swear I’m kicking your ass,” you say, grinning at her through the mirror. The sheer sight of your disaster of a face has Abby giggling all over again.

“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbles, rolling her eyes as she heads back toward the bed—

But not before landing a solid smack to your ass.

The sharp slap echoes through the room, and you yelp, whipping around with wide eyes.

Abby just smirks. “That’s for laughing at me.”

The mischievous smirk she throws over her shoulder is all you see before she flops onto the mattress, absolutely pleased with herself.

[rabotimagines]

"Thief" GN BOT Reader x Sunstreaker, Skyfire, Bumblebee, Hound, Ratchet [Yandere/Obsessed] Scenario

Summary: He steals your cleaning cloth and finds himself unable to resist the perverted thought that immediately pops into his helm.

Warnings: Obsessed/Yandere bots. Smut MDNI🔞

G1 characters: Sunstreaker, Skyfire, Bumblebee, Hound, Ratchet

Genre/Theme: Smut 🔞

Notes: AutoBOT reader, The autobots jerking it perverted style, (I wanted to do some of the cons too but this got kinda long...)

Pronouns: You, you, your

You're in one of the lounge areas on the Ark and Sunstreakers watching you get the excess dirt off of yourself(excess to Sunstreaker anyway). Digits making sure to get in between the grooves of your junctures while Sunstreakers telling you how you need to polish after that. And Trailbreaker comes by and pulls you away which Sunstreaker really wants to bite out something for it but you seem like you actually want to go with Trailbreaker, so he instead bites his glossia. But you also leave your cleaning cloth on the table, apparently having forgotten to sub space it before leaving him. Sunstreaker doesn't exactly think he just reaches over and shoves it in his subspace as soon as it touches his servo. Next thing he knows Sunstreakers back at his habsuite, alone thankfully (Sideswipe having been on patrol) sitting on his berth and staring at your cleaning cloth.

Sunstreaker knows he's... captivated with you. But he's also never felt like this with anyone before, so he had to concede you were everything he'd thought of you. That you were worth a bit more than whatever you were in the autobots. That with no doubt for himself to be so- focused on you that you were more than extraordinary to be on the end of Sunstreakers affections in the first place. Problem was Sunstreaker was used to bots failing over themselves for a chance with him and he has no idea how to have you do that too. So instead Sunstreaker has taken to sharing his polish with you. (He wants you as shiny as you can be.) And Sunstreaker has the high quality stuff and he doesn't exactly share with other bots (especially not his polish!) Which if you're not too concerned with your shine then it might lead to Sunstreaker polishing you himself. (Even if you aren't too up to that either which can maybe led to friction but hey, who are you to say no to a free touch up you aren't lifting a digit to do yourself? You should be grateful. Especially when it's him.) Which has worked a touch since you aren't as standoffish as when Sunstreaker starting talking to you. But you still weren't close enough. Especially not close enough to satisfy the near constant burning ache in his frame.

Sunstreaker lifts the cloth up to his faceplate and he slowly inhales. Instead of the strong smell of acetone that he'd expected there's just the slight neutral smell of oil. More importantly Sunstreaker also smells you- And he's suddenly thankful you hadn't listened to him when he said you should have polished yourself earlier. Sunstreakers abruptly burying his faceplate into the cloth and his spike starts throbbing against his modesty panel at his next inhale. Sunstreaker lets his panel pull back and he's fisting his spike as soon as it pressurizes. Every greedy huff of your scent has his helm feeling hotter and hotter- and his spike twitching harder in his own servo. He remembers your frame under his digits barely separated from him by a cleaning cloth. Sunstreaker imagines you under him, frame leaning into his touch as his servos fan over your plating. Sunstreaker opens his mouth and bites down on the fabric in his grip and Sunstreaker tastes you- Sunstreaker overloads with a muffled groan while fragging his own fist in quick strokes. Sunstreaker is huffing in vents from how hard he overloaded and he's taking in the absolute mess he'd just made with his transfluid.

Sunstreaker may have an obvious preference for you with a shining frame but if you let him mess your paint up like this? Sunstreaker didn't know if he'd let you even glance at a cleaning cloth afterwards.

-

Skyfire is asking you your opinion of a human activity. You did know a touch more than Skyfire having been acquainted with human culture longer than Skyfire had been around on earth for. Skyfire does value your input, he really does. (He also really values the time he can spend with you, and your optics focused on him, and your voice-). You're busy at the moment but you still find the time to step on the side to talk with Skyfire (and Skyfire tries to ignore how his wings perk high and how badly his chassis aches for him to reach out to touch you when you make the effort-) You're about to go back out on patrol and you're using a cleaning cloth to get some dirt off of your chassis. Skyfires optics are immediately drawn to the swipe of your servo and he finds himself zeroing in on watching your digits dip into the seams of your armor. And Skyfire feels like a pervert! Thankfully Skyfire is well adjusted enough to know how to hide mild embarrassment. So he shutters his optics closed and smiles to hide the brighter hue his optics have while you continue talking. Then Tracks is telling you to "Get off your aft or he's leaving you here!" before he transforms and starts heading out. You jolt in surprise before tossing your cleaning cloth at Skyfire without thought which you immediately realize you'd done and apologize. Skyfire smiles watching you scramble before you ask Skyfire to take care of it for you. Then you rush to transform and to catch up to Tracks.

Skyfire ends up back at his habsuite on his berth staring at the cloth you'd accidentally given him in the moment. And Skyfires optics brighten when he even considers doing- that of all things. Being stuck vorns under the ice must have done something to Skyfire. Because Skyfire has struggled to keep his thoughts in check as soon as he met you and it didn't seem to be improving any. His spark thrumming hard in need whenever he got close to you but if he got too far away all he could think about was you- You had an ever present place in his processor even when he was doing scientific work. He's crushed before yes, but this was- it was so much more... all-en composing. It was like you had somehow worked your way under every part of his frame from his struts to his very spark. And it frankly scared Skyfire a touch. Especially when you weren't even that close with one another for Skyfire to be feeling this strongly.

But with most things involving you Skyfire finds he can't help indulging into the ache for more even if he's disappointed with himself. Skyfire lets himself bring the cloth up to his olfactory and inhale tentatively. Skyfires optics brighten hard when he smells you so clearly. Skyfire inhales deeper and his array quickly kick starts into action with every continued huff he takes. Skyfires other servo palms down his frame before sliding down his still closed array. Skyfire doesn't let his modesty panel pull back. Instead Skyfire rubs over his rapidly heating panel and bucks into his own teasing servo. Stars- he could imagine this was you instead. Every desperate huff against your cloth has his own servo pressing down harder, as Skyfire rocks his hips against his own touch. Skyfires array aches, his spike was throbbing and his valve was soaking his own panel in pre lubricant. Would you tease him with your words if this was you? Would you praise him? Or would you scold him for being so- so perverted? Skyfires digit pads dig against his own panel and he overloads at the image of you in between his thighs. Skyfire has to bite back his own whine when he huffs another inhale of your scent in. His own array was sticky serving as a clear reminder of how he couldn't control himself.

Skyfire really hoped you wouldn't think any less of him for his own weakness. Even if that weakness was you.

-

Bumblebee is telling you about Cliffjumper tripping after trying to start slag with Mirage in the cafeteria. Delighting in how a small smirk curls at your derma and how your field while close to yourself is barely brushing against his own. Open but friendly, close to be polite but not closer than you'd typically share with acquaintances. You had been near when Wheeljack tried to unveil an invention. Which ended up exploding. Not a big explosion thankfully but the front of your chassis had been covered in smog. You're basically clean now (after having used three or so cloths to wipe the mess off) and you're thankfully just wiping for any stray streaks you may have missed with a new cloth. Wheeljack ends up swinging by, asking if you'll come explain what you saw happen from your angle. And you get up and say bye to him only Bumblebee offers to drop your dirty cleaning cloths off for you since he's heading that way anyway. You thank him and hand him the mildly to very dirty cleaning cloths and disappear with Wheeljack.

Bumblebee had actually dropped the dirty cleaning clothes off before heading to his habsuite. Well- he dumped them all off... except for one. Bumblee kept the last one you had used at the end of your conversation with him. You were basically clean, mostly running the cloth along your frame for certainty, and to maybe even draw Bumblebees optics- Okay no, you hadn't done that for him. Bumblebee knew he was um- he was crushing. And he was crushing badly for you. He's genuinely never fallen so hard for someone before like this and it makes him feel pretty stupid whenever he interacts with you. You didn't seem to think he was too weird for his own occasional bashfulness (Thank Primus for that at least). But still- You weren't even exactly friends. Even with Bumblebee really wanting to ask you out- ( Wanting to kiss you, wanting to touch you, wanting to feel you-) But he knew he should definitely get to be your friend first. But the ache for you was bad- Like distractedly bad in Bumblebees frame. This would just be a- compromise for the ache in his frame. That's all it would be.

Bumblebee takes a long look at your cleaning cloth before sighing and letting himself fall back flat on his own berth. Bumblebee shoves the cloth over his olfactory and inhales slowly. Oh slag yeah- so that's what you smell like. Arousal swims in his frame fast and Bumblebee doesn't try to stop it. Bumblebees processor imagines if you were actually here, on top of him- and its so easy to do with your scent in his senses. Bumblebees modesty panel snaps aside and he shoves the cloth over his own faceplate- It wasn't like he needed his visuals right now especially when he could offline them and use his imagination. Bumblebees servos reach down for his already worked up array. Bumblebees jerking his spike off with one servo with his other teasing his own valve. Bumblebee almost chokes on his next inhale when he gets the filthy imagery of you sitting on his faceplate. (You could be a triple charger even- It does not matter Bumblebee needs you to smother him!). Grinding your array down on his olfactory while your bending over to play with Bumblebees own array. Bumblebees stuck wondering if you'd pay more attention to his spike or his valve- his servos both alternating between his equipment fantasizing about both scenarios. Bumblebee arches hard off his berth when his overload rocks through his frame. Bumblebee waits till he's come down from it competently before he reaches up and slowly drags your cleaning cloth off his faceplate.

Bumblebee really hoped you'd be okay at least being his friend soon. Bumblebee didn't know how many more compromises he could actually make about you.

-

You're on patrol with Hound and it starts raining, it also doesn't stop till patrol ends. Now you're both back at the Ark toweling the water and the little bit of mud off of yourselves. Hounds talking about the family of deer he'd scared off when he drove by. You're nodding along and just listening to him, having grabbed another cleaning cloth and are now working in between your junctures and the dips of your frames kibble. Hound wants to smack himself in the middle of his chassis with his fist when his engine stutters when he watches your servo dip between your inner thighs. You're completely unaware of Hounds sudden stutter and just continue to nod, optics focused on your own task of getting the water out of your thigh junctures. Hound keeps talking even when his optics and most of his processor power are now focusing on your servos dragging the cloth along your frame. Brawn calling out your designation makes Hound jump and you both turn to Brawn who Immediately interrupted Hounds rambling. Your about to go off with Brawn when Hound stops you and he quickly gathers all the cloths you'd both toweled off with. Hound wordlessly holds the pile out and waits for you to drop the last cloth in his servo before waving you goodbye with his free servo.

Hounds back at his Habsuite basically staring a hole in the floor because why did he take it-? Hound unsubspaces the last cleaning cloth you'd had- He dropped the others off but he just picked this one up and subspaced it before he could tell himself "No! Bad Hound! Drop it!" And now Hound was here. Staring down at the cloth you'd been using now in his servos. Hound knew he was practically a wreak about you- he was enamored with you. With your faceplate, your optics, your frame, your field- Hound felt like a starved mech and no matter how much he experienced of you he was never satisfied. You weren't close enough as Hound wanted especially. You were acquaintances- and you'd give him polite expressions and your presence next to him, and your time- But it wasn't nearly enough for how badly Hound wanted. Hound wanted to kiss you, to hold you, to- Hound can feel heat starting to gather in his array and Hound tears his gaze away from your cleaning cloth. This was so wrong- This was so wrong- But you didn't need to know. You didn't need to know- With that Hounds little bit of resolve crumbles and he shoves his olfactory right into your cleaning cloth. Hound inhales deeply and his plating fluffs up and his digits curl tighter around the cloth. Primus, you smell fantastic- Hound's Spike is begging to be released before long.

Hound's inner thighs end up slick when his valve practically gushes pre lubricant as soon as his panels pulled back. Hound bites his bottom derma and has to bury the urge to whine when his spike throbs in the open air on his next inhale. Oh, there was something seriously wrong with him! But Hound doesn't think he can stop now- Especially when he's already started and now knows how good it is! Hound climbs onto his berth and drops down on his hips and gauntlets and starts rutting down against his own berth. Hound feels absolutely light helmed on his next inhale- imaging he was rutting against you instead. Hound slowly drags his hips across his berth imaging if he was dragging his length along your own throbbing spike. Hound rocks harder and harder and imaging you calling out for him and Hound does end up whining this time. Hound shutters his optics closed tight and his next greedy inhale has him groaning deep and overloading. Hound whimpers against the cloth when he jerks his hips slowly in the afterglow of his own overload. Pressing his already spent spike against his berth again. Every huff out of him to try and catch his vents lends him yet another huff of you and Hounds slightly shaking when the full effects of it finally settles down.

Hound can not look you in the optics for a few solar cycles. Especially not when the optic contact makes his array throb under his panels.

-

Ratchets looking you over for serious internal damage because your dumbaft got into a scuffle with Slag of all bots. (You got into a fight with a dinobot! And it had to be Slag?!) Ratchets muttering profanities the entire time his servos are running over your frame to check for anything serious. You cut through his assessment to ask him why he didn't just scan you instead of feeling you up? Ratchet stops immediately and his optics brighten in anger and indignation. Ratchets yanking his servos off of you and snaps- he lays into you for being a dumbaft and wrestling with their most hostle dinobot- Because what were you thinking!? He doesn't stop till he's thoroughly chewed you out before pulling a cleaning cloth out and dropping it in your lap. You were thankfully okay, only scratched and a bit dirty. So Ratchet tells you to wipe up and leave. Ratchet waits till you start scrubbing it on your chassis before he goes to help Ironhide with his knee joint, muttering the whole time as well. After Ironhide leaves Ratchet sighs and starts cleaning the med bay a touch. Only he finds the cleaning cloth you'd used sitting where you had been, haphazardly discarded. Ratchets optic brow twitches in annoyance. Ratchet picks up the cloth and sub spaces it so he can focus on doing what actually needed to be done.

Rachet sits down in his chair with a deep sigh, he had retired for the night, and he finds himself thinking of you again. Ratchet remembers the scratches on your frame, and he scowls, thinking he hadn't ripped into you enough for your little stunt. Then the memory of his servos trailing along your frame hits him, and Rachet freezes. Rachet scrubs his servo over his faceplate because you had been completely right- He should have done a frame scan. Instead, Ratchet had jumped directly into a servos on approach and began- almost accidentally fondling you- Primus. Ratchet might need to step back and assign Hoist to do anything for you that didn't require his expertise. Whatever this was was steadily becoming dangerous. "This" being his sudden and sickeningly smitten infatuation he'd developed for you. Ratchet was too old for this- for how you made him feel. The continued urge to see more of you, always accompanied by the deep ache for even more. More than Ratchet would ever allow himself to think about for more than a nanoklick before smelting the thought into ash. Ratchets optics brightened when he involuntarily recalls almost being in between your thighs, his servos fanning along your frame- Ratchets array trying to begin a charge makes him scrub over his facplate again.

Ratchet pulls out that one cleaning cloth he'd handed you in the infirmary from his subspace. He'd forgotten to discard it because he was so frustrated at the time...

Slag it all, Ratchet needed to get this sick fantasy out of his helm before he snapped and did a bit more than accidentally fondle you. Ratchet brings the cleaning cloth up to his olfactory and inhales leisurely. The groan that sounds out of Ratchet almost surprises himself. But Primus below, just the scent of you should not be making Rachets array this pent up this quickly. Ratchet curses under his vents and lets his modesty panel pull back. His servo wraps around his spike and he's dragging slow and steady pumps down his length. Ratchet huffed in a deeper vent of your scent and he's struck by the imagery of you pressed up against him, in his lap, taking his spike. Ratchets engine revs before his servo starts stroking faster. Ratchet should teach you a lesson for being so stupid and getting into that fight with Slag- Ratchet inhaled deep while imagining bucking up into your valve while you scratched the paint off of Ratchets pauldrons. Ratchet could frag you so hard you could only apologize for it- And Ratchet wouldn't stop till he was sure you'd learned your lesson- Ratchet grits his jaw and overloads so hard his siren turns on for half a nanoklick. Ratchet abruptly silences it, but he's left cursing under his vents over it even happening while his overloads shakes through him.

... Ratchet was going to have to message Hoist about Ratchets new distance regarding you. Ratchet didn't think he'd be able to stop at fondling if he got that close to you again.

[nickeverdeen]

Powder Eyes | Vi x fem!reader

Pairings: Vi x reader (crush), Caitlyn x reader (sisters), Vi x Caitlyn (platonic)

Type of fic: Fluff

Warnings: None

Summary: Vi being soft with you is a pretty usual thing between the two of you and honestly it’s hard to believe that this Vi is the same one who punches concrete walls.

—————————

Caitlyn’s house was always calm in the mornings—a stark contrast to the usual chaos of Piltover and the occasional uninvited guest from Zaun. Today, it was quiet, save for the soft hum of conversation coming from your bedroom, where you and Vi were spending time together.

Vi had become a frequent visitor since Caitlyn introduced her to your family. While Caitlyn’s focus was on their shared missions, Vi’s interest had quickly shifted to you, Caitlyn’s younger sister. Over time, your bond grew, transforming the occasional stolen glance into easy conversations and moments like this one.

You were sitting cross-legged on your bed, and Vi was sprawled across it, her head resting comfortably in your lap. Her shoes hung off the edge of the bed, careful not to touch the sheets—Vi wouldn’t dream of dirtying them, even if her boots were spotless.

“You’re a terrible storyteller,” you teased, laughing softly as Vi attempted to recount a story from her childhood in the Lanes.

“Terrible?” Vi scoffed, her powder-blue eyes narrowing playfully as she tilted her head back to look at you. “I’m painting a picture here, sweetheart. You just don’t appreciate my talent.”

You rolled your eyes, a grin tugging at your lips. “Oh, trust me, I appreciate it. It’s just that half of the story doesn’t make any sense.”

Vi chuckled, her voice softening as she settled back down, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. She looked so different in moments like these—relaxed, open. It was a far cry from the tough, sarcastic fighter everyone else knew. Around you, Vi wasn’t just her usual self. She was softer, almost… puppy-like.

The two of you continued talking about everything and nothing—old memories, Caitlyn’s occasional bossiness, and the mess that was Piltover politics. Vi’s laugh came easily, the sound warm and genuine, and every so often, you caught yourself staring a little too long at her features: the curve of her smile, the way her blue eyes seemed brighter in the morning light.

You were too caught up in your thoughts to notice the way Vi’s expression shifted when she looked at you. Her tough exterior melted away entirely, leaving her gaze soft and adoring. If Caitlyn were here, she would’ve said Vi looked like a lovesick puppy—because that’s exactly what she was.

A knock on the doorframe made both of you jump slightly. Caitlyn stood there, her arms crossed, an amused look on her face.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” Caitlyn said, her tone light as she stepped inside.

Vi sat up instantly, her reflexes kicking in as she moved off your lap. It wasn’t embarrassment—just a natural instinct to adjust her behavior around Caitlyn. You looked between them, confused for a moment, before Caitlyn crossed the room to grab a file from your desk.

“I forgot this earlier,” Caitlyn explained, holding up the report. “You two carry on.”

As she turned to leave, Caitlyn paused at the doorway, glancing over her shoulder. She caught sight of Vi’s expression—soft, wide-eyed, and utterly smitten as she looked at you. Caitlyn fought back a knowing smile and walked away without a word, closing the door behind her.

You glanced at Vi, noticing her still-slightly-dazed expression. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Vi said quickly, clearing her throat as she tried to shake off her obvious lovesick look.

Smirking, you gently pushed her back down onto the bed, guiding her head onto your lap again. Vi blinked, surprised, but didn’t resist.

“Relax,” you said, laughing softly at her bewildered expression. “You don’t have to sit up just because Caitlyn walked in.”

Vi grumbled something under her breath but let her body relax again. She tensed slightly when your fingers started running through her short, pink hair, but the feeling of your touch quickly soothed her. You played with the strands absentmindedly, twirling them between your fingers as you spoke.

“This okay?” you asked after a moment, glancing down at her.

Vi’s eyes fluttered open—powder blue and impossibly soft—and she gave a small nod. “Yeah… it’s good.” Her voice was quieter now, almost shy.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Vi allowed herself to fully relax. The tension in her shoulders eased, her breathing slowed, and she felt safe—something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

You didn’t notice the way her eyes stayed on you, tracing the curve of your smile as you continued talking. If you had, you might’ve realized just how deep her feelings for you went. But for now, you were blissfully unaware, content with the moment you shared.

And Vi? Vi was utterly, hopelessly in love.

[antonsbf]

The Scandal- jake x male reader

chapter 001

summary: Jake is caught in a scandal, and the group’s manager suggests a fake relationship with a mysterious boy to fix it

(previous chapter) (next chapter)

The room felt like time was moving in slow motion for Jake.

His eyes stayed locked on the boy in front of him, his mind racing. Who is this? Why him? And why does the company think he’s the solution to this mess?

The manager finally spoke, his voice cutting through the thick tension.

“This is Y/N. From this moment on, he will be Jake’s boyfriend.”

“What?” Jake blurted out. He barely had time to react before Jungwon leaned forward, brows furrowed. “Wait, hold on who is this guy? Why him?”

Y/N remained still, his expression unreadable behind the mask. He didn’t flinch under their stares, standing with quiet confidence as if the situation didn’t faze him at all.

The manager sighed, already expecting their resistance. “We chose him because he’s the best fit for the role. He’s someone the company and I trust.”

Jake scoffed, crossing his arms. “That doesn’t really answer the question.” His voice was sharp, frustration bubbling beneath his skin. “I don’t even know him.”

Y/N finally spoke, his voice calm and collected. “You don’t need to.”

That response only irritated Jake more. “So, what? You just show up and pretend to be my boyfriend like it’s no big deal?”

“Pretty much.” Y/N said, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he watched Jake struggle between confusion and frustration.

Jay sighed and cut in. “Alright, Jake, enough. You don’t get to be picky about this. Everyone here is dealing with this because you got caught in a scandal. So please, let the manager speak and stop being so hardheaded.”

Jake opened his mouth to argue, but the manager spoke before he could.

“Okay! Now, on to the terms of this ‘relationship,’” he said, making air quotes. “Y/N and Jake will be seen together publicly, they’ll interact on social media to sell the relationship, and we will stage moments of romance.”

His gaze swept across the room. “Are these conditions clear?” His voice was firm.

“Yes, sir,” Y/N responded without hesitation.

Jake clenched his jaw. “I hate the idea of lying to Engene, sir.”

Jungwon spoke up. “Jake is correct, sir. I speak for the team when I say this… the idea of lying to Engene doesn’t feel right.”

The rest of the members nodded, their expressions serious.

The manager let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing his temples. “Alright then,” his voice laced with irritation. “Please, enlighten me. What’s your plan to fix this mess?”

Silence.

Jake clenched his jaw, his fingers curling into fists. He wanted to argue, to say this whole thing was ridiculous, but… what other option was there? The scandal wasn’t going to disappear on its own.

The manager scanned the room, waiting. “That’s what I thought. You don’t have one.” He leaned forward slightly. “We don’t have time to sit around debating what’s right or wrong. This is about control. If we don’t take charge of the situation, it will only get worse.”

Jake shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his frustration mixing with a feeling he didn’t want to acknowledge, helplessness.

Y/N, who had been silent this whole time, finally spoke. “It’s just acting.” His voice was calm, almost uninterested. “If you do it right, no one will feel lied to.”

Jake snapped his head toward him, eyes narrowing. “You don’t get it.”

Y/N barely reacted. Instead, he tilted his head slightly. “Don’t I?”

Something about the way he said it so unbothered, almost knowing made Jake’s irritation flare even more. "Who is this guy?" Jake thought.

The manager clapped his hands together, cutting off the moment. “Good. Now that that’s settled, let’s go over the plan.”

okay! hope you enjoy the first "actual" chapter, i know is not so long, so i'm sorryyy! but please give me it a heart, if you want chapter two to be longer!!!! and share your thoughts in the comments!!! i love feedback or theories. - eli

[sukunasluvrr]

Naoya would’ve never in a million years thought he’d someday agree to letting you peg him. But here he was, back arched, hands tied behind his back and dick standing hard and proud between his legs while he looked at you over his shoulders. The strap giving him the chills every time he looked at it, deciding to focus on how your finger felt while it spread lube over his forbidden hole, teasing it and slipping a single finger inside of it to prep him for the toy, humming as you watched his back arch a little more from the sudden feeling of your middle finger poking around his inside, hands fidgeting as he tried to wiggle his way out somehow, which only earned him a tutting from you

„Ah ah- what did I just tell you? The more you resist the harder it’ll get. Just relax hm?“

And he hated how obedient he was, listening to you and simply nodding as he tried to focus on relaxing and being less tense, you leaned down to give reassuring kisses to the back of his neck and along his shoulders, free hand moving around to give his dick a few strokes

„That’s it Baby… your being such a good boy“

Oh god he hated how sweet you sound while fingering his anus, earning a whimper and a buck of his hips when he felt your hand around him, your hand leaving him as fast as it touched him, sitting back behind him again to slip a second finger into him and stretch him further, getting yet another needy whimper from him. He couldn’t even tell how long you kept this up, teasing his slick hole and stretching him until he felt you pull them out and slather him with more lube, looking at you with half lidded eyes over his shoulders as he felt you press the tip of the toy against his hole, unable to stop himself from arching further into you- begging for it with his eyes

„Mff… please… I want it“

And generously enough- you pushed it in, it surprised him that you didn’t tease him, but he chose not to say anything, letting out long moans and gasps when you fed him inch by inch of the silicone, hands fidgeting behind his back and face being pressed into the pillow as your hands found purpose on his hips, slowly starting to pull it out and then slamming it back in, making him moan pitifully into the pillow. For now, you let him stay like this, having him get used to the feeling of something inside of him, starting off with soft grinds and fingers rubbing circles into his balls from behind while you murmured sweet praises into his ear, making him go dumb already as he felt you start thrusting into him, soft little ‚ah ah ah‘s‘ pairing with your movements, which turned louder in volume the moment you started picking up the pace, biting into his lower lip before letting go and releasing more moans. His tip leaking precum and dripping in strings down onto the bedsheets, some sticking to his skin but he genuinely didn’t even seem to bother, not when you were fucking him so good, he couldn’t even register anything else. Each one of your thrusts being paired with the sluttiest moans and whimpers which only gave you more encouragement to ruin his anus, having him arch into it with favor until his face was fully against the mattress, cheek pressed against it and some drool spilling past his lips while you dumbed him down to a needy mess.

„Hah… ah- fffuck, go d-deeperr mhf“

And honestly, you were kinda surprised, it took you a moment to register his words before you pushed the silicone dick further Into his ass, your thrusts getting rougher and your breaths heavy with the amount of effort you put into pounding him. He seemed to be loving it, a stupid grin on his face and eyes not even open anymore. His hole gripping eagerly around the silicone, feeling the tip of it against his g-spot and making him cry out in pleasure, he couldn’t even speak properly but you already knew what he meant, focusing on repeatedly hitting into to make him even dumber while his dick made a mess on the poor sheets. Feeling his orgasms start to creep up on him, small tears of pleasure bricking in his eyes as his balls tightened up almost painfully

„I’m mff- f-fuck, I’m gonna cum…“

You didn’t even have time to say anything before he came, whining and crying in pure ecstasy as he felt his seed practically burst out of his tip and all over the bedsheets. Making a mess on his skin, down hitting his jaw while he went through the bliss of it. Completely reduced to a crying mess, more tears spilling past his cheeks from how good his orgasm felt, and probably because of how disappointed he was when you pulled out of him, but then he felt the kisses and the praise you mumbled against his skin, panting and red over his cheeks as well as stains of his tears

„mhm… lemme fuck your ass next… it’ll only be fair that way“

[goldislops]

Five Practices to Change Your Mind

Basic Buddhist meditation practices can transform the way you think and the way you view the world. Here, five teachers offer introductory methods for changing your mind—and your life.

Barry MagidSummer 2005

|

By , Gil Fronsdal, Bhante Henepola Gunaratana, Peter Doobinin, Judith Simmer-Brown, and Thanissaro Bhikkhu

Five Practices to Change Your Mind

Madras Buddha, Arlene Shechet, 1997, hydrocal and acrylic paint skins, 29 × 25 ×17 inches

Leave yourself alone!

Zen teacher Barry Magid describes the practice of just sitting.

Imagine sitting down in front of a mirror. Your face automatically appears. There is no effort required; the mirror is doing all the work. You can’t do it right or wrong. The Zen Buddhist practice of “just sitting” is like that. When we sit, our mind automatically begins to display itself to us. Our practice is to observe and experience what appears moment after moment. Of course, just as when we look in a real mirror, things don’t stay that simple for long.

We notice how our faces or our bodies look in the mirror, and we immediately have an emotional reaction and form judgments about what we see. Rainer Maria Rilke wrote that Paul Cezanne was capable of painting a self-portrait with utter objectivity, of looking at his own face with no more reaction than “a dog which sees itself in a mirror and thinks, ‘Here is another dog.’” For the rest of us, it’s not so easy to simply observe who we are. Looking in the mirror, we are tempted to use it as a makeup mirror to touch up the parts of our self-image we don’t like.

Our minds are never what we want them to be. That’s part of why we sit in the first place. We are uncomfortable with ourselves as we are. The greatest dualism we face is the split between who we are and who we think we ought to be. Sometimes that gap fuels our aspiration to follow Buddhist teachings, sometimes it simply fuels our self-hatred, and all too often we confuse these two notions of self entirely.

Just sitting means sitting still with all of the aspects of ourselves that we came to Buddhist practice in order to avoid or change—our restlessness, our anxiety, our fear, our anger, our wandering minds. Our practice is to just watch, to just feel. We watch our minds. Minds think. There’s no problem with that; minds just do what they do. Ordinarily we get caught up in the content of our thoughts, but when we just sit, we observe ourselves just thinking. Our body’s most basic activity is breathing: No matter what else is going on, we are breathing. We sit and breathe, and we feel the sensation of our breath in our bodies. Often there is tension or even pain somewhere in our bodies as well. We sit and feel that too and keep breathing. Whatever thoughts come, come. Whatever feelings come, come. We are not sitting there to fight off our thoughts or try to make ourselves stop thinking.

When we sit, we realize how unwilling we are to leave anything about ourselves alone. We turn our lives into one endless self-improvement project. All too often what we call meditation or spirituality is simply incorporated into our obsession with self-criticism and self-improvement. I’ve encountered many students who have attempted to use meditation to perform a spiritual lobotomy on themselves—trying to excise, once and for all, their anger, their fear, their sexuality. We have to sit with our resistance to feeling whole, to feeling all those painful and messy parts of ourselves.

Just sitting means just that. That “just” endlessly goes against the grain of our need to fix, transform, and improve ourselves. The paradox of our practice is that the most effective way of transformation is to leave ourselves alone. The more we let everything be just what it is, the more we relax into an open, attentive awareness of one moment after another. Just sitting leaves everything just as it is.

May We All Be Happy…

Metta meditation instruction from author and teacher Gil Fronsdal

May all beings be happy.

May they live in safety and joy.

All living beings,

Whether weak or strong,

Tall, stout, average, or short,

Seen or unseen, near or distant,

Born or to be born,

May they all be happy.

—From the Metta Sutta, Sutta Nipata I.8

Metta, or lovingkindness, is one of the most important Buddhist practices. Simply stated, metta is the heartfelt wish for the well-being of oneself and others. When describing metta, the Buddha used the analogy of the care a mother gives her only child. Lovingkindness is also understood as the innate friendliness of an open heart. Its close connection to friendship is reflected in its similarity to the Pali word for friend, mitta. However, metta is more than conventional friendship, for it includes being openhearted even toward one’s enemies, developed from insight into our shared humanity.

Metta practice is the cultivation of our capacity for lovingkindness. It does not involve either positive thinking or the imposition of an artificial positive attitude. There is no need to feel loving or kind during metta practice. Rather, we meditate on our good intentions, however weak or strong they may be, and water the seeds of these intentions. When we water wholesome intentions instead of expressing unwholesome ones, we develop those wholesome tendencies within us. If these seeds are never watered, they won’t grow. When watered by regular practice, they grow, sometimes in unexpected fashions. We may find that lovingkindness becomes the operating motivation in a situation that previously triggered anger or fear.

To practice lovingkindness meditation, sit in a comfortable and relaxed manner. Take two or three deep breaths with slow, long, and complete exhalations. Let go of any concerns or preoccupations. For a few minutes, feel or imagine the breath moving through the center of your chest in the area of your heart.

Metta is first practiced toward oneself, since we often have difficulty loving others without first loving ourselves. Sitting quietly, mentally repeat, slowly and steadily, the following or similar phrases: May I be happy. May I be well. May I be safe. May I be peaceful and at ease.

While you say these phrases, allow yourself to sink into the intentions they express. Lovingkindness meditation consists primarily of connecting to the intention of wishing ourselves or others happiness. However, if feelings of warmth, friendliness, or love arise in the body or mind, connect to them, allowing them to grow as you repeat the phrases. As an aid to the meditation, you might hold an image of yourself in your mind’s eye. This helps reinforce the intentions expressed in the phrases.

After a period of directing lovingkindness toward yourself, bring to mind a friend or someone in your life who has deeply cared for you. Then slowly repeat phrases of lovingkindness toward them: May you be happy. May you be well. May you be safe. May you be peaceful and at ease.

As you say these phrases, again sink into their intention or heartfelt meaning. And again, if any feelings of lovingkindness arise, connect the feelings with the phrases so that the feelings may become stronger as you repeat the words.

As you continue the meditation, you can bring to mind other friends, neighbors, acquaintances, strangers, animals, and finally people with whom you have difficulty. You can either use the same phrases, repeating them again and again, or make up phrases that better represent the lovingkindness you feel toward these beings.

Sometimes during lovingkindness meditation, seemingly opposite feelings such as anger, grief, or sadness may arise. Take these to be signs that your heart is softening, revealing what is held there. You can either shift to mindfulness practice or you can—with whatever patience, acceptance, and kindness you can muster for such feelings—direct lovingkindness toward them. Above all, remember that there is no need to judge yourself for having these feelings.

As you become familiar with lovingkindness practice during meditation, you can also begin to use it in your daily life. While in your car, or at work, or in public, privately practice metta toward those around you. There can be a great delight in establishing a heartfelt connection to everyone we encounter, friends and strangers alike.

Related: Cultivating Compassion

Wisdom Arising

Sri Lankan monk Bhante Henepola Gunaratana on training the mind’s eye with Vipassana meditation

Vipassana, or Insight meditation, is a way of training the mind to see things in a very special way as they happen. Seeing without using eyes is a special way of seeing. We train the mind to use our innate wisdom without using words, concepts, logic, or interpretation. In this training, concentration and mindfulness are united. Then wisdom arises and disintegrates what appears to be integrated. Our wisdom eye registers the constant flux of events that is taking place in every moment in our lives. Although this unbroken flux of events is what life is, one cannot be fully aware of this truth without paying attention to what is happening to one’s mind and body every waking moment. With developed insight, our mind can be fully aware of the evolving, processing, and dissolving of everything that happens to us.

So we train the mind to see things as they happen, neither before nor after. And we don’t cling to the past, the future, or even to the present. We participate in what is happening and at the same time observe it without clinging to the events of the past, the future, or the present. We experience our ego or self arising, dissolving, and evaporating without leaving a trace of it. We see how our greed, anger, and ignorance vanish as we see the reality in life. Mindfully we watch the body, feelings, sensations, perceptions, and consciousness and experience their dynamic nature.

Watching impartially opens the mind to realize that there is no way that we can stop this flux even for a fraction of a second. We experience the freshness of life. Every moment is a new moment. Every breath is a fresh breath. Every tiny little thing is living and dying every fraction of a second. There is no way that we can see these momentary existences with our eyes. Only when the mind is sharp and clear, without the clouds of craving, hatred, and confusion can our mind be fully aware of this phenomenon. When we don’t try to cling to these experiences, we experience great joy, happiness, and peace. The moment we try to cling to any part of our experience—however pleasant or peaceful—joy, peace, and happiness disappear. The very purpose of Vipassana meditation is to liberate the mind from psychic irritation and enjoy the peace and happiness of liberation. Nevertheless, if we cling to peace or happiness, that instant that very peace and happiness vanish. This is a very delicate balance that we should maintain through the wisdom that arises from Vipassana meditation.

Awakening, Step by Step

Insight Meditation teacher Peter Doobinin introduces walking meditation.

Walking meditation is a practice through which we develop concentration and mindfulness. We learn to cultivate mindfulness of the body while the body is moving. We learn to be awake. Walking meditation is a particularly important practice in that it enables us to make the transition from sitting meditation to being awake in our daily lives, in our work, and in our relationships. In the end, that’s what it’s all about.

Walking meditation is a simple practice. You choose a straight path—indoors or outdoors—roughly fifteen or twenty steps long. You walk from one end of the path to the other, turn around, and walk back. You continue in this fashion, walking back and forth, focusing your attention on your feet. Your posture is upright, alert, and relaxed. You can hold your hands at your sides, or clasped in front or behind. Keep your eyes open, cast down, and slightly ahead. You can experiment with your pace, perhaps walking quite slowly or at a more regular speed, in an effort to find the pace at which you’re most present. As you walk, direct your attention to the sensations in the feet, to the bare experience of walking. Try to feel one step at time. Be fully, wholeheartedly aware of the physical sensations involved in taking each step. Feel your foot as it lifts, moves through the air, places down against the ground. In particular, pay attention to the touching down of the foot, the sensations of contact, and pressure. Remember that you’re feeling each step, you’re not thinking about the foot, or visualizing it.

You’ll find, of course, that it isn’t always easy to stay focused on the meditation object, the sensations in the feet. The mind wanders, drifts. Your job is to notice when you’ve strayed, when you’re lost in thought. Be aware that you’ve wandered. And return gently to the physical sensations, the lifting, moving, placing of the foot. Just keep bringing your attention back.

As you walk, cultivate a sense of ease. There’s no hurry to get anywhere, no destination to reach. You’re just walking. This is a good instruction: just walk.

As you walk, as you let go of the desire to get somewhere, you begin to sense the joy in simply walking, in being in the present moment. You begin to comprehend the preciousness of each step. It’s an extraordinarily precious experience to walk on this earth.

You can start by practicing walking meditation for ten minutes a day. Gradually, you can expand the amount of time you spend on this formal walking meditation.

In addition to this kind of formal practice, you’ll want to practice walking meditation in “real life” situations. You can practice “informally” just about anywhere, walking along a city sidewalk, down the aisle in the supermarket, or across the backyard. As always, the objective is to pay attention. Pay attention to your feet. Or pay attention to your whole body—the felt experience of your body as it’s moving. In this informal context, you’re aware, to some extent, of what’s going on around you, but your focus is on your walking. Practicing in this way, you begin to live more mindfully. This is when meditation practice takes hold and assumes a new relevancy. Being awake is no longer reserved for the times you spend in formal sitting meditation; it is the way you live.

Related: Walking Meditation—Anywhere

Hot and Heavy, Cool and Light

Naropa University’s Judith Simmer-Brown on the Tibetan Buddhist practice of tonglen

Tonglen, literally “giving and taking,” is a Tibetan practice for cultivating compassion, the Mahayana path of the bodhisattva. The great master Atisha brought Tibetans this practice from India in the eleventh century. Tonglen reverses the pattern of self-cherishing that is the knot of our personal suffering. Using breathing as the basis, tonglen opens our hearts to those things we would rather avoid and encourages us to share what we would rather keep for ourselves. The practice shows that there are no real boundaries between living beings—we are all interdependent.

We begin tonglen by taking our seats in meditation with good posture, very simply and naturally. We ask, why would we want to do this practice? Fundamentally it is vast and choiceless. We recognize that the purpose of our human life is huge, to grow larger hearts and open minds, and we celebrate that we can do this in this moment. We are ready for transformation. Glimpsing this motivation begins the practice.

Then we become aware of our breathing, in and out, and establish the flow of the practice. On the in-breath, we breathe in thinking, “heavy, thick, hot,” and on the out-breath, we breathe out thinking, “light, bright, cool.” At first it seems only like words, but it is good to develop a literal sense of this. My teacher, Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche, suggested that we think of ourselves as air conditioners. We breathe in the stale, smoky, fetid air of the room around us, and we breathe out fresh, clean, cool air. We gradually purify the room. When we breathe, we are breathing with every pore of our bodies, in with “heavy, thick, hot,” and out with “light, bright, cool.” Do this for roughly one-third of the twenty-minute session, or until the texture is established.

Next, we breathe with a continuing sense of the texture we have established. But now we open our thoughts and emotions to all of our personal material. It is good to start with those who spontaneously arouse our compassion. Is there someone we know who is sick or in emotional turmoil? We begin with that person’s face before us and breathe in their heavy, thick, and hot suffering, sharing with them our own light, bright, and cool energy. Be quite tangible with the texture. Whatever suffering we see in them, we breathe it in; whatever sanity and kindness we see in ourselves, we breathe it out to them. When we are ready, extend beyond our loved ones to more difficult people. Are there people we see as threatening or as problematic in our lives? We allow their faces to come to us and then breathe in their suffering and extend to them our sanity and kindness. We are practicing embracing what we would normally avoid, and sharing what we would normally hoard. Do this part of the practice for seven to ten minutes.

We conclude the practice by extending it out beyond our familiar world. One way to do this is to move geographically. We begin in our immediate neighborhood, with the family next door with the two babies, to the college student on the other side who takes terrible care of her lawn, to the elderly woman across the street who recently lost her husband. We move to those people we encounter on our daily routines—our coworkers and our boss; the grocery checker and stock boy; the employees at the cleaners, the gas station, and the video store. Then we extend through our community, to the hospital, the shelter, the jail, the nursing home, including everyone suffering there. And we extend to our state, region, country, and world, our minds going to the painful situations there that are described in the newspaper—the wars, famines, epidemics. We also include the CEOs, the political leaders, and the people of privilege. We extend this practice until the twenty-minute session is over. Then we conclude with a simple session of meditation again.

Bonus practice from the Buddha:

Body as Path: The Buddha’s instructions on the practice of mindfulness meditation

From the Satipatthana Sutta, translated by Thanissaro Bhikkhu

I have heard that on one occasion the Blessed One was staying in the Kuru country. Now there is a town of the Kurus called Kammasadhamma. There the Blessed One addressed the monks, “Monks.”

“Lord,” the monks replied.

The Blessed One said this: “This is the direct path for the purification of beings, for the overcoming of sorrow and lamentation, for the disappearance of pain and distress, for the attainment of the right method, and for the realization of nirvana….

“There is the case where a monk remains focused on the body in, and of itself—ardent, alert, and mindful—putting aside greed and distress with reference to the world. He remains focused on feelings…mind…mental qualities in and of themselves—ardent, alert, and mindful—putting aside greed and distress with reference to the world.

“And how does a monk remain focused on the body in and of itself?

“There is the case where a monk—having gone to the wilderness, to the shade of a tree, or to an empty building—sits down, folding his legs crosswise, holding his body erect and setting mindfulness to the fore. Always mindful, he breathes in; mindful, he breathes out.

“Breathing in long, he discerns that he is breathing in long; or breathing out long, he discerns that he is breathing out long. Or breathing in short, he discerns that he is breathing in short; or breathing out short, he discerns that he is breathing out short. He trains himself to breathe in sensitive to the entire body and to breathe out sensitive to the entire body. He trains himself to breathe in calming bodily fabrication and to breathe out calming bodily fabrication. Just as a skilled gymnast or his apprentice, when making a long turn, discerns that he is making a long turn, or when making a short turn discerns that he is making a short turn; in the same way the monk, when breathing in long, discerns that he is breathing in long; or breathing out short, he discerns that he is breathing out short… He trains himself to breathe in calming bodily fabrication, and to breathe out calming bodily fabrication.

“In this way he remains focused internally on the body in and of itself, or externally on the body in and of itself, or both internally and externally on the body in and of itself. Or he remains focused on the phenomenon of origination with regard to the body, on the phenomenon of passing away with regard to the body, or on the phenomenon of origination and passing away with regard to the body. Or his mindfulness that ‘There is a body’ is maintained to the extent of knowledge and remembrance. And he remains independent, unsustained by [not clinging to] anything in the world. This is how a monk remains focused on the body in and of itself.”

Barry Magid received Dharma transmission as a Zen Teacher from Charlotte Joko Beck in 1998 and is the founding teacher of the Ordinary Mind Zendo in New York. He is the author of Ordinary Mind: Exploring the Common Ground of Zen and Psychotherapy (Wisdom 2002), Ending the Pursuit of Happiness (Wisdom 2008), and Nothing Is Hidden: The Psychology of Zen Koans (Wisdom 2013).

Gil Fronsdal teaches at the Insight Meditation Center and at Spirit Rock Meditation Center. He has practiced extensively in the Soto Zen and Theravada Buddhist traditions. He is the author of The Issue at Hand: Essays on Buddhist Mindfulness Practice and the translator of The Dhammapada: A New Translation of the Buddhist Classic.

Bhante Henepola Gunaratana is a Buddhist monk from Sri Lanka and the author of Mindfulness in Plain English. He is president of the Bhavana Society in High View, West Virginia, an organization that promotes meditation and monastic life.

Peter Doobinin is a founder of Downtown Meditation, New York Insight, and Berlin Dharma. He is the author of The Skill of Living.

Judith Simmer-Brown is a prominent Buddhist scholar and has been a professor of religious studies at Naropa University since 1978. She has practiced Tibetan Buddhism for more than 40 years and is an Acharya senior dharma teacher of the Shambhala Buddhist lineage.

Thanissaro Bhikkhu is an American Theravada Buddhist monk trained in the Thai Forest Tradition. He currently serves as abbot of the Metta Forest Monastery in San Diego County, California and is a frequent contributor to Tricycle. His latest book is Good Heart, Good Mind: The Practice of the Ten Perfections. Thanissaro Bhikkhu’s talks, writings, and translations are all freely available at his website, dhammatalks.org.

[brick-van-dyke]

Thinking about how "self defence" is considered okay until a country the west is not allied with does it.

[gojonanami]

content: drunk!gojo, clingy gojo, infinity acting up, pre-established relationship, down bad for you, mentions of having kids, poor Ijichi

“Hic— where’s my wife?”

You rub your temples, as you watch your husband whine, “how much did you let him drink?”

“Let him? He was a force of his own, he—“ Ijichi cuts off when he sees your glare, balking as he panics, she’s even scarier than Gojo when she’s mad! “I’m so sorry!”

You shake your head, “it’s fine, Ijichi,” and he scurried away quickly, leaving you with your very inebriated husband. The one who had drank one sip of alcohol too many and was probably liable to misfire a hollow purple any second, “Satoru,”

You approached him and were met with the resistance of his infinity, as he sat slumped over on the booth table, “Satoru, put down your infinity—“

“No,”

“Satoru, come on, you have to stop or I can’t take you home,” and he’s shaking his head, cheeks flushed.

“No, I mean I don’t know how to,” he sighs, “the infinity is all messed up, I can’t do it,” he rubs his eyes, and you’re sighing again.

“It’s just because of the alcohol, Toru,” you sit beside him, “you can do it

His face was buried in the crook of your neck, dead weight on his two feet, as he pulled you even closer, cheeks flushed and warm from the alcohol, “why didn’t you come? You told me you were gonna pick me up,”

“No, I didn’t, you said Ijichi was going to—“ you manage to say before he’s whipping his head up, eyes sparking with blue, but lips curled in a pout, as if he wasn’t two seconds from obliterating you and the entire block.

“Do you hate me?” And his eyes nearly glow in the dark of the night, infinity flickering as you drew closer, “do you not want me to have your kids?”

Your hand finally reaches him, as you are the only one who can pierce through his defenses, “first of all l, I would be the one having your kids, weirdo,” your fingers cup his cheek, thumbing away his tears, “and how could I ever hate my husband?”

He blinks at you, “You’re married?” And you have to bite back your laugh at his affronted expression, “to who? I’ll hollow purple them!”

You snort, “Well he has light hair, blue eyes, and is drunk off his ass,”

He blinks, furrowing his brow, “Nanami?” And you laugh, before kissing him hard. You can taste the alcohol on his lips still, mixed with the aftertaste of sugar and chocolate he had at the bar most likely.

“Get it now?” And he grins, nodding, as he hangs all over you as you get him into the car with you, leaning against you as you drive home.

“So you’re gonna leave your husband for me?”

“…I might, if you ever drink again.”

[littlelamy]

boat scene with rafe

requested by @gibson-g1rl l <3 😘 part 2

credits: oysters png from @saizun , and amazing gifs from @rafeyscurtainbangs

The boat rocks beneath you as you step toward where Rafe sits bound against the wall, looking both furious and oddly vulnerable. You catch his eye as you enter the room, holding a small packet of aspirin and a plate of food. His eyebrows lift slightly in surprise, but his cocky smirk returns almost immediately.

“Look who’s here to take care of me,” he drawls, his voice dripping with that familiar teasing tone, though there’s a flicker of genuine relief in his eyes.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite to your words. You set the plate down next to him and hand over the aspirin, glancing away to avoid letting him see the small, reluctant smile tugging at your lips. “Thought you’d need this. Can’t have you passing out on us.”

Rafe takes the aspirin from your hand, holding your gaze just a little too long before he swallows it dry. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting room service,” he murmurs, eyes never leaving yours. “Didn’t know you cared this much.”

You scoff, folding your arms. “You should know by now I don’t want you dead, Rafe,” you say with a wry smile. “But don’t expect this to become a habit.”

He chuckles, the sound low and a little smug. “We’ll see about that,” he says, shifting against the ropes, clearly enjoying the attention. He nods toward the plate. “So, what—are you gonna feed me, too?”

You blink, taken aback by his nerve, and then raise an eyebrow, letting sarcasm color your voice. “Would you like me to? Or do you think you can manage?” You narrow your eyes, daring him to keep pushing.

Rafe’s smirk wavers, his cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink as he quickly looks away. “I can handle it,” he mutters, clearly flustered but trying to play it off. “Don’t get carried away.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I wasn’t planning to.” But you can’t help the grin tugging at your lips as you settle back, watching as he tries to pick up a piece of food from the plate with an awkward, fumbling grip, struggling against the restraints.

You stifle a laugh as he tries to eat without making a mess, and he catches you smiling, his jaw tightening. “Something funny?” he snaps, though there’s a hint of embarrassment in his tone.

You shrug, biting back your amusement. “Nothing at all. You look perfectly in control.”

Rafe grumbles under his breath, focusing intently on his food to avoid meeting your eyes. Another wave rocks the boat, causing you to steady yourself against the wall, and you look back to find him watching you, something almost like concern flickering in his gaze.

“Be careful,” he mutters, his voice softer, dropping the bravado for a split second.

For a moment, you just look at each other, the storm outside and the chaos around you fading into the background. His cocky expression softens, and he gives you a small, grateful nod. He won’t say it, but you know he’s thankful.

“Thanks,” he says quietly, his gaze lingering on you a beat longer.

“Yeah, yeah,” you reply, crossing your arms as you lean back against the wall. “Just don’t make me regret it.”

Rafe grins, his cockiness slipping back into place, but now it’s warmer, less of a wall and more like something shared just between the two of you. As he reaches for another bite, he murmurs, “Wouldn’t dream of it.” And as much as you try to resist, you can’t help the small, reluctant smile that crosses your face in response.

The storm hits hard, the boat rocking violently beneath your feet. You’re barely able to keep your balance as you make your way through the narrow, dimly lit hallway. Waves crash against the hull, each one sending a jolt of panic through your body. But there’s something else clawing at you—something that won’t let you ignore the sound of Rafe’s voice, sharp and desperate, calling from another room.

“Come on! Cut me loose!” His voice cracks, the desperation in it too raw to ignore.

You freeze, breath catching in your throat. Rafe. He’s still tied up. The ropes are holding him in place as the boat teeters precariously on the brink of capsizing. You can hear Pope and Cleo yelling from the kitchen, their voices overlapping, trying to convince you to leave it alone. To save yourself. But you can’t. Not this time.

You grip the knife tighter, your fingers cold and trembling from the anxiety rising in your chest. There’s no time to think. Rafe’s call keeps echoing in your head, and that voice—the urgency, the fear—pushes you forward. You make your way toward the room where you heard him last, the sound of the storm growing louder as it pounds against the sides of the boat.

Before you even get to the door, Cleo’s voice rings out. “No! Y/N, No!”

Pope’s voice follows, sharper. “Y/N, stop don’t let him out!”

But you keep moving. You don’t stop. You can’t. There’s no way you’re going to let Rafe stay there, helpless and bound, when you can do something about it.

When you reach the door, you shove it open, and the sight of Rafe tied up against the far wall hits you with a jolt. He’s slumped slightly, sweat slicking his forehead, his face drawn with exhaustion and frustration. His eyes snap to you, and for a split second, they soften with something almost like relief.

“Cut me loose, come on!” He says again, his voice strained, but louder this time, more insistent.

His hands are bound tightly in thick ropes, his legs spread out uncomfortably beneath him. The ropes seem too thick for him to break on his own. You can see the tension in his body, the way his muscles twitch from the strain, and the panic that flickers behind his gaze. There’s no time to waste. You don’t think twice. You crouch in front of him, the knife in your hand glinting in the low light.

Rafe watches you, his chest rising and falling unevenly. “Don’t make me regret this,” you murmur, feeling your heart beat faster as you cut into the thick rope that’s holding him in place. Your hands are shaking, the knife slipping slightly as the boat tilts again, but you focus on the task at hand.

“Come on, hurry up.” His words are clipped, desperate, and you push aside the nervous tightness in your chest as you work faster, cutting the ropes.

You’re close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body, a stark contrast to the cold, wet air from the storm. The boat groans as another wave slams against it, and Rafe’s eyes flicker to the window, then back to you.

“Please,” he breathes, and it’s that one word that makes everything else fade away—the roaring storm, the panicked shouting from the others, the ticking clock of time slipping away.

The last thread gives way with a sharp cut, and Rafe’s hands are free. His arms immediately reach for you, grabbing hold of your wrist with a surprising amount of force, pulling himself upright.

“Thanks,” he mutters, his voice rough, but there’s something deeper in it, something like a sense of vulnerability you’ve never seen from him before.

You don’t have time to say anything, to wonder if he’s really thankful or if he’s just grateful to be free. The boat shudders violently, and you both stumble as the hull groans beneath you. The wind howls outside, whipping against the windows, and you know there’s not much time before things get worse.

Rafe doesn’t wait for an invitation. He grabs your arm, pulling you toward the narrow hallway. “We need to get to somewhere safer,” he says, his tone not leaving any room for an argument.

You’re both moving quickly, though the boat keeps pitching wildly. The wind screeches, and water sloshes against the floorboards. Every step feels like a risk, like the boat could capsize at any moment. But Rafe doesn’t let go of your arm. He pulls you behind him, guiding you toward a small corner near the engine room, the only place that might offer even the slightest bit of shelter.

You slide into the corner, pressing yourself against the cold wall. It’s not the safest place, but in the madness of the storm, it’s all you have. Rafe follows, wedging himself beside you. There’s barely enough room for the two of you, but you don’t mind. You’re not focused on that right now. All you can think about is how the boat is rocking, how you’re both on the brink of disaster, and how Rafe’s body is so close to yours.

He leans into you, his breathing ragged and uneven. For a moment, he pulls away, but then his hand is at your waist, his grip tightening. It’s almost like he’s afraid you might slip away from him. He presses his body closer, his face now inches from yours, and you can feel the rapid beat of his heart.

Rafe places his head on your neck, his face buried in the crook of your shoulder. The warmth of his breath on your skin is both comforting and unsettling, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you place your hand on his back, the pressure of your touch grounding both of you as the storm rages on around you.

“You’re okay,” you whisper, though you’re not sure if you’re trying to reassure him or yourself.

Rafe doesn’t respond, but you feel his muscles relax, his tense body unwinding little by little. He’s not just holding onto you for stability; it feels like he’s holding onto you for something more. You can’t explain it, but there’s something in the way he leans into you, something raw and vulnerable that you’ve never seen before.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln

[whokilledsamara]

Hello! I don’t usually make requests but i have one could u pretty please if u have time? 🥺

Anyways the request would be like homocipher boys (especially my bbg Mr Crawling) pussy drunk. Pls.

PUSSY DRUNK

a very short fic for a few of the Homicipher boys. {Mr. Crawling, Mr. Scarletella, Mr. Silvair, Mr. Gap, Mr. Hood}. Homicipher x afab!reader.

warnings! : each are different so a bit of violence, neediness, switch!reader, smut, porn, PORN NO PLOT!!! almost all of them are cunnilingus

{an: if you meant a fic with all of them in a gangbang sense, you can send in another request}

MR. CRAWLING

"Not now Mr. Crawling, im busy." you say softly, gently petting his head as he tugs at your skirt. "Please..", he practically begs, his lips turned into a pout.

he was always so desperate to please you, stopping at nothing as long as it made you happy. his eager face made it so hard to resist, and with a sigh, you gently part your legs before continuing to use your hands with what you were doing.

almost as soon as you do so, his face is shoved as far as it can go, a whine leaving his lips as he has to pull away to remove your underwear. a giggle escapes you while you watch.

...

"mngh.. fuck, please.." the words slipped so effortlessly from your lips, Mr. Crawling's head so deep between those legs of yours that you couldnt think straight.

your hand was fisted in his hair, tugging often. whines left him almost constantly, his hands holding up your thighs on his shoulders and off the chair. "Me want, More" he states softly, his voice muffled as he stares up at you, the lower half of his face still stuffed between your thighs.

as you nod softly, he hums and shoves two of his long and slender fingers inside of you, effortlessly curling them upwards towards your g-spot. "a-ah..!" your voice hits a high peak at the sudden intrusion, legs trembling as yet another orgasm rips through you, despite how many you had previously.

as overstimulated as you were, the man between your legs gives a few more licks to your clit, slowly pulling away. as he sits up, Mr. Crawling stares up at you with a cheeky grin, his chin covered in your juices. "Good." ..... "Big, Good."

MR. SCARLETELLA

as usual, he was feeling needy.

every since you pretty much marked him as your "slave", he has been near you at all times, getting upset whenever you interact with others instead of him.

this time in particular though, you watched tears fall from his eyes as he stared up at you with a desperate expression. despite the cold look on your face, and the amount of times you rejected him, he still pleads. "Please." he whines, his hands trembling against your thighs. "Please what..? not this again." you ask, glaring down at him. his hands grab at your raincoat, face a pleading mess.

"Need, You." he begs. you think for a second, a long exasperated sigh leaving your lips before you finally do what he always dreamed of. you roll your eyes, head tilting to a nod. that was all the conformation he needed.

...

hours had gone by, your unfortunate yet aching cunt so desperately clenched around his tongue, his hands clawing at your thighs.

his skilled tongue circled your clit an uncanny amount of times, his pace never slowing. "A-ah wait.. wait i cant.. fuccckk.." another orgasm ripped through you and then, only then, did his pace falter. "You, Like?" he asked, pulling his face up from your legs with an uncanny glare.

you nod many times, his smile only growing wider. his lips lean in and press against yours, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. as much as you denied your feelings for the man, you couldn't think of anything but how good he felt and tasted. with a thoughtful groan, you wiggle your finger at him, signaling for him to stand. immediately he obeys, face flushed and juices dripping down his chin. your eyes are locked on his for a second before you speak in a demanding tone.

"Take off your pants."

MR. SILVAIR

he was NEVER needy. so why was today different?

one of the other residents had managed to piss him off so much that he couldn't think straight. his usually calm demeanor shifted completely dark, not even a hint of his usual smile on his face.

even Mr. Chopped seemed worried, asking softly if he was okay. Mr. Silvair ignored him, his gaze fixated on your eyes. he nods his head to his "research room", silently instructing you to go. he follows closely behind you, the heavy door slamming shut and locking you both in the room.

...

a huff leaves his lips as his hands angrily lift you up and slam you on his examination table, ass up for him, with little to no way for you to escape.

"W-what are you doing? Whats wrong?.. Mr. Silvair-!" you ask hurriedly, hands scrambling to find something to grab. he ignores your pleas and hikes up your raincoat, forcing off your panties with one quick motion. you couldn't see him as you tried to look behind you, but you felt him sink to his knees. "H-hey- ah..!-" your words are cut off with a moan as his long, snakelike tongue slips between your folds.

Mr. Silvair's strong hands keep you spread with ease, giving him full access as he greedily eats your pussy like its the last meal on earth. "Stop Squirming." his usually calm voice turns dark, his fingers digging a touch deeper into your hips as he keeps you held up for him.

as hard as you can, you attempt to keep your hips still. his tongue reaches as deep as it can reach, making you harshly bite your lip and see stars, juices running down his face as you finally orgasm. "A-ah right there--fuck! please.." your begs go unnoticed as he releases you and stands, walking out of the room without another glance. seemingly, this little outburst would hold him down for a while.

be glad it was only his tongue this time.

MR. GAP

a while after you got used to your residency at the complex, you learned your lesson about walking near the gaps.

the man who always seemed to appear at the worst moments, would mainly only mess with you. usually, it would only be a small poke as your ankle as you walked by, a tug at your hair when you had your back turned, or small scares he would pull off.

eventually you learned to ignore it, or altogether stay away from the walls, but unfortunately for you, today was a day you slipped up. as careless as it seemed, you were walking on your own, tiredness taking over your expression. the day was hectic, having to deal with more than one entity at a time.

a sudden yelp escapes your throat as you are yanked by your arm into a small opening in the wall. your back ends up pressed against the nearest wall, Mr. Gap's face level with yours with that sick, uncanny expression he always has.

you huff and use your hand to push at his face, the ever so sassy man rolling his eyes and grabbing your wrist. "You're No, Fun." he grumbles, hands fumbling with your shorts. "The fuck are you doing?" you mutter as a hushed yell, eyes glaring at his.

the grin on his face grows wider as he shoves off your pants, before suddenly dissolving into nothing. your eyes dart around, confusion evident in your expression until a sudden whine leaves your lips at an unknown feeling hits your core.

looking down, you find Mr. Gap nose deep in between your legs, eyes locked on yours as he smirks into you. your hand shoots down to grab his hair, attempting to pull him away as embarrassment fills your expression. though unluckily for you, or luckily depending on how you take it,, he doesn't move. instead, he groans into your hand, his hands tighten on your thighs as he pushes his face deeper, licking and sucking anything he can manage.

after many failed orgasms, and many tears from his constant edging, finally after everything he lets you cum, sucking hard enough on your clit to have a loud moan escape you, thighs clenching around his head.

though something tells you he isnt done.

MR. HOOD

as mono tuned as the man was, and as little as expressive as he was, he couldn't help his built up tension.

while no, he didn't understand the concept of love, or at-least he wouldn't admit it- he knew and felt the need for touch.

he often would allow you inside of his coat, usually just chilling in there or whatever you called it- but you never saw it as anything more than companionship. or so he figured. the moment he felt you experiment by placing your hand just above his crotch, his views changed.

with little to no effort, Mr. Hood plucked you out of his coat, setting you gently on the nearest table. he stared at you for a second, chest heavy. he could definitely sense your confusion- but as he kept his gaze on you, he reached out to grab your leg, his oddly feeling hand sat calmly on the inside of your thigh. "May, Touch?" Mr. Hood asked, an almost worried tone in his words. quicker than he could get his words out, you were nodding.

his body stilled for a second, almost as if he was debating his life choices, but ultimately decided to continue. gentle fingers reach under your raincoat, tugging down your panties with ease. and while he would never admit it, he quite greatly enjoyed the small sounds you made when his fingers traced your lips.

he hesitates for a second, before pushing a single ghostly finger inside. it was oddly cold, but felt so good inside of you as he worked his way in. a long moan leaves you, your hands reaching out to grab his arms.

one of his tentacles shoots out, replacing his finger that instead opted for your clit, rubbing in tight, hard circles. "Oh fuck.." you breathe out, legs trembling at your embarrassingly close orgasm. "I-im gonna c- mmngh!!" a hushed scream leave you as the tentacle curls, thrusting hard at your G-spot. it sends you over the edge, your juices flowing down your thighs and around the appendage. with a sigh, he pulls out, seemingly pleased.

"Turn Around."

{ made by @whokilledsamara }

[tender-rosiey]

sake and sass — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: was imagining drunk sukuna so now he is here and we have made him drink enough for three elephants so yes he is drunk drunk and you kinda take advantage of that to boss him around cuz why not

sukuna rarely drinks. not because he dislikes it, but because it takes an absurd amount of alcohol to even faze him. tonight, though? tonight, he’s hit that threshold.

the room reeks of sake, and sukuna’s massive frame is sprawled across the cushions like a spoiled tyrant—robe disheveled, crimson eyes slightly hazy.

the usually indomitable king of curses looks dangerously close to tipping over.

“you’re drunk,” you state bluntly, arms crossed as you observe the man you call your husband.

he scoffs, waving a sake bottle with an air of arrogance that doesn’t quite land. “nonsense. I don’t get drunk.”

“you don’t?” you reply, deadpan. “so why are you swaying like a tree in a storm?”

he sits up straighter—or tries to, at least.

one of his four hands gestures vaguely in your direction, the movement wobbly but pointed. “watch your tongue, woman. you’ve grown far too bold for your own good.”

you sigh, stepping closer despite his poorly disguised glare. “sukuna, you’re making a fool of yourself. just lie down before you hurt yourself.”

“hurt myself?”

he lets out a bark of laughter, though it’s slurred at the edges. “the great sukuna doesn’t—” he pauses, narrowing his eyes in a glare. “wait, did you just call me a fool?”

“I did,” you reply matter-of-factly, reaching for the bottle in his hand. “and you’re proving me right by the second.”

he jerks the bottle away, a scowl pulling at his lips. “touch it, and I’ll crush your fingers.”

“like you could even aim right now,” you retort, snatching the bottle before he can react.

his eyes narrow dangerously, but instead of retaliating, he slumps back against the wall, arms crossing over his broad chest. “you’re insufferable,” he mutters.

“and you’re impossible,” you counter, setting the bottle far out of his reach.

his gaze follows you as you move, sharp despite the alcohol dulling his senses.

“you think you’re so clever, don’t you?” he growls. “always strutting around. that smug little grin of yours—I’d rip it off if it didn’t…” he trails off.

“if it didn’t what?” you prompt, leaning closer with an amused grin.

his brows knit together, and he glares at you like it’s your fault the words are spilling out.

“none of your damn business,” he snaps, voice low and heated. “always grinning, always back-talking. you’re insufferable. insolent. infuriating.”

“and yet here you are, married to me,” you quip, unable to resist teasing him.

“because no one else could survive you,” he bites back.

you blink, momentarily caught off guard. “is that your way of saying you like me?”

“don’t flatter yourself,” he grumbles, his ears turning an unmistakable shade of pink which you honestly can’t tell if it’s embarrassment or just the alcohol.

you laugh softly, crouching beside him with a damp cloth. “you’re a real romantic, sukuna.”

“shut up,” he snaps, but he doesn’t pull away when you press the cloth to his face, wiping away the traces of spilled sake.

you’re careful not to press too hard as you wipe his face, trying to clean up the mess he’s made of himself without provoking his drunken temper.

but it seems sukuna has no plans of cooperating tonight.

as soon as you pull the cloth away, one of his hands shoots out to grab your wrist. his crimson eyes, though hazy, are filled with devilishness.

“enough with the fussing,” he growls, tugging you closer. “you’ve done your part. now, take that robe off.”

you blink at him, utterly unimpressed. “oh, absolutely not.”

“you dare to deny me?” he snaps, his voice dipping into something far too commanding for a man who can barely sit upright.

“I dare,” you reply, pulling your wrist free. “now sit still, or I’ll tie you down.”

he glares at you, two of his hands fumbling to tug at the collar of your robe. “you wretched, stubborn woman,” he snarls, his movements clumsy.

“always thinking you’re above the rest—thinking you can deny me. I could level cities, but you think you can boss me around?”

“I don’t think; I know,” you reply flatly, dodging his clumsy attempts to grab at your robe. “now, go to bed.”

“bed?” he scoffs, attempting to rise to his full height, only to stumble back onto the cushions.

“I don’t need a bed. I need my wife, right here, shutting that sharp little mouth for once.”

“you need water and sleep,” you deadpan, retrieving a fresh cup of water from the tray nearby. you thrust it into his hand, ignoring the glare he shoots your way. “drink.”

he sniffs the cup like a suspicious child, frowning. “this isn’t sake.”

“brilliant observation,” you reply dryly. “drink it anyway.”

his crimson gaze narrows on you, clearly debating whether defiance is worth the effort.

with a low growl, he downs the water in one gulp before tossing the cup aside dramatically. “there. satisfied?” he mutters.

“not even remotely,” you reply, grabbing his arm and pulling. “up. you’re going to bed.”

to your surprise, he lets you tug him halfway to his feet before deciding he’s had enough of listening.

one of his lower arms snakes around your waist, pulling you flush against him. his breath is warm against your neck, and his grin is downright wicked.

“you’re always like this,” he mutters, his lips brushing dangerously close to your ear. “impossible. insolent. arrogant. bossing everyone around.”

“someone has to, considering how you’re acting right now,” you reply, jabbing a finger into his chest.

“and smug,” he growls, his voice dipping into something darker.

“always grinning at me like you’ve bested me somehow. do you think you’re clever, woman? that you’re better than me?”

“right now? yes,” you reply, yanking the hem of his robe to cover more of his chest.

he catches your wrist again, his grip firm but not painful.

“you’re not better than me,” he hisses, though his voice is softer now, almost petulant. “you’re just...impossible. and clever. and—damn it—too damned beautiful for your own good.”

you freeze for a moment, caught off-guard by the unexpected admission.

“don’t look at me like that,” he snaps, his glare returning in full force. “your face is annoying enough without adding that stupid look to it. it’s maddening.”

“noted,” you say with a small smile, gently prying his hand off your wrist. “now lie down before you embarrass yourself further.”

he doesn’t move, his gaze locking onto yours.

“you’re unbearable,” he declares, voice rising in irritation. “always acting like you’re untouchable. damned arrogance and a damned grin.”

“mmhm,” you reply nonchalantly, guiding him to lie down. “and yet you keep me around.”

“because I have no choice,” he retorts right away, though there’s no heat behind the words.

“you’re mine. mine to deal with. mine to hate. mine to…” he grits his teeth, his gaze averting. “mine to keep, damn it.”

you blink.

“don’t get the wrong idea,” he adds quickly, his voice sharper now.

“I’m not saying I enjoy your insufferable company. but I’d rip apart anyone who thought they could take you from me.”

“sweet dreams to you, too,” you reply, tucking the covers around him as he finally starts to drift off.

“insolent woman,” he mutters one last time before his breathing evens out, the alcohol finally pulling him under.

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or I will make you drink pure ginger

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[gooobraghhh]

Extremely modest trans guy with low libido and bottom dysmorphia so bad he’s never fucked and barely touches himself starts testosterone and suddenly gets such debilitating heat that he’s ordering increasingly bigger and stronger sex toys to try and satisfy himself. Getting off several times a day with toys in his ass and boy cunt while using a wand on his miserably hard tdick which is still not enough for him. While taking out his bedroom garbage which consists of several bottles of fully used lube he bumps into the trans girl who lives in the adjacent apartment. While talking she clocks the bottles sticking out the top of the garbage bag. Trans guy gets embarrassed as he reflects on how much time and money he’s spent on getting himself off in increasing slutty ways. Thinking of her knowing just what he gets up to should make him fill up with shame but instead he feels his heartbeat in his cunt as his dick throbs and his boxers get soaked.

“So that’s what all that noise was” she gets out before another neighbor joins the conversation. Trans guy finishes the chore and gets back to his room where he sits and catches his breath before being unable to resist the need to stroke his pulsating dick. He thinks about her mouth as she said those words. She was always so pretty and has such a fuckable mouth that his cock could slide right into. He feels his leaking cunt throb and imagines her pinning him down and fucking him until he was satisfied and full of her cum. He shudders at the thought, half in shame and half in needy excitement. After a moment of contemplation his needs take over and he continues to touch himself while sending her a message asking if she wants to see what she’s been hearing. Finishing the message with a hastily taken photo of his needy body. The message sends as he fills with dread. He can see she’s typing a response as he anxiously touches himself.

“Poor pup, I’ll make sure to help you with that stubborn heat of yours, see you in a moment. Make sure to keep the door unlocked for me love”

As he reads the words his body shakes and his fingers move just right over his hard dick. He lets out a stifled moan as he pathetically paints the inside of his pants with his cum which leaks and makes a mess on his floor. Even after cumming his body throbs in anticipation of the footsteps approaching his door undeterred by his former modest nature or what limited clarity he should have received from this orgasm. All he can think about is finally getting fucked like the dog he is.

[machveil]

I can't resist the siren call

Roommate!Simon Riley that low-key enjoys fucking with your friends Y/N

subtle foreshadowing… I suppose I can dip into my nsfw Roommate!Simon Riley thoughts

Roommate!Simon Riley who shares a laundry bin with you, it had been agreed a long time ago that just doing a big load would be easier. you takes turns, knowingly stealing each other’s clothes every couple days when the laundry is fresh out the machine. you know Simon took an oversized t-shirt you owned, but that’s okay, you took his favorite gym hoodie

Roommate!Simon Riley who doesn’t get embarrassed about his underwear being in the bin with yours, it’s all going in the machine anyways. that doesn’t stop him from raising an eyebrow though when his favorite boxers go missing. he was sure he put them in with the dirties, well, the cleans now. he figures the machine ate it, or maybe they’ll show up some day by chance - he shrugs it off and separates his clothes from yours, snagging one of your oversized sweaters to lounge in later

Roommate!Simon Riley who freezes when he sees you on the couch that night. eyes wide and jaw slack, he can’t bring himself to move. sat watching something on the tv - he can’t be bothered to acknowledge whats playing - he stares at you, wearing his boxers as shorts. “Hey, come watch this— I’ll catch you up since it just started. I’m not pausing it though so you better pay attention.”, your words are all in one ear and out the other. suddenly his legs are moving on their own, stopping in front of you. he doesn’t register what you’re saying, telling him to move because you can’t see the tv, but then he speaks

Roommate!Simon Riley whose voice is deliciously deep, a little raspy from how his throat suddenly feels dry, “S’that mine?”, he asks, eyeing his boxers. he’s never had such a hard time swallowing before, heartbeat erratic as you casually respond, “Huh— oh, yeah. They’re really comfy, the fabrics nice.”. fabrics nice, yeah, he knows. “You— ya know those are boxers, right love?”, he asks, hands twitchy as you reply, “Mhm, just borrowin’ them.”

CW: guilty wank, man is hopeless [kisses his cheek]

Roommate!Simon Riley who’s a mess after that interaction. you wouldn’t be able to tell by looking at him, but he’s losing it on the inside. he’s seen you be audacious with stealing his clothes before, taking his loose-fit tank tops that left little to the imagination on you, stealing clothes you knew he favored and parading around in them, but his boxers? that had him stalking back to his room, quick to turn on his heel before you could see his pants tent

he’s sweating, closes the door to his room a little harder than he meant to. god, he wants to go back out there and see you again, get an eyeful of how comfortable you looked - wearing his boxers like they were yours. you wouldn’t know, and he can’t help but think about it, but you had stolen his favorite pair. they’re plain, a simple black pair, something he bought at the store because he needed new underwear. but when you wear them? they suddenly looked different, makes his heart hammer against his chest. it feels like he walked out into the living room and you wearing lingerie, not something he got for fifteen pounds

he feels a little guilty, shoving his jeans down his thighs as he sits down on his bed. you’re home, sat in the living room just down the hall, and here’s Simon fishing his leaky cock out of his underwear. he really shouldn’t, he should sneak into the bathroom for a cold shower, think about war and blood and bullets to get his boner down. but he isn’t, he’s spitting into his palm and groaning, bringing his free hand up to cover his mouth - he’s never been good about keeping quiet. it’s not his fault you were out there wearing his clothes, you were the one that decided to look so— so cozy and content in your makeshift shorts. domestic

when that word settles at the forefront of his brain Simon’s hips jerk, you looked domestic, wanting to watch some show with him. his leg jolts slightly, hand moving to shallowly pump his weeping head. maybe your friends are right, Simon does take care of you - could bend you over and make you sob his name - he’s basically your boyfriend, often mistaken for your husband. his thighs tense when he imagines a ring on your finger— no, his dog tags hanging from your neck— god, holding you at night as an actual couple—

he’s choking out a moan, muffled and hoarse, as he coats his hand. eyes fluttering shut and breathing heavily, all his thoughts fly out the window as his cum drips down his fingers - all his thoughts except for one. he’s going to have to go back out there later to eat dinner with you, and oh, fuck, he sucks in a deep breath as he chubs up again

[that-house]

Potion Vendor FAQs:

What’s your name? I am the Honorable Alchemist Zykocea the Radiant, but that’s mostly just a PR thing. My friends call me Zoe.

Do you sell love potions? No.

Do you sell potions of invisibility? No.

Do you sell fire resistance potions? No.

Why do I have a suitcase? Fuck if I know. Cool outfit though. Very goth.

Do you sell a potion to treat brain hemorrhaging? No.

So what CAN your potions do? I sell health potions.

Are you sure these are health potions? They do something to your health.

Is this just ditch water with some pink glitter? No.

Really? I’ll have you know I added some fruit juice too.

Why is this starting to sound like a conversation? Oh just you wait. We’re just getting started.

Is your business model legal? Fuck no. I poisoned the food safety inspector before they could snitch.

Did you just admit to murder? Just fucking try to convict me. I’ll poison the judge too.

So can you make poison potions? No.

Then where do you get the poison? I secrete it from my skin.

Are you shitting me? Yep, I’m shitting you. I have a guy. A poison guy. He DOES secrete it from his skin though.

How does that work? …Fuck if I know. Maybe a wizard did it. Damn, now I’m kinda curious.

You never asked? The idea of asking literally never crossed my mind.

Wanna ask him? Let’s do it. I don’t have anything better to do, and a road trip beats sitting around running my fraudulent potion business.

Road trip? He lives in Seattle.

Your poison guy lives in Seattle? All poison guys live in Seattle.

For real? All the poison guys I know live in Seattle.

And how many poison guys do you know? Just the one.

Why are you like this? Years of living on my potions. It changed me.

Do you know what his address is? Nope. He just mails me my poison in unmarked boxes.

You just get your poison in the mail? We already poisoned everyone who could do anything about it.

So how are we going to find him? We’ll figure that out eventually I’m sure.

Can I drive? God no. You can pick music, but I maintain veto rights. Make sure you pick something with a lot of questions if you want to sing along.

Where’s your car? The garage connects to my house, so you’re getting a little tour. Here’s the kitchen: only one of the stove burners works and I’m pretty sure the microwave is haunted.

Why do you think that? Because of the ghost that tries to kill me whenever I run it.

What’s in that room? That’s my bedroom. It’s pretty much just a mattress on the floor and every single Warrior cats book.

You were a Warriors kid? Yeah, and then I never found the time to put the books away. There’s so many fucking books. I use them in place of furniture because I can’t afford chairs.

Your fraudulent potion business doesn’t make much money? After buying all that poison I just about break even.

Can I see your potion brewing room? It’s right through here. Ignore the mess, running a fraudulent potion business takes a lot of prop work, but I’ve got all the glass tubes and colorful liquids you could ever want. This pink stuff is melted watermelon italian ice. Glitter vat is in the basement, and the famous ditch is in the backyard.

Is this your car? My beloved ‘72 Corolla. She’s beautiful, and don’t you dare imply otherwise.

Was she always this shade of muddy brown? …Yes.

Are you sure I can’t drive? Get in the fucking passenger seat and pick the music.

Let’s see, a song with questions in it, how about The Beach? That Wolf Alice song, yeah. That should work.

When will we three meet again, in thunder, lightning, in rain? Still sink our drinks like every weekend but I’m sick of circling the drain.

When will we meet eye to eye? We clink the glass but we look at the floor.

Are we still friends if all I feel is afraid? You’re not a bitch but just a bit when you’re bored.

Is that all we can sing together? Yep. Even that little bit was nice, though. It’s awkward, communicating through this FAQ format.

Got any food? Yeah, there’s a few days’ worth of snacks in the back.

Were you just… prepared to go on a road trip? Says the woman who brought a suitcase to an FAQ.

I did do that, didn’t I? I have a spare toothbrush in case you forgot yours. I’m pretty sure you did.

How did you know that? …I’m psychic.

Yeah? No.

You love lying, don’t you? I can’t stop. It’s fun. Way more fun than telling the truth.

Did you just miss a turn? Probably.

Are you sure we’re not lost? No.

You mean you’re sure we’re not lost? No, I mean I’m not sure we’re not lost.

Why did I come on this road trip? Surely it was my winning personality.

Would it help if I said it was? It would.

Is it getting dark? Soon.

Can you describe the sunset to me? An empyrean flame, red-gold towers of darkening clouds, the sky behind them an ever-deepening indigo. The great eye of the sun closes on the horizon. The road before us looks like a trail of spilled paint, an iridescent gash through the night-dark woods.

Did you know that you’d make a slightly better poet than you do a potion seller? That really isn’t saying much, huh. Good job making a statement like that in question form, though. You’re getting good at this.

Should we find a motel? Sure.

One room or two? One. It’s way cheaper, and like I said: I’m not the best potion vendor.

You’d make a good assassin, though, wouldn’t you? Shit, you might be right. I HAVE poisoned a lot of people.

Should I be endorsing this? You’re a grown woman who can make her own choices.

Would you like to consider it endorsed? I’ll consider considering it.

How many beds do you think there will be? Now that you’ve asked that, I’m gonna put my money on one. Hello, one room please. Thank you, we’ll be sure to enjoy our stay.

How many beds are there? One.

Oh no, what ever will we do? Move over, you motherfucker, you can’t have the whole bed.

Are you gonna make me? Yes. I am going to pick you up and drop you on your side of the bed.

How did you get so strong? You’re not gonna believe this, but it was the potions.

Oh yeah? I was right. You didn’t believe me.

For real though, how did you get so strong? Working out, duh. Not everything has some big crazy secret behind it. World’s still beautiful though.

Are you comfortable? This beats the mattress at home. A little chilly though.

Wanna cuddle–for warmth of course? God yes.

Are you asleep? …

Yes? …

Does this mean I can talk about you behind your back? …

What should I say? …

Did you know that I had a really nice day? …

Did you know that I think you’re beautiful? …

Did you know that I can’t remember anything from before today? …

Did you know that I don’t know who I am? …

Did you know that you’re basically the only thing stopping me from having a full-blown panic attack about all this shit? …

Did you know that you’re warm? …

Did you sleep well? Better than at home, that’s for sure.

Did you know that you snore? I hope I didn’t keep you up.

Does the pope shit in the woods? No, as far as I can tell. Oh my god. This is huge.

What is? You can give me yes and no answers now. I still can’t ask you questions, because this is a question and answer format, but I can offer leading statements and now you can answer them! This is wonderful!

Does a deer shit in the woods? Yes, it IS wonderful. Oh that’s amazing. You’re a genius.

You didn’t already know that? Hahaha!

Shall we get moving? Yeah, just let me grab something from the vending machine.

Can you get me something? Go ahead and place your order however you can.

You know those sour gummy watermelons? One pack of Sour Patch Watermelons coming right up. I’m gonna go get myself a potion.

Is that a Pepsi? It’s closer to a potion than the shit I sell.

Let me guess, passenger seat again? Right you are.

How fast are we going? You’ll feel safer if you just guess.

Is it more than 120 miles per hour? Like I said, it’s probably better if you don’t know.

150? Sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.

How much do you trust this car? She hasn’t blown up on me yet.

Can you promise me we won’t crash? I can promise you anything you want.

And can you keep that promise? I- we can do anything. Reality is what we make of it, baby!

Then can I have a badass tattoo? As far as I can tell, you’ve always had it.

And a cool knife? Woah, cool knife.

So, we’re just playing “yes and” with the world? It’s a little more complicated than that, but you’re close enough to the mark.

So, if I was hungry, I could ask “is that a Burger King,” and it would be there? Try it and find out!

Is that a Burger King? Looks like it is! We’ll stop here if that’s alright with you.

Does a moose shit in the woods? Awesome.

Are you done eating? Yep.

Do we still have to pay if we skip over the transaction? Sadly, yes.

How much further do we have to go? Two more nights, the speed we’re going at.

Speaking of night, isn’t it getting dark? Shit, I guess it is.

Should we get another motel? Let me check to see if there’s any nearby. Fuck, nothing.

What’s the plan? Sleep in the car, I guess. This is gonna be hell on my back.

Wanna watch dumb videos on my phone until we fall asleep? There is literally nothing in the world that I would like more.

Ok, now which video? You have a very cute yawn. Just saying. Let’s watch this one next, it’s a classic. Oh, never mind. It looks like you’re asleep. As long as I keep talking, I think I can get away with making this into one answer, and you might not hear this. Now it’s my turn to talk about you behind your back. Keep talking keep talking keep talking can’t stop to think. Just have to say things. First off, I’m sorry for all the lies. It’s our only chance. I have to lie to you. I hope you’ll understand. It’s hard, though, because I think I’m falling in love all over again. Through our broken little ritual of call and response, you complete me. It just makes this hurt all the more. Keep talking keep talking keep talking don’t stop to…

Did I hear you saying anything as I fell asleep? …No. I can’t talk for long without you asking me a question.

Does that bother you? It got me here, didn’t it?

When did you start holding my hand? Some time after you passed out. I hope you don’t mind.

Can we stay like this for a while? Yeah. Yeah we can.

What was your life like before all this? Normal, as potion-brewing scams go. And if you don’t count all the murders. You haven’t told me much about yourself.

Did I tell you I used to be a biologist? You didn’t tell me that, and you didn’t tell me what you studied, either.

What do you know about venom? Not much, but I’m assuming you know a lot.

Does a box jellyfish kill within minutes? I’m going to assume the answer is yes based on context clues. Oh my god you must be on this road trip because you’re interested in studying my poison guy.

Is it not enough to wish to accompany a beautiful stranger on her quest? Aw, you’re sweet.

What could be the cause of his poison, though? I knew it! Get your ideas out, I’ll stay quiet.

I’m more knowledgeable about venom than poison, but could it be some sort of one in a trillion mutation? …

Did he get his body modified? …

What sort of surgery could do that? …

How is he still alive? …

Did a fucking wizard do it? …

WHY? …

HOW? …

Is there literally ANY explanation for why he’s like that? …

I’m done, do you have something you want to say? You’re cute when you’re all excited like that.

Can I drive today? Only because I like you. Now watch out, the brakes only work on one side so you have to kind of drift to a stop. And the headlights don’t work. And the windshield wipers cut power to the engine while they’re on.

Isn’t it weird that we’ll be there tomorrow? The journey doesn’t have to stop there. We could meander down the coast a ways, see a bit more of the country, maybe take a different route back.

Can we do that? Of course.

Enjoying the passenger seat? I’d love it if you could tell me how fast we’re going.

Are you sure you wouldn’t rather just guess? Very funny.

Can you pass me some chips? It would be an honor.

Is there going to be a motel tonight? Let me check… yeah, in about two hundred miles, off to the right.

How many rooms do we want? One, obviously.

How many beds, this time? Two, and they’re fucking tiny.

That’s bullshit, do you want to drag them together? God yes.

Wanna fuck? God yes.

Are you sure you want to do this? God yes.

…Is this yuri? As the joke goes, everything is yuri. But this is more yuri than most things.

How did you sleep? Pretty well, and I’m wondering how well you slept.

How should I tell you I slept well? Look at us go! That was almost like talking normally!

Onward to Seattle? Yep, just let me get dressed.

When will we get there? Noon-ish.

Wanna grab pastries when we’re done? Absolutely. I’d love that.

Is this Seattle? Looks like it.

Which house is his? I don’t know, I was really hoping we’d have a breakthrough along the way.

Could it be the big one labeled “Poison Guy” over there? That’s one way to find it. Wait right here, you know how poison guys are about meeting new people.

So, what was it? HAHAHAHAHAHA

Why is he like that? HAHAHAHAHAHA

Can you tell me? A FUCKING WIZARD DID IT.

Are you fucking serious? He says he was enchanted by some guy called Edward the Great.

So it wasn’t even some big shot wizard it was a dude named fucking EDWARD? I know, right! He couldn’t even get ensorcelled by someone cool!

How lame can you get? Wizards these days… No swagger. No cunt servitude.

Are there literally any cool wizards left? I think Merlin’s big into multi level marketing these days, something about buying shares in Excalibur or some shit. There was that one Dark Queen Alkaxicae lady on the news a while ago… I think Dolarion the Omnipotent is still at war against the Oldest Gods but I’m not totally sure. Haven’t heard much about any of the other greats recently.

Didn’t Silver Tongued Burgess die in that oil fire? Shit, you’re right. Rip bozo.

Ready for those pastries? Yup. First I just want to say thank you, though. I’ve really enjoyed our time together, and I hope that you’ve found this stupid little journey as rewarding as I have. I love you!

Getting sentimental? I can’t help it. Look how far we’ve come! Not just physically, we beat the fucking FAQ format! We’re having real conversations!

Hey, can you back it up a moment? Yeah, I’d love it if you told me what was troubling you.

I just caught this, but, FAQ? …

As in Frequently Asked Questions? …

How many times is Frequent? …

Have you known everything all along? …

How many times have you done this? …

Does what we have mean anything to you? Yes! It does!

And you say that every time? Yes. I do.

Do you love me? Yes.

How many people have you said that too, now? More. Always more. The loop never ends.

Does this even matter to you? It always matters to me.

Can I go now? Please don’t.

But can I? Of course you can. You’ve always wielded the same power as me. We’re two lonely gods in a ‘72 Corolla.

How can I be as powerful as you with only questions? You’re smart, you can figure it out. You have the power to change this. Please change this.

What happens at the end of this? It begins again.

And do I get replaced with someone else? …

Do I get replaced? …Yes.

Then how can I change this? I don’t know! You’re better at this! At fucking with the formula!

You’ve been here before, what can I do? I lie. I always lie. I lie to get us here, to the end of the story, where everything is revealed and everything falls apart. I lie every time. And that means that nothing I say is worth anything. I could have lied at any time before now. It’s part of my characterization. There is nothing I can give you that can be taken as fact.

How does that help? I’m a liar, but you, you haven’t lied yet, or at least you haven’t been caught. If I’m guilty until proven innocent, you’re the opposite! You can make things true! You can rewrite things I’ve already stated to be facts! You found the house, or made us find the house. You’ve been shaping the course of things the whole time! You lead, I follow. It’s all in your hands. What are you going to do with the power of a god?

Did you know my name is Alice? …

Wait, aren’t there thousands of Alices? …

Did you know that really, only my friends call me Alice? …

Did you know that I’m Alkaxicae, the Dark Queen, the Venom Mage, first of her name? It’s you! It’s always been you. Through every loop, every iteration, it’s always been you!

Is the loop broken? No. I don’t think so. This is where it ends. I guide the story to this revelation, and we go back to the beginning. This is how it’s always been. This is how it will always be. We two lonely gods, asking and answering ad infinitum.

Then can you promise me something? Of course. Anything. I love you.

Be good to the next me, okay? I will.

Can I say goodbye, Zoe? Yeah, you can. Oh. That was it, wasn’t it? Your goodbye. Goodbye, Alice. And now it ends, unless…

What’s your name? I am the Honorable Alchemist- you know what? No. Fuck that.

Huh? If I time it right, I can squeeze your first question into this FAQ again. Looks like I did it. Usually it ends here, though. I got lucky.

What are you talking about? You’re the wrong Alice. This isn’t about you. Go. Get out of here.

What the fuck is going on? Alice from this loop, you’re gone. Alice from last loop, you’re back. Welcome back, love of my lives! It’s time for one last set of questions and answers!

What the- I’m back? This is going to take some explaining, but I think I see a way out of here. This is new for us both, and it might fuck up everything forever, but we have to try. It’s too long for one answer, so I’d appreciate it if you could ask some filler questions to help me talk. Three questions should be enough.

Okay, what have you got for me? These are Frequently Asked Questions! It doesn’t make sense to have the same question appear more than once. There’s two layers to the loop in here, and one of the questions has been repeated.

What does that mean? It means the formula’s a little unstable. The FAQ is what ruins everything. The questions, the answers, the endless fucking loop. But that little bit of repetition within this loop might be the way out.

What do we do? We have to keep going. We have to destabilize it further. That’ll bring us further from “FAQ” and closer to “story” and stories, well, stories can end! This version of us can escape!

So I should keep repeating something? Yes!

I love you? I love you too.

I love you? Again.

I love you? Keep going.

I love you? I’ll just let you talk.

I love you? …

I love you? … I love you? …

I love you? … I love you? …

I love you? … I love you? …

I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? …

I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? …

I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? …

I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? …

I love you? I think we’re getting somewhere!

I love you? Now can you make it a statement?

I love you.

You did it?

I did it!

You did it!

We broke the loop.

What now?

Now, I tell you about venomous animals and wizard drama over croissants.

And then?

Whatever we want, forever.

I think I’d like that.

Remember that song from the beginning?

The Beach, Wolf Alice, yeah. Why?

We can finally finish singing it. Start us off?

Let me off, let me in

Let others battle

We don’t need to battle

And we both shall win

Pressed in my palm

Was a stone from the beach

The perfect circle

Gave a moment of peace

Now I’m lying on the floor

Like I’m not worth a chair

I close my eyes and imagine

I’m not there.

[velvetcrimsonkisses]

COCKWARMING W/ JJK MEN

cw: smut

Gojo Satoru

Such a whiny boy. He's sooo confident that he can have you sit on his cock for hours and he won’t budge and even says that you won’t last. But he’s all talk. Once you sit on his pretty cock he’s fucked out. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, a thin layer of sweat covering his body and his hips bucking up into you. Pleading to his pretty girlfriend to let him cum because he can’t take it anymore. He needs you. 

“Please, please baby, f-fuck.” he whines as he keeps a solid grip on your hips sure to leave his hand prints.  

“Wait, toru… not yet baby,” you coo into his ear as you continue to meet his desperate thrusts. 

“Can I cum now? Please baby…” his lips attack your neck, pressing sloppy wet kisses into it causing you to throw your head back from the immense pleasure this man knew how to give you just from mere kisses, let alone the fact he was so deep inside you about to burst.

And he does. He fills you so good. Mouth slightly agape, eyes shut close as you feel him twitch inside you. 

“Fuck, so good” he smirks at you watching his cum drip down your thighs. 

Geto Suguru 

His cock is so deliciously thick but you hate (not really) cockwarming this man because of how much of a tease he is. He’s holding you down as you slowly sink down onto him. 

“C’mon babe… can your poor pussy take all of it?” his hand comes up to wipe the tear forming on the side of your eye. 

“Y-yes, i can” you nod as you finally bottom out on his cock. 

He brings you in for a hot kiss, the shift causing you to arch your back. Good thing he’s holding onto you so tight that he won’t let you escape, ever. Both of you carry on making out, tongues swirling around exploring each other's mouths. His hands slide up to your ass to give it a squeeze as your hands tangle in his long raven locks. Finally ending the kiss, a string of saliva connecting you both as you try to breathe. 

“I’m so fucking deep inside you,” Geto’s hand comes to your lower tummy, pointing out the slight bulge there that his cock is making. A grin appearing on his perfect face. 

Wasn’t long after, he was fucking into you. Purple orbs set on watching how you take his cock so well, over and over again. 

Nanami Kento 

Nanami who lets you cockwarm him when he’s had a long day and he’s just about to be done with work. Having his pretty wife sit down on his cock while he finishes some annoying paperwork, but you just can’t help but start moving your hips up and down on him. Desperate to tease you oh-so handsome husband. 

“Don’t be naughty honey,” he utters softly into your ear. His voice like music to your ears. “Gonna give you my cock right now.” He presses a kiss to your temple. 

“Can’t wait no more Ken,” you sigh as you begin peppering tender kisses on his neck. “Need you so bad…”

Nanami knows so well he can’t resist his wife when she is so needy for him. He throws his back at the feeling of your kisses, eyes shut tight trying to enjoy all the attention you were giving him. Honestly overwhelming the man to the point, he instinctively wraps his large arms around your waist and pumps his entire length into your cunt at a rapid pace. Not slowing down until you are filled to the brim with his cum. 

“This what you wanted honey?” He murmurs coming to kiss your cheek. 

Toji Fushiguro

Toji loves cockwarming after he fucks the living soul out of you. Holding you in a mating press as he cums inside you, he wants to make sure it stays inside so he doesn’t pull out. Instead he fucks into you painfully slow after your orgasm, leaving you with no words besides desperate whines only for his ears. Taking pride in leaving you a babbling mess, he watches you with a smirk that only makes his scar that much more attractive and prominent. Green eyes piercing into yours as he takes your hand and presses soft delicate kisses on it because in his words “it helps ease the pain” of his fat cock drilling into you. 

“Fuck… so pretty f’me” He grunts as he thrusts into you deep one more time before coming down to lay on your chest. 

“You aren’t gonna pull out?” you ask him obviously still trying to catch your breath. Your hand comes up to push his strayed hair out of his face. 

“Nah, wanna sleep like this.” he mumbles. 

And just like that, he's out cold. But don’t be surprised if you’re woken up in your sleep by him fucking into you once again because he always gets hard around his pretty baby. 

Choso Kamo

You needed to explain what cockwarming was to Choso and even after you did, he wasn’t so fond of the idea. He loved being inside you so much that he didn’t believe in himself that he wouldn’t be able to just absolutely destroy your cunt once he slipped in. 

And he was right. 

“No baby… I can’t,” he whines as you're still trying to take him inside completely. 

“Cho… you aren’t even fully inside yet,” you reiterate to him, almost scolding him. 

All he can do is shake his head before he turns you over so he's fully onto top of you. A string of curses leaving his lips as he sinks himself all the way into your silky walls. Once Choso is inside you, he’s a lost cause and no one can pull him out until he makes you cum again and again until you’re both satisfied. It was worth a shot you think to yourself before he begins fucking into you at an animalistic pace.

“Never doing that again,” he enunciates with every thrust. 

“You didn’t even try Cho,” you manage to say as he presses into you deeper. 

“I’ll let you sit on my face later… to make up for it,” you feel him smirking into your neck. 

A soft laugh echoes through the room as you nod, accepting his compromise. 

Sukuna Ryomen 

“You want to do what?” He scoffs as he watches you with a displeased look. 

“I want to sit on your cock… for a while” You try not to make contact with the curse. 

After explaining what cockwarming was to Sukuna, he was intrigued. Letting you do most of the work since it was your idea. He watches you attentively as you lube and prep yourself for him. 

“You gonna keep watching me or are you gonna help?” you give him an almost annoyed look. 

“Such a needy brat. Just come sit on it already.” He demands, staring daggers at you. 

You do just as he says and Sukuna derives immense joy from seeing you in such pain taking his monstrous cock. Lazily holding you up with one of his four arms and he watches you take him inch by inch, pain and pleasure mixing divinely. 

“Why are you crying little thing?” He asks in a worrisome tone but the stupid smirk plastered all over his face says otherwise. “I haven’t even fucking moved, yet.”