#utility warmth

[malinda-knowles]

The Prettiest Simone Rocha Midi Dress

The Prettiest Simone Rocha Midi Dress

Hey there! What have you been wearing this fall? It’s not quite cold enough for a heavy coat but also not quite bikini weather if you’re up north. I came across this really cute Simone Rocha dress that marries delicate femininity and utility warmth. See-through was trending on the Spring/Summer runway and the trend doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. The delicate sequin embellishments, see-through…

[itspileofgoodthings]

Matthew MacFayden’s Darcy is a fascinating thing to unpack because I don’t believe it succeeds as a performance of Darcy or even as a performance in general (it kind of can't) but there are layers to it and it's not simple.

[next-crisis]

Some of the big utility companies are still talking about potential rolling power cuts here in the UK too, so let's share to get this a bit more outreach beyond the US.

COLD WEATHER TIPS FROM SOMEONE WHO LIVES WHERE IT’S COLD:

I always see posts about layering clothing, but there are so many more creative ways to help keep you warm if you don’t have a lot of warm clothes. But first, a note on layering clothing:

-Your underlayer is your WICKING layer. That means it is a layer specifically to absorb the moisture your body produces. DO NOT USE COTTON AS A BOTTOM LAYER. Use merino wool if possible, but other good substitutions are nylon, polyester and rayon. 

-Your middle layer is for insulation. You want AIR POCKETS in there, NOT tight fitting clothes. This is where you want to put your fluffy sweaters, your fleece, down, fur, flannel, or vests. If you do not have these, you can substitute with multiple layers of long sleeve shirts.

-Your outer layer is for keeping the cold away from your body. If you do not have a jacket, you can put on your thickest piece of clothing and then a raincoat over it. Windbreaker if you have one. 

ALSO

-Jeans are the absolute worst at holding heat. Use only as a last resort. 

-You can’t really ever have too many layers on your feet. Alternate tucking your layers of pants into your layers of socks to keep your ankles warm!

-Wear a hat OVER a hood if it will fit! This will keep your ears warmest.

TAKE OFF/OUT ANY AND ALL JEWELERY/PIERCINGS

-If you have a medical bracelet, DO NOT REMOVE IT. If you can, tuck a layer of clothes between it and your skin.

NON-CLOTHING TIPS:

-Raid your recycling. Gather all cardboard boxes and break them down so that they are flat. Put them on the floor to add more layers between you and the cooling house. Newspaper will also serve the same purpose.

-In an emergency, you can also layer newspaper between clothing layers. Don’t worry about looking stupid if you’re staying warm.

-If you have a tent, set that sucker up in whatever room you have decided to stay in. Stay in it and keep it zipped shut as much as you can, but do NOT cover the vent at the top. You can put the rain fly up, but make sure there is circulating air for you to breathe.

-You are probably not going to feel very hungry at times. DO NOT STOP EATING OR DRINKING. Digestion produces a lot of body heat and the food will give your body energy to keep itself going.

-The best foods are heavy and full of carbs and proteins. Eat nuts, eggs, pasta, meats, and beans. If you are on a diet, now you’re not. If you’re vegetarian… bulk up on those pastas and nuts.

-Try not to sweat. If you are finding yourself getting damp, take off the outer layer just until you start to cool slightly. Then redress! Your bottom layer should dry quickly, and being wet is dangerous.

-On that note, STAY ACTIVE. You are probably going to want to hunker down and snuggle up, but that will make your muscles cramp. Every 15-20 minutes do something that gets you up and about. Walk circles in the room, do a couple jumping jacks, stretch, whatever. Just enough to move some blood around your body. Don’t get sweaty or out of breath, it’s just a little movement.

-CHAPSTICK. ON YOUR LIPS. ON YOUR NOSE. ON YOUR EARS. ON YOUR KNUCKLES. Don’t let your extremities get dry or cracked.

SIGNS OF HYPOTHERMIA:

-Uncontrollable shivering -Slurred speech -Confusion or memory loss -Dizziness or lack of coordination -Inability to be woken from sleep

CHILDREN AND INFANTS!!!! I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH.

-Children WILL get colder before you. Make sure they are properly bundled up.

-If you need to breastfeed, put a blanket over the both of you and wait a few minutes for the air to warm before removing or shifting your clothing.

-DO NOT COVER AN INFANTS FACE. ESPECIALLY WHEN SLEEPING. Keep them tucked inside your own clothes when possible. As close to your heart and stomach as possible. 

-Put chapstick on children’s cheeks and clean their face often if they are crying or wiping at their nose. This will prevent cracked skin and irritation.

-Make sure your children are staying as hydrated as you! They are going to fuss and not want to drink cold things, but they NEED liquids.

SIGNS OF HYPOTHERMIA IN INFANTS AND TODDLERS ARE DIFFERENT:

-Shortness of breath  -Cold, red skin -Lethargy or listlessness

Finally:

CHECK ON YOUR NEIGHBORS. CHECK ON CHILDREN. CHECK ON THE ELDERLY. STAY SNUGGLED. STAY SAFE.

[slvttyplum]

toji didn't like it when you tried to claw away; his dick buried deep inside of you, letting your wetness drip down his shaft. he wanted to take all of it in, and when you would caw your way to the other end of the bed, he got agitated. thats why he utilized your hands.

when he had you hand in hand, you could never run away. his strong grip keeping you in the right position every single time, and you hated it, pressing your nails into his skin, but to no avail; it only made him fuck you harder.

"stay just like that." pushing your chest into the mattress and rubbing his hand over your soft ass, quickly taking your hands and interlocking fingers with yours, wasting no time to keep a balance going while fucking you.

your pussy gripping him tight and your wetness coating him with ease, your body was going into flight mode, but there was nowhere for you to run, taking all of him.

those beautiful hands of yours were his sweet spot; he knew the moment that your body started to go into overdrive with pleasure, then he needed to take your hands and go deeper, faster, and watch your body shiver.

sometimes he would wait until you were overstimulated and exhausted until he took your hands; you gave in so easily, and he wanted to build your sexual stamina one round at a time.

"easy, baby, hold your position." teasing you while he went deeper, rolling his hips and going deeper with each stroke, making sure to hit your sweet spot, his mouth salivating every time your ass bounced off his hips.

toji just couldn't take his eyes off of you; he liked the way you moved while he held your hands, tightening his grip every time you squirmed beneath him, moaning into the mattress.

he switched up the positions, but he always had your hands in his, his fingers between yours. this was to keep you from running and take all of him, but he liked the warmth of your hands in his; it calmed him; he loved it.

sex could be separating, but when he held onto you, he was reminded that you were his and he was yours. making sure to hold your hands tightly, watching every movement your body makes so that he could hold onto you tighter.

tojis eyes, full of love but still making sure you held the positions he put you in without squirming out of his grasp, hiding his smile as he stuffed you deep.

[bioethicists]

it's very important to understand how a personality disorder diagnosis functions in the psychiatric system, even if you identify with the diagnosis or find it useful.

personality disorders on your medical record will be used to discredit anything you say or do. they indicate "don't bother listening to this person; apply treatment regardless of their wishes but also they're probably manipulating/attention-seeking so maybe don't bother treating them". needing support becomes attention-seeking. behaviors that would be treated + supported in someone without this diagnosis are ignored or treated as manipulative. providers are instructed to "withdraw warmth" (a real thing in the DBT provider's manual, btw) in response to self-injury or suicidal ideation.

if you have been dx'd with a personality disorder professionally, you likely understand this.

now, here's the important part: this is not an issue of 'stigma' against a politically neutral, pre-discursive True Disease which is being Unfairly Maligned. these diagnoses were formulated based on the idea that some patients cannot be trusted, that some patients seek care too much. they are applied to patient charts as a justification for withdrawing care or as a dismissal of someone "not getting better" fast enough. in the uk, they are often employed by the nhs to shame or problematize people who use large amounts of nhs resources, arguing that receiving a lot of care through the nhs is a negative behavior stemming from a disordered personality.

there are elements of personality disorders which resonate strongly with many people, including myself, but you need to be clear-eyed about the origins + functions of this diagnosis. as a whole, they were created + function as ways to discredit + mistreat noncompliant or "difficult" patients. 'reclaiming' them is not going to change how they function systematically- it is going to make it easier to engage in this systematic neglect by evoking 'ableism' or 'stigma!' when people question the utility or application of the diagnosis.

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ When someone tries to imitate you or take your place 

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Pantalone 

(tw: general mentions of violence and intimacy, swf. Old ask suggested by the lovely @pandaquick, better late than never)

Your position in the Fatui is a much more personal and delicate matter. You are not just some high-rank advisor or soldier idling within the Zapolyarny Palace, nor can you be defined as another Fatuus. You are someone of a different echelon - a Harbinger’s beloved, safeguarded with the utmost honor conferred by Her Majesty the Tsaritsa. It is no secret your significant other would utilize a whole army to protect you, but what happens when someone, in their foolishness, forgets that?

✧ Pierro was the first to notice that someone tried to imitate you. An individual of high status endeavored to emulate your work and areas of expertise. Subsequently, this individual began to adopt aspects of your appearance, from hairstyle to clothing. However, the breaking point occurred when this foolish person attempted to purchase an identical jewelry brooch to the one you frequently wore. It was a similar piece, one gifted to you by Pierro.

Except that imitator missed one important clue - Pierro orders you custom-made silver adorned with deep-cut sapphires that would put the Tsaritsa’s crown into shame. A one of a kind piece.

This cheap attempt to imitate you and usurp your spot was what forced The Jester to abandon his silent observation. His gaze has long caught the envious glances directed towards you whenever you accompanied him on meetings, whenever he linked his arm with yours, whenever he generously kneeled beside you to put his coat over your shoulder and keep you warm from Snezhnaya’s cold - the same individual, always seething with resentment. Thus, it was time for the Director to silently act. 

He kept tabs on this person via a network of spies, gathering intel on their behavior and intentions. And with the most skilled spies raised from the House of the Hearth, it didn't take long to have a whole pile of evidence right on his desk. And with the simple snap of his fingers, he effortlessly orchestrated the apprehension and subsequent banishment of the culprit, sparing no unnecessary words. Hearsay will not be tolerated in the Fatui, but to see some lowly scum tarnish your reputation by cheap mimicry then it’ll be his responsibility to weed out. 

“Pierro, dearest, What's wrong? You seem so deep in thought.” - Your gentle murmur broke The Jester's train of thought. As he lay in bed, your head resting on his chest and his arm draped over you, he reminded himself that he was in the comfort of your love. He doesn't have to mull over the bloodied ordinances when he feels the warmth of your skin underneath the covers.

“Apologies, my divine. It seems my mind was drifting to troubling thoughts. But it no longer matters when you're here.” - Thus, he gently planted a kiss on your forehead and tucked the covers around your body which harbored marks of his devotion earlier that night.

✧ Il Capitano clutched the hilt of his sword in resolution. Something was wrong and he could see it. The Harbinger was in the middle of his morning spar with you, a regular training session where you and the Captain warm up as a routine. He stood in a defensive stance, his movements fluid yet measured as his sword received blow after blow from your weapon. You, on the other hand, moved like a silent tempest, your strikes precise yet frustratingly urgent.

It was unlike you to be so unsteady, noted Capitano to himself, especially when fighting. Despite the unspoken patience, an undercurrent of concealed despondency and anger laced your body language. 

“Alright, my dear, I can feel your unease. What troubles your heart?” 

You shook your head, panting as you almost faltered. You insisted on continuing the training session, but it was clear your brave facade was almost crumbling. 

“It would be foolish to continue. And I care about your well-being. Please, confide in me, my beloved.”

You tried, you really did. But before you know it, your lips pursed into a thin line and a flood of tears escaped the moment you shakily lowered your weapon. Now the Captain was on full alert, rushing towards you and gently supporting you before you could hide your tearful face in shame. With an arm around your trembling form and much persuasion - you relented and shared the source of your frustration. A newly enlisted soldier had undergone thorough training under the tutelage of Il Capitano, and their impressive advancement was unmistakably evident in their unwavering dedication. However, this individual began to devote more time to the Captain, delving into military intelligence and climbing the ranks. You genuinely felt joy for the new recruit, truly. Yet in timid humiliation, you had to confess you felt obsolete as if your power alone wasn’t enough for a harbinger of his caliber and ranks.

“Ah, my dear, you are far from weak. My time with the trainees is merely a duty, a part of my job as the 1st Harbinger. But when it comes to you, my dear, your might and wisdom are incomparable. You don’t deserve my ranks, you deserve my life laid before you.”

But whatever gentle words of affection were coming out of the Captain, your next words of truth made him halt at once. “... At least, that’s what the recruit told me when we spoke. That I'm weak.” 

“...What did you say?” 

The gentle armored hand on your shoulder now tightened in restrained anger, fury flaring within his chest. Capitano now understood: your tears, your sudden insecurity, your doubt, your silence… It wasn’t coincidental. This recruit who was so conveniently rising in the ranks made sure to aim not just for the Harbinger. Specifically, you; to sow self-doubt onto you and hinder your precious relationship. Someone was deliberately bullying you.

You looked up at Capitano’s dreadful silence, asking him what was wrong.

“It… seems, my dear, someone has crossed an unforgivable line. One that would cost them their life dearly. And I am to blame for not noticing when harm and doubt came your way. I must amend this transgression for your forgiveness.”

You blinked in response, not having time to comprehend the severity of his words; It’s hard to respond when your beloved suddenly kneels and bows like a knight on duty. In the end, Capitano ushered you to take a day off and let your mind rest easy.

The next day, Capitano returned home early but was eerily silent once more. He stayed with you the whole day, like a hawk overlooking his nest, his arms crossed but his touch gentle. Although he claimed nothing was wrong, you received news that certain recruits were gone, and any upcoming soldiers that would come into his care would receive even stricter training from now on. That day, you wondered why some Fatui soldiers feared talking to you. Not to mention the armor around Capitano’s knuckles seemed faintly red-tinted.

The Fatui organization was a constant battle of powers and ranks. But to climb the ladder and meddle with the life of The Captain was a personal offense, one that would result in quick and unapologetic bloodshed. Nevertheless, he made sure to remind his soldiers about that. 

✧ When one of the folks working under Il Dottore as a lab analyst approached you, you didn’t expect them to call you names so suddenly. You stood there, confused and apprehensive at the sudden barrage of insults from the stranger. But they explained:

“You don’t do anything when helping during research, you know! I don’t even know how The 2nd tolerates you when you’re this useless. I’ll tell you what, quit your special-treatment act, and don’t come back to the lab. The Doctor is better off with someone of his level of intellect.”

You didn’t fight or defend yourself, you didn’t even insult the assistant. Instead, you smiled simply  - “Very well, I won’t. Good luck.”

That day, you turned and left. The frustrated lab analyst was left in confusion but thought they succeeded in eliminating the only obstacle left to get closer to the elusive yet powerful Harbinger. After all, what the hell do you even do at his lab? You exchange a few words with Dottore, maybe sporadically point at what to do, and remain seated in the back, resting as if you were the Tsaritsa herself. The audacity. How come Il Dottore never kicked you out?

Well, it didn't take long for this person to find out.

The next day, naturally, Dottore couldn’t find you when he proceeded with work. You were neither at his study, nor at the lab, nor at your favorite corner of the library. It was barely noon, and receiving your warm greetings was his routine. And the Doctor always follows the agenda.

“Where are they?” 

His question was brief but pointed, and his subordinates knew exactly who he was referring to. They could sense the tension in his voice. The only individual privy to the reason for your absence smirked smugly and responded.

“Hmph. It seems they decided not to come, Lord Harbinger Dottore.”

That was their first mistake because The Doctor caught on to the haughty smirk coming from his new analyst.

“And you know so certainly how?” - he quickly gestured to a nearby Fatui servant with a flick of his wrist. “Send in servants to check in on my behalf. I wasn’t informed. If my darling is feeling tired or unwell, bring their preferred refreshment immediately, and ensure it is warm.”

However, this displeased the new lab assistant, as even while you were away, Dottore was still dotting on you as if it was his second nature to do so while he was busy with work. Thus, they cleared their throat and spoke up:

“They… barely accomplished anything in your presence, doctor. So I advised them to leave, to which they agreed. Pretty straightforward, s-sir.” 

“Oh? Did you, now” - A burning rage, like never before, flared up within Il Dottore. With clenched teeth and a rigid jaw, his voice oozed with venom. But any seasoned lackey working under Dottore knew that this was the calm before the storm. Because soon, an echo of shattering vials and slammed objects would ring out from the laboratory. And in your absence, nothing would prevent the doctor from showing a bit of despotism. 

Much later that evening, after everything was set and done, the servants informed him of your whereabouts. Il Dottore briskly made his way through the Zapolyarny Palace to find you. Spotting you tucked away in a secluded nook of the palace, he hastened over, anxious to ensure your well-being, fearing you might’ve withdrawn due to the influence of some blabbering lowlife. 

“Dear! There you are… No one has the right to speak to you like that ever. Are you alright? My dearest, why did you not tell me immediately?! I would’ve-”

Dottore’s frustrated rambles come to a halt when you place a finger on his lips to shush him. You didn’t look despaired, in fact, you looked calm - “Zandik? Did you have another tantrum in your lab while I was absent?”

The doctor gulped, remembering his place. Calming his senses, he placed his hands on your waist and ushered you closer to his arms.

“... Perhaps. But I had to. How could I be certain that no one had harmed you? Why did you comply with that impudent fool? You should’ve gone to me first.”

“Well, it was unpleasant to hear the insults, sure. But…" - you glanced apologetically and a knowing smile returned to your lips. "I knew you'd find out and deal with the issue very quickly." 

✧ You and Pantalone were an odd couple. You didn't hail from a rich background, nor were you well-versed in the art of business and finance. You were more proficient in adventuring, your travels taking you to all sorts of journeys and commissions, a polar opposite from your beloved Pantalone. This led to raised eyebrows among the aristocrats of Snezhnaya. How can the richest man of Teyvat, who lives and works in prestige, be associated with such a simple person as you? For some, this gave the impression that they had a better chance of winning him over.

Thus, once upon a night, Pantalone was invited to a luxurious soirée. Here he was, clad in his finest suit, silver rings complementing his equally expensive optics. But to the Regrator, the jewelry adorning him was the least of his concerns - because you were the most precious gem in this gala. You accompanied him, although reluctantly, feeling out of place amidst the grand assembly of extravagant guests and the languid orchestra.

“Pantalone, do we have to…? I know you said this is not a business party, but there are so many guests already lining up to talk to you.” 

“Oh do not fret, my sweet. Evening galas like these are where the real negotiation and connections entail. But I know the details bore you, so I promise we won't stick here for too long. Besides, I get to introduce you as my one and only!”

That's exactly what you were afraid of. As a company of some esteemed noble ladies adorning elegant gowns, you had difficulties matching Pantalone’s polite smile. Overwhelmed by the scrutinizing gazes of some guests, you politely excused yourself to the bathroom. Pantalone was concerned, thinking of following you, but that was exactly what the guests wanted. 

You spent a long while by the hallway alone, trying to stabilize your breathing. The muttering of guests enjoying drinks and strolling was faint, but you could hear some people nearby:

“How can the 9th be with someone like them…? Surely it’s a joke.”

“A charming, rich man like him, and he can have anyone he desires. Yet he wastes his time on a simpleton?”

“Someone was definitely in it for the Mora, maybe he hasn’t seen real class. Quick, let’s go talk to him while he is alone.”

You stood with your back to a wall, and for the first time, uncertainty crept in. With fists clenched by your side, you reprimanded yourself that you are not alone. You came here with your significant other - and he, above all else, knows that gossip has no place in your shared private life. Hence, gathering up your courage, you raise your head high and strode back into the gala.

Pantalone, unfortunately yet expectedly, was surrounded by the same foul-mouthed nobles who wished to impress him. They prattled on about his financial success, while ladies fanned their folding fans and stood too close for his comfort. While they humored him, The Regrator cast hurried glances around the gala in search of you. Where are you?

“Lord Harbinger, may we offer you more champagne? I am sure this expensive bottle is up to your taste.”

The 9th attempted to hide his frown at the woman's tone, his stomach unwilling to ingest any drink some excessively elaborate name. “No thank you, I’d rather decline. I am waiting for my dear. I promised her a dance later this evening.”

“Oh, please sir, I insist. The night is young and there is plenty more for-” 

Before the woman could continue, your voice cut through the air; calm, yet unmistakably firm. “He said no. Simple enough to understand.”  

A hush fell over the gathered guests, the weight of your words settling like a sudden gust. Only Pantalone beamed with a genuine smile. “Ah, dear! There you are,”. The Harbinger was about to step back towards you, when the same lady suddenly blocked his path, her back facing him while her tone edged with defiance.

“I beg your pardon, but I’m afraid the question is directed towards Lord Harbinger Pantalone. I am sure you wouldn't know the pleasure of tasting a 500,000 Mora champagne from Fontaine.”

You recognized the snark in her tone directed towards you, and you couldn’t deny the anxiety twisting in your gut as eyes narrowed in your direction. However, with a shake of your head, you reminded yourself who you truly are and simply said: “Sheesh, lady, you spend that much on a drink that tastes worse than sparkling water? To each their own, I presume”

Her smile vanished. The guests stared in stunned silence, but it was Pantalone’s genuine laughter that pierced the tension. The sound was rich and real—because only he knew how adept you were at humbling an overconfident aristocrat with a dose of blunt truth. That’s how Pantalone managed to push through the crowd and circle his arm back around your waist, leaving the astonished onlookers behind.

“Ah dear, you’re a savior. I apologize I dragged us into this unpleasant company…” - he confined to you apologetically as you two walked away. “You always knew how to be sincere in your honest way.”

“It’s not like I meant to pick up a fight…" - you sighed. "I simply couldn't bear the humiliation, Pantalone. I'm aware that some people give me strange looks when I'm with you. They regard me as if I'm some peasant standing next to a powerful Fatui harbinger. That I'm nothing. That's why I couldn’t just hide, I had to step up to defend myself.”

“Oh, darling… My sweet, precious darling.” - The two of you left the manor that hosted the soiree, the chill night breeze muting the faint sound of guests and replacing it with a symphony of cricket noise from the garden nearby. Pantalone's fingers intertwined with yours.

"You are not just 'nothing' - you're my everything. You did not come from riches, and neither did I. You of all people know that. Would I really hold respect for some rich fool who didn't know an ounce of hardship when Mora was all they had since birth? No, dear, I wouldn't."

With a tender hand, he rested his palm on your waist, gently guiding you along the cobblestone path as if leading you into a slow waltz by garden roses in the night.

"Besides, you should never be ashamed to seek out my help. Although I must admit... Your tone earlier - oh my. Use it on me more often, darling. I wouldn't mind." 

[moechies]

karasu and his violent and nasty size kink ♡

yes, he will cum the moment you tell him he’s too big and it hurts. he doesn’t mean to but god — you’re too damn cute with the way you’re squealing and pressing at his abdomen. as if you would have any chance to push him away even if you wanted to.

yes, he’ll apologize briefly but no, he won’t be pulling out. if anything, he’ll just use his spurts of sticky nut as extra lubricant to make things easier for you!

yes, he’ll kiss you all over to distract you from the gruesome stretch. your pussy struggles to accommodate even his tip, groaning when you’re shaking your head and begging for mercy.

yes, he’ll take this chance to pull out and re-prep you, only because you look so cute. with your big doe eyes, round and watery with your fluttery lashes batting at him. your cheeks all blushed and your bottom lip tucked under his teeth — he’ll take mercy on you this one time. but if you quit on him again, he’ll just have to utilize that pretty mouth of yours.

yes, he’s quick to scissor his middle and ring finger inside your swollen pussy to help you prepare for his cock. he’s just that nice! his thumb rubs at your clit, helping you get off and he can’t help but feel a tad jealous when his cock is sitting against his thigh, lacking of simulation and warmth.

yes, karasu grins from ear to ear when you finally whisper a meek, ‘think ‘m ready,” so sweetly. he lines himself up with your pretty slit once again, gaping and leaking slightly from his crude preparations, and slides his rudy cock head up and down your slit.

“forcing it in through a tiny hole, huh . . that’s hot.” ♡

karasu mumbles when he finally presses himself in, guttural moans leaving his parted lips.

[harmonysanreads]

Anatomy Of A Hug

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ft. Phainon, Mydei, Anaxa

Heads Up : Soft Yandere themes, Anaxa needs to see a therapist, Written before version 3.1, My Delusions I guess. I merely missed them a lot and decided to write something silly quickly orz.

-; ੈ♡˳ PHAINON

In the simplest terms, Phainon hugs with his everything. He's not shy to initiate skin-contact, will press himself to you accordingly — unless you voice out discomfort. He's diligent in wrapping his arms around your person securely, should you fancy melting in the bliss he offers. Though, his dexterity with hugs was honed through practice. In the beginning, the strength of a seasoned warrior had been more prevalent. A good amount of discussion (read: pleading to breathe) and experimentation snapped him out of the rush of pleasantries and reminded him of how precious a person he was dealing with.

Front hugs, back hugs, side hugs, bear hugs — he's okay with whatever you're comfortable with. His personal preference is going through all kinds of hugs he knows of manually ; first to shield you from all the evil that preys on your vulnerability, then scooping you up from the pull of gravity, a hearty squeeze to assure you of his protection, followed by a thrilling spin that will repel all bad thoughts out of your orbit. Until all the vestiges of weariness and stress have been replaced clean with the smiles he so adores.

Phainon is not one to be satisfied with short exchanges of warmth, the duration of these hugs tend to be quite long — or, as long as he can get away with before he has to commit to a Hero's responsibilities. Just as he initiates hugs with all of his soul, he expects the same when it comes to receiving them. Phainon prefers to be coddled, held with a promise of protection, ironically. Allow him to kneel and bring him close to your heart, weave your fingers through his hair, soothe the tension in his shoulders and he'll abandon the Flame-Chase altogether.

It's impossible to stir him in those moments, unless your safety happened to be at stake. As such, it's best for you to bid farewell to any other plans. Once he has memorized the nature of this exchange well, he goes beyond and utilizes it to deal with other nuisances. You cannot blame him, not when it has been proven that distracting you with a hug deters both the interference and yourself from paying heed to a mere passer-by. Sometimes his hug offers a bit less comfort and appears more as a shackle. Should you think to point this out, bear this in mind — your embrace is the last thread keeping his sanity intact.

-; ੈ♡˳ MYDEI

You must not care for your life at all, or at least, that's the thought Mydei found himself having when he was faced with the gesture. While the Crown Prince was not ignorant of the existence of a hug, he merely never had the opportunity to be properly acquainted with it. Not that it was necessary to know of it either, he can't win battles by hugging his opponents now, can he? As such, his reaction had been quite the spectacle when you initiated it. Begin by asking if he'd like a hug (throw in a ‘my prince’ at the end, sweetly), if his expression doesn't change then that means a ‘yes’, approach him calmly and wrap your arms around him next — be patient, he'll eventually reciprocate, given that you read the cues right.

If Mydei has to express affection, he'll do so in his own ways. It's already enough of an inconvenience that whenever he thinks of you, his head becomes blurred with clouds of emotions he's unable to decipher. That mushy sensation he feels inside whenever you have the audacity to hug him is just unfiltered agony to his mind. The journey to getting him less repulsed to the gesture has to be fueled by patience and understanding. Only when it clicks in his head that the feelings your hugs incite are not so dissimilar from the ones he gets by indulging in a plate of golden honeycakes does he warm up to the gesture.

Even then, Mydei is very particular about his preferences. Wave goodbye to the dream of spooning the prince any time soon, he's made it clear that that privilege is reserved for him alone. He'll always pull your head towards his chest and headlock you in place. If it's not possible to do so while standing, he'll sit down and gather you on his lap even — but he'll never allow his field of vision to be obstructed. Allowing this already renders you both vulnerable to attacks, he'll reason. He needs to remain vigilant, for the sake of your safety ; not that he'll translate the intention word by word.

Despite your efforts, you've discovered that ridding the prince of his stiffness is near-impossible, even if it's in private. His is not a life that's seen much comfort. Pay attention to the minute shifts in his eyes and you'll realize that the actual reason for his stilted posture, is because of the restraint he's exercising in unleashing his strength. It is a valid concern, he won't even need both of his hands to kill you. Death has rejected him countless times but awaits your departure in anticipation, he's merely mindful of its preying gaze.

-; ੈ♡˳ ANAXA

You are one fearless fellow if you initiated a hug with Anaxa, or you simply don't care about the fact that he's renowned as the scholar who most people are happy to avoid. The scholar in question would most likely call you an idiot though, you really need a thorough lesson in deciphering which men you must never approach. Not that he will be giving it, his time and energy are not to be wasted on such trivial concerns. Although he won't deny, with this brazen act, you've proven yourself to be a bit above the notion of ‘trivial’.

You think approaching the scholar is not so different from trying to befriend a cat, failure in the beginning is inevitable — only through persistence can you triumph. It's a task alone to try to acquaint yourself with him, getting him accustomed to physical affection might just be an acid test. The scholar has had no need for a rudimentary touch of another's skin, he'll say with a dignified hiss. But if you're observant, you'd know it's just a ruse to hide the depth of the depravation he's not allowing himself to acknowledge.

After much trial and error, when he finally bends to your efforts and accepts a hug, he's stiff and awkward, unsurprisingly. His hands wander as if settling on one place would burn his skin, face firmly hidden in the crook of your neck in what you can only assume is embarrassment. You would've teased him about the fierce flush on his ears and nape, if he hadn't ended the contact upon realizing his behavior. The scholar didn't dare face you for the next week, reflecting upon the incident vigorously.

Initially, his hugs were short, filled with muttered complaints to distract you from the firmness of his grip. The increasing average duration and his waning unwillingness towards the gesture did not go unnoticed by him at all. He knows the basic biological cause and it served as his rationale for quite a while. Yes, the reward system's activities are all there is to it, surely he possesses enough willpower to end this indulgence any time he wishes.

What he didn't anticipate though was you beating him to it, baffling him with your sudden consideration for his personal space. You are cruelty incarnate, conditioning him to this banal addiction and leaving him to deal with the consequences by himself? Now that is one preposterous claim to marvel at. It's wise if you cease pushing the man and retract your words. And if you don't? You're more than welcomed to repeat your jest at the firing point of his gun.

[moonstruckme]

hi mae!! Can I request poly!marauders x fem reader as they join her lingerie shopping? The chaos would be endless

Thanks for requesting babe!

cw: no smut but mdni please because this is definitely mature content, nudity, allusion to smut

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 638 words

It’s hard not to strut a little as you come out of your room. It had been James’ idea to utilize the store’s lenient return policy to simply get everything you liked and bring it all home to try on, and it was a stroke of genius. As soon as you’re in view, Sirius whistles loudly and Remus flushes a shade of pink that makes you certain he’d have fled the store if you’d done this there. 

“I rather like the strappy ones,” Sirius declares. 

“I don’t really see what, erm…” Remus’ brow furrows as he looks at your nipples. “What’s the point of wearing something that only goes around the things it’s meant to cover?” 

“I don’t think any of it should be covered,” says James. He’s reclined comfortably against the back of the couch, eating a banana while his eyes drink you in. 

Sirius nods in near feverish agreement. “It’s for easy access, Moony. This way you can suck on ‘em without taking anything off.” 

“Right, but her…” Remus looks at you as though in apology, and you swallow a laugh. He has no problem being crude when you’re in bed together, but any other time he’s inexplicably shy about it. “Dovey, your crotch is still covered.” 

“Taking it off is also part of the fun,” Sirius amends, speaking as though he’s teaching a class. “What do you think of this one, gorgeous?” 

You look down at the straps criss-crossing down your abdomen. Their satin isn’t uncomfortable, though you are a bit cold. Your nipples stand at attention. “It wasn’t easy to put on,” you admit. “But I wouldn’t mind it, I don’t think. You’d just have to be alright with waiting for me.” 

The smile Sirius gives you brings a tickle of warmth to your cheeks. “Of course we’d wait for you. Especially if it means we get such a lovely reward.”

You laugh. “I guess this is your favorite so far, then?” 

He winks. “I like anything on you, baby, you know that.” 

You’re taking that as a yes. “What about you, Jamie?” 

James takes the last bite of his banana, folding the peel over itself. “Honestly, I like it best when you’re not wearing anything. Not that you don’t look beautiful in all of them, of course,” he hurries to add. He relaxes when you smile. “If I have to pick a favorite, I did really like the blue one you had on earlier. You know, the one with the lace?” 

You hum, nodding. “I liked that one, too.” It’s very different from the one you have on now, sweet and sky blue as opposed to this brazen, salacious thing. “Remus?” 

“I think you look lovely in all of them,” he says equitably. 

You laugh. “Well, I can’t keep all of them.”

“Why not?” Sirius sounds outraged.

“B—because!” you guffaw. “It’s too many! I’d never wear them all. I’m only keeping three, the rest are going back.” 

“I’ll give you a chance to wear them all,” he bargains. 

“I’d have nowhere to put all of them.” 

“I will happily donate one of my drawers to the cause.” 

“I’m keeping three,” you say, aiming for stern despite the smile that won’t leave your lips. “Remus, pick.” 

Remus chuckles at your bossy tone, but his expression turns contemplative. “How many are left?” 

“I think…maybe four?” 

“Let’s see those, and then I’ll decide.” 

Fair enough. You turn to go change into your next ensemble, grinning to yourself when Sirius whistles again and James claps for the view of your backside. 

“Be thinking about your favorite, too,” Sirius calls after you. “Once we’re done, that’s the one we’ll tear off you.” 

“Do you really want to ruin what she’s just bought?” you hear Remus ask faintly. 

“Oh, my darling Moony. You really aren’t getting this, are you?” 

[tentaclemilkprincess]

I feel like people don't utilize how cold vampires are.

Like, they press a kiss to your lips—maybe it's your first, but it's their first in decades. They've been aching for this, for something tender and sweet, craving something different from the rush and high of the blood-soaked tongues that marked their 200s, slipping in and out in a wet mess. But even though they've been aching with want for tenderness, their lips remain cold. They can't help but press into you further, almost trying to steal some of your warmth, basking in the soft friction.

And their hands—their hands are all around you. At first, they rest over your clothes, but it's not close enough. It's never close enough. Nothing is ever close enough. They want to live inside you, rest within your ribcage, and the blazing force you call your heart. At least that way, you'll keep them forever. That way, they can truly live to serve you. So, their hands slip under your clothes, maybe giving tender, apologetic strokes as you jump at the biting cold of their fingers against your skin.

Even when they fuck, they're cold—so cold it's almost mocking. They fuck with an endless desire, with monstrous abandon laced with hysterical devotion, and it makes you feel feverish: skin hot to the touch, sweat dripping down your hairline, heart racing, almost panting but not quite. This only makes them more obsessed. It makes them fuck harder, faster, with more force and pressure—anything to see more of you like this, to feel you like this.

And when you come down, they hold you in their arms, whispering how you're their sun. How, for so long, the world was barren without you, flowers unable to grow. The earth was a grey tundra. They tell you that sometimes they think they're just a planet in your orbit, that they don't believe in cosmic forces but instead believe in your gravitational pull.

When you sleep beside them (awake and unbreathing), you feel their cold fingers splay across your neck, wrists, and heart, feeling the pulsating warmth that is you.

[jjenthusee]

Enthusiasm

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: Sometimes the most intimidating can be the most tender.

A/N: HAPPYYY NEW YEAR i give u soft Jason 😌 i’ve been on and off (so sorry about that) but im excited to see what stories will be posted to this account this upcoming year :D so much has happened to end December, but i powered through and i wanted to finish something that was sitting in my drafts. so please ENJOY :) comment if you’re comfortable, reblog if you like the story, and have some flowers 💐

Tags: Fluff, hurt/comfort, i just wanna kiss his beautiful face fr, reader and jason are in competition of who can out fluff the other

Word Count: 2.5k

previous work linked here

The smell was strong.

Gunpowder and soaked clothes. Jason felt like a wet dog coming home with his tail between his legs. Holding onto the door frames, trying to not bump into the walls.

He had hoped the rain would have washed away most of the blood and burnt smell that radiated from his skin, but no matter how much he tried to rub it off, it was still there. Lingering after his every step, after every breath he took.

Each step into your apartment felt like he was contaminating more of the air, that he was diminishing the warmth you exuded so effortlessly.

His fingertips burned as he tried to grab a dry shirt and some sweats to change into, but his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

His mind raced and raced as he couldn’t focus enough to grab a single hanger in the closet. He already felt like he was standing underneath a beacon of light from the single bulb illuminating the entire closet and he couldn’t afford to wake you up now, you might smell him and you would find him disgusting until he would beg and beg that he could strip all the smell away.

Jason felt dizzy at the thought of you leaving. He had imagined many scenarios, all kinds of ways you would be gone. Tortured, kidnapped, or you simply walking out the door as he watched because you didn’t want to love him anymore.

It sickened him. A kind of bile that stuck to his throat when he tortured himself with the thought of you leaving him. He rubbed his face, feeling his calloused hands scratch against his skin as he tried to rub more of the smell away.

He could imagine the sound of your voice, screaming his name in fear or even quietly fading as you faded from his arms.

Sometimes the hallucinations felt so real, like you actually left until he found you at home. Living your life, perfectly fine.

“—on. Jason.”

He instinctively grabbed the knife from his utility belt, so quickly and efficiently that it felt like breathing for Jason.

He was still dizzy, but parts of your face were slowly focusing through his lashes, readjusting until your entire face was clear in his vision. He saw your wide eyes, opened because of the suddenness of him aiming a knife to your neck, but what made him feel even more sick to his stomach was the worried look on your face despite the survival instinct overpowering his brain.

It screamed how much you cared about him. The same man that pointed a blade at you.

He couldn’t breathe.

“Jason, it’s me. I’m right here.” You stood still. Watching the intense adrenaline rush from Jason. It had been a while since you’ve seen him escalate this badly.

“No, no. I‘m—you’re not real.” He pleaded, talking more to himself than at you.

“You’re home. You’re back home.” You tried to reach out with your words, giving him something to metaphorically grab onto.

“Please go away.”

Your heart pinched at his broken words.

“Everything is okay. I’m okay. I am right here.” You repeated.

As adamant as Jason was about stopping his hallucination, he couldn’t raise his voice. He was quietly whispering his pleas as you stood at arms length, confusing his reality and mental images. You didn’t waver to call out to him because he felt more wary of you than you did of him.

The blade he held to you was something he hadn’t done before and as frightened as you were in that moment, you stayed calm. Not for yourself, but from how much he shook and his disheveled appearance, Jason was just scared.

You continued to speak to him, giving him tender reassurances, explaining and truthfully telling him how safe he was and how he could relax from the anxiety plaguing him.

Jason’s eyes were relaxing as he listened to your voice, his muscles were loosening his grip from the blade the more in tune he felt with reality, and he suddenly felt all the exhaustion weigh on him. His knife felt so heavy. Every second he was growing more tired as he realized he was safe enough to finally let it go, so he threw it to the side.

The blade bounced to the floor, reflecting and shining the light from the closet back into the dark bedroom.

You took a deep breath watching the blade leave Jason’s hand, then you looked back to him, seeing his soaked hair stick to his face. His armor caked with dirt and blood blending into the fabric.

As much as you wanted to call Alfred, Jason was in no condition to see another person right now.

As you analyzed him, you saw, physically, how much the night had roughed him up. Jason’s hands were limp at his side, his head hung to your feet as you stepped closer to him, testing how close he was willing to let you get.

“Jay? You’re still in your armor, we need to get you out of your soaked clothes.” You gently spoke.

He said nothing to you, focusing on pacing his breaths in a way that didn’t cause him more anxiety. He kept his eyes closed.

“Do you need my help? I can help, but if you want to do it yourself—“

He grabbed one of your fingers, his frozen hand stinging your warm one that absorbed the heat from your blankets not too long ago. His large hand held onto your singular finger, feeling your smooth skin, trying to sink into the soothing feeling of physical touch.

You patiently waited, letting him go at his own pace to grasp that he was safe enough to ask for this much from you.

“I’m glad you made it home.” You spoke. Feeling Jason’s skin trace your knuckles and veins in your hand like he was memorizing and analyzing the living being he cared so much for.

As he continued his small rubs, he eased his touch to a feather light hover over your arm. Feeling up to press his thumb underneath the fabric of your shirt sleeve, mentally talking to himself about the feel of the fabric and its color.

You let him ground himself, taking note of how still you kept your body. All control was in Jason’s hands like a puppeteer over your entire self. He wanted to scream out to himself that he was selfishly touching you, but he was walking a very thin line of losing his mind any second and the feel of you was keeping him focused on something other than his racing head.

He was so tired that he grasp his hand onto your shoulder to gently pull you toward him, resting his head into your hair, smelling how familiar you were.

He thought you smelt so much better than the gunpowder and burning flesh from his body.

He rested his hand behind your back, slowly feeling up to cusp behind your neck, letting his fingers settle onto your pulse. Counting the thumps and feeling the repeated rhythm he memorized numerous times to fall asleep to.

Jason brought you in closer, matching his breaths to yours because if he felt like passing out, he reasoned to himself that it should be completely because he wanted to be one with you.

You settled your forehead onto his neck, taking a deep breath into his skin.

Jason flinched, feeling his skin tingle to your warm breath exhaling to his hair. He hummed before he was about to pull away from you, remembering his stench.

“I’m sorry, I…stink.” Jason apologized, fighting against himself to release you, but also grip you harder.

You pulled him back to you by his neck and arm, leaning his damp hair onto your head.

“You don’t need to apologize. Besides, I love your smell. I think I stink ‘cause I haven’t showered ever since I got back from work.” You lazily smiled up at Jason, appreciating that he was talking to you.

“You don’t smell.” He emphasized, whispering his sincerity into the small space between your bodies.

“I was sweating a lot today, so we can be stinky together if that’s what you’re worried about.” You comforted him, reaching up to cusp his cheeks. Soothing the redness on his face from his harsh rubs. “We can wash up together if you want to. It’s also okay if you want to do it by yourself. I’m always open to what you tell me, no matter what I’ll be right here until you let me know.”

Jason felt the ease in his shoulders, the voice in his head calming. It wasn’t completely silent, but it was a little quieter when you were speaking so gently to him.

“Can we wash up together?” He asked into your palm, rubbing his nose into your warm hand.

“Of course we can. I can get the water ready while you get out of your gear.”

“Hm.” Jason agreed into your touch.

“I won’t make the water too hot. I also got a new shampoo yesterday and I haven’t used it yet, so we can smell like eucalyptus together.” You could feel Jason’s frozen nose on your hands. “Hon, you’re freezing.”

Your worries were unanswered, leaving you to only furrow your brow at the man in front of you. Jason could only look up from your hands, clearly having nothing to say, but patiently waiting for you to give in to his tender gaze.

He knew you would give in, you always did and he wanted to use it to his advantage to not speak about his night.

He removed his gloves and you heard the slightly damp fabric being pulled from his fingers. With free hands, Jason reached out to rub off the furrowed look on your face, in attempt to cover his tired appearance.

“You’re lucky I’m going to be nice about this. I was about one call away to summoning Alfred or I would’ve drove your motorcycle all the way there if I had to.”

Jason chuckled as he kept kneading the line between your eyebrows. Listening to your stubborn worries that felt like music to his ears as much as he didn’t want to admit it.

“Threatening me now?” Jason asked. Amused, but willing to listen to your voice continuously. The way his voice teased you made your heart tingle, enough to distract you for a moment to look at the way his hair fell onto his face. His features were carved by wavy hair, elegantly placed hair strands that made you waver between frustrated and enamored, but unable to stop your heartfelt lecture.

“Maybe you can distract me, but Alfred is too experienced to even consider hesitating with you.” You tried to go move your eyebrows in defiance against Jason’s thumb, not backing down just yet. “I was about to haul you on my shoulders and dump you onto the back of your motorcycle. I didn’t go through all those lessons with you to not use it against you.“

“I knew it, you were always too excited to take it out for a drive. Can’t believe my own student was actually plotting against me all along.” Jason held onto your face, shaking his head as he traced your jaw with his fingers.

“It’s called “enthusiasm,” Jason.” You started to feel for the zippers of his jacket, moving your fingers against the leather as you slowly took it off his shoulders, carefully watching his body language to ensure you weren’t making him uncomfortable.

“Enthusiasm.” Jason repeated. In the same tone you always swooned at, hearing the familiar low roughness in his voice that was only reserved for you. A dangerous combo as he touched your face so affectionately, you could feel your face heat in the dim closet light. “I know all about enthusiasm.”

He leaned in to slightly peck your bottom lip, feeling his own lips barely touch yours. He felt how dry his lips were, but yours were soft enough to drown out his other worries and insecurities. Enough to feel the intimacy, but not enough to solidify something more.

You smiled, clearly won over by Jason’s charm. In one swoop you pulled the jacket off Jason, leaving him in his usual patrol skintight top with his emblem reflecting what little light was in the room.

You couldn’t imagine the fear that red bat symbol brought to the bad people lingering at night, realizing the bad shit they brought on themselves because that emblem was the last thing they would remember.

But you always liked what was beneath it, what it tried to protect. The part of Jason that he relentlessly tried to hide and you had the patience to slowly unveil every bit of it.

“Save that enthusiasm because we might not be able to wash up if you kiss me one more time.” You rubbed your hands into the back of his neck, feeling the tense muscles and wanting to help him relax for a bit with some warm water and rubbing some shampoo into his hair to hopefully allow him to sleep a little tonight. “Clean your gear in the morning, I wanna warm up with a shower and you can help me dry my hair.”

“Hm.” Jason agreed as he kept rubbing your lips with his thumb. You felt accomplished as you felt his hands slowly warming from your physical touch.

“I’ll get us some fresh towels. Grab the new shampoo after you remove your gear.” You released yourself from Jason and made your way to the bathroom. “It should be in the bag by the bed. I forgot to take it out.”

With some soreness, Jason removed his utility belt and picked up the thrown knife to safely secure it back in its place. He felt the weight in his eyelids as he made his way to the bathroom, hearing the water turn on.

When he pushed the door open silently, he watched the way you moved. Adjusting the heat of the water, placing freshly dried towels on the counter, and the way you were so perfectly domestic.

Jason didn’t want to disturb you, soothing himself to the sight of you after he exhausted himself from the repeated torture his mind put himself through.

When you looked back, the look you gave him almost made him melt to the tile floor. That it was unreal he was allowed this.

You pulled him into the bathroom, much like the other ways you introduced him to various simplicities he started to enjoy in his life.

He didn’t want to admit it to you, in case you would be offended, but he cherished how mundane you were. That he could feel as close to ordinary next to you. That the scars that littered him weren’t going to drive you away.

Piece by piece, clothing were removed from the two of you. It was comfortable to bare yourself, to share this intimate experience of bathing together. Washing and holding each other under warm water. Massaging and lathering soap.

The steam was filling the bathroom, slight humidity relaxing your skin and your shared scent radiating off each other.

The night was turning into dawn, but you dried each others hair. You gently laid into the bed to slowly rub at Jason’s head, easing him and yourself into another slumber.

[misctf]

Hey! I just bought this new VR game system and it says not to try it on alone. What the fuck are they talking about? And why are all the games on the online store so adult centered? Whatever, let's try it, wait what is happening ...

“Dude, you’re not supposed to use Hive X alone.” Some guy messages you in the chatroom, “Did you not see the warnings?”

“Or the reviews?” Another user asks, “It’s best for couples to use it. Together.”  

Your eyes narrow, “I didn’t pay all this money not to use it.” You reply, “I’ll let you know how it is.” You look down at the black box.

You always appreciated your friends in the gaming community. But the gaming community was quite divided when Hive X hit the stores. A new VR gaming system that seemed to offer a futuristic level of immersion. You didn’t really have time to read reviews, but you weren’t going to miss out on this opportunity.

“Well, here it goes.” You mumble.

You slowly remove the VR headset from the box, followed by two wrist and ankle cuffs. You can’t help but chuckle when you remove what looks like a waist trainer.

“What the fuck?” You whisper as you read the instructions.

Slowly, you remove your clothes until you’re completely naked. Apparently, this would help facilitate the full immersive experience. And as you stand in the center of your room, you slowly slip on the ankle cuffs, then the wrist cuffs, and finally the waist trainer. You pick up the headset, which looks like that of a motorcycle helmet, and with a deep breath, place it over your head. Initially, all you see is inky blackness. But as it turns on, the world around you comes alive. You wince as the ankle, waist, and wrist pads dig into your skin and warm up. And suddenly, you’re standing in what can only be described as a hotel.

“Oh wow.” You whisper as you look around, seeing others walking around the hotel. Heading to different rooms. You take a deep breath and smell a muskiness mixed with oak wood. The warmth of a glowing fire dancing in the hotel lobby. It’s warm, and a sense of peace fills you, “Oh shit!” You realize that you’re naked and quickly go to cover yourself.

Apparently, others heard you and look over. Some chuckle, some give you concerned looks. And you realize that many of them are naked too. Blushing, you quickly walk down a hallway, awkwardly bumping into and maneuvering around other couples.

“Why the fuck is everyone naked?” You mumble, “And why...” Your eyes widen and you gasp when you turn a corner and enter a large room.

There had to be hundreds of men and women in the midst of a giant orgy. All moaning and engaging in lewd acts. You avert your eyes and back away, heading back the way you came. Your face beet red and dick twitching uncomfortably.

“I should’ve read the reviews.” You mumble, realizing this is some kind of virtual sex toy, “Okay, I’m done. The guys will get a kick out of this.”

“What’s wrong?” You jump at the monotone voice behind you, “So sorry. I’m NPC 436.” A fully clothed, relatively plain individual says, “I am designed to tailor your experience and enhance customer satisfaction.”

“Yeah, I...” You cover your junk, “This isn’t my thing... I...”

“We have many experiences designed for our users.” It continues, “Usually, partners enter the Hive due to enhanced physical sensations. It appears...”

“Yeah, I’m alone.” The NPC nods.

“Based on your preferences and attitudes, we have determined an ideal experience.”

“Wha... how?”

“The VR headset you utilize is a two-way interface with your mind.” It says simply, “Please follow me.”

Part of you wants to say no and write this off as one of your biggest failed gaming experiences. But another part of you is curious. You nod and follow NPC 436 as it leads you to one of the hotel rooms. You stop outside Room 194 and NPC 436 opens the door, beckoning inside.

“Please enjoy.” It says, “Customer satisfaction is a primary objective.” It continues.

You nod as the door closes behind you and you enter a standard hotel suite. A warm fire place cackling and the smell of oak filling your nostrils. You feel your body start to relax and your thoughts slow. Absentmindedly, you stroke your hardening cock. The sound of the shower in the other room brings you back to reality and you slowly walk over. When you enter, your eyes widen.

“Hey there.” The man says, as he turns and smirks at you, “Fuck you’re cute.”

You feel your heart beating, your cock aching with need. And as he approaches you, you step forward. Your hands moving to feel his massive pecs. He grins as he guides your hand to his dick and you shudder at the feeling of his thick manhood in your hand.

“Good boy.” He moans, “I’m NPC 251.” He continues as you continue to feel his body, “Fuck... you’re needy.”

Things seem to move quickly. He’s pressed you up against the wall of the shower, your lips locked, your tongues doing battle. You can feel his rough hands roam your body, as yours continue to stroke his dick. And suddenly you’re on your knees as he fucks your face- you deepthroating him like a pro. He lets out a moan as he finishes and you shudder as you’re filled with his seed.

“Fuck.” He whispers.

You stumble to your feet, quivering from the pleasure. And before you can say another word, you moan as your cock hardens against. A wave of horniness filling your mind. A desire for more filling your every thought.

“Th-this isn’t...” You whisper. How was your body already craving another round? What was this VR device doing to you? “I... I...” NPC 251 is stroking his dick, grinning down at you.

“Additional interaction requires in game purchase.” Your heart sinks, “Would you like to initiate NPC trial period?” NPC 251 asks, “This will unlock additional sessions with any other NPC.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to comprehend what NPC 251 means. But your aching cock is too distracting. You bite your lip. NPC trial period? What did that even mean? What would it...? But NPC 251... god you wanted to do that again. You wanted...

“Trial period. Please.” You moan.

A searing pain knocks you off your feet. You can feel it in your ankles, hands, and waist. And the feeling seems to be moving along your arms, legs, and torso. You cry out and look up at NPC 251 in terror, gripping your head as you develop a significant headache.  

“Digitalization process is taking place.” It says, “Your physical body is being fully converted into the Hive.”

Before you can say another word, a different feeling fills you. You feel like you’re being inflated. Each muscle contracting and bloating. Expanding and growing at a terrifying rate. You try to push yourself up and immediately fall over. Unfamiliar with your new size and bulk as your musculature takes on that of an athlete. You wince as your body hairs burns away and leaves you smooth and hairless. Your muscles toned and bulky. The body of a porn star.

“Optimization of user traits allows for seamless integration for company standards.” It continues, “Your prior traits will be saved in the mainframe.”

You gasp as you look at yourself, hands roaming over your impressive musculature. You moan in a far deeper voice as your ass pulses with need. And you look up desperately at NPC 251, knowing it could give you what your new body craved.

“Initiating directives.”

Your jaw goes slack and your eyes dim as words and numbers flash in front of your eyes. You can barely keep up with the various components as you’re given directions and commands. Your numb mind filling with them- a sense of devout obedience driving you.

“I will serve. I will ensure customer satisfaction.” You drone on, “Serving is my pleasure. Being used is my pleasure.” For a brief moment, you feel fear. Part of you coming to realize what your life is about to become. But fear is not part of your programing, “I am NPC 803.” You say.

NPC 803 was quickly led away to a new room. An empty room. One for NPC 803 and the services it would provide. Time wasn’t a concern for NPC 803, nor were any thoughts about when it would get to return to its old life. And as NPC 803 waiting for someone, it laid in bed. Dildo in its ass. Moaning from wave after wave of pleasure. But it wasn’t enough. All it wanted was to provide customers with the best experience possible. And as another man was led to your room, also without a partner, you couldn’t help but smile. After the time you were gonna give him, you just knew you’d have another NPC joining your team.

[johnbrand]

Future Plans

“Don’t mind if I just pop these off real quick.”

Luke readjusted awkwardly on his yoga mat, carefully watching as Mr. Bergstrom plopped each of his massive feet out of their equally massive prisons.

“Oof!” Mr. Bergstrom exclaimed as he leaned forward to massage his feet. “These things have quite the kick to them.”

“Proof of a good workout?” The 18-year-old replied, unsure of how to continue forward with the conversation. He had not spoken to Mr. Bergstrom in almost six months, so it had come as a surprise when the middle-aged man had pulled him aside at the gym to discuss Luke’s "future plans".

Mr. Bergstrom chuckled, “I guess so.” Both sets of eyes followed Mr. Bergstrom’s hands as they peeled the grimy socks away, exposing two long, firm soles. The socks were then tossed aside between the pair. After a moment Luke was able to pick up on their slightly cheesy funk.

“Mr. Bergstrom, if you don’t mind me asking,” Luke knew he was treading on rocky ground. “Why did you want to speak with me?”

“As I said, I wanted to hear what your plans were moving forward.” Mr. Bergstrom put his calloused paws to work, rubbing away and massaging his feet. “My son already told me you’re going to a different university, I’m just curious to hear your reasoning.”

Luke shifted uncomfortably. He and Mr. Bergstrom’s son had grown up together, been best friends from elementary through most of high school. Mr. Bergstrom had practically been a second father to Luke, to the point that Luke’s own parents joked that they should have been paying for child support. That was until Luke had come out. Mr. Bergstrom promptly banned his son from ever speaking with “that homo” again.

“Well, I was offered a really great scholarship from the school. My grades were excellent this year, and my test scores were pretty much the same.” Luke was not trying to be boastful. “They are hoping to fast-track me through the engineering program, my counselor said I’ve got some real talent.”

The bustling noises of the busy gym were present, but dampened by the closed doors of their private studio. Mr. Bergstrom continued his cooldown, stretching his legs. “You know they’re just buttering you up, right?”

Luke’s face grew warm. Mr. Bergstrom continued, “You don’t really think your talents will be utilized by furthering your education, do you?”

Embarrassed, Luke found himself looking down. He would be leaving for college in a week, he already had made his mind up. He could not understand why Mr. Bergstrom was trying to convince him otherwise.

“I know you miss my son, Luke. And I know you miss me.” Mr. Bergstrom started, a friendly smirk smearing itself onto his face. Luke was familiar with that smile, its fatherly warmth attempting to lure him in. But he resisted, its friendliness almost artificial. “You should be less concerned about education and more focused on rebuilding the bridges you’ve burned.”

“What do you mean?” Luke queried without lifting his head.

“You can get a degree at any point of time in life,” Mr. Bergstrom argued. “But if a relationship has broken apart, you only have so much time to fix it.” Mr. Bergstrom’s fingers interlocked between his toes, smoothly caressing each of the pockets in between. “Your time at university will be, what, four years? But the bonds you make with others are for a lifetime. It would be selfish to put your own wishes before others, especially those you’ve hurt. And if this university really wants you, then they will be willing to wait."

Mr. Bergstrom sighed, "As an adult, it’s my responsibility to tell you this kind of stuff.”

Luke’s face was still flushed, but no longer out of embarrassment. The odor of Mr. Bergstrom’s feet had by now completely filled the room, its pungent, sour funk somehow warm.

“So, what do you suggest I do?” Luke’s eyes began to water, although it was unclear if it was out of despair or a reaction to the feet in front of him. Luke only realized now that this entire time he had been staring at the older man’s soles dancing in front of him.

“Put your actual talents to good use, kiddo,” Mr. Bergstrom’s face lit up with that fatherly pride once more, its affectionate smile inviting. The affirmation felt good to Luke. “You should cancel your college plans for the time being so that you can focus on your relationships. A gap year or two, or maybe three, or as long as it takes to make up for lost time.”

“Does that mean I’ll get to be best friends with your son again?” Luke asked.

“Well, he already left for school a few days ago, so he won’t be back until the winter holidays.” Luke was a bummed to hear this, beginning to reconsider Mr. Bergstrom’s offer. But before Luke could escape, Mr. Bergstrom wiggled his thick toes, drawing him back in.

“But in the meantime,” Mr. Bergstrom’s tone held its protective tone, as if it was only offering what was best for Luke. “You can work on rebuilding our relationship. You can live with me so your parents think you’re still at school, except I will be your professor. Won’t that be fun?”

Luke’s body began to tingle. Subconsciously, he could sense danger. But there was something so alluring about Mr. Bergstrom’s feet. His thick, juicy feet and their nauseating, mesmerizing, heterosexual scent.

“Whaddya say, kiddo? Do you trust me?” Mr. Bergstrom asked. 

Luke’s reply came out robotically, “...Yes.”

Mr. Bergstrom smirk reappeared, although this time the mask was off. It was now cocky, assured, but yet still familiar, as if this was not the first time. “Good boy, then lets give you your first assignment.”

The sweetness in Mr. Bergstrom’s voice had completely disappeared. “How about you start servicing these big manly feet." Mr. Bergstrom then threw one of his dirty socks right into Luke’s face, its sweat a metaphorical stamp on his future. "And while you’re at it, you can suck on this like the pathetic little faggot you are."

[samodivaa]

Bucky loves your big thighs so much that he fucks them (smut) {requested}

"God, doll…I-" Bucky gritters out, more animal than you have ever heard from a human as he slips his length between your squashy thighs. He squeezes his eyes shut—to utilize the entire spectrum of the other senses, moans of ecstasy crescendos and his breaths come in short instances, because there is a charm about you tightening your thighs around his cock that makes it unspeakably desirable for him. He slams his dick, grabbing your hips to keep you flush against him, teeth biting at your neck only to lick over the hurt. Leaning in to inhale near your ear, he whispers against the shell of it before nibbling at the earlobe. "-didn’t know how much I would enjoy this" with a mellifluous moan, his body taking control over his brain—the sound makes you clench around nothing, extortionate heat coils in your lower belly and blooms down toward your cunt. Bucky grunts as he slams into your soft thighs, his long dick reaching your clit. 

“Fuck me, please-” 

you breath, voice practically pleading, your soft lips blowing out in frustration as he slides his cold hand up your neck to squeeze. You gasp when his metal fingers tighten ever so slightly around your windpipe, controlling your flow of air. 

“Bucky, come on, I need-”

You try to let out a choked squeal, but his metal hand tightens around your neck again, muffling any sounds, your toes curl as he lets out a rasping moan, long and low. His love language is evoking moments of ecstasy—you have nourished your confidence from the tender love he shows to every part of your body. Like a prayer, your name sounds on his lips, his breathing is as ragged as your own, and you gasp when he suddenly slips inside your pussy, folds flutter as you’re parted by his length, making the cutest mewls as you ease his cock into your cunt, slowly—your body reels from the thrill and the surprise—from the thrusts of his powerful hips and the choking. It is too much for him. To his horror, his mind responds in obvious pleasure, his entire body shuddering in spite of his mental denial—

“Fuck-I’m coming” he groans the words out, only adding to the erotic undertone of his words.

Heat shots through his spine. His muscles clenching as his trusts become erratic, your velvety walls sealing around his member, enveloping him perfectly in its embrace. You whine, lower lip quivering as he slowly tightens the hand around your neck again, teary eyes closing and mouth opens, with no sounds coming out of it, only drool rolls down the corner of your lips as the cold touch makes your body shiver when warmth seeps into you, flooding your insides white. He closes his eyes, because of the volcanic eruptions still going through his body—his orgasm is long, raw, reaching all his body senses.

“I'm sorry, I will make it up to you now” 

he whispers, a hint of bashfulness in his tone, leaning forwards to kiss your neck, teasingly licking at your skin as he pulls away. Bucky knows that your body is aching to be touched, caressed, loved.

[eelnoise]

headroom (nsfw)

zoro x fem!reader

in which you and zoro take a moment to slip away

wc: 1.1k cw: closet sex, sweet n soft zoro, kinda?primal zoro, zoro in love an: hello!!!!!!!!!

masterlist | kofi

It's rare to get some privacy at sea. Between the comings and goings of any normal day aboard the ship it's unlikely to have a moment to breathe your own air – let alone any chance of true privacy.

So sometimes it's forced. 

All it takes is your eyes meeting that makes Zoro act. With most of the others topside, he takes his chance to wander over toward you. 

Zoro's palm falls to your shoulder as you look up to smile at him, and he feels his cheeks warm, though he thinks you may be feigning the look of soft curiosity that comes with it. His thumb traces a random pattern into the back of your neck – a small gesture that brings a much bigger proposition. 

Let's get out of here.

Your confirmation comes with a nod of your head, and – faster than he can remember – he finds himself locked away with you in one of the lower, lesser used utility closets below deck atop a pair of crates that work as a makeshift stool.  

Zoro’s hands trail up the warmth of your back as you straddle his lap, and while his touch could never be as gentle as yours, he presses his fingertips into your bare flesh as tenderly as he can. His grip is firm, but delicate – handling you as if something easily breakable and not because he thinks he has to, but because he wants to. 

You pull away from him, granting the both of you some air. Your lips are already curled into a relaxed smile, and before he can return it you lean in again to begin kissing along his jawline. Zoro's eye flutters shut, his breath hitching as your lips brush against the skin of his jaw. He leans into the touch, a soft sound of contentment escaping from his lips.

As your kisses travel further down, tracing the line of his neck, Zoro's grip on your hips tightens. He leans backward, peacefully adrift in the love you have for him – though you nearly knock the air in his lungs right back out when your trail ends with a long, soft kiss to the exact spot that the scar across his chest meets with his heartbeat.

Zoro freezes and his eye snaps open again as he leans forward and suddenly stares down at you. The old wound, a permanent testimony of a singular failure, clashes against the weight of his whole heart that you cradle against your lips. 

Something in his body language changes then, his muscles tense and his grip on you tightens harshly enough for you to gasp in surprise. And he lifts you with ease, scooping his arms beneath your legs to press your back to the inner wall of the closet before descending upon you. He acts on instinct, hungrily claiming your lips and pressing his weight against you, swallowing every mewl you sing into him. 

Zoro only eases his hold long enough to slide his cock free and slide it against your glistening pussy. He taps his length against your clit and smirks when you whine at the contact. 

Zoro's lips ghost along your jaw, his kisses languid and slow as he begins to thrust into you – the rhythm unsteady and hurried. His hips roll forward with each stroke, his cock filling you up thoroughly, and he kisses you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours as he moans into your mouth.

He's lost in the sensation of you, the feeling of your tight heat wrapped around his length, the taste of your lips, the sound of your moans. It's almost too much, and it's a miracle that your breathless pants of his name seem to anchor him back into the moment even at the edge of his peak. Zoro forces himself away from you and feels his heart leap in his chest when he catches your heavy-lidded gaze. 

Your flushed cheeks, the saliva that still wets your parted lips, the look in your eye that tells him that you share the same adoration for one another – it isn’t often that he considers such things, but in this moment he regrets being unable to see you with both eyes. 

Zoro's thrusts slow to a crawl and he touches his forehead to yours, matching the soft smile you give him. “Together.” He murmurs, giving you a much more tender, careful kiss. 

He turns the both of you around and eases you back onto the crate. Hooking your legs around his waist, Zoro leans over and slowly begins to grind into you in deliberately designed strokes. His thumb comes to rub circles on your clit and he takes the chance to scoop you into his free arms and latch his lips to your nipple when you arch your back against him.

Hips move in time with his thumb and tongue, gradually increasing in speed just to slow to a crawl again – a meticulous pace that quickly has you bursting at the seams. Zoro holds you close, grunting against your breast when your walls clench down hard around him.

You babble nonsense between sighs of delirium, perceived half-sentences that fall incomplete when you suddenly cry out in finality. Zoro’s lips leave your flesh and he quickly unwraps his arm from around you to cup your cheek in his palm as you ride out your orgasm. 

You lean into his touch and exhale into his hand, your legs twitching and shaking around him while waves of pleasure spout through you. It's enough to bring him right back to the brink. 

Picking up his pace, he groans and grits his teeth as his release follows up the tail end of your own high, filling you and sputtering out to ooze down his cock.

Zoro can’t help but collapse atop you, breathlessly he settles his face into your neck and nuzzles against it. One of your hands comes to gently stroke the top of his head and he sighs happily into you. You whisper your love for him, and he sleepily returns it before pressing his lips to your neck.

Neither of you are sure how long you’d been gone or whether you’d fallen asleep or not, but it isn’t until presented with an empty galley with two plates of dinner left behind that it’s clear that maybe the supposed ‘privacy’ of a thinly walled utility closet isn’t all that true – and that maybe there would be snark in the morning pertaining to the prolonged absence. 

Though Zoro lacks the will to care, and – judging by the way you end the night curled next to him on his bunk – you don’t seem to mind either.

[seiwas]

two-part something (shouto x reader)

wc: 1.3k

contains: christmas, holiday parties, santa, mid-20's pro-hero!shouto x assistant!reader

full fic sequel: three-part honesty

a/n: just a lil writing exercise on shouto! first time writing him hehe

shouto’s late to his agency’s holiday party tonight. 

he breathes out, warmth floating as white puffs from his lips. the heating system on his office floor has been turned off, subtext directed solely to him: whoever’s here today, at this time, shouldn’t be.

his fingers move deftly around his waist, routinary—utility belt unbuckling as he reaches his desk. 

the venue for tonight is on one of the lower floors—a function room where briefings and press conferences are normally held. the number of attendees has grown compared to last year’s, sidekicks doubling and staff tripling; expected, given the agency’s projected growth next quarter. 

this is the agency’s third move since humble days in a rented studio unit (one shouto stubbornly and adamantly paid for fully, on his own), but one thing’s invariably stayed the same—

shouto’s office has always existed in its own space, whether tucked in a corner or spread out over an entire floor.

and wherever that space is, so are you. 

he settles in his seat, leather creaking as he twists to stretch his back. it’s been a long night, being dispatched earlier for an emergency downtown. his hand reaches for the folder on his desk, fingers swiping to release the yellow paper clip on the far left corner—evidence of your presence. 

since being hired as his assistant five years ago, you’ve devised a system for shouto that he now deems essential to keeping his entire agency afloat. his own urgency for paperwork hinges on the color of your paper clips (blue for next month, green for next week, yellow for tomorrow, and red for now).  

he should listen to you; the details of this evening’s take-down can be set aside for tomorrow—tomorrow, when everyone’s allowed to clock-in midday for the sake of tonight’s festivities. knowing you though, you’ll still show up early, if only to go over his desk, ensuring to swap that yellow paper clip for red. 

if he finishes this now, you won’t need to ensure anything; in all the years you’ve been his first and only assistant–a perfect match for how much of a workaholic he is–you might actually opt to sleep in for once. 

besides, it’s more productive if he gets it over with; crimes and mishaps never take breaks to party, after all—even during the holidays. 

that’s what he’ll tell you, at least. 

the party’s more for everyone else than him, anyway. 

he clicks his pen, letting out another puff of warm air as he spreads the document in front of him: 

page 1: basic information. identification details, time markers, a summary of the take-down. 

page 2: breakdown of events. scene-by-scene, additional comments, a two-beat knock on his door. 

then comes your voice, soft, unsure—

“sir?” 

—before you step inside, heels clicking against the natural stone finish of his office floor. 

he looks up, wide-eyed, piercing gray and blue. 

your gaze flits to the papers in front of him, eyebrows scrunching before you sigh. there’s an all-too-familiar smile on your face, a quiet chuckle brought about by how characteristic it is of him to be in this situation right now. 

“sir, that report is tagged yellow.” 

he shifts, looking at your paper clip; without a word, the leather of his seat crinkles again. it’s like this with shouto sometimes, you’ve come to learn: a non-response is a response on its own.

when his eyes meet yours, you shiver. 

goosebumps litter the sides of your arms, the decision to forego your blazer leaving yourself exposed to the chill of tonight’s office air. you try to hide it, but some things are impossible to keep from shouto. 

of course he notices your jaw quivering. 

“are you cold?” he stands up immediately, already moving halfway out from behind his desk.

“i’m okay, sir,” you stop him just as quickly, hands motioning for him to stay where he is.

two beats of silence find him tilting his head, gaze as intense as it’s always been pointed towards you. 

“shouto.”

“pardon, sir?” you step closer, leaning forward. 

“call me shouto.” 

the red fabric in your hand almost slips from your hold. 

this isn’t the first time shouto’s insisted on you using his name—he offered it up the moment he hired you, and the day you searched store after store for his thrifted leather chair during the agency’s second move; he’s suggested it plenty over the years, a casual reminder that it’s no big deal—if the world can call him shouto, so should you. 

pro-hero shouto, top three in the charts. 

pro-hero shouto, late to his agency’s holiday party because of paperwork—his tendency to be a workaholic. 

pro-hero shouto, asking you to call him shouto, but not in the way the world does. 

his eyes don’t leave yours as you blink, swallowing down your feelings (inappropriate, you tell yourself). 

“shouto.” you repeat. 

he nods slightly, a small, imperceptible lift to the corners of his lips. there’s an awkward pause as he looks down to the papers on his desk then up at you again.

“the party,” you clear your throat, smoothing out the fabric between your fingers, “you’re running late to your own party, si–shouto.” 

he tilts his head again, confused, “is this party not for everyone else?” 

you blink—he’s got you there. 

“i guess that’s true,” you sigh, chuckling. a pause, “that report is still yellow, though.” 

blue and gray land on white, bond papers spread out on his desk. he could argue with you, but where has that ever gotten him? you’ve kept him in check for years—it’s how he’s managed to stay on top of things. 

he looks down at his jumpsuit, the same shade of blue since he was 15. not much has changed with the design of his hero suit, just an overall sleeker design fit to match his age. the utility belt still exists, albeit more compact and less clunky; a similar modification was done to the straps that run down the sides of his chest. 

if anything, the biggest change is how the suit has molded around him—shoulders more defined, arms large enough for the fabric to cling onto it. shouto’s build has always been lean, but the areas of defined muscle stick out more evidently now that he’s older, much taller and wider.  

“i don’t have a costume.” he pouts.

you grin, stepping closer to his desk, hips digging into the edge. the red santa hat unfurls from your hands as you wave it in front of him—a perfect match to the shades of his hair. 

he blinks before you catch it, the slight curve of his lips as he leans forward, dipping his head low enough for you to reach the top of it. you tiptoe just a bit when you open up the hat to place it over his head.

you’re gentle with your touch, fingers running through the strands of his hair lightly; you tuck them neatly underneath the fluffy white rim of the santa hat. 

(it’s warmer near him, you notice—his quirk regulating a circumference of heat around himself that extends to you right now, you know. but you’re confident you’d still feel your own version of it–on your cheeks, down your neck–even if he weren’t). 

the hat sits perfectly atop his head, much like anything else that’s on him. when you lean back, moving away to take a better look, you notice it—

midnight blue, the backdrop on shouto’s floor-to-ceiling windows, littered with speckles of white—the first snowfall, and one you stand in awe of.

—gasping at the sight. 

you’re still so near when your eyes light up, zeroing in on the view behind him. you can’t help it, that smile on your face, bright and pretty, he thinks; it’s a short moment, but he feels it, a two-part ‘ba-dump’ that resounds in his heartbeat. 

a/n: they thrift the chair bc it's real leather so buying a new one is just no-no + he texts natsuo otw home after the party that he feels a bit funny! (it's just his feelings 😭)

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡