#My body doesn’t function the way it’s suppose to

[warriormoustache]

.

[vigilantejustice]

obvs logically dig that my. body/food issues are wildly nuanced + complicated things much bigger + more complex than this but it is very hard to stop feeling like wow can’t believe my entire problem is just having “too ugly to function” disorder that is so pathetic :(

[growing-home]

i feel like we don’t always talk about the smaller ways that having a dissociative disorder (and not being “out” about it) can really disable a person— i’m in a choir, and idk how to explain to the musical director that SOMETIMES i am a soprano and have no trouble hitting high notes while other times i feel like i physically cannot sing that high. or how sometimes my guitar feels like an extension of my body but sometimes i don’t even remember how i’m supposed to hold it properly. or in art therapy when i only sometimes have access to my adult level of artistic skill while sometimes i have the skill level of a five year old. my dissociative disorder very much disables me, and this is something i don’t see people talking about outside of the ways that PTSD disables those with dissociative disorders. what i mean is that sometimes i do not have the ability to do very basic tasks. dissociative disorders are developmental disorders, and i am very much developmentally disabled much of the time.

i don’t plan on ever being publicly out about my dissociative disorder in a non anonymous setting. i have a hard time even talking about my parts in therapy even to the clinician that diagnosed me with DID. it feels unbearably vulnerable and not safe to tell people about my parts. i feel like we’re seeing more and more people on tik tok start talking publicly about their DID, and while that may be very helpful for them, i honestly can’t imagine ever being fully out with it like that. keeping it secret is what has kept me safe, it is how i survived the last twenty years of my life. my experience with DID also does not line up with most of the DID content i’ve seen online— and i don’t mean this to invalidate those whose experiences are different than mine, it’s just that it can feel really lonely and isolating to have a dissociative disorder that doesn’t fit with the worlds preconceived image of what a dissociative disorder looks like. this is part of why i typically just say that i have dissociative disorder instead of DID.

tldr: dissociative disorders can really impair basic functioning and i feel like people forget that when they focus so much on the parts of DID that are more sensationalized in the media.

[lyrefromthesea]

hiii i really love you blind!reader x hashira + Kokushibo 🫶

can you PLEASE write more of blind!reader x Kokushibo? like how they met OR how Kokushibo had “mysteriously” adored the reader after they first met OR how their relationship functions coz she doesn’t know that Kokushibo is a demon???

please and thank you so much 🙏 more grace and power to you

Kokushibo - Behind poisonous trees

author's note: i just received the notification that i've reached over 25 thousand hearts. thank you all for appreciating my work like this.

pairing: Kokushibo x blind!reader

content warning: reader (obviously) is blind, brief mention of blood, reader is described as she/her

he didn't know what led him down the thin path between rows of wisteria trees. demons kept away from the poisonous plants, knowing it could be the death of them, his behavior made no sense.

then again, he wasn't like every other demon. he was strong - the strongest - and had a mind of his own.

the path had been pulling at him, attaching to his sleeve and whispering coaxing words into his ears. he was promised a future if he just followed the mysterious way long enough.

yet he began to wonder after minutes of waiting, what could be at the end of this trail? it wasn't normal for humans to build areas like these - lonely and silent.

the thought consumed him until he saw a glimmer of hope in the distance. the path led to a small estate, clearly of older times. the building stood in the middle of a clearing, fully surrounded by wisteria trees.

the sight made unease spread through his body. this looked like a cage. a trap. a place no demon should visit.

but what intrigued him even more, made curiosity and caution consume him, was the faint scent of a single human being.

a marechi.

his speed picked up the slightest bit, bringing him towards the entrance of the clearing. he hadn't seen it from afar, but the clearing was filled with varieties of flowers.

who had planted them here? different colored waves of flora filled the scenery, letting the clearing look like an ocean.

"who goes there?" he froze, the voice he had heard - barely above a whisper - had been unlike anything he had heard.

soft. harsh. cold. warm. but most importantly - close.

he turned around in the blink of an eye, six eyes focusing on the single human being in front of him.

the human, who looked weirdly weak and still strong, had successfully moved right behind him. he didn't remember the last time someone managed to do that.

a hundred years ago? or maybe a few more. it must've been a strong swordsman who took him by surprise back then, but he couldn't remember his face.

"i asked you a question." the human stated, hand clenching around the stick in hand.

he felt his blood run cold, the woman in front of him wasn't a normal marechi. she looked too different - too similar.

he didn't think he'd be able to remember this face, but now it was all too clear to him.

she reminded him of his former wife.

it wasn't only her face, but also her demeanour. the way she carried herself. only that her eyes looked different - empty.

she almost appeared like she looked past him, as if her eyes observed a different world than his. and when his eyes wandered back to the stick in her hand, it all made sense.

she was blind.

"i did not mean to intrude." he answered, internally questioning himself for what he did. he was supposed to eat her, become stronger - stay the strongest. she was a marechi, if he didn't eat her, another demon would.

but his body remained stiff, his eyes staying on the woman. "i must've gotten lost."

he wasn't lost, he knew the way back. but his voice was betraying him, finding it hard to turn away from the woman.

"you're lost?" she asked, her voice having grown more soft. he watched her look up at the sky, as if she could see the stars wandering along the firmament.

"i see.. come inside, i have a guestroom to spare." he didn't know what brought her to this decision, but she was ready to let him in after just a few words.

perhaps she was brave. perhaps she was naive.

"there's no need, i will surely find my way back." he insisted, feeling the lump in his throat grow. something was holding him back from killing you right then and there.

he didn't understand, he was a demon and you a mere human. he was used to killing his victims with a single slice, watching the blood splatter and the live leave their eyes.

but somehow he couldn't lift a single finger with the intention to hurt you and he slowly came to realize that it wasn't only because of your similarity to his wife.

"i insist, there are demons lurking outside the woods, this is the only place to be safe." you answered, walking towards the small estate without another word. he watched you move with a silent grace lingering around your figure.

you must've walked through this area a hundred times already, as the accuracy of your step was phenomenal in his eyes.

he only snapped out of his quiet fascination when you opened the door, stopping and turning around just so you could face him. "i'll prepare some fresh food."

the invitation was left unanswered, at least no words came to accompany yours. instead his feet dragged him forward without his consent, silently longing for what was to happen next.

he was completely in your ban and he still hadn't noticed.

[love-jelly]

THE VALIDATION.

sypnosis: precious, sweet choso would never ever deny you in any way, always opting to let you do whatever you wanted for your own entertainment and satisfaction, even if it includes giving you his heart and body.

contents: tutor!choso, sub!choso, dom!reader, pet names (choso: cutie, baby, bubs, darling, pretty prince, good boy | reader: mommy), dirty talk, hair pulling (m!receiving), unprotected sex, semi-public sex (does this even count idk), choso is desperate for some puthy (YOUR puthy), overstimulation (m!receiving), praise kink

word count: 1.4k+

a/n: based on this idea by @hotlinemurder ! tysm to maki for blessing my tl with this idea and i hope i did it justice !! hope u enjoy !! minors dni. ageless / blank / minor blogs will be blocked if seen interacting!

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

choso tutors you every wednesday and friday afternoon from twelve pm to two pm every other week in the university library. a timeline you both come up with to nicely accommodate both of your schedules- him with his studies and you with your parties and whatnot. not to say you don’t focus on school, you do, life’s just easier when you can ignore all the pending assignments that are due at 11:59pm and all the teachers that seemingly have it out for you.

but choso is sweet, unnecessarily so even when you try to quietly yawn at his rambling that seems to bounce off the walls of the study room you two rented. even when you start doodling in your notebook, when you’re supposed to be writing down what he’s trying to teach you. life is just more fun when you let go, something you’re sure choso doesn’t know how to do when you don’t show him how to.

choso is a straight-a student and tutor, teaching you topics better than any of your professors on the surface. but when you have him in the palm of your hand, with actions that are only a little suggestive? you’ll surely have him fucking you better than any of them too.

a few taps from the tip of a black pen on your notebook shakes you from your thoughts, choso gazing at you with concern evident in his eyes and a cute frown.

“you do know midterms are two weeks away, right?” the concerned lilt in his tone is cute but not cute enough for you to really care, knowing you would rather be doing anything else than studying calculus four.

you look up and smile apologetically, “sorry, cutie, but partial differentiation of functions is not on my mind right now.”

he blushes softly at the pet name but holds his ground, “but you didn’t come to any lecture last week. these questions are gonna be on the exam, you have to know them.”

you stand up, going behind him to undo the two buns he keeps atop his head, “‘s alright, i have you, don’t i?” the locks of hair unravel like a pretty present as you massage the mop around, evening the spread of his pretty brown hair.

“that’s why i’m trying to teach you right now but you won’t even listen,” he softly whines in slight protest, distracted by the feeling of your fingers combing through his hair.

“i have a better idea- don’t you wanna have fun?” you twist yourself onto his lap, thighs fitting atop his as you straddle him. you twist your hand into a fist to garner a hold of his hair, pulling it back to lift his head to expose his pretty wide eyes.

“b-but-” he stammers, moving his head to the side to avoid your eye contact, not sure what excuse to use. you roughly pull his hair again to force him to face you again, a mewl falling from his lips.

you cut him off with a soft voice, “you want me to stop?” you press chaste kisses to his jaw and throat, leaving an especially hard one on his adam’s apple, a soft sigh slipping out from his mouth.

he groans, unable to find an answer in his now-muddled brain. “please-”

precious, sweet choso would never ever deny you in any way, always opting to let you do whatever you wanted for your own entertainment and satisfaction, even if it includes giving you his heart and body.

“please what, baby?” you smile lightly, knowing he would always give into pleasure, give into you. 

“please make me cum,” his usual honeyed, deep voice is exchanged for a separate breathy, higher tone that’s reserved for your ears and your ears alone.

“all you had to say, bubs,” you lightly grind your core to his hardening, twitching cock, that seemingly was begging for some sort of stimulation that could help relieve the hot bubble that was forming in his lower belly.

something between a whine and a groan erupts from choso’s lips as you go in for another kiss, you swallowing up his sounds by connecting your lips.

“we’re in the library, darling. remember to be quiet, ‘kay?” you remind him with a sweet smile as if you weren’t the reason for his loud volume.

he whimpers, “s-sorry, mommy, please-” he chokes out, “c-can i put it in?”

you reach down and pull his cock out of his pants and give it a few jerks. “do you deserve it?”

choso scrunches his face in pleasure, eyes shut and lips wet with both his and your saliva. he manages to open his eyes a bit and breathe out, “yes- yes i do- please?” his brown orbs plead with you for stimulation- for pleasure- for mercy.

“put it in then, show me how desperate you are for me,” his fingers are fumbling around, pushing your skirt up and realizing you’re wearing his favorite lacy violet panties underneath, he groans quietly to himself admiring the wet spot on it for a second. set back on his prior mission, he pushes his cock into your panties, creating a large wet spot as he humps the scratchy material to find pleasure.

“my pretty prince, right? look at you, you just wanna get off, huh? i’ll let you use my pussy- so you better use it well.”

“thank- you, mommy,” he mewls softly before aligning himself with your hole. he quickly shoves it in- catching you off guard, forcing a hiss and moan from your lips that he quickly shuts up with a kiss that you dominate early on.

his hands have you in a vice-like grip that’s sure to leave bruises, holding you a few inches above his own body as his hips uncontrollably rut up into you, balls slapping on your buttcheeks.

“f-fuck- what would your parents say about this, huh? their p-precious little boy so desperate to cum inside of a woman?” you bite his earlobe, moaning directly into it, only serving to make choso’s dick impossibly harder.

“do-don’t-”

“don’t what, bubs? don’t tell your parents? but with how much you c-cum inside me, won’t we have to tell them when we have a b-baby?” you chortle in his ear, his face tinted red from embarrassment but still rutting up into you, desperately searching for release that feels so close with the way you’re clenching around him, still wanting to cum inside you as if it was his lifes goal.

“c-can’t- please- please let me cum inside.” he nearly sobs, his orgasm feeling like it’s approaching.

“don’t stop, don’t stop. you’re doing so so good for me, bubs. keep going- just a bit more, you’re almost there, baby,” you whisper into his ear, keenly aware of the effect your words have on him.

“please, please, please- let me-” 

“you wanna cum? you wanna cum in me? give your parents a grandbaby? you want that huh- you want your parents to know what a dirty whore you are for wet pussy- my wet pussy? come, come inside me.” your filthy words spill out of your mouth and into his flushed ear like whispers of an eternal bliss in hell.

a chain of “yes”s leave his lips in needy murmurs as he nears his climax. his thrusts into you become shorter and sloppier as you hug him closer, quieting your own moans by putting forth effort in marking up his neck.

a long, languid moan is ripped out from choso’s chest with his hips still rutting into you, albeit slower now, steadily fucking his cum into you, although his cock is still semi-hard. “let me- let me make you cum, please?”

you breathily laugh, “keep fucking me, baby, i’m almost there.”

choso continues his actions through strained movements, overstimulating himself, still roughly but quietly moaning through his own pain and pleasure. pulling you closer and staring at your pretty face filled with pleasure, he seems to be mesmerized by every feature on your face that contorts to prove that you were finding as much bliss in this as he is.

“fuck, i’m close, baby. gonna make me cum? make me cum,” choso quickens his pace, grunting in exertion. with a hand slapped over your mouth to hold back your shriek, you cum, spasming around his cock. fucking you through your orgasm, choso whines. he was so focused on making you cum that he didn’t realize he was nearing his second orgasm and with one last thrust into you, he spills a second load into you.

“good boy, choso. you did so well,” your validation makes him feel tingles all around his stomach, butterflies awakening in his stomach.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

if you enjoyed this, please reblog and/or consider following me!

a/n: honestly i hate this n i felt like it was WAY too fast paced. BUT i promised a fic so here's one amidst my busy schedule :') life stop fucking me in the ass when :/ thank you for reading !!!

[lostyesterday]

I’ve been thinking about disabled protagonists in Star Trek recently, which got me thinking about Seven of Nine. It’s interesting because I’m almost certain the writers of Voyager did not intend to write a disabled character, but they ended up accidentally writing one anyway, and one whose arc I find surprisingly compelling as a disabled person myself. Seven is dependent on electronic devices both inside her body and external to it in order to survive and she requires regular medical treatment and specialized adaptations to her environment in order to function. She is absolutely canonically disabled (as are all the other ex-Borg in Star Trek), even if the writers probably weren’t aware of that. The major reason that I think Seven’s arc resonates with me so much is because it reflects a deep tension between independence and dependence that is a fundamental and complex part of so many disabled people’s lives.

To be disabled is to be deeply aware at all times of your own dependence on external things (such as wheelchairs, canes, medications, etc.) and other people. At the same time, to be disabled is to also be deeply aware of the societal standards of independence and self-sufficiency you are constantly failing to live up to. You cannot do things that people are “supposed” to be able to do independently. You need help for basic tasks, and you have no choice but to trust that these external supports you are dependent on will not suddenly disappear, causing you to be unable to participate in society at all. It’s difficult to express to someone who hasn’t experienced it how much being disabled forces someone to consider their own level of dependence and independence constantly, how it becomes a deep part of one’s identity and can often be a source of trauma.

Seven’s arc on Voyager is often focused on the nature of individuality, but it is interesting how often “individuality” becomes a stand-in for independence. Seven’s disability makes her deeply dependent on the crew and resources of Voyager for survival. She could theoretically leave and use her own skills to do maintenance on her implants and install an alcove somewhere to keep herself functioning, but it would be a great risk, and her safety would be constantly in doubt. At the same time, Seven hates this dependence. She tries to rely on other people as little as possible, hating her need for the Doctor to diagnose issues with her implants and refusing to ask for help until she has no other choice. She hates this dependence because she sees it as challenging her ability to become a complete “individual” who is able to make her own autonomous choices. She hates this dependence because it forces her to rely on other people who could at any time abandon her or abuse their power over her.

So it’s far less frightening to pretend this dependence doesn’t exist, to hide it even from herself. Seven’s arrogance in her own abilities, her focus on her intellect and vast knowledge and superior physical abilities are in many ways genuine, especially early on. But at what point does this confidence in her own abilities – this reassurance that she is smart enough and strong enough to control her own destiny and be a true individual – become a coping mechanism to deal with the reality of her dependence on objects and people outside of her direct control?

Seven is told often by members of the Voyager crew that being an individual who makes her own choices and decisions is what she should strive for. And at the same time, those same people often exert control over her, attempting to restrict her autonomy. Janeway or the Doctor tell her that they know better than her what her needs are – that being an individual only goes so far. Seven’s anger at this contradiction is one of my favorite parts of her character, partially because it captures a similar feeling of anger deep inside me when I think about the ways society constantly pressures disabled people to maintain standards of independence impossible to live up to while at the same time deeply restricting our autonomy and freedom.

In the episode “Imperfection”, Seven says that what she wants most is to be useful. To be useful is to be a valuable part of society – someone who is self-sufficient and talented and certainly not deeply dependent on other people for basic survival. To be disabled is to have society constantly demand that you be useful, that you be independent and strong and never let your disabilities limit you. And at the same time, to be disabled is to discover over and over that you can never be that fully autonomous, fully functional human being seen as ideal in society. No matter what you do – no matter how far you run from the truth – it’s an impossible reality to escape.

[fariesoiree]

Reader and Sukuna in a fitting room rating the compression shirts he picked out : p

hi anon my love this is long overdue BUT i said i would do it ik i lied once but sukuna is actually difficult for me boooo. i am not lying when i say i struggle with him specifically but characterization is soooo difficult it’s an entire process

anyway past the sob story onto the request! this is done with suburbia sukuna in mind. he has his own fully built universe that i hope to explore more :D feel free to ask about that!! okay request fr below the cut. mdni minors stay away or m calling your parents.

sukuna is supposedly off limits. it’s more of a unspoken rule than anything. if it wasn’t unspoken, you doubt you’d be the only one trying to get unscheduled one on one time with him. even if it was spoken though, there’s a big chance you’d still be seated here now, watching in faux boredom as sukuna pulls yet another shirt off his body.

you’re not supposed to be here. well, you are just not here. you’re supposed to be strolling the shops of the malls, in search of something fitting for nobara’s birthday, something as extravagant as she’d like. it’s just sheer coincidence that you ran into sukuna, at least that’s what you’d tell them.

it doesn’t really matter what megumi or nobara or even yuji thinks. neither of them knows what it feels like to have secret rendezvous with the untouchable. you’ve taken a bite of the forbidden fruit. it would be insane to ask you to put it down, now.

it’s one of your more tame interactions though, so at least you have something to stand on. granted, most of your cognitive function is focused on not gaping like a fish every time his muscles ripple and flex across his form.

“i don’t like that one. it makes you look like a whore.” it’s two short sentences but it’s all you can manage to maintain your little bit of sanity. it’s all the same when sukuna isn’t facing you. he couldn’t possibly read your expression when he’s too busy staring at his own in the mirror.

you can see him though. you can see him and the way his pink lips twitch in a half assed smile. the navy blue compression shirt goes right back in the hanger with the white tag dangling, taunting you of your actual quest. you can see the quirk in his eyebrow before he can utter a word.

“that’s my goal. can’t get more bitches under my belt without a little bait.” all sukuna has to do is cast you one of those over the shoulder glances to turn your insides into mush. he gives off the impression that he knows, with the way his tongue goes to swipe glossed saliva across the soft plains. “don’t it take one to know one?”

by the time your big brown eyes have rolled to the edges of your head and back again, sukuna has already crossed the space between you, tender hand resting on your skin, smoothened with coco butter lotion and vanilla scented body oil. his hand runs up your calf, reaching the edges of your denim skirt. if his all-knowing grin doesn’t tip you off, it would be the tightening of his fingertips around you.

if you were anywhere else, perhaps you would be more enticed to get lost in the inferno his touch leaves your nerves feeling but this is reality, and in reality, he’s snuck you into the dressing room just to show off his physique. it forces you, to instead of being spontaneous and going with the flow, to chide him in a mutter and plant your hands firmly on his chest.

“no. no, ‘kuna this is a bad idea. you don’t need me to tell you that.” your move to turn your cheek towards him does nothing to deter him. your lips weren’t his goal, anyway. rather, sukuna seems perfectly content attaching his lips to your neck to leave behind an array of bruises.

you feel more than you hear it, the rush of air past your ear when he scoffs. sukuna has made himself hovering in the spot between your legs, one knee bent and wedged sandal atop the bench. “oh, it’s a bad idea, is it? don’t want poor yuji findin’ out. what would he think? his good friend, his best friend, chumming it up with me, his dear old brother.” he leans away just enough for a breath of space between you. his pink hair brushes against your forehead as sukuna tilts his head. his eyes shine with mischief but his grip is all the same. “you never complain until it suits you. big fuckin’ baby.”

you’d like to think your efforts work, particularly when sukuna discards you and replaces the object of his attention for yet another shirt on the rack of possibilities. he’s already clicked his tongue and moved on from your conversation while you’re still attempting to defend your honor in a single breath. “just because i have ethics doesn’t make me a baby.” your foot meets the floor in a soft clunk! and you sort out the bunched up material of your skirt.

your words make him laugh, a sound vibrating through his chest and out his body. “ethics, huh? where were you ethics last week? ‘sukuna can you come over? the power went out and i can’t fix it. sukuna i’m so lonely. i’m so bored. i’m so—’ what djd you say? something about your parents not being home. i can’t quite remember.”

“oh my god, shut up.” hearing your own words, although in a much deeper timbre, stirs up an embarrassment so overwhelming, your hands fly to cover your face. “you make it sound like a bad porno.” you’re no stranger to the heat creeping up your neck and spreading that warmth throughout your cheeks.

“should’ve been. i don’t think you could fake that, though. which one do you think will get me the most bitches? blue or black?” sukuna phrases it like it’s some passing thought. it’s a casual conversation to him. your sexual endeavors are normalized and he speaks of it as you don’t have to sneak behind your mutuals.

“black.” the decision falls from your lips before you have time to contemplate it. it’s not an entire lie. it’s just . . . not the best option. he didn’t ask that, though. sukuna asked what would get him the most bitches. he didn’t ask for your exact, and quite personal, opinion. perhaps you were doing him a favor is steering him away from a blue so deep it made his eyes shine. “and hopefully now you’ll get enough attention and leave me alone.”

sukuna scoffs again and shakes his head. pink hair tosses atop his head and he looks back at you again, a familiar smile playing on his lips. “you’re the one that needs to leave me alone.”

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Can I request Demiurge, Sebas, and Albedo (Overlord) with a Supreme Being reader that's fallen asleep on their lap?

Falling Asleep on Their Laps | Yandere Overlord

As the Flower of Nazarick all the power you have, it has no limits as someone who doesn’t need the rules to thrive it also means you don’t have a real gauge for your energy. Considered more of a divine trainee of a Supreme Being all of Nazarick take it upon themselves to help you in whatever way they can. Especially since Ainz himself prioritizes you so does all of Nazarick and everyone in this world that is graced by your presence. So when you begin to drift to sleep they’ll gladly be your pillow after all what better purpose could they serve to you than the Flower of Nazarick:

Demiurge

“You can count on me, (Y/n).”

With a tail dangerously itching to wag 

he watches as your eyes get heavy and your speech slurs dribble into the soft breaths of a sleeping supreme being

Because of Ainz’s trust in him, he has been tasked with helping you hone your power 

Specifically holding back 

But since you’re so unfamiliar with combat and your limits you were bound to tire yourself out

What was supposed to be a break turns into a full-blown nap 

One that Demiurg will protect with his life 

He’s frankly going to behead whoever enters without it being a guardian or Ainz 

Even the Pleiades aren’t safe

Ainz forbid Yuri or Solution come to retrieve you gathering that you are sleepy by now 

They’ll either have to dodge or endure the force of Demiurge’s tail that meticulously strikes for their mere interruption

This is his time with you

Training or not

He resists the urge to caress your face but he’s not Albedo…

He can resist

“I devoted myself to your rest (Y/n)-sama. I couldn’t bear to disrupt your rejuvenation.”

Sebas Tian

“My Flower…please rest.”

Too many times does he see the unhardened heart you have in contrast to Ainz so it seems

So Innocent 

So untainted he sees why the world they’re in adores the very ground you hover over 

You’re perfect

And he honestly considers himself almost unworthy to have you rest on him

His legs may get tired or even be weighed down by the weight of your head but he would have never given this up

“I’m unworthy but I am your tool oh Flower of Nazarick. Rest easy.”

Albedo

‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA~ My supreme being is sleeping!~'

She refuses to disturb your slumber with words she might want to say 

But that doesn’t stop her other bodily functions

Her wings will flap excitedly 

Her face will be overtaken by her smile

And her body’s temperature will rise exponentially 

She’ll naturally try to use as much of her body as possibly 

Slowly sliding her now ungloved hands on your face

Your nose

Your lips 

This is just perfect!!!!

Her Ainz-sama doesn’t sleep so she never gets this opportunity

But with you, she can almost feel everything

If you’re not a light sleeper it's best to assume she’s exploring you and committing your measurements to memory

If she’s feeling particularly confident she might just take you to her bedroom

Or even better in Ainz’s unused room 

sniffing  your head as she imagines Ainz being with you both

“My Flower~! My (Y/n)~! Ah~! Your slumber is an immaculate gift for me to overindulge!”

[gideonisms]

modern au meet-cute where gideon calls harrow her nicknames because she doesn't know harrow's name and is too afraid to ask

all right so I struggled to come up with nicknames, but hopefully the meet-cute bit makes up for it. This one also got kind of long

The girl is sitting cross-legged on Gideon’s favorite dryer in the laundry room when Gideon first sees her. Her first thought is: what the hell, now how am I supposed to dry my clothing? It’s not that they don’t have other dryers here. It’s just that the others either leave her clothing too damp, or smell extensively of wet dog. And Gideon has things to do.

Her next thought is: what the hell, she’s perfect.

Because the girl is perfect. Before this, Gideon couldn’t say she had one particular type, but as she looks at the miniature thrift-store goth in front of her, with her five different layers of black clothing, huge fuckoff boots, and grown-out buzz cut, she has to admit that the effect is both intimidating and extremely cool. That it’s working for the girl in a way it never worked for Gideon back when she’d had a brief goth phase.

The girl’s eyes are closed, body still. As though she’s waiting for something. Her lashes are dark against her cheeks.

“Um,” Gideon says eloquently. The girl does not respond. “Hello?” Nothing. Does she have earbuds in?

Gideon steps closer, and that’s when the girl’s body sways forwards, right into Gideon’s waiting chest. She smells kind of sweaty, and she’s warm as a fever. Gideon’s heart starts pounding. Is the girl dying? Gideon doesn’t know how to fix that.

“Hello, Morticia? Can you wake up for me?”

The girl’s eyes blink open. They’re extremely large and dark, and that’s probably why Gideon just stares down at her stupidly. But then they focus on Gideon. The girl’s eyebrows draw down immediately, and she shoves Gideon back, almost toppling off the dryer in her haste to get down on her own.

“Leave me alone!” she says.

“Okay. Sorry, it just seemed like you were having some kind of cri—”

“I am fine,” the girl says very definitely. She grabs her phone, which is lying on the table in the middle of the room, and hastily exits before Gideon can even ask her name. She leaves a bunch of cheap, badly-dyed black jeans in Gideon’s favorite dryer, too. Well, damp clothing it is.

At the coffee shop where Gideon works, she’s having a normal one. She greets the usual crowd from the university—there’s a twinge of pain in her knee whenever she thinks about the soccer scholarship she’ll never get there now. Anyway, the girls from the university are always very nice to Gideon. They ask her about herself, how long she’s worked here, what she likes to do on the weekends. Sometimes they look at her askance but later slide their numbers to her on a napkin. One even tried to get Gideon to come to a church function; Gideon thinks she would have killed it at the potluck, but she had a workout scheduled with Cam that afternoon. The guys either call her “dude” or don’t speak to her except to order.

This is the type of day Gideon has come to expect, and everything runs along the same well-worn track, with a brief appearance from Pyrrha, who turns on cheesy love songs on the store radio and shamelessly flirts with every mom who comes in until Gideon can only roll her eyes and tell her to stop stealing all the tips.

Even then, Gideon’s heart isn’t really in it. She has the vague sense that she’s running through the motions, living the life of the person named Gideon Nav because that’s the one she knows how to live.

Until around six PM, when The Girl walks in. Gideon had been starting to wonder if she’d dreamed the whole encounter, if her mind had conjured a beautiful goth girl out of sheer boredom. But no, there she is in the flesh.

She doesn’t look like she’s doing any better than last time, if Gideon’s being honest. Her boots are caked in mud, and she struggles to open the door. As she approaches the counter, she shivers even though the day is barely chilly. This time she is wearing headphones, big boxy ones with a visible wire that she keeps twisting through her fingers. She takes them off when she steps up in front of Gideon, distracted.

“Oh hey! You’re that goth bitch from before! The one on my dryer.”

The girl’s gaze immediately sharpens. Gideon could swear that she flushes darker.

“What are you doing here?” she snaps.

“Uh.” Gideon looks around. “I work here?”

“It’s not your dryer. It belongs to the complex.”

“Yes it is! It’s the one I always use. It’s my dryer.”

Gideon is beginning to think this whole conversation was a mistake.

“Well,” says the girl slowly. She’s staring Gideon down like she might kill and eat her, which is kind of doing it for Gideon. “When I’m sitting on it, it is in fact, my dryer. You can find your own.”

“Whatever you say, dryer despot.”

“Do you normally talk to customers like this?”

“Lord of the laundry.”

At that, the girl gives her one more withering glare, which suggests that not only is Gideon beneath her, but that she can’t even deign to continue a conversation with such an imbecile, then sweeps away. But not out the door, as Gideon expects. Instead, she sits down at a table.

For about ten minutes, she glares at the table like she wants it dead too. Or maybe she’s spacing out?

Gideon starts to ask her if she’s going to order anything, because at this point, she’s a bit worried the girl might pass out again, but then the girl pulls out her phone and starts typing rapidly. After about thirty minutes of this mysterious typing, she stands up and exits the building without fanfare.

Gideon doesn’t know what her problem is. But more importantly, she still doesn’t know her name.

“No, hang on,” Gideon says. “You’ve lost me again. I’m seeing an ashwaganda and I’m seeing a thething, but I’m not seeing them both together.”

“L-Theanine,” Palamedes says over the phone. “It’s a supplement meant to improve focus. Your grocery store might not have it, I just thought I’d ask.”

“No, I’ll keep looking,” Gideon says, although it’s late enough the people at the store might kick her out soon. “How is Dulcie doing, anyway? Does she need some soup too? Some chicken nuggets? I don’t know what people like when they’re sick.”

Palamedes might be laughing. “Perks of being Gideon Nav,” he says drily. “Anyway, it’s just the flu this time. She had it all checked. But you know how she is. She’ll want to keep working on the dissertation through it. Says she knows what being at death’s door feels like, and it isn’t this.”

Gideon hums sympathetically. She doesn’t really know what to say. She doesn’t have a lot of experience either being sick, dying, or caring for people who are sick. Recent events notwithstanding.

Gideon did almost die once, as a baby, but she hardly thinks that counts. What’s a little carbon monoxide poisoning when faced with a future strong, handsome lesbian? Although sometimes, she thinks it might be the reason she wakes sad for no reason in the early hours of the morning, as though her body is remembering the time everything almost ended.

“Oh, Cam wants me to relay a message. She says she’s going to, and I quote ‘kick your ass at Scrabble this weekend.’”

“I have work,” Gideon says absently. “I switched shifts with the new girl. She had to take off to take her weird dog to the vet.”

Palamedes is saying something about future plans, a topic Gideon has always struggled with, and Gideon gets this feeling again, like she’s gone missing in her own life.

And there in front of her, like an omen, The Girl appears. She just rounds the corner with a boxcutter in hand, running her finger along the catch over and over rhythmically. Her eyes are huge and dark and unfocused. Somehow, she looks more real than everything around her, like a dark ink blot over an aging photo.

In her other hand is a small box of cosmetics. They’re not in the aisle for cosmetics.

“Oh,” Gideon says, “It’s you.”

And then she stares stupidly. The girl seriously doesn’t look good—she’s had an air of malnourishment any time Gideon has seen her, but today, she’s practically swaying on her feet. On one side, her eyeliner is jagged. Gideon can’t tell if it was intentional.

“Yes,” Palamedes says on the other end of the line, baffled. “It’s still me. Does Thursday work, because Cam has clinicals on—”

“Look, I’m going to have to call you back, Sex Pal,” she says, and hangs up.

“Sex Pal?” the girl says in apparent disgust. “Is that really what you call your hookups?”

“Hang on—it’s not like that!” But Gideon’s protests are futile. In front of her, the strangest person Gideon knows, this unlikely bit of theatre in a world that has largely abandoned the stage, tips gently into a shelf of protein powders—and then she passes out.

When the girl comes to, it hasn’t been more than ten seconds. Gideon caught her before she could do any real damage. She wonders if she should call an ambulance. She’s halfway to shifting the girl’s weight so she can reach for her phone again, looking around for any other employees, when she feels a surprisingly strong grip on her arm.

The girl’s gaze snaps up to Gideon’s face, then to her arms, then to the tank top she’s wearing, which says #shredicated underneath the slogan for Gideon’s gym.

She narrows her eyes in confusion. “What does that even mean?”

“I’m dedicated to shredding. Why else would you keep passing out in my arms?”

The girl immediately tries to sit up, but loses her battle with gravity.

“Okay, seriously,” Gideon says. “I’m calling the ambulance. You don’t seem okay.”

The girl’s grip tightens, her short, black-painted nails digging into Gideon’s forearm.

“You will not call the ambulance, moron. Why do you think I’m working here? Does it look like I can afford to miss the rest of my shift?”

“Not really,” Gideon admits. “But it kind of seems like you’re about to miss the rest of your life, so.”

She digs the phone out of the pocket of her shorts. On her lap, the girl twitches in a futile attempt to grab it from her. Gideon puts her hand around the girl’s wrist to hold her back, and holy shit, it’s so easy to wrap her fingers around the whole thing. The girl’s pulse pounds. Her wrist is way too warm. But she stops struggling. She just looks up at Gideon.

“All right, my discount duchess. We’re gonna get you taken care of.”

For a second, Gideon thinks the girl is going to protest again. But she just says, nonsensically,

“Harrow.”

“What?” Gideon pauses in the act of dialing.

“That’s my name. Harrow.” She points to her nametag, which actually says Harrowhark in a slanting, hurried script.

Gideon forgets to dial. She forgets everything about their surroundings. Because now the girl, Harrow, is blinking up at her with something like trust. It makes Gideon stupid. She feels like she’s holding the life of some very small, very helpless baby bird in her hands, and she’s terrified she’s going to fuck it all up.

“Don’t call the ambulance. Please. Just—I know what this is. I need—” She looks away to glare at the side of a protein powder cannister as though it’s personally offended her. Gideon falls a little bit in love. “I need sleep,” she finally says. “And water. Probably food.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Gideon says.

The girl sits up slowly and glares at Gideon too. “Well? Are you going to bring me water? Please,” she tacks on again reluctantly at the end.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

Gideon brings Harrow water. She brings her a box of saltine crackers. And she brings her a protein shake which she doubts Harrow will actually drink, but she can hope. As Harrow nibbles on the crackers, she seems to gain vitality. At least, she goes from looking like roadkill to looking like someone who would take roadkill home and examine the skeleton.

Finally, Harrow looks up at Gideon in sincerity. “Thank you,” she says, only once.

“Gideon,” Gideon blurts out.

“What?”

“My name is Gideon.”

Harrow blinks slowly. “Thank you, Gideon.”

Gideon’s whole chest constricts like she’s in some kind of melodrama. She feels like she’d go slay dragons if Harrow wanted her to. Maybe it is just her need to be useful to someone, like Cam once said when they were both drunk, but Gideon thinks she wants to maybe pledge herself to Harrow forever.

“Mhmm,” she says.

“Now,” says Harrow, “I need you to help me up. I’m going to take an early lunch. We’re avoiding a nondescript man in a grey button-up, by the way,” she informs Gideon as Gideon helps her to her feet and walks with her to the back. “He’ll only start telling me stories about his troubled youth as a struggling freelancer. I don’t have the time. I need to study.”

“Noted. Avoiding guys who look like freelancers.”

When they reach the double doors to the back room, Gideon almost follows Harrow in, but Harrow stops her with a hand.

“You. Stay here,” she commands, which does funny things to Gideon’s stomach? Oh hell, Gideon might as well find out some more new things about herself tonight.

“Like, until you’re done with lunch break?”

“No.” Harrow looks at her as though she’s an idiot. “I mean, I am going to go about my evening. And you should go back home. I’ve troubled you enough.”

“It’s no trouble. I mean, gotta make sure you don’t faint on me again. It doesn’t really seem like your coworkers give a shit. Harrow, are you studying during the day and working here at night?”

Harrow’s expression tightens. “It is none of your business.”

“It’s my business when you faint into my arms.”

At this, Harrow does actually blush, Gideon is sure of it. She gets all annoyed about it too, scrunching her face up in outrage. “I didn’t purposefully faint into your arms! Yours were just the arms that were there at the times I fainted.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Harrow makes to turn around and leave Gideon behind.

“Wait, I—look.” She holds out her hand. “Give me your phone.”

To Gideon’s astonishment, Harrow gives her the phone. Gideon quickly opens up the contacts app and types her number in.

“I’m going to leave now. But you’re gonna text me when you get back home safe.”

Harrow raises an eyebrow. “Why should I text you? We live at the same complex. Come see for yourself. Building nine, number nine. Nine AM.”

“Are you inviting me over?”

Harrow looks her up and down. The look is brief, but comprehensive. Gideon can feel it in her spine.

“Your choice,” Harrow says.

Later, when Gideon is lying awake in bed, she’ll wonder about choice, about coincidence, about the unlikeliness of anyone ever meeting anyone, about why she lived long enough to become herself instead of dying before she could ever keep beautiful girls from hitting their heads.

But in the earliest hours of the morning, she receives a text from an unknown number. The text is a single word.

Home.

Yeah, Gideon thinks. Maybe she is, after all.

[phantasmiac]

dabi who has no concept of having loving sex until he meets you

tw/cw: smut (mdni), afab!reader, soft dom!dabi, mentions of bdsm, one allusion to prostitution (not reader)

wc: 0.6k

a/n: thought i’d always be too embarrassed to write anything sexually explicit and i AM 🤧

dabi who’s always gotten off to watching sadistic, hardcore bdsm porn and is completely unfamiliar with the concept of sex that means something. i know there’s a whole debate on whether or not he’s a virgin but in my head he’s had his fair share of hook ups with random people he’s met in sketchy places, maybe even coughed up some money during times he was especially horny, pent up and desperate.

and then he meets you and suddenly his dick doesn’t twitch at the sight or even the thought of his hand wrapped around your throat or his belt keeping your hands tied up behind your back? it confuses him because he knows he’s attracted to you, so why isn’t his body reacting the way it’s supposed to? you notice his dilemma, and his definition of fucking hasn’t exactly been doing it for you either. it was alright the first few times, when the sexual tension was at an all time high and you were eager to have him in any way you could; but now you just feel empty, even when he’s balls deep inside you.

he’s very hesitant when you suggest taking things at a slower, more intimate pace. stiff as a board (just not in the right area) when you take the lead at first, gently kissing down his torso and lacing your fingers through his. but then it’s his turn to be on top. “take your time”, you remind him, hands cradling his face as you guide him down your body. you take his scarred, motionless hands and cup them around your tits. and even though he’s skeptical about this whole thing, he’s willing to learn and try it out if it means getting his dick to function around you again. you nod at the confusion in his eyes that makes him look oh so innocent, encouraging him to go ahead and touch you.

he circles his thumbs around the buds, slowly. gives them gentle licks, slowly. all while keeping his eyes locked on the pretty little face that had his pants all tight before he actually got you in bed for the first time. he doesn’t know whether to blame it on the way your lips part or the broken affirmations that leave them; maybe it’s the way they’re left all red and bruised after you pull them by your teeth, or the way your eyelashes flutter all seductively to expose the hearts in your eyes when you look back at him from above. maybe it’s all of it. all of it has him more than just hard; it already has him leaking pre cum. it’s fucking embarrassing, how he’s made a mess while just mouthing at a pair of tits. but even more embarrassing is the way he ruts against the mattress at the sight of the pleasure written all over your face while he eats you out; slowly, until he can’t take it any longer and starts lapping at your cunt like a man starved.

before you, dabi had never thought to press kisses down someone’s thighs or to their clit. never cared to ask if he was making them feel good; a stark contrast to the way he demands to hear your moans and affirmations. to hear that he’s making you feel good. he could have easily fucked every person in the country without asking to see their face, but grips your chin to force you to look at him so he doesn’t miss a single one of your expressions. if there’s an after you, whether it be after a breakup or a falling out, dabi falls right back into his old habits. because dabi is a sadomasochist; he’ll treat anyone like shit and enjoy it, whether it be emotionally, physically, mentally or sexually; anyone but you.

a/n ii: i don’t think smut will become a regular thing on this blog i’ve just always had this interpretation of dabi and i had to let the world know

[agentarc]

i’m just gonna bite the bullet and post a wip of this fox whump fic i’m cooking

important background info: quinlan is undercover as a maintenance tech for senate droids, and he’s concealing his tattoos via makeup

also i’m genuinely always trying to improve my writing so constructive criticism is welcome

content warning for graphic panic attack and self harm by way of exacerbating injury — please let me know if there’s anything i missed

(also also hi if you like this and you’re in a clone trooper discord please invite me im dying to be social in the clone trooper fandom)

His quarters are on this floor — Fox is reasonably sure — but the distance his feet must carry him to get there stretches and warps until it may as well be a parsec away.

A good soldier would weather the storm and march on. A functioning clone wouldn’t struggle to expand his lungs, put one foot in front of the other, and navigate to his own quarters. Fox is not a functioning clone. Fox is hardly even a soldier.

He must abort mission. He will not make it to his office. He lurches for the nearest door. The keypad flashes red at him.

His knees wobble, and he’s supposed to be a soldier, a marshal commander; he’s knees don’t wobble. His knees can’t wobble, not when he needs to stand steady and lead the Guard; not when his brothers are depending on him to keep them safe. Not when his entire existence hinges on his ability to contribute. Not when he needs to face the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic and pretend he’s in full functioning order when he’s constantly grasping at the fraying edges of control. Fox doesn’t know if he’ll come back when the threads fly apart.

Time does something funny and Fox is on his knees. The keypad sparks and sizzles. The door remains tightly sealed.

“Commander?”

The world slams to a stop. His eyes fly open — when had he closed them? He’s too vulnerable, it’s not safe to fall apart here, he can’t — and a natborn human is hovering at the hallway junction, 20 steps away.

They take a half-step in his direction, and Fox doesn’t have enough control to mask his full-bodied flinch. He knows the natborn sees it because they instantly freeze, raising both their hands in a display of easy surrender.

“I’m not gonna hurt you. I just want to help.” Movements measured and slow, they lower their hands until they’re relaxed at their sides, palms facing out. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Fox can’t. Can’t push words through his teeth, can’t steady his hands, can’t take a full breath — can’t choke back the strangled noise that builds in the back of his throat —

It’s like his armor is see-through, all his cracks on full display, his skin flayed open for the natborn and the vode and all the little gods to feast. It’s not safe. He needs — he needs —

Thorn, he signs desperately, the shape of his brother’s name mangled by tremors. His fingers aren’t listening, but natborns don’t know battlesign anyway, so what’s the point? Fox is well and truly going to die. Fox is going to shake apart right here on the floor of the hallway, his heart is going to smash through his ribs, and the Chancellor will have been right about him all along. Fox is going to die and it won’t even be in the glory of battle, protecting his brothers like he’s meant to, like he wants to. Fox is going to die, and he is going to die an embarrassment; a failure to the Republic and a failure to his brothers.

“Commander,” someone says, and Fox’s attention snaps back to the stranger so fast that it rends a shock of pain through his skull. They have not come closer, but they could have — could have slid up and pricked him with a hypo or put a blaster to his head, and at this range the bolt would zip through his bucket like wet flimsi, and Fox isn’t paying enough attention, this place isn’t safe —

“My name’s Quin. I’m a maintenance tech,” the stranger continues from the junction. They speak firmly, but soft enough that their voice doesn’t echo. “You’re at Guard headquarters, on level 83, maintenance hall 7B, and you’re safe. I think you’re having a panic attack.” Their hands are still visible, but their arms are positioned in a way that suggests they had just used their commlink — to call whom? Maintenance techs don’t usually have direct lines to upper command, who did he call — “You were trying to get into that storage closet, right? I’m going to come closer and open it for you, okay?”

Fox expects them to start approaching, and he flinches reflexively, his body wound tight enough to snap right in half, but the stranger doesn’t move, yet. They watch Fox carefully, though Fox can’t make out the features of their face through his blackening vision.

He shudders through the concentrated wrongness knotted in his chest, eyeing the stranger as would a cornered, dying animal.

It’s perhaps desperation, perhaps the stranger’s disarming words, or perhaps a result of Fox having fully lost his mind that leads him to nod, once.

Only then does the stranger cautiously begin their approach, step after measured step, both their hands loose and empty and visible — a human man, Fox finally notes through the haze of his malfunction — and Fox tracks his movements as he smoothly glides into Fox’s bubble.

Fox cannot move, will not flex a single muscle, because if he does, he knows he will die. He thinks his trachea may be collapsing, gripped by some invisible force —

He jolts against phantom hands (you must stop struggling, Commander) that exist and don’t in equal measure (hold still, now) [end this smoothly, god i can’t be bothered rn]

“Almost got it,” the stranger says from somewhere above him, and Fox inhales sharply, shallowly; the exhale punches out of him with a low keening whine. It could have been seconds or cycles but eventually the man backs off in one casual, languid movement, and the door to the storage closet whooshes open.

Fox all but tumbles inside. He vaguely thinks he should be embarrassed, but as he presses his shoulders into a corner and lets his head hang between his knees, he figures that he deserves a death just as pitiful and undignified as his life was.

The trill of an incoming comm — not his own, because the Chancellor insists he not bring it to their meetings — has him whipping his head back up to attention. The man has stayed behind in the hall, standing off to one side of the open doorway. He raises his wrist comm and a bolt of terror lances through Fox at the reminder that he called someone.

“This is Commander Thorn. What’s going on?”

Fox could cry, and he probably is.

“Commander Fox is in distress. He’s safe, but I think he hurt his hand. We’re in storage closet 83-7B-A113.”

His hand? Fox flexes it and gasps with a detached sort of surprise at the burst of sensation. He hears swearing and shuffling from the other line.

“I’ll be there in 10. Do not touch him, and do not let anyone else approach.”

Fox chokes on a sob. Thorn is coming. It’s going to be okay. Thorn is coming.

“Of course.” The man signs off, but Fox isn’t watching anymore. Thorn is coming.

“Hey, Commander Fox? I’m gonna leave the door open, ‘cause the mechanism’s kind of messed up and I don’t want it locking on you.” A brief rustle of fabric, and, “I’m just gonna keep watch until Thorn gets here, yeah? I’ll head anyone else off.”

When Fox risks a glance at the doorway, the man is no longer within sight. Alarm and relief flood him in equal parts — eyes on all threats at all times, trooper, you’re not out of this yet — but despite his lack of visual on the stranger, he’s finally and blessedly alone in the storage closet.

He paws at his bucket until he remembers he will almost certainly die if he takes it off, and curls his fingers around the edge of his cuirass instead. If it weren’t for the hard plastoid, he thinks he’d sink his fingers into his chest to still his thundering heart himself. Maybe preventing it from racing around would fix him. Maybe it would kill him. Either option is preferable to the way dread creeps into every corner of his mind, every organ and limb, buzzing like holo static in his hands as they scrabble at his armored chest.

A renewed shock of feeling from his right hand abruptly pulls the world into stark contrast. It aches, maybe, behind and underneath the layers of wrongness, a single shred of reality, and he closes his fist to feel the sparks again and again.

It’s not pain — not quite. It wants to be, but Fox’s nerve endings are misfiring, severing themselves from his synapses as his body corrupts. It’s starbursts of sensation that sear through an impenetrable, suffocating fog; clashes of a cymbal to accompany the percussion of his heart and the unfaltering hum of the fluorescent lights above.

Fox understands pain, but he doesn’t understand this. He understands pain for the lessons it can teach, but he is failing to learn this lesson. He’s not sure this is pain at all. Pain is getting caught outside of cover and taking a blaster bolt to the gut, or not being fast-strong-cunning-ruthless enough on the training mats, or failing to dodge the Red Guard’s electrostaff during the Chancellor’s extracurricular lessons. Pain is useful; endurance of pain even more so. A soldier unacquainted with pain can’t function on a battlefield, or learn from critical mistakes, or (gods forbid) tolerate torture without cracking open.

If this is pain, and pain is meant to be some sort of lesson, what lesson is Fox evidentially incapable of learning? Just how defective is he? He squeezes his right hand in his left, lets the pain-not-pain fill his awareness until there’s no room left for this wicked miasma eating him alive.

Suddenly, there are hands on his wrists.

A twisted thing crawls up his throat and tears out through his teeth, and he swings, disoriented, clamoring for a single inch of control in a tumultuous storm. The grip holds fast against his thrashing until Fox abruptly registers the staccato being tapped out on his vambrace. Vod. Vod. Vod.

A brother — Thorn, Thorn is here — hovers before him, the determined set of his shoulders betraying none of the alarm Fox thinks he’d see in his eyes if he had the strength to look. “Fox,” Thorn says, “Fox’ika, I’m here. You’re safe.”

He’s not safe. He’s not, but Thorn is here and whole and keeping the danger away, and that’s not nothing.

“Let’s get your bucket off,” Thorn suggests, and then to the tense breath Fox hisses out in response, “It’s okay; Stone’s outside, he’s keeping watch. It’s safe.” And Fox believes him, because Thorn never lies to him. Thorn tells it like it is.

A snap-hiss, and Thorn gently lifts Fox’s helmet off. Cool air rushes over his face and fills his lungs.

“Good, that’s good. A couple more of those, like this.” Thorn takes a big breath, and Fox tries to copy him but his lungs are broken; the breath he takes is in starts and stops. A strangled whine squeezes out with his exhale. “I know,” Thorn says, “It’ll get easier.”

And it does. Thorn has worked his thumbs between Fox vambraces and blacks, rubbing small circles into his wrists, and it feels like everything. The lighthouse coming into view from out on a choppy sea. The anchor that keeps him tethered to the waking world. The offer of shelter from a vicious storm.

His sense of time is fractured. By the time Fox can inhale and exhale a complete breath it feels as though hours have passed, Thorn murmuring words of encouragement and squeezing gently whenever Fox starts to get sucked back into the fog.

Fox opens his eyes, and Thorn meets it with a smile. “That’s it, vod. I’m right here. Keep breathing.”

Thorn is here. It’s safe. The tension he didn’t realize was holding him together suddenly abates, rushing out of him like debris out an airlock, and he sags forward into Thorn’s waiting arms. Thorn’s free hand comes up to card through Fox’s sweaty curls, the other still encircling Fox’s wrist, as the marshal commander presses his forehead into his brother’s armored chest.

Sorry, Fox signs shakily, but he feels Thorn already shaking his head.

“Don’t you dare. You have nothing to apologize for.” Gently, as though Fox is something deserving of of reverence, Thorn removes Fox’s face from his chest and pulls him into a keldabe. They breathe in sync like this for a long, peaceful moment. “How about we go see Lore and fix your hand, and then have some midmeal in the barracks?” At Fox’s dour expression, Thorn rolls his eyes. “Alright then, let me rephrase. We’re going to medbay, and then having some midmeal in the barracks. You’ll feel better. Think you’re ready to stand?”

Fox thinks he might never be able to stand again. He does, though, and with Thorn’s support, ambles through the threshold of the supply closet. Stone sweeps in to support Fox’s other side.

The stranger is nowhere to be seen.

[sku11s1asher]

hi! i loved what you wrote for my request 😭 it was so cute, i didn't really specify it bc i forgot but yeah u did it amazing <33

and yeah u can totally make a part 2! actually i was thinking about it bc i can imagine a meeting between furina and the natlan archon while neuvi and reader are just giving glances to eachother 😭 reader looking like a total meanace but in his mind like "damn he's handsome" almost burning his cheeks and the seat lmao

neuvillette x m! reader (part 1)

note: ngl i feel like i do good at posting then smth with school pops up and i don’t post for like a month.. sorry y’all. also please tell me im not the only one who’s been on and off sick for the past month, rn i have a runny nose and a sore throat AGAIN. i just got over that like, barely 2 weeks ago.

tw: y/n is a bit of a weirdo with his thoughts since he doesn’t understand anything w/ love, internal homophobia (not really but kinda?), y/n is all over the place

After centuries of fighting, killing, and not showing emotions to anyone, all that can end because of a guy with beautiful long hair. The more y/n thinks about it, the more embarrassed he gets. He’s known for being a fearless and intimidating warrior, just for that whole facade to disappear just over a man out of all things.

This whole scenario came into place because his nation archon just had to have a meeting with Fontaine's archon, Furina, at least y/n thinks that’s her name. The meeting consisted of figuring out how to make the justice system within Natlan better and a way to make transportation easier between the two nations. y/n didn’t pay attention to the little details, he was only there to ‘protect’ his archon and make sure things went smoothly.

However, he didn’t realize that the other archon would be bringing a guest with her until a day before the meeting. It did tick y/n off a little bit that he would get notified so late but does it really matter? All y/n is doing is protecting and making sure everything doesn’t go south.

Well, it did go a bit south, as soon as Furina's guest arrived, y/n's mouth went dry. That man did things to him that he didn’t even know could happen. Maybe it was the long hair on the other man that made y/n feel warm inside, it definitely couldn’t have been the slight scent he had. No, definitely not.

Okay, y/n takes that back, he feels like he’s getting intoxicated by the proximity of the other male. It wasn’t hard to figure out that the guest, was a dragon, all it took was a quick look and a secret deep breath to figure it out. He had it figured out, his body wasn’t used to being by another dragon, and he hadn’t seen one in what, centuries? This feeling would go away in maybe 20 minutes, hopefully.

20 minutes later and y/n feels like he’s going to light the whole place on fire. His whole body feels like it’s melting, and to no one’s surprise, it’s all due to the long-haired man in front of him. The stranger might genuinely be the hottest person y/n has ever seen in his entire life. That long hair makes y/n want to run his fingers through it, maybe brush it, but that might be a bit too much to think about.

Once y/n saw the man look at him, he quickly looked away, how embarrassing.. he got caught staring hardcore. He took a deep breath before listening back into the conversation, “Ah, yes, I suppose it would do both nations good to do something like that. Maybe combining a bit of power.” the lovey talk of archons, always talking about power; like it’s the only thing that matters to them.

Power is important though, y/n is in the position he’s in right now because of how powerful he is. In complete honesty, he’s probably too powerful for his own good, only knowing how to use it to protect his nation from people deemed as enemies; even if they aren’t in the public eye. Power rules everything at the end of the day, nothing can function without power.

The more he listens into the conversation, the more he realizes he was glad he was never born as an archon; he’s been around one most of his life and it’s always been boring. Listening in did provide small details though, like the mysterious man’s name.

While y/n was somewhat able to keep his focus off of the other dragon in the room, he managed to not burn anything. But, he had a feeling his archon caught on as they gave him a questionable look; it was a very subtle one that only he could catch onto but it was obvious they knew something. Nothing is going on though, right? The man can’t help it if he gets a bit flustered whenever he remembers Neuvillette is near him.

Gosh, y/n probably looks like a blushed teenager who just confessed to his crush. Well, he at least thought he did. To everyone else though, he looked like he was on guard and was going to fight anyone who even took a step too close to his and the Natlan archon's bubble. y/ns hand accidentally gazed at the chair near him, which caused the leather to burn where his touch was. Good thing no one was looking, right?

y/n couldn’t wait any longer for this meeting to be over, his brain was thinking too many things while he was focusing on every single move everyone else did. It would be overwhelming for anyone who wasn’t trained and as skilled as he was, but that tiny overwhelming feeling didn’t compare to how fast his heart was beating. y/n hoped the other male couldn’t pick up how he was feeling, thankfully Fontaine's archon seemed to be happy with the deal she and the other archon came up with.

In Neuvillette's mind, he could tell that the fire dragon was on edge. He could also tell how much the dragon was staring at him, it was a little nerve-racking. Once Neuvillette caught a glance at the chair that was touched, it made him a bit surprised but he didn’t show it. Maybe he would talk to the other male after the meeting, for work-related things of course!

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Cinderella doesn’t believe in fairytales (part 3)

Part 1 (X)

Part 2 (X)

There is an old woman standing in front of the door.

Cinderella is tucked under a thick duvet, her hair splayed around her head so she can see her own curls from the corners of her eyes. She keeps her breathing even and smooth. The old woman is whispering out the door, hand cupped over her mouth as if to catch the sounds before they can disturb Cinderella. 

The room is warm and dimly lit. There’s lavender in the air and the gentle smell of smoke from the small fire on the opposite wall. Cinderella feels clean cotton against her skin. The bed is soft and warm, the crackle of the fire soothing alongside the woman’s hushed voice. A part of Cinderella wants to fall back asleep and enjoy these creature comforts that she hasn’t experienced in so long.

That part of Cinderella doesn’t care that she has no memory of how she got here.

The old woman closes the door softly and sighs. “…hours…a favor? A miracle, more like…”

Cinderella closes her eyes as the woman drifts towards the fireplace. There’s the sound of metal against stone. She’s stoking the fire and doesn’t seem to know that Cinderella is awake. She doesn’t speak aloud again.

There isn’t anything else Cinderella can glean while pretending to be asleep.

Cinderella sits up.

The room is larger than she expected. Three towering windows take up most of one wall, covered in thick, velvet drapes. What she thought was the ceiling is actually the canopy of the four poster bed. The actual ceiling is like a dome, a complex mosaic of color laid into it to look like the night sky.

“Oh!” The old woman beams at Cinderella. “Well then! That’s very timely of you, isn’t it?”

No greeting? Cinderella somehow feels more wrong footed than she did when she first realized she didn’t know where she’d ended up.

“I do try,” Cinderella says. Her fingers are tangled in the sheets. She does her best to smooth the wrinkles. “I suppose you’ve been taking care of me then? Thank you.”

The woman’s eyes fall on Cinderella’s hands knowingly. Her face softens in the glow of the firelight. “It’s been my pleasure, dear, but there’s no need to be so polite. I know you must have questions. It’s alright to ask.”

It’s never been alright to ask. But the woman is smiling gently and her hands are clasped in front of her as if awaiting an order. She doesn’t seem terribly strong and Cinderella didn’t hear the door lock when she closed it.

Cinderella breathes in through her nose. “Who are you?”

“My name is Helga,” the woman says. She seems to take Cinderella’s question as permission to come closer. She sits on the edge of the bed. “I am an attendant.”

“What do you attend?”

“Whatever my lord needs me to,” Helga says. She laughs at Cinderella’s furrowed brow. “I know it sounds vague, but you’ll find that that is the only way to describe what exactly my role is. When there is a function, I organize it. When a book is needed, I acquire it. When magic must be done, I cast it.”

Cinderella’s gaze sharpens. The woman doesn’t smell like magic, but she doesn’t sound like she’s lying either. “Like a mage?”

“More of a scholar,” Helga says. “I don’t have any magic of my own. But I am employed by people who do and it is often my job to assist them.”

“So you know how I came to be here,” Cinderella says. It has not escaped her notice that the only name Helga has revealed was her own or that she has not asked for Cinderella’s. “How long have I been asleep?”

“A week,” Helga says. She presses a weathered hand to her cheek and sighs. “The teleportation was rushed and, therefore, hard on the body. I would have preferred a longer casting, it would have been gentler…but you were in a hurry, weren’t you?”

Hurry doesn’t begin to describe the state Cinderella was in. She remembers her frantic journey through the woods like a fever dream. She doesn’t recognize herself in the memory, not the desperation that fueled her nor the impulsiveness that led her to this moment. She had a plan, a good one, and she threw it all away. She’s somewhere she doesn’t know without her rations or her sewing kit or a map. Rather than the liberating departure from her family’s manor she had envisioned, she is at the mercy of this woman and whoever it is she serves.

“Now, now,” Helga says. She’s watching Cinderella with that same knowing look as before. She takes one of Cinderella’s tense hands between her own and pats the back. “You aren’t in any danger here, dear. Some things I may not be able to tell you right away, but nothing bad and nothing that won’t reveal itself in due time.”

“…my friend brought me here,” Cinderella says. She stares at her hand held in Helga’s. It feels like a mother’s touch. “Can I speak with him?”

“Technically, we brought you here,” Helga says. “He’s unfortunately busy today, but I have strict instructions to take care of you.”

“I don’t need to be taken care of,” Cinderella says. She retracts her hand from Helga’s grip and hides them under the covers. “I apologize, ma’am. What I need right now are answers.”

“You have to ask questions to receive answers.”

“Usually,” Cinderella says, exasperated, “but - excuse me for speaking frankly - there are certain situations where the sort of questions that need answered are clearer than others. Where am I? Who do you work for? Why was l brought here? What is expected of me? Can I leave? If I were able to leave, where would I find myself? Are there clothes other than this nightgown? Where are my clothes that I came in? How am I still so healthy after a week of sleep? Who were you speaking with earlier? Why did you mention a miracle? Why have you not asked for my name? Do you know who I am? Do you—“

“Yes, yes, I see your point,” Helga interrupts. She waves a hand in the air. “You and him are so alike! So practical. Where’s the magic in having all the answers, hm? Can’t a young man save a young woman and then they both live happily ever after?”

Cinderella stares at her. There are many things she could say to that. She could explain that it’s too late for her life to be such a beautiful fairytale. She could tell Helga that she’s always had to be practical because it was the only way to survive. She could argue that magic isn’t very useful unless it is an answer, otherwise it’s a mystery and not very helpful at all. Instead she says, “He’s a human?”

“And here I go running my mouth,” Helga mutters. She sits back and looks up at the mosaic on the ceiling. “Let’s see… you’re in the Capital. You are in the Emerald Castle which sits just east of the King’s dwelling. I work for…your friend and for certain high ranking persons here. Do not give me that look, I am telling you as much as I’m able. Your clothing is in the bathing area over there, though new ones will be provided for you, with your permission. Teleportation magic leaves a stench that my lord detests. Nothing is expected of you, though there are several opportunities that you must make a decision about soon. As for your name…well, my lord has refused to give you his, hasn’t he? I think it’s only fair that you refuse to give yours. Come on, up you get. Might as well get ready for the day while we chat.”

Cinderella mutely allows herself to be pulled up from the bed. The stone is cold against her feet, but it’s a bracing and welcome sort of cold. She regrets asking Helga so many questions now. She may not be able to keep up with all the answers.

Helga pushes her into the adjoining room. It’s a small bathroom with a tub set into the floor and a whole cart filled with oils and perfumes. Helga taps the faucet and water pours, hot and steaming.

“I’ll brush your hair while we wait for the tub to fill,” Helga says, beckoning Cinderella to sit on the stool in the corner. Again she sighs, the sound blending into the cascade of water. “As for what’s expected of you, it would be more accurate to say what is hoped for from you. You’re free to make your own decisions regarding where you will go and who you will meet. However, it's my understanding that you and my lord discussed the upcoming ball?”

If I could get you to the ball without your family knowing, would you go?

Cinderella presses a hand to her forehead. That conversation seems so long ago now. “I— We did.” Helga pulls Cinderella’s hair over her shoulders, hands gentle and methodical as she begins separating the tangles. Cinderella closes her eyes against the sensation. “Everything happened rather quickly. I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Understandable.” Helga combs the end of her hair. “You’ve shown remarkable patience, considering the circumstances.”

Cinderella can’t help it. She laughs. Helga made being teleported a full week’s travel away, falling unconscious, and then waking to all of this seem normal. “Considering the circumstances.” There are still so many questions left unanswered. “What about the ball?”

“We hope that you’ll enjoy it,” Helga says. “A dress has been prepared for you. I’ll have it set in your room for after you bathe. However, if it is too soon, I will make your excuses to my lord if you need to rest another day.”

“Too soon?”

“You’ve been asleep for a week,” Helga explains. She strokes Cinderella’s hair. “The ball begins in six hours.”

Six hours? 

Cinderella quietly begins to panic. 

———.

It is only after her bath that Cinderella is able to calm down a little. She can’t blame herself for being overwhelmed. This past week has been ridiculous. No, this past month has been ridiculous.

“Or,” Cinderella murmurs, drying her hair with a towel, “perhaps my whole life has been ridiculous.”

It’s an awful thought and it might be a sign that she’s really not alright that she finds it a little funny. A week ago, she was raking leaves out from under the oak tree and worrying about whether or not the gardener's recommendation would be enough to get her a job. Now she just finished soaking in a rose scented bath in a room so ornately decorated that she can’t look at the walls for too long without breaking into a cold sweat.

She’s had a lot of things to think about since Helga left her to her own devices. There is the long term - what will she do for work in the Capital? Where will she stay? She isn’t naive enough to think she’ll be able to stay here. She’s in the Emerald Castle and, while Helga was very clear that she’s welcome to stay as long as she like, Cinderella knows it’s not possible. She’s the daughter of an absent baron and daughters of absent baron’s simply do not stay in a building meant for guests of the kingdom. If she thinks too long on that, Cinderella starts to panic again so she shifts her attention to the short term instead.

The ball is in a handful of hours. Many of the people attending will have been getting ready since morning, primping and preening before emerging into high society. Cinderella doesn’t have any time at all to prepare. On top of that, there’s the very real chance that she’ll run into her stepmother and sisters if she does go. She shouldn’t be entertaining the idea, but she can’t help the way her eyes are drifting to the door.

A dress has been prepared for you.

Cinderella wants to go. Her heart jumps in her chest. It’s not smart to go. She’s not prepared, she could be recognized, she should use the time instead to focus on finding a job…but she’ll never again have an opportunity like this. She remembers the dresses her mother used to wear, long and shining, and she wants. For one night, she could dust off those ancient dancing lessons and be someone else. She could— she could see everything her mother once told her about. She could eat delicious foods and watch beautiful people she’s never seen before.

For one night, Cinderella could live a different life.

“Plus,” Cinderella says, “I promised him, didn’t I?” She said she’d go to the ball if he could get her to the Capital, find her a dress, and help her avoid her family. The first two he’d done already. Couldn’t she trust him to fulfill the last as well?

Cinderella pushes open the bathroom door.

She’s going.

----

Thanks for reading! Sorry this is out so late, I am ill in a new and exciting way never previously experienced. So I’ll be going to the doctor soon which will be the first time I’ve done so in, like, five years. Definitely makes me grateful for the health I’ve had all this time and hopefully will have again!

If you’d like to read the next part of Cinderella a week early, please consider supporting me on Patreon (X)

The next part will be up on Tumblr next Friday!

Thanks again for reading!

[pilot-boi]

How is it when Jaunper and the group arrive in Argus? I want to know reactions from Maria, Cordovin, Saffron, Terra, and Adrian please.

Maria takes it all in stride. She’s fresh off being a rando and then getting dumped head first into The Plot, so she just takes one look at Jaune and is like “This isn’t even the strangest thing I’ve seen TODAY.”

Adrian is too young to really get what’s going on. After the initial freak out because “My uncle! This is my uncle but it isn’t!” he mostly just just wants rides on Jaune’s back, which Jaune is more than happy to provide

Cordovin is Cordovin. She thinks he’s an abomination and shows him the same racism and disdain as she shows Blake, but to a MUCH greater degree. I wouldn’t be shocked if she uses it/its when referring to him, which would ABSOLUTELY set off NPR

Terra is holding it together, she’s staying strong for Saphron. She’s more than a little disturbed and freaked out by Jaune, she mourned him just like her wife. Her brother-in-law is supposed to be dead, so dead they didn’t even have a body to bury. And now here he is as some kind of beast

She’s taking it better than Saphron, but she’s still VERY shaken. She mostly deals with it by focusing on the practicalities of the situation, like working with JNPR to make sure there’s a “nest” set up for Jaune to sleep. He can’t really use beds after all. Also helps that she’s at work most of the time where she can focus on the CCT relay

Saphron, of course, is beside herself. She hen JNPR first arrive, she thinks she’s going crazy. There’s a giant rabbit here wearing her brother’s face and speaking with his voice. Her brother who was burned into ash a year and a half ago is standing here but he’s WRONG, he’s not her brother, he’s a BEAST

She recognizes his teammates from when they visited the family homestead after the Fall. They treat this creature like he’s real, so he’s not a hallucination. But they call him Jaune, ask if she’s his sister. And they’re feeding into her madness. Why would they be so cruel as to bring an amalgamation doppelgänger of her brother to HER HOME and flaunt him in front of her?!

The CCT is barely functioning over short distances, but she just can’t do this on her own. She calls the other Arcs and she doesn’t know how much of her message gets through, but she begs them to come to Argus

It’s not Jaune, it can’t actually be Jaune. He’s dead. She mourned him, she’s STILL mourning him. But his face pinches in the same way she knows when she says he isn’t real, and his hands still have the scars from when he burnt them taking pizza out of the oven, and his voice still cracks when he rushes to comfort her when reason abandons her

It can’t be Jaune. But it is. And if it IS him, then she can’t let him go or he’ll dissolve into ash again. So she clings to him, her little brother who is bigger than her and died before her

And for a few hours she allows herself to indulge in the madness that her brother is alive

It takes a day or so, but Saphron eventually comes around to the fact that this is actually Jaune. Terra’s connections with the Atlas military are able to get him in to run tests (DNA, Aura matching, lie detectors, the whole nine yards) and they determine that against all reason this IS Jaune

It’s impossible, but the science says it’s true. And Terra believes the science. And Saphron believes Terra

Her brother is alive

The siblings spend the next few hours holed up in the spare bedroom in the nest JNPR constructed, just holding each other and crying and laughing. And when they emerge, Saphron looks more whole than she’s been since the Fall

[liillyliilly]

2049

miya atsumu x reader words; 1262 synopsis; he chases her until he gets her.

She wishes she could crawl away from him, but he’s holding on too tight for comfort. This was only supposed to be a one night, maybe two night, occurrence. But as soon as he bites her, it’s game over and she falls back into bed with him again.

One game theory class and it was over for Miya Atsumu. She was there for her Statistics major, he was there because he majorly misunderstood what game theory was related to, and he found out the hard way that it wasn’t volleyball but rather mathematics. He had begged for homework answers from most of his classmates, and she was just the only one who actually responded to his texts.

From- Miya Atsumu: I need the notes from lecture today, preferably in dumb-dumb language

To- Miya Atsumu: I have my annotated notes, which for you would be three steps above dumb-dumb language, but close enough to function the way you need.

He liked the way she dressed. Her sweaters and skirts. Her t-shirts and jeans. He really liked the shoes she chose to wear. He wanted to play with her like the little dress-up dolls that his younger girl cousins loved to bring around to his house. Strip her down and then layer clothing items back on. Mostly strip her down though.

When she raised her hand in class he had to stop himself from drooling just from the way he reacted to her voice. Was it weird to think that a person was yummy? He just knew her mouth and skin tasted delicious. If the way she smelled was any kind of indicator, then he was in for a treat if he ever did get that far.

Whining for her to come to one of his games may not have been the ideal method of getting her to hook up with him, but it definitely had its merits. Apparently, seeing him sweaty and with a raging god-complex had done it for her enough to agree to a short make out session back at his empty dorm.

His dorm was clean enough, but there were posters of volleyball players everywhere, and medals. She liked the glimmering gold and dazzling silver, the bronze she didn’t care much for. Atsumu let her try on his most recent accolades.

She pouted her lips, then pressed the cold metal to her lips, biting the medallion to see how real it was. It stung her teeth and rattled a chill into her gums. Definitely real.

Kissing was without ceremony or red LED lights, Atsumu had given those to his buddy a few weeks ago. At first side by side on his bed, her hands in his hair, and his hands on her waist. When he pushes for more, she lets him press her into the mattress. When he presses his hips into hers, moaning into her mouth, she lets him.

When he asks if he can lick her, she lets him. When he urges her to let him in, she wraps a leg around his waist.

Atsumu didn’t ever consider himself much of a cuddler, but after her, he became one. Rubbing his head into her neck, cupping her chest with his hand, letting her use his bicep as a pillow. Unconsciously, his body captures her, his leg resting over her torso. He’s heavy enough and sleeps too much like a toddler for her to escape without waking him.

She lets him hold her until the morning. That’s the one thing she regrets from the entire experience. Because as soon as he gets used to it, wrapping her up into himself, he never wants to stop.

Maybe after that first time she should’ve told him about her relationship situation. Not quite open, not quite closed. She figures it won’t happen again so it wasn’t notable enough for her to mention it to Ushijima.

Her and Ushijima weren’t exclusive, but they did disclose. She didn’t disclose Atsumu so she hopes that it doesn’t get around to the man she actually would like to cuddle with until the early sunrise when she knew that Ushijima would go for a run. Atsumu sleeps in, no morning run to let her escape.

The second time it happens is when Ushijima breaks it off. She crashes and burns right into Atsumu’s ready and loving arms. The next morning her entire body is covered in marks, he just rests his arms behind his head and admires his own handiwork. She feels a little like a finger painting that a child does and then when they rush to show their mother, the dearest mommy can only say, “Oh!” in response to the creation done by the child.

She says it can never happen again. He says that they would have to see about that. Maybe he was some sort of poison, praying for her to come and take all of him at once instead of small intermittent doses.

When game theory class ends, they no longer see each other in classes. Except Atsumu makes regular appearances in her day-to-day life. Infiltrating her friend groups and making himself known to some degree as: the one who sleeps with her occasionally.

Eventually, she’s the one who he makes wear his jerseys on game days. She’s the one who Atsumu bites into during parties, telling her it's time to go and do other things. She’s the one he practices everything on, treating her like a science project. Exerting this much force causes how much of a fluttering in her stomach? Putting the left hand on the small of her back and pushing her up and down onto me accelerates the process by how much? How many rounds cause jello legs in the morning?

The third time around he makes her his. Tracing his name where his mouth should definitely not be for the seventh time in two weeks. He’s decently sweet when he wraps the necklace around her neck, his initials bold and shiny against her collarbones. He freezes the sweet moment by wrapping his hands around her neck and saying he thinks he likes that necklace a little more. At least her being light-headed gives him more data to add to his science fair project on how her body responds to his.

He lets his hair grow out entirely black, cutting off the bleach blonde. He quizzes her then, bringing his twin from his Food and Health Science department, having her kiss them both to see who is who in the dim light of one am chaos. Osamu likes the way she tastes too, but Atsumu says he already called dibs. Atsumu blames the shared liking of her taste on them sharing a womb at one time in eternity.

2,049. The numbers don’t mean much to her, but to him, it’s his favorite tally by the time he’s well into his career, and she’s living with him like a little toy.

That very well might be all that she is. But living the toy life wasn’t so bad. Complete adoration from Atsumu. An infinite money hack that rendered her degree useless. Huge beds and expensive vacations. The only thing that irked her was how much he liked to play with his toy. Some days she thought she would break, but she never ended up breaking, despite his boundless energy.

Dedication to the preservation of his toy was a top priority. His only real priority. He only shared with his brother, because that’s what siblings do. But at the end of the day, she was his toy. Only his.

[clementinesandwine]

Teasing Gyutaro

✧˖ ° includes~ nsfw, modern au, established relationship, soft!dom Gyutaro, sub! reader, very spicy, honorifics, lots of dirty talking, confident Gyutaro

✧˖ ° ~ you decide to tease Gyutaro in one of his sweaters and thigh highs

It had been a long day waiting for Gyutaro to come home from work. Well it wasn’t actually your shared home with him, it was his apartment, but you were over often enough to call it your home as well. You knew he secretly loved hearing you say “I’m on my way home,” or, “We’ll be at home,” when referring to his place. You knew you were always welcome, as even Daki enjoyed your presence. However, today was painfully boring and slow. Daki had been out for the day with some girlfriends, and you were invited, but you knew this would give you and Gyutaro time alone, as Daki was also sleeping out. That is, if he ever came home from work.

You kept trying to come up with something to do, but was at a loss. You’ve already picked up around the house, even deciding to do the siblings laundry out of boredom. Dinner was already done and was simple to make, considering Gyutaro could only eat raw meat. You always found a way to spice it up for him, but still, it didn’t waste nearly enough of your time as you hoped it would.

You currently lay curled on the couch in one of Gyutaro’s hoodies. The black fabric lay loosely over your body, as his stature was much larger than yours. Of course, you had the same hoodie in your size, as you bought them together at a past concert. However, you knew wearing his would bring out the side of him you desperately craved. Your patience had dwindled and you wanted to make him suffer slightly for it. To make sure you got your point across, you only had undies on underneath, paired with some white thigh highs. You knew his perverted mind would go exactly where you wanted, and you would make him wait just like he had done to you.

And there it was. The noise you waited all day to hear: the door knob turning. You eagerly get up, running to the door to greet your beloved boyfriend, excited to show off what he’s been missing out on. However, when he came into view, it was obvious he had a rough day.

“Taro!” you say excitedly, running up to him. You jump up, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I missed you all day!”

He wraps his arm around your waist, stabilizing your small frame against his body. “Oh darling, I missed you today,” he says. “Work was absolutely exhausting, I’m sick of taking care of those pigs. How was your day, pretty girl?”

He puts you down and finally gets a full view of you, immediately raising his eyebrows. Gyutaro doesn’t know what kind of game you're playing, but he likes the idea already.

“Well,” you start, batting your doe eyes up at him, “I was so bored! I cleaned, and did laundry, and made dinner, and showered all by myself today,” you say with a pout. He smirks, looking down at you.

“I’m sorry, princess. How about I make it up to you? You look so cute in my hoodie, why don’t you let me take care of you?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” You say and turn around. Your back is flush against his chest, pushing your butt against him. Crossing your arms over your chest to show you are a little upset, you give him a small wiggle. He slides his hand down your tummy towards your most sensitive area. You got him.

“No, no, no,” you said, snatching his wrist. “You are punished for leaving me alone for so long,” you say confidently. Gyutaro chuckled behind you.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart. Are you sure you want to continue?” He asks calmly. You start to get nervous, maybe you are going too far with this, but you can’t help yourself.

“Well, how else are you supposed to learn your lesson, hm-”

You’re cut off by his other hand grabbing your throat. “Oh my love,” he starts. “I think you’re forgetting who’s in charge here, aren’t you? What happened to my sweet girl?” You don’t respond, barely able to function with his hand on your throat. You loved when he was dominant.

“Go on, babygirl, use your words,” he says, pointy teeth just grazing your ear.

“I- I don’t know,” you say.

“Oh you don’t know? You need me to remind you that you’re just the little girl who follows my rules, hm? And to think you wore this just for me? But no, you just want to tease me after I had a hard day at work. I don’t think that's very nice, sweetheart,” he says. His hand slowly slides up your throat till his middle and ring finger sits snugly in your mouth. “I think you are gonna have to make it up to me, right? Let me use my pussy however I please?”

Gyutaro forces the hand you hold lower until he cups what's his, pulling you even tighter against his chest. “You gonna listen to me, babydoll?” he asks.

“Yes, sir,” you mumble around his fingers.

“There’s my good girl. Why don’t we get these cute socks a little dirty? Get on your knees for me,” Gyutaro demands.

You are in no place to resist, as you want him to be as lenient as possible when it comes to you. And at the end of the day, this is what you wanted right? To be used by your sweet boyfriend? To push his buttons?

You slowly sink to your knees and turn to face him, reaching up to unclip his belt and pull down his pants. You still have not gotten used to the sheer size of his cock and your lips part slightly when it is finally released, a bead of precum gathered at the tip. You wrap your hand around his length and look up, slowly kissing the birthmarks along his length until you wrap your lips around the tip. He doesn’t give you a moment before forming a ponytail with his hands and shoving your head down until your nose meets his pelvis. Your hands fly to his thighs, slightly pushing against him as you start to gag on his length, tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

“That’s it, baby, your mouth feels so good around my cock,” Gyutaro says, his head thrown back. You are unable to compose yourself, as he begins to bob your head up and down his length until you become a drooling mess. The way he is using your throat sends heat down to your core and you can’t help but moan round him, which only causes Gyutaro to fuck your face harder.

Gyutaro pulls your head back by your hair, forcing you to look up at him. He can’t help but admire how you look right now, tears streaming lightly down your face, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his cock. And all for him. He knows you love when he dominates you and that you probably did this on purpose, but that doesn’t mean he is gonna let it go that easy. Gyutaro pulls you up by your hair to face him.

“I need you to go to the bedroom and wait for me there. Leave all this on,” he tells you. You nod, but that isn’t enough for him. “What did I say about words, baby?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry,” you say, genuinely nervous and excited for what was to come. You adored Gyutaro and thought he was handsome every second of the day, but when he forced you into submission, it was another story. You run off into the bedroom, practically jumping into the bed where you wait for him, sitting on your feet and hands face up on your thighs.

He comes in a few moments later, with only his pants back on. His lack of a shirt caused you to squeeze your thighs together slightly, trying to gain some friction. There were two ways this could go, being edging or overstimulation. You hoped he would let you finish at all tonight. Walking up to you, Gyutaro slowly slid his hand up your thigh, squeezing where the top of the sock met your skin, and gliding under the sweater. Underneath, he notices the green, lace undies. His absolute favorite, as they remind him that you are his.

“This is what you were hiding from me?” He asks, finger already circling your clit. He can feel how wet you are through your panties, but all you do is suck in your bottom lip. Gyutaro’s other hand comes up and squeezes your cheeks before roughly slamming his lips against yours, practically pushing you backwards. Your hands go up to touch his face and he immediately pulls away.

“No touching,” he says. “Lay down and spread your legs.”

“Gyutaro, please, I’m sorry I-”

“Did I say you could speak?” He asks. “Lay down and spread your legs now.”

You do as you’re told without another word, placing your hands above your head. He comes up to kiss you, gliding his fingers back towards your undies and slowly pushing them to the side, using his thumb to rub slow circles on your clit. You can’t help but whine and push your hips up towards his hand.

“What is it, baby? You are so needy, hm? You just needed me to come home and remind you of what a slut you are? Go on, tell me,” Gyutaro says with a smirk, as he pushes two fingers into you without warning. You throw your head back and make a move to touch him, but leave your hands slightly raised, as you remember what he said.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Yes what?” he teases, curling his fingers inside to hit that one spongy spot while still rubbing your clit. Your moans are music to his ears, but he wants to hear you.

“Yes, I wanted you to make me your slut. I thought about it all d-day while you… you were gone. I just needed yo-you,” you say, unable to stabilize your voice. You’re practically bucking into his hand, the cord in your abdomen being wound up tighter and tighter, almost about to snap. “Oh fuck, Gyu, I.. I’m gonna cum.”

He stops moving his hand and touches your cheek. “Don’t you dare,” he says. “The only way you’re cumming is on my cock, do you understand? And you’re gonna cum until I’m satisfied,” Gyutaro says, slowly starting to move his fingers. He continues to edge you for what seems like an hour, hand wrapped around your throat, slapping your thigh every time you attempt to close your legs. You are a whining, begging mess.

“Please, Gyu,” you sob out. “Please fuck me. I need your cock, I need you to use me for your own pleasure. I-I just want to be good for you please.”

There are tears running down your face and Gyutaro thinks he has made you suffer enough. He finally pulls your panties down, tossing them to the side before doing the same with his own clothes. He lines himself up with your entrance, watching as your pussy flutters around nothing, and again gives no warning before fully pressing himself into you. You scream out and reach for him again, this time successfully doing so.

Gyutaro wastes no time and sets an ungodly pace, pulling an orgasm from you right away. Your head is spinning, unable to form a full sentence at once. “Brats don’t get warnings,” he says simply, rutting into you.

Your hair sticks to your wet cheeks as a white rim forms around Gyutaro’s cock; you can feel the sheets beneath you begin to dampen. You can’t control your moans, especially when his fingers find your clit, causing you to crash again.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, you-you’re so big,” you stutter out. “Please don’t stop.” Gyutaro’s other hand finds its place at your throat as you try to tell him how good he feels inside you. You aren’t sure how long you’ll last like this, eyes rolling backwards.

“Keep those fucking eyes on me,” he grunts out. “Don’t you stop looking at me. I’m gonna need you to think again before you try and tell me I can’t have what's mine. Because this pussy?” Gyutaro leans down close and whispers, “I own this pussy. And you are gonna be a good, little slut and take what I give you, isn’t that right?”

He is practically slamming into you, his balls slapping against you with every thrust. “I’m sorr-sorry,” you wail out. “I’ll be good, feels so good, oh fuck, thank you,” you mumble out.

“You know you wanted this, sweetheart. You wanted me to come home and use you, wanted me to wreck this pretty cunt, hm? Want me to cum inside and leave it a dripping mess, yeah?” Gyutaro is losing his control now, hips stuttering when you clench around him, another orgasm flowing from you. God you look stunning like this, legs wrapped around his waist, fucked out expression. He wishes he caught you in his clothing every day, loved putting you in your place if you tried acting out.

He watches as you grasp at the sheets or claw at his back, trying anything to control yourself just the slightest. But his cock is buried so deep, kissing your cervix with each thrust, you can barely form a coherent sentence.

“Gyu.. can’t,” you say, shaking your head. Tears are streaming full force now and he reaches up to wipe them. “Can’t cum,” you spill out.

“Shh, shhh. Yes you can, baby. You’re a good girl, I know you can give me one more, can’t you? The way you’re squeezing me, I’m not gonna last much longer,” he says.

You nod slightly, you knew you could handle what he was giving and also wanted to make him proud. His pace increases as he chases his own high, never taking his eyes off you. You, of course, are his precious darling, and he wants to make sure you are alright at the same time. Your blissed out face is telling him there's nothing to worry about. Gyutaro sits up and pushes your knees to your chest, making your eyes shoot open. An “Oh fuck,” is all you can manage to get out, and Gyutaro chuckles.

“Go on baby, cum for me. Cum all over my cock,” he demands, sending you over the edge. He watches you fall apart beneath him, legs trembling due to the position and intensity of this orgasm and he finishes soon after. One final thrust has him spilling inside you, filling you to the point of it dripping out.

Gyutaro stays inside you, slowly kissing your exhausted face. “Such a good girl,” he mumbles against your skin. You whine slightly, as he pulls you close, thankful that you decided to wear his hoodie today.