#it's just so many layers of gross

[mikakuna]

i don't think we talk enough about how genuinely fucked it was that people called in to vote on a child character's death. like yeah he's fictional but also what the fuck

[alarrylarrie]

I’m just…

Spinning out, waiting for ya to pull me in

I can see you're lonely down there

Don't you know that I am right here?

She said, "Give me a day or two"

Wishing I could be there for ya

Listennnnn. You don’t want me to do this lol. It’s a CONSTANT theme. I could talk about this for DAYS.

All of Holding on to Heartache? “I called you twice but then regretted it, and changed my number…??!!”

This is a conversation they’ve been having since 1D days, but more pointedly now that they’re solo. HS1? “Even my phone misses your call, by the way.” Fine Line- “it’s hard for me to come home and be so lonely.” Walls- “I cut you off because I didn’t know no better” and basically ALL of Defenceless lol. Don’t even get me started on Faith In The Future.

[corvidaedream]

frequently I will say to myself, especially in tourist-heavy times, i would like a more serious job at a more serious museum where members of the public do not keep touching me inappropriately

but, unfortunately, my coworkers are so fun and kind and have created such a positive little pocket of queer community that idk if i could bear to leave unless something big changes

[arklay]

once upon a time i liked a ship for what it was and then i saw how the fandom treated it and now i have visceral hatred towards it (harsh but not far off)

[unproduciblesmackdown]

billions is really on one constantly like you gotta love how there's the wordless presentation of This Man & This Woman as like an image of epic power couple &/or pr for the Wholesomeness of this man to have the Family Values in having a wife & possibly even kids, and being fictional media, most of the time this comes up as Staged Material from actors for this Media, especially given that generally both parties will be preexisting Roles With Dialogue. and then when it comes to winston & their granting us their clearest most elevated least questioning/critical exercises in "this is Telling you that winston is inferior" in a) successful violation &/or b) successful-violation-born information that they recognize as Inferior & expect you will too....really a moment's pause sometimes remembering that since they couldn't be bothered to stage anything for winston & instead we got a) photos provided from will roland of himself from his real life or b) pics they didn't need to get rights to, in this case they show us selfies from a real-life-and-by-then-married-couple, and it's This that gets "well so of course this is another Recognition Of Inferiority presentation" and not "well isn't that nice, epic, &/or wholesome, or even just matter of fact" like. really unbelievable of them and steph wessels gets to cameo as someone who Of Course dumped this guy because [well just look at him we're right back to exactly 4 seasons prior in 3x03 where we're supposed to know winston isn't epic b/c if wags is there you're supposed to be projecting on him, thanks, & when the one thing you can take issue with being an apparently accidental misgendering, there's Nothing to take issue with in that in the face of this it's crickets from wags who's otherwise dying to kill winston already. awesome. but i mean. well just look at him. we Hate winston.] like and billions is off the rails like "b/c he's so bad at sex" like yeah i think nothing says Good At Sex like the nexus of "has never tried learning anything about sex" & "has never been told their sexual partners might benefit from their learning about sex" Hell yeah. but only those born with the good bodies (winston wasn't! btw! which we all Knew 500 thinking emojis) deserve to have sex and this is also an extremely epic thing to say in this zero critical lens Celebration of killing the autistic guy for not sufficiently staying an exploited object kept silently shut away in your possession but out of sight & mind.

literally unironically Extremely Normal of them where "normal" is expected to be synonymous with a [neutral to good] context, as it "normally" is lol, but we Do have a critical lens out here. just like amazing you brought his real life then even all the more recent marriage into things held up for us as more fodder for Why We All Hate Winston & Want To Kill Him which also always hinged on "well just look at him" which necessarily hinges on a real life person's form to be looked at (or heard, given that we know people don't always react to his speaking voice as "neutral" and this is just another aspect of people's bodies) while meanwhile it's like yeah delightful stuff actually. or who cares b/c the Context doesn't have to be "does this role seem personally appealing?" for the Question that doesn't need to be "do we want them dead or are they someone who can do whatever they want or someone who has to forever endure and support the previous and can do whatever they want that doesn't conflict with this" and then 500 zillion words to say about this actor who was only supposed to be Quant Kid 2 Who We All Hated & Killed for one scene in one ep getting a recurring role (to still only ever be hated & killed as far as the writing was concerned, for the overwhelming Mostly) b/c of this je ne sais quoi & of course still Acting as though this role is as much a person as any of the other roles, wow, can't believe this was found to be so Talented & Delightful & Essential despite still only seeing the role as [guy we hate & kill] & having no intention of like giving him an arc ever but we really want more of this. and then inevitably be really preoccupied about his dick like not in a "haha. pwned them in turn b/c that's gay" but like of course in being Superior it's like yep preoccupied with the inferior parties' sexuality & your own being superior too. his dick is bad and he's not tall enough and well just look at him, no wonder he was dumped [shows you an image from actually having good times with his eventual wife] like obviously. billions with their autistic character like how do we step it up from the episode where some guy yells the r word at him amidst like the threats and harassment and assault? well more of that plus surveillance and even more personal intrusion but also someone says he's effectively a child and then we enjoy validation of our eugenicist presumptions i guess about his sexuality and body and most like random details of personality (never stop pointing out that somehow that He Likes Puns is more evidence for how Objectively Hated he is) and this episode has no other point than revelling in all of this and considering this to also be like "yes this all makes wags look Epic, which is worth an episode ever, all the more so as 1/12th of a series finale season"

[sapphosgardens]

oh man i really have got to sit down and work through this huh. gotta sit down and swallow this. Sit down and accept it.

[gojorgeous]

“heatwaves”

pairing: alpha!gojo x omega!fem!reader summary: when a work trip takes you to japan, the last thing you expect is a heatwave... and some guy with blue eyes? content: MDNI (18+ only), nsfw, a/b/o dynamics, no established relationship, dubcon (i feel like it’s always kinda dubcon with a/b/o), p->v, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding, biting, blood, marking, spit, praise, swearing, pet names (baby/sweetheart/princess), brief mention/implication of pregnancy, knotting, reader gets picked up, reader is american, reader is unaware of their omega status, reader experiences their first heat, reader and satoru “bond” without having a fully conscious conversation, reader and satoru are early twenties. a/n: it's here! somebody spay me. by popular demand i have written alpha!gojo for you all… just a classic reader goes into an accidental heat at work and (x) character happens to be the nearest alpha LMAO. this is entirely uncreative, but i love it for that!!! straight smut with a little plot if you squint hard enough! i hope it lives up to your expectations. find my alpha!geto fic here and find the list of my 1k event fics here. enjoy and remember, ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED! credits: dividers by @cafekitsune. wc: 5k

Nobody ever told you that Japan was so damn hot. 

Hot was not what came to mind when you’d heard you’d be taking a trip to Tokyo. Temples? Sure. Mt. Fuji? Great. Hot? No fucking way. 

But, here you were, boiling away under the sun on what you’d thought would be a fun little work trip. Instead, you were just suffering with every step, trying to listen to what Principal Yaga was saying and failing miserably. 

“These are the sparring courts. No students right now, but they’ll start training within the hour.” 

You rub at the back of your neck, cringing when your palm comes away coated with a thin layer of sweat. Gross. 

You lift your eyes to the sky, wondering how much longer this was going to take. Your little trip to Japan was to organize an exchange program with Jujutsu Tech. Your students had been begging to take a trip to Tokyo, to where their cursed energy would be closer to the source and, consequently, stronger. You had to admit, it was a good idea. A few months spent training here in Japan would do them good. From the moment you’d set foot on Japanese soil, your power had thrummed faster in your veins than ever before. 

Principal Yaga was giving you a tour of the grounds and had sealed your horrible fate when he’d decided to start outside. You barely heard a word the man said. New York was never this hot…

“Are you alright?” You blink, fanning your face as best you can. It provides no relief. God, it felt like the heat was penetrating your fucking bones… 

When your eyes slide to Principal Yaga, you’re surprised to see that he looks genuinely concerned. “Y-yeah.” You blink again, shocked by your own stutter. Maybe you were coming down with something? “I’m fine, just not used to this kind of heat, I guess.” You fan your face again and clench your jaw when it still does nothing. 

Yaga’s brows furrow and you see him glance around, like he’ll find said heat standing next to him. How was he wearing so many layers? 

“How about we head inside and take a break, then? We can continue the tour… later.” You nearly fall to the ground and kiss his feet. Air conditioning is truly God's gift to man… 

You smile and it’s all genuine. “That would be amazing. Thank you.” 

Yaga nods, but you think his eyes linger on you for just a beat too long before he turns. He still looks confused… or maybe flustered? That only leaves you confused. 

You follow after him, each step feeling like you’re sinking deep into cement. You tug at the collar of your shirt, trying to get some ventilation. When you finally reach the building you nearly sigh with relief. Air conditioning… that’ll be good. Just what you need. A few minutes inside and you’ll be good to go. You’ll just have to remember not to wear so many damn layers again when you continue the tour. 

You’re smiling as you step inside, so ready for relief that you’re practically shaking– but relief never comes. Your brows furrow. You brush your arm through the air. It… doesn’t help. It’s strange– you can feel the coolness of the air conditioning, feel it gliding up and across your skin, but the heat doesn’t subside, doesn’t so much as lessen. 

“I trust you know how to find anything you might–” Yaga clears his throat. “Need?” 

 Your brows furrow. He’d shown you all the school’s resources last night and your room was already stocked with food, toiletries, and every other thing you could possibly need. Of course you knew where everything was… 

“Yes… Thank you.” 

Yaga shifts so uncomfortably you think that maybe he’s about to pee his pants. “Right, well, you have my contact information. Let me know if I can be of assistance in connecting you to any… resources.”

You’re more confused now than you were at the start of this conversation. “Right…” 

“Take care.” 

Yaga shoots you one last– worried?- glance and stalks down the hall. You’re left wondering what the hell is happening in his mind and why he seemed so desperate to offer you resources? 

You blink, clearing your mind as best you can, but some sort of fog seems to be settling over your consciousness. Definitely coming down with something, you think. 

You make your way through the halls, steps still feeling suspiciously heavy and heat still radiating off your body. A cold shower. That’ll help. Or so you thought. The further you walk, the more each hallway starts to look like the next. Was it left or right next? Was this hallway always a dead end? Since when was there a bathroom there?

You’re leaning against the wall now, panting. Something is pooling in your gut, something warm and far too intense. Your inner thighs are wet, too. You want to convince yourself it’s sweat, but… you’re horny. More horny than you’ve ever been in your whole damn life. You think you might die if you don’t get some dick in the next ten minutes. What the fuck?

You slide yourself into the next room you see: an empty classroom. Thank fucking god. You grab the back of a chair, hands shaking with how hard you’re gripping the wood. You take a deep breath. You need to get a hold of yourself, need to figure out what the fuck is happening to you.  

You swallow and try your best to think. It’s not without difficulty. Your head feels like somebody’s filled it with glue. It takes a minute for a coherent thought to come through, but when it does, you think it’s a good one. Doctor. 

Yes– you don’t feel well, so obviously a doctor is the correct choice, right? You scramble for your phone in your back pocket but freeze when the brush of your own hand against your ass sends a jolt up your spine. What the fuck is wrong with you? 

Carefully, you extract your phone from your pocket, but it’s too difficult to even remember your fucking passcode. You press your thighs together, trying to relieve some of the overwhelming ache that’s forming between your legs. Something is definitely wrong.

You fumble with your phone, but your hands are shaking so hard it just tumbles to the floor. 

“Fuck,” you breathe. “Fuck, fuck, fuck?” 

“Yo, who’s baking cookies in here without me?” 

Your head snaps up and, with some difficulty, your eyes settle on a… man. You suck in a breath. He’s… dazzling. He’s wearing all black, but it’s not a student uniform. One of the teachers that you’ve yet to meet, then. White hair and pale skin contrasts against his clothes, but his eyes are covered by a pair of sunglasses set low on his nose. Even in your delirious state you still have the wherewithal to wonder who the fuck wears sunglasses inside. 

You get a quick look at him before a wave of intense- fuck, desire?- washes over you. You tremble again and shock yourself when a whimper tumbles from your lips. 

“Oh, shit,” you hear him say. You glance at him from the corner of your eye and watch him inhale again– deeply. His lips part. “Oh, shit.”

You clench your jaw and tighten your grip on your chair. Your legs are shaking now– you can barely stand. You squeak pitifully. 

The second the sound leaves your throat you hear footsteps– rapid, hurried, concerned, ones. Warm hands clasp your waist and you cry out at the touch, electricity sparking on your skin. 

“Shhh, it’s okay.” He turns you gently to face him, hands steadying your swaying body. “Who the fuck left you alone in here?” His hand is rubbing soothing circles on your lower back now and you think you’ve never felt something so good in your life. It’s so good that you almost miss what he said. Almost. 

“W-What?” You see his brows furrow as you peek up at him. At this angle you can see under his sunglasses. His eyes are blue. Really fucking blue. You think he might be the most attractive man you’ve ever seen, even with the expression of… anger?- that he’s currently wearing. 

“Whoever he is, I'll kill him.” 

That makes you blink. An extra sliver of clarity opens in your brain. “What are you talking about?”

He tugs you a little closer, wrapping an arm fully around your waist and pressing you up against him. You try to ignore the fact that you love it, that you want nothing more than to wrap yourself around him and climb him like a fucking tree. 

“What idiot leaves an omega going into heat?” He’s glaring at the doorway like he’s torn between staying here with you and running after said idiot to pommel him into the ground. 

“‘M not an omega.” The words are out before you’ve even stopped to consider them. It’s true. You’re not an omega. You’re a beta. You’ve always been a beta. You’ve got the little “B” on your ID card to prove it. You were tested at birth, just like everyone else, and even if you really were an omega you would have presented years ago.

He only glances down at you and snorts. “Funny, sweetheart.” His hand is still rubbing those little circles into your back and it’s enough to make that fogginess in your mind grow a little thicker. 

But your fear, your uncertainty outways your instinct. You pound a weak fist against his chest, not to push him away, but to get his attention. He’s still glaring at the doorway like he wants to murder it. 

“‘M serious,” you gasp. “I’m a beta… I don’... know whas’ happenin’… to me.” Each word is a tremendous effort to form. Your tongue seems to have lost its ability to do anything but hang limply. 

That gets his attention. He lifts a hand, gently brushing your hair back from your eyes and then cupping your jaw. “Is this your first heat?” 

You find yourself leaning into his touch despite the fact that you’ve only known him for thirty seconds. Your eyelids flutter. “N-Not a heat… jus’ feel… sick.”

His brows furrow again, deeper this time, and he shakes his head. “How old are you?”

You know why he asks. Most omegas present around eighteen or nineteen. “Older than… nineteen…” You try to laugh, but it only comes out as a whimper.

That answer only serves to make him push closer. You feel his hand trailing down your neck, skimming gently over the skin until he reaches a spot you hadn't even realized was so… sore. You keen at the touch. Fuck, no. There was no way. You had swollen fucking scent glands. 

You try to push away, but he pulls you in, burying his face in your neck. You shudder when he groans. “You smell like a damn bakery exploded,” he chuckles, and the sound is muffled by your skin. When he pulls away he makes it look like the action is physically painful. He cups your face again. “Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you’re an omega. If this is your first heat then…” he swallows and your eyes track the bob of his throat. “You’re just a late bloomer, baby.”

You shake your head desperately. It’s just the stupid heatwave. It’s just… hot outside… right? 

You try to think about how this could be possible. It could be that the test you took as a baby was wrong… it happened sometimes. It was rare, but it happened. But if you were an omega, what would have triggered your presentation now? What had changed? 

Your eyes widen. Japan. You’d set foot in fucking Japan. Ever since you’d gotten here, you’d felt power pulsing in your veins. Maybe it hadn’t been just power… 

“N-no–” 

A gentle thumb smooths over your cheek and you meet his eyes again. You shiver when you see a whole lot more black than blue. “You have no alpha?” 

You whimper, leaning into him. Touch me, touch me, touch me, a part of you begs. You shake your head again and a tear slides down your cheek. “No,” you whisper. 

Strong arms slide beneath your knees and you squeak when you’re suddenly suspended in the air. When you glance up he’s grinning triumphantly. “You have one now,” is all he says before he’s carrying you out of the classroom and twisting through the halls. 

Warmth rushes over you at the sensation of being held, and something begs you to give into it, to give into the heat still washing over you, to the throbbing between your legs. You fight it and fight it hard. 

“Where’re we going?” you ask, but your voice is sounding more and more like a whisper. 

His eyes stay focused ahead, even as he presses a comforting kiss to the crown of your head. “Your room, sweetheart.” 

Your brows scrunch. “How d’ you know where–” 

“‘M following your scent, baby.” 

He can do that? You bury your face in his neck, embarrassed, only to be hit by a different scent so delicious your mouth starts watering. You groan. Loudly. There’s a scent pouring from his neck that’s filling your head with memories of spices you can’t name, but suddenly know you love. 

You think you hear him chuckle and then feel a gentle hand on the back of your neck, encouraging you. You snuggle deeper into him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and burying your fingers in his hair. Taste him, taste him, taste him your mind chants. It’s too good an offer to deny. You lick a stripe across his skin. 

Your groans are instant. He’s squeezing you closer, leaning into your touch, and you’re pulling him closer. Your fingers curl into his jacket, tugging and tugging. You lick again and now he’s the one groaning. 

“Damn, that feels good,” He sounds as surprised by that fact as you feel. The swaying of his steps comes to a sudden halt. You whine, missing the rocking of his body. “Think we’re here, princess. This it?” His hand is smoothing over your hair, slowly coaxing you away from the curve of his neck. You blink, not wanting to leave the paradise of his scent, but also feeling some overwhelming urge to please him.

Your eyes settle on a door and you recognize a little chip in the wood. You nod. “Mhm.” 

You gasp when his hand grips your hip, wriggling through your pocket until he pulls out a little brass key. 

“Perfect,” he says, and his voice sounds like he’s all too pleased with himself. He shimmies your key in the knob until the lock clicks and then you’re inside. The door slams shut loud enough to make you jump and squeak. 

“Oops, sorry, baby. Guess I’m a little excited, heh.” His hand squeezes your hip soothingly and you mewl at the wave of heat that pulses through you. Your clit throbs almost painfully and you feel something gush onto your thighs. You whimper. 

He inhales. “Oh, shit,” he breathes, and then you’re moving again. He navigates your room like he knows it. He probably does. From what you can tell, most of the rooms at Jujutsu Tech follow a standard layout. He weaves down a hall to the left and then into your bedroom on the right. 

He lays you on the bed gently, tenderly, like he’s afraid you might break if he drops you so much as an inch. “There we go,” he breathes. You can’t deny that it feels good, that it feels right, to be lying on the softness of your mattress, but it’s not enough. 

You claw at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and pulling him close. You want something from him, need something, but you can’t name what. You just know that the heat boiling beneath your skin can only be sated by him, that the throbbing between your legs can only be calmed by him. “P-Please,” you whimper. Tears well in your eyes. You need him so bad it physically hurts. 

The smile he gives you is soft and genuine and it takes your breath away. He dips his head and you think you see him slide those sunglasses down his nose and toss them to the side. You don’t pay too close attention, though, because he’s kissing your neck again and your body is screaming with sensation. 

“Aw, I know, baby. Don’ worry. ‘M gonna take care of you now. Jus’ relax.” 

His words spark something in you– your last bit of consciousness. A brief moment of clarity shines through the fog of your mind and you remember what the hell is happening, what the hell you’re doing. You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head desperately. No, no, no, this is not happening to you. There’s no way.

“Hey, now. None a’ that.” Fingers clasp your chin, holding you still. When you peek your eyes open, you see that he has in fact removed his sunglasses and that his eyes are more black pupil than dazzling blue. His jaw is clenched and his breathing is heavy. “Don’t try t’ fight it. Jus’ try to enjoy it…” His head dips and suddenly he’s nipping at your scent gland again. 

You thrash and scream, but not in fear or pain. You’ve never felt something so good in your life. Every graze of his teeth feels like heaven. Your skin zings with electricity, sending pulses of pure need straight between your thighs. 

You grab at him, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging him closer. Your chest is heaving when you speak. “Please, p-please-” 

“Shhh…” You think you hear your shirt tearing, but you’re too focused on pulling him closer to care. His tongue licks a stripe up your throat and your eyes roll back. 

You’re sure your shirt is off now. You can feel the cool air, but it does nothing to ease the heat raging inside you, pulsing and pumping through your veins.You feel him tugging at your pants, too, and you try to raise your hips. He only shushes you again. “Jus’ relax. Let me do the work, baby.” 

Your pants are gone in seconds, even without your assistance. So is your bra and then your panties. He tries pulling away to undress himself, but you mewl and his eyes blow even blacker before he’s back over you again. He settles for popping the buttons straight off his shirt and shimmying out of his pants. 

The sight of his bare skin makes you whimper and then you’re clawing at him again, dragging your fingers across his shoulders, over his chest, down his abs. It’s a greedy touch and one that he returns. His palms move along your body, kneading and squeezing at any flesh he can grab. It feels so good that you think you might pass out– but it’s still not enough. Something is still missing. You feel… empty. 

His fingers trace across your stomach and it’s too late to realize what’s happening before he’s circling your clit. You jerk and jolt at the touch, but he presses his chest to yours, pinning you. The throbbing only worsens when his fingers settle into a rhythm. 

Tears leak down your cheeks. It’s too overwhelming. You’re burning– burning from the inside out. The pulsing between your thighs is all-consuming with its intensity, with its-

“Need! N-Need–” you’re crying out, but you don’t even know what to ask for– don’t even know what you need. 

“God, Fuck, I know, princess,” he groans. He licks a long stripe up your neck. “But ‘s your first heat. Gotta–” he has to pause to swallow. He’s panting, now, just as lost as you are, and you get the sense that he’s restraining himself. “Gotta get you ready… go slow.” 

You shake your head. Now, now, now is all you can think. You need him now. “No… please…” You bury your head in his neck and find that spot that’s pouring his spicy scent into the air. Your mouth waters and you lick him, letting your teeth graze his skin.

“Fuck!” He shivers atop you and you feel the pure strength restrained within his muscles. “Fuck- okay. Okay. Relax f’ me, princess.” 

You try, you really do, but your body refuses to do anything but try to pull him closer. You feel his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs, pressing them up, up, up until they’re pressed tightly to your chest and your feet are dangling on his shoulders. The position makes you whine, feeling more exposed than you ever have before. 

“You on birth control, baby?” 

Your brows furrow. It’s becoming harder and harder to focus on what he’s saying rather than simply the sound of his voice. Were you? You try to think, try to remember through the pit of glue that is your brain. No…

You shake your head. “N-No…” 

There’s a slight pause, a beat of contemplation, and then he’s laughing. “Guess I’m bouta be a daddy then, heh.” He chuckles again and the sound rings through you with a wave of pure bliss. His lips brush your neck again, settling on your pulse and making you whine. “Don’t really mind as long as I get you.” Your head rolls back submissively, exposing your throat. Yes, yes, yes, your mind screams. There’s nothing you want more than that, you think.“Okay, here we go, baby.” 

There’s hardly any more warning. One second you feel him shifting between your thighs and the next he’s pressing inside of you, feeding his cock in inch by inch. The stretch is… delicious. It burns, fuels that fire inside you, but it makes the heat feel more… pleasurable. Your back arches and your head rolls back submissively. 

“Oh, fuck, princess.” His voice has gotten higher, more like a whine than anything else. When you gaze up at him you can see the flush in his cheeks, even through the fog in your mind. More, more, more your mind screams. Or maybe you say it aloud, because more is exactly what he gives you. The second you feel him tucked up against your cervix the second he begins to take you. He sets a pace that is somehow both brutal and gentle, with strokes that rattle your skull and also give you exactly what you need. His hands grip your hips, holding you still to take exactly what he wants to give. His head dips until he has his lips wrapped around your nipple, and his tongue is swirling so deliciously that you can’t help but drag your nails down his back. 

Your body rocks with every thrust, teeth rattling and eyes rolling. The heat inside you grows… tighter, like it’s all pooling to your core, waiting for something you still can’t quite name. 

“N-need…” You don’t know what you need, still. Only that you want to beg for it so badly it hurts. 

His tongue slides away from your nipple, tracing a line up between the valley of your breasts, over your collarbone, before he finally settles on your pulse once again. The nick of his teeth makes something click in your mind. This is what you need. Bite me, bite me, bite. Claim me, claim me, claim me. 

“Yes,” you breathe. Your fingers dig into his scalp, pulling him closer, coaxing his teeth to sink in, to stake their claim. “Oh God, yes. Please.” You sound delirious, you think, but then so does he when he answers. 

“Not yet, princess. Not yet.” His tongue darts out to lick across your neck again and you can only sob. Why not yet? Now, now, now… 

Tightness coils in your muscles, the throb at your core reaching a breaking point. You feel something coming, something like an orgasm but yet also not. You know that when whatever is pooling inside you releases, you will shatter, and you’re not sure you’ll ever be put back together. 

Your nails claw across his back hard enough to draw blood and the action forces out some sort of low grumble from his chest that makes you whimper and melt into the mattress. The tip of his nose draws a line up your throat. “Keep doin’ that, baby. Mark me up.” 

You don’t dare deny him. You scratch at his skin, desperately trying to pull him closer. His thrusts grow faster and your thighs begin to tremble and shake on his shoulders, overwhelmed with the intensity of all you’re feeling. You pull at him, grab at him, thread your fingers through his hair. 

Your body jolts with each thrust and you’re sure you’re going to burst any moment. But you can’t. Not yet. You still need something, something he hasn’t given you yet. He groans and the sound is so delicious that you feel it sliding over your skin and settling in your bones. 

“M’ gonna knot you now, princess,” he breathes. “Gonna make you feel so good. Gonna take care ‘ve you.”

You whimper at his words. You hope they’re true. You don’t think you can take much more of the incessant gnawing of need in your gut. 

“Please…” your voice is hardly more than a whisper. His breath is hot as it shakes against your neck. He’s licking and nipping at you ravenously, like he needs you just as badly, like he wants to claim you as badly as you want to be claimed. 

His thrusts quicken even further and your jaw falls open, neck arching. You don’t think you can hold on much longer. Apparently, neither can he. 

You feel it the moment he starts to swell inside you. It’s perfect, you think. It can’t get better than this– but then it does. 

His teeth graze your throat again, this time a little harsher and with a little more intent. “Mine,” he whispers. The second he bites you everything goes blurry. 

You’re experiencing… heaven. There is a rush of that electricity that buzzes under your skin. It bursts forth and you feel it reaching out, forming a link between the two of you that you know is now impenetrable. It pulses and burns and you can feel him, feel his pleasure, his desire, his need for you and only you– his need to make you his. You think your souls must be blending, merging, with how deep the connection runs. You think you know him, know everything you could possibly ever need to. You know he’s the one. You know he’s yours.

It’s perfect, the way it fulfills every desire you’ve ever had, the way he notches inside your cunt like that’s where he was made to be, the way his teeth clamp around your throat and bond you together forever.

You scream for him, you think, but you can’t tell through the complete and total haze of pleasure. Your walls spasm around him, milking him for every last drop, and you feel the heat of his cum coating your cervix. The heat at your center finally releases, bursting and flooding through you in a way that feels like pure bliss has been injected into your veins. Your thighs quake and tremble with the pure intensity of it all and white spots dot your vision. 

His body is tense above you, shivering with the magnitude of what’s just happened. He’s groaning into your neck, your flesh still clamped between his teeth like he never wants to let go. You’re not sure you ever want him to. 

Your breaths shake in and out, lungs heaving as you finally come down. His knot is still settled deep inside you and with the few strings of consciousness that slowly filter back into your mind you know that he’ll remain there for a while.

His teeth release from your neck with a squelch that you think you would be sickening in any other context, but only makes you whimper at the loss of contact. He only hums and finds your hand, twining your fingers together as he laps at the fresh bite on your throat. It feels… amazing. Not in the way it felt before, like he was licking pure lust straight onto your skin, but more like he’s giving you a comfort you have never known in your life. You feel safe in his arms, like nothing could ever hurt you here. 

His lips press a final kiss to your throat before you feel him shifting. He gently rolls you both onto your sides, getting comfortable and pulling you to his chest while you both wait for the next wave of lust to hit you. It will, you know. Sooner rather than later, too. Your mind has cleared enough to realize what’s happening, what’s to come. You won’t be leaving this room, this bed, for quite some time. 

A gentle hand brushes a sweaty lock of hair from your eyes before it settles on the nape of your neck, massaging the sore muscles there. You sigh and raise your gaze to find him already looking at you, an easy smile on his lips. He has dimples, you realize, and he’s… breathtaking. And now… he’s all yours.

There’s a beat of silence between you, a moment of reconciliation with what’s just happened between you, of what it means. You blink up at him, your lips parting to say something, anything, but instead your brows furrow in thought.

His smile drops instantly. He leans into you, thumb caressing your cheek. “What is it, sweetheart?” 

Your mouth runs dry. You peek up at him from beneath your lashes. “What’s your name?”

taglist (dm me or send an ask to be added!): @lacheri, @la-undercover-latina, @fushironi, @enchantedsylveon, @keiva1000

link: alpha!geto

link: 1k followers event!

please consider leaving a comment, sending an ask, or reblogging! interacting with authors is the best way to support them! thanks for reading ♡

[cinderellakinnie]

its hard to be a sweaty little guy but somebodys gotta do it

[writingwithfolklore]

Describing Foods - A Masterlist

                As a broke university student, I love reading about food. It’s almost like eating a real meal myself <3.

I get a little angry when characters are eating a meal and I barely get to experience it with them. In that, I mean I don’t just want to know what it is, but what it’s like to eat that food—how it tastes, smells, sounds, and feels. Is a perfect croissant still a perfect croissant without the crack of the exterior, the airiness of the pastry inside, the smell of yeast?

                Probably not. When writing about a dish, the smell, texture, technique, taste, and how it looks are all important to painting the experience, so here’s some words to use when describing a meal:

Taste:

Acidic: Sharp tasting. Often used to describe tart or sour foods as well.

Aftertaste: A different taste that remains in the mouth after eating something

Bitter: Tart, sharp, and sometimes harsh flavour.

Bittersweet: Less harsh than bitterness. Tartness + sweetness.

Bland: Has no significant flavor or texture

Briny: Just means salty. Often describes pickled foods.

Citrusy: Bright flavour like… well citrus fruits—oranges, lemons, limes, etc.

Cooling: Mimics that cooling feel—like mint.

Earthy: Reminiscent of soil. Can be used to describe wines, root vegetables, and mushrooms.

Fiery: Another word for spicy.

Fresh: Light and crisp—describes produce or herbs.

Fruity: Sweet and reminiscent of fruit.

Full-bodied: Rich and ‘feels heavy’ in your mouth. Can describe wines or soups.

Herbal: Bright, fresh, sometimes earthy from the presence of herbs

Honeyed: Sweet or candied taste like honey.

Nutty: Taste similar to the flavors of nuts. Often used to describe certain cheeses.

Rich: Full, heavy flavour. Often dishes that contain cream taste rich.

Robust: Rich + Earthy. Used for lots of wines or aged liquor.

Savory: Describes meaty, earthy dishes and soups.

Sharp: Harsh, bitter, or tart taste. Used to describe acidic foods.

Smoky: Reminiscent of the smell of smoke.

Sour: Biting, tangy, tart flavor.

Spicy: Burning taste.

Sweet: Sugary.

Tangy: Tart, biting taste—feels tingly

Tart: Sharp, bitter, or sour flavour. Used to describe acidic foods.

Woody: Earthy, sometimes nutty taste. Describes some coffees or cheeses.

Yeasty: Earthy taste reminiscent of yeast. Describes beer and bread.

Zesty: Fresh, vivid, or invigorating flavour.

Sound/Texture:

Sound has a lot to do with texture, so I've combined them for this section!

Airy: Light, pillowy texture (think inside of croissant)

Brittle: Hard but easy to break

Bubbly: Usually during heating, when bubbles rise to the surface—low sound.

Buttery: Smooth, creamy texture (think certain pasta sauces)

Chewy: Food that needs to be chewed thoroughly. Can be light and bouncy (chewy bread) or heavy (steak) and sticky (candy)

Creamy: A smooth and rich texture, comes from dairy.

Crispy: Light texture with slight crunch.

Crumbly: Food with loose structure that falls apart into crumbs.

Crunchy: Firm, crisp texture with a sharp, loud noise.

Crusty (behave): Food with a hard outer layer and soft interior (many loaves and breads)

Delicate: Light and fine, feels like it can come apart easily.

Doughy: Soft and heavy, usually pale colouring.

Fizzy: Usually liquids—a hissing sound, feels like ‘static’

Flaky: Light, characterized by layers that come apart during eating.

Fluffy: light and airy.

Frothy/Foamy: Airy bubbles, usually in a drink like a latte.

Gamey: Usually refers to meats when they’re very “meaty”

Gooey: Viscous, sometimes sticky texture from moisture in a dense/solid food.

Hearty: Firm, robust texture.

Juicy: Tender and succulent texture from liquid in a solid food (steak)

Molten: Hot, gooey

Oily: Slick, heavy, lingers on the tongue.

Silky: Fine, smooth texture that feels sleek.

Smooth: Texture free of grit, lumps, or edges.

Snap: A quick, sharp, crackling sound when broken.

Squelch: A soft sucking sound when pressure is applied. Somewhat gross.

Sticky: Gluiness in the mouth.

Succulent: Tender and juicy

Tender: Soft and easy to break down

Velvety: Smooth and rich

Smell:

Acrid: Strong, bitter, unpleasant

Comforting: pleasant, probably calls back to a nice memory

Damp: Wet smelling—probably a bit earthy

Delicate: subtle, faint, not overpowering

Earthy: reminiscent of soil

Fetid: Caused by decay—unpleasant

Fishy: reminiscent of fish

Floral/flowery: Reminiscent of flowers

Fragrant: Sweet or pleasing

Fresh: Cool, crisp, refreshing—produce, probably not cooked

Funky: Something’s gone off

Heady: Strong smell, pungent, rich

Musty: Not fresh

Perfumed: Pleasant, reminiscent of something (can be perfumed with citrus, say)

Piquant: stinging, pungent—tickles the nose

Powerful: strong

Rancid: Definitely gone off, decomposing

Ripe: Strong, usually unpleasant smell

Savory: spicy, salty, no elements of sweetness

Sour: has gone off

Spicy: Sharp, tingles the nose

Tangy: Strong and bitter but in a good way

Tart: Sharp

Woody: earthy smell, reminiscent of wood

Sight:

Usually texture gives us a really good picture of what a food looks like, so here’s some non-texture sight additions:

Blistered: Bumpy exterior.

Caramelized: Usually golden brown

Cloudy: Splotched. Almost see through if not for a slight white or grey mist.

Colourful: Bright and vibrant

Glassy: Resembling glass

Glossy: Smooth, shiny

Marbled: Two colours intertwined

Opaque: Not transparent. Can’t see through.

Ripe: Colourful (can be to a fault). Nearing the end of its edible state.

Scaly: Covered in scales, fish.

Shiny: Appears wet or glossy

Sparkling: Glimmers under the light

Stuffed: An ingredient placed inside a larger part with no additional space.

Translucent: Allows light through

Vibrant: Striking, bright

Food Prep:

How the food is prepared gives it these other attributes. If your character is familiar with cooking (or is the cook themselves!) they may describe food this way.

Baked: Cooked in an oven. Results in browned or crispy outer layer.

Blackened: When food is dipped in butter and coated with spices then cooked in a hot pan—spices darken, making it appear ‘blackened’

Blanched: Food scalded in boiling water and moved to cold water so it stops cooking. Texture comes out soft.

Braised: Food that is briefly fried in fat and then stewed in a pot. Results in seared, crispy exterior with a tender interior.

Breaded: Coated with breadcrumbs/batter then baked or fried so it turns crispy

Broiled: Food cooked with intense radiant heat in an oven or on the grill. Results in a darkened appearance and crispy texture.

Caramelized: Food slow-cooked until it’s browned, nutty, and has a bit of sweetness.

Charred: Grilled, roasted, or broiled and gains a blackened exterior and smoky flavor.

Fermented: Food that’s sat with bacteria, yeast, or another microorganism and has produced acids, alcohols, or gases. Results in a biting, pungent flavor. (Kimchi is fermented)

Fried: Food cooked by submerging in hot oil. Creates crispy, crunchy texture and golden colour.

Glazed: Food with a coating brushed onto its surface. Appears glossy with a thin, flavorful, and crisp outer layer.

Infused: Food steeped in liquid with another ingredient so it carries the essence of that ingredient. Used with herbs usually.

Marinated: Usually meat soaked in liquid containing flavourful herbs, spices, vinegar, or oil.

Poached: Food cooked in near boiling water. Results in tender, moist texture.

Roasted: Food cooked with dry heat in an oven or over the fire. Results in browned exterior and crisp coating.

Sautéed: Food cooked quickly in small amount of fat.

Seared: Food cooked in small amount of fat until caramelized. Finished by roasting or grilling. Results in crisp exterior and tender interior.

Smoked: Food exposed to smoke from smoldering wood for a long time. Results in that distinctive smoky flavor.

Whipped: Food beaten to incorporate air. Light and fluffy.

What did I miss?

[cinnbar-bun]

Monster (JoFoes x Reader)

Characters: Dio Brando (PB), Kars, DIO (SDC), Yoshikage Kira, Diavolo, Enrico Pucci, and Funny Valentine (sorry I have not finished JJL yet so no [spoiler])

Prompt: "He's a wolf in disguise / But I can't stop staring in those evil eyes."

Summary: Their "love" for you comes in many different, untraditional ways. Some more dangerous than the others.

Rating: Mixture of SFW + NSFW, but please mind the warnings.

Notes: Reader is GN! and no specific body parts are mentioned for them. Spoilers I guess for their plans? Reader is a human in all of them, Reader replaces Shinobu + Hayato's roles, not much NSFW for Pucci's part in all honesty, FV is a widower (no Scarlet involved).

Warnings: Toxic relationships, MAJOR power imbalances for all of them (maybe minus Kira's). Heavy religion mentions for Pucci (although Reader is not specified to be Christian). This isn't soft or lovey-dovey (but I can do one later), so pleaseeeeee do not read if those kinds of topics make you uncomfortable.

Word Count: ~4.5k (kill me I lost my mind writing this)

Read on my AO3 here!

Taglist (if you'd like to be added, fill out the form in my pinned): @adeadcreator @bruabbina @gingernut1314 @over--heaven

Dio Brando (Phantom Blood) 

He most likely was pursuing you long before the mask ever took hold of him. He didn’t do it out of pure love- more likely it was for entertainment and as a chance to hold another thing over Jonathan. 

Dio despises how Jonathan attempts to be friendly with you and often will do what it takes to turn you against the poor guy. 

He doesn’t even know why he is so adamant Jonathan stays away from you, even more so than with anyone else. He feels a possessiveness towards you that cannot be contained or described in words. 

He masks most of his disturbing thoughts and possessiveness for you underneath a facade of charming elegance. He’ll play the part of a picture perfect boyfriend for as long as he needs to. 

But even he has to admit he has trouble holding back all these disgusting feelings for you. You frustrate him in a way few ever have and ever will. 

Despite his haughty attitude over Jonathan and his eagerness to get ahead, Dio is actually grossed out by himself tremendously with you. He recognizes after getting wasted once again that he is just like his bastard of a father, Dario, and it settles in a gross pit in the bottom of his stomach. 

It’s wretched, honestly. While he continuously acts bigger and better than ever to get you to fall further for him, he refuses intimacy or overtly physical gestures. Sharing Dario’s blood with this body makes him sickened at attempting to do anything like that with you. 

Compared to his earlier brazen behavior, when he begins to get possessive and attached to you, he almost retreats and refuses to allow himself the chance at intimacy with you. 

However… once he puts on the mask and rejects his humanity, Dio becomes a whole new wicked beast. 

While he still has sentimental feelings for you, his aggressiveness grows almost tenfold. 

Likes to have you sit on his lap while he strokes your head and monologues about his ideals or shows you horrifying imagery. 

Blood. Lots of blood. 

You’re the only one he attempts to keep alive and refuses to let the others feed off of. If you are to ever be used as sustenance, it is by him and him alone. He gets actively violent against his subordinates if they even think of touching you.

In this stage, he’s more open to intimacy. A bit more, but not at his full peak (we’ll get to that later). 

However, the arousal he has is mostly fueled by his bloodlust and hunger. Feedings of you tend to occur after one of his many minions causes some chaos or he gets word of more destruction and feels a possessive streak. 

He is pretty sensual, taking his time to showcase how much stronger he is, how much better he is now that he has become an undead horror of the night. But that sensuality is still layered with a hint of hunger and obsessiveness towards you that he cannot contain. 

He’s less controlled about his feelings now towards you. His eccentricities make him more likely to just take you randomly at anytime without a care of what is going on around him. And he will verbally tell you them aloud now, enabled by his own inhumanity. 

“I can smell your fear, darling. Your heart is pounding fast… tell me, do you desire something more than this innocent petting, dear?” 

Loves to bite you and leave marks on you. He likes to have his fangs scratch against your skin before he sucks on that spot. His favorite places include your neck but also in more hidden places like your inner thighs. 

Your blood is the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. He’s addicted to the taste and savors it more than a fine wine. He has to remind himself to take it easy because as much as he loves your taste, you’re still mortal and he has to keep you alive. 

Kars 

As a Pillar Man, he does not think highly of humans like you. You are a mere mortal, and where you belong is below him. Hardly even worth a glance at all. 

But for some reason, despite your status, he found himself protecting you from an encounter with someone trying to rob you late at night. He doesn’t even know why he jumped in to do so, but the look of reverence and awe in your eyes at his display of strength made him… intrigued. 

He doesn’t hold back. He tells you everything, because, really, what are you going to do about it? You couldn’t escape even if you tried. 

And now, you live your life as his human… pet? Partner? Servant? Thing…? 

He’s very unclear about it. Some days he ignores you, and other days he mulls over his thoughts to you while he strokes your head. 

Kars rarely ever gets aroused. He’s not a primitive beast and he’s very focused on his goals. 

But, intellectually, he is curious about how you behave around him. He kind of likes the attention you give him and he recognizes how you’re affected by him physically. 

One thing he’s super proud of? His voice. He knows how his voice can turn you on and drive you mad. He likes to get close to your and have his breath tickle your skin before he whispers words of praise for you doing so well for him. 

“Oh, little one, you’re shivering. Are you afraid? Or are you excited?” 

His favorite thing is to get you incredibly aroused while barely touching you. 

Enjoys you riding his thigh- you look like a wanton little beast who can barely contain themself from him. 

Kars likes you vocal, so that means you better be moaning, groaning, gasping, sobbing, and thanking him loudly. He doesn’t care who hears. If you try to hold your voice back he gets rougher to have you be louder. 

Most of your intimate encounters will be him getting you off in order to humiliate yourself/hear you praise him. But in the few times he does find himself craving your body, be prepared. 

He is huge. That doesn’t need to be stated but he’s big. Muscular. Strong. Tall. And he’s got full control of nearly every fiber of his body. As the perfect being, he knows he’s well-endowed and uses it to his advantage. 

Some days he’s merciful and likes to take his time and prepare you. He’ll coo to you as if you are a mindless little animal (you probably will be after how well he stimulates you) and praise you for taking him so well.

“How precious. Control your breaths, pet. You can’t be this exhausted when we’ve barely begun yet. Now… relax yourself.” 

Other days, he’s merciless and will use you without abandon. His cruelty and dominating nature comes out full force. 

“Hmph, is this how you treat your new god? Beg better, or I’ll stop. You should be grateful I even deign to touch your mortal body.” 

Although he insists he is not affected by your presence or that you are but a toy for him to entertain himself with, if someone were to threaten to harm or take you back (ie. Joseph/Caesar), he will step in and put an end to that foolish thought. 

“It is unwise of you to think that you will take what is mine away from me.” 

DIO (Stardust Crusaders)

A Dio fully in touch with his desires with little remorse or care. This new body of his makes him more confident and lecherous. 

The many ‘victims’ that take up his bedchambers are usually fodder he disposes of quickly. And the ones that are ‘lucky’ enough to escape are very few. 

You happen to be fortunately (or unfortunately) be his favorite. And being Dio’s favorite means many things. 

You get special privileges almost no one else receives. Only you are allowed to caress and touch him so brazenly and easily, and only you can get somewhat mouthy with him. 

He spoils you with fancier foods and drinks to fill you to your heart’s content. While others can argue over scraps, he gives you the opportunity to sit on his lap and feed him. And if he’s feeling nice, he’ll feed you too. 

You also are practically immune to anything, so long as you keep remaining his favorite. If a minion tries something with you? Dead. Someone from the ‘harem’ insults you? Dead. Hell, a bird made too loud of a noise? Dead. He finds it hilarious to inflict damage due to his whims and somewhat twisted obsession with you. 

“Hoh? Does it please you, knowing your lord is willing to go to such lengths to keep you safe? Now, what will you do to showcase how pleased you are?” 

Most people catch on very quickly to stay away from you, lest they face an untimely death. 

But it does mean he expects you to serve his every whim quickly. He’s so demanding with you, annoyingly so, actually, and he does it to mess with you. You’re his favorite but he will still be a joker with you. 

He feeds on you often, but is in enough control to reign himself from taking all your blood. Sometimes he “jokes” that he just wants to drain you dry, but it’s up in the air. 

Dio is pretty selfish in bed. Often he lays back and expects you to ride him, like a good pet should do for their lord. Go on, earn your keep. 

He enjoys clawing at your skin and caressing the scratches he leaves on you later on. 

Is not ashamed of making a public spectacle of you if he feels like it. Get used to him continuing to pound into you while Hol Horse attempts to give him a report update. 

He takes his frustration and anger out on you physically. When he gets news that the Crusaders have foiled another batch of minions, he might go get his violent (and bloody) fill with a few random mortals, then return to you and sternly tell you to get on your knees. The stone cold expression on his face makes the room drop a few degrees and he will not talk much in these sessions. 

Dio likes putting you in difficult situations for the thrill of it. Your reactions are always interesting, solidifying his interest in you. 

He does admit that he’d probably never put you first above his plans (which he seldom talks about except when you two are relaxing after an intense night) and sardonically chuckles that he may enjoy you now, but it can all change if you stop being ‘fun’ for him. 

But when Hol Horse attempts to grab you to threaten Dio, Dio’s face hardens in a way no one has ever seen before, and Hol Horse immediately aborts the plan. You’ve never seen Dio look that terrifying before. 

He doesn’t speak of that event again, instead telling you to return to the room and stay there. 

Expect him to keep him closer and have a tighter grip around you. 

Yoshikage Kira 

Hiding in plain sight has never been so easy for Kira after having his face switched with the poor sucker at Cinderella salon. 

He could lie a bit longer, play pretend as a dutiful husband as this random man whose appearance he has taken. 

He returns home to see you, the partner of the man he just took over, and he knows he’s in for trouble. He’s going to have to not only fend off suspicion from everyone else in town, but especially within his own home. He no longer has a safe space and it frustrates him. 

He has never been in a formal romantic relationship, but he attempts to act ‘normal’, keeping some distance but still ‘polite’. 

You don’t seem to suspect much- or maybe you’re just so happy to see some changes in your former husband- and always like to chat with Kira. At first he finds it dull and grating, despising how you talk about nothing useful. 

But he can’t be too bland, so he’ll respond back. Usually one word responses and the like just to satiate you enough to get him off his back. 

However, you’ll occasionally discuss a topic he is more interested in and then he’ll give you more of his personal opinion on the subject. Kira didn’t expect to find some comfort with having another person to share these discussions with. 

And while he hated the fact his normal schedule before acting as your husband changed, he slowly starts to grow fond of his new routine with you. Waking up and receiving a goodbye kiss before he goes off to work has become his new morning energizer. Coming home to see the table set with you waiting for him makes the nights a bit more pleasant. 

He’ll never really recognize if he enjoys this for real or if he’s doing this to keep up the act of a ‘good husband’. He’ll just let the days continue to go on like this while he loses the others off his back. 

Although, one thing that really took him off guard was your heavy affection and sexual desires for him. You have nice hands, he’ll give you that, but he was so taken aback by your behavior. Apparently, throughout the whole night when you dressed up extra nice for him and made him his favorite meal and were complimenting him and swooning over him- that supposedly meant you wanted to take him to the room for some bed breaking action. 

He honestly was so shocked that this was what your behavior meant and he had take a moment to recollect himself. Kira declined that first night because he truly has never had sex with another person, less so someone he was pretending to be married to. He was not mentally prepared for that to be thrown at him.

After calming himself down in a few days, he does attempt to be more physically intimate with you. 

Yeah he’s mostly focused on your hands at first. He still doesn’t recognize if he actually loves you yet, but he won’t decline you giving him a handjob or stroking your hands over his toned body. And he’s always ready to be licking your hands. 

After a few more times of these rather awkward and selfish sessions, he does pay it back and begins to explore your body more. He finds himself fascinated with how your chest rises and falls with every shaky breath and moan you let out. He likes the way your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

His compulsive tendencies do appear in the bedroom, and he does let them out, but they honestly come off as roleplay. It’s kinda hot to hear your normally calm husband just huff and lecture you while he bends your body around roughly to ‘set you straight’.  

“Enough of that. Seriously, can you not even put yourself together correctly? If you can’t dress properly, then don’t bother wearing anything at all.” 

He’s way too deep into this marriage life with you, getting extra frustrated if anyone dares to disturb whatever you two have going on. 

Diavolo 

He falls in lust first. He hasn’t learned his lesson from the last time. Diavolo is a heavy believer in the concept of ‘Fate’, but he believes he is the ‘King’ who can overcome it. 

Surely… ‘fate’ wanted you to be his subordinate. 

You do a wonderful job, you never ask any questions that are unnecessary, and you never stray too far from what he’s asked. You always manage to get the job done in your own, unique way. 

You’re his most trusted subordinate (underneath Doppio), and Diavolo can’t help but feel that selfish urge to contain you as a part of him forever. You’re attractive, so cunning, and so loyal to him- something that makes him believe you were meant to be ‘his’. 

He’s run from his past for so long, but that makes him cocky. If you were to somehow lose his interest, he surely would overcome this ‘challenge’ and defy your fate, too. You’ll never know what hit you. Not to mention, he completely believes he’ll be able to keep you in check and under his thumb. He’s learned that much from his time.

So he lets himself be known to you, after all, good servants deserve some ‘rewards’ from their king, do they not? 

He is a cruel man in bed, doing almost everything in his power to exert his control over you and dominate you. 

Bondage, toys, threats, punishments, and even using King Crimson are not too out of line for this sadist. 

He enjoys overstimulating you, loving the way you babble nonsense and tell him it’s ‘too much’. 

The louder and messier it is, the better. Anything to show you who is the one in control and in charge, and where your proper place as his most devoted servant is. 

He insists on a BDSM lifestyle outside of the bedroom too. Diavolo is not short on funds, so he’ll gift you an expensive accessory (probably with built in tracking on it) as a ‘reminder’ of who you belong to. 

But knowing Diavolo, it’s a veiled threat. Fail to comply with his demands, fail to be entertaining to him, or worst of all, fail to keep his trust- you’ll be dealt with swiftly. Choose wisely when he ‘graciously’ lets you roam free. 

He’s pretty giving otherwise. His constant jumping from villa to villa or hotel makes him take you with him and allow you some luxuries in those areas. You will always have a private suite away from the rabble and be able to relax. 

Diavolo finds it sweet that you’ll trace the paisley tattoos/markings on his arm (sorry I like tattoos so uh-). He’ll let you do it for a bit, all while smirking down at you in amusement. 

“Enjoying yourself, tesoro mio?” 

Gets incredibly angry at the thought of someone touching you or finding you. Not purely out of love- but as a desire to keep you to him. If someone figured out your relationship with him, he’d have to swiftly deal with them and possibly you to keep himself hidden. 

He does trust Doppio to escort you and take care of you, allowing him to be perhaps the only other person to see you physically and take you around wherever Diavolo needs you to be taken. 

Surprisingly, Diavolo likes to listen to the opera and will play some records for you both to listen to while you both unwind or he is working on mundane things for Passione. 

Enrico Pucci 

A master manipulator who believes everything he’s doing is for your own good. He meets in the prison- you’re down on your luck, but you’re earnest and seeking redemption. How could he not want to give you the peace you’ve been searching for? 

As the chaplain of Green Dolphin, he does get more access to you than others get, as well as allowing you the chance to take a break from your prison activities to talk or assist him. 

He believes the chance meeting with you, you who was so pitiful in the chapel and begging for anything to comfort you in your hard time, was another mechanization of “gravity”. 

It was simply fate to meet you, and it was fated that he had to be the one to save you. Perhaps this was a second chance at something he needed to do to be redeemed. Perhaps this was him seeing a kindred spirit within you.

Pucci takes it upon himself to offer you counsel or give you a moment of reprise. Once you two get closer, he begins to encourage more discussion and debate from you. 

“Humans are powerless to oppose fate. Wouldn’t you agree on that?” 

But Pucci is obviously not the completely helpful priest he acts as, as his more sinister and rough behaviors come out the more he is ‘pulled’ to you. 

Pucci does continue to use Whitesnake as a mouthpiece, often to voice more ‘warnings’ to you so you do not get scared of Pucci directly. Obviously Whitesnake is just a separate being from Pucci, and you have nothing to worry about, because you obviously were not planning on doing anything to jeopardize Pucci’s goals or ideals, right? 

He uses his authority and standing in Green Dolphin to get his way. Whether it is ridding of annoying prisoners or guards who bother you, or having you isolated as ‘punishment’ for perhaps doing something he didn’t like, Pucci will pull as many strings as he must. 

Only he has your best interests in mind, and only he is the one who can give you salvation and the hope you long for. He is your ‘fate’ so long as you comply. 

He has to admit, he is curious to get your Memory DISC to see all your memories. But he recognizes that would possibly be a step too far (he has some boundaries, he thinks) and attempts to get you to admit your memories on your own. 

Incredibly attentive and will recall anything you’ve told him with 100% accuracy. It can be comforting and nice when you want to vent or talk to him. Do not think you can lie your way around him, though. Whether you’ve intentionally lied to him or not, he will promptly correct you and tell you to be truthful. 

Pucci believes the Heaven Plan will save you and make you more willing to accept your fate. He confesses to you that what he’s doing will make you happier, will make you more free, and will make your tears dry up. 

Although he says that, sometimes, when he looks at you, he does get those same feelings from before he met Dio. Those dreams of running away, running far away and committing blasphemous acts with you, much like those of the novels he’s read. He brushes them aside and counts prime numbers to rid himself of those ideas. He’s so close to his goal. 

“Enough, Pucci. Enough. You’ve committed to this. You’re doing this for the good of humanity. Even if it’s hard, they’ll understand. They’ll come to learn to love their new life and accept their fate with a smile.” 

Funny Valentine 

Funny prioritizes public appearance and his goals over his private life. Despite Scarlet being gone from the picture, he isn’t all that distraught. But being a ‘widower’ does give him some sympathy from the public that he uses to leverage good PR. 

And you are such a helpful assistant to him. You always have everything under control, every plan together, and whatever he may need quickly finished and given to him without him having to utter a word. 

That competence is quite attractive to him, more so than your physical features (which he does enjoy and did catch his eye before). 

He thinks to himself as a joke that he’d just adore having multiple copies of you running around the White House (and in the room) thanks to D4C, but he knows how dangerous it would be to play with your life like that. You’re so useful to him now, so he’ll care for you. 

Funny pulls lots of all-nighters, especially during the Steel Ball Run, and that means, likewise, you are too, as his devout assistant. This does mean he’s more tired, but also more personable than his stern public face. 

Sometimes he rambles about anecdotes from his time in the army or working as a senator. Sometimes he’ll tell a bad joke that makes you laugh from the fact that the strong president would say such a strange thing out of nowhere. But sometimes, he’ll admit how lonely it is, being the most powerful man in America. Especially without anyone beside him. 

He takes advantage of the sob story he has to get you to be more vulnerable with him. And when you comfort him and offer him some help, he is quite happy internally that you did exactly what he hoped you’d do, but outwardly acts humble. 

“How kind of you, dear. You needn’t worry about my nonsense, though. You aren’t on my payroll to be my personal therapist. I already stress you enough, as is.” 

But you insist and who is he to deny you? 

It doesn’t take long after that for your relationship to go beyond professional boundaries. A touch here, a longing gaze there- and Funny has to admit he enjoys the thrill of having a secret affair going on with his assistant right under the nose of the rest of the workers there. 

And, scandalously, Funny is a freak. A really freaky guy. 

Don’t get fooled by his professional nature and good posture that he displays for the newspapers. Funny is perhaps the most experimental and freaky man on the list, willing to try almost anything at least once (and it does give a good excuse to take you to his chambers). 

He indulges in plenty of kinks; bondage, domination (whether you or him), roleplay, exhibitionism- it doesn’t matter. 

But he will try to reign himself in because he is the president, even if he’d love nothing more than to have you on his desk and weeping for him. His biggest kink is roleplay, and in private, he will want to be addressed differently. This must go on at all times behind closed doors. Failure to adhere to his rules or attempting to embarrass him publicly will result in punishment. 

“You little brat! Have I not been clear on what you were to do? Or were you hoping I would take matters into my own hands? Hm, since you seem to enjoy acting so improper, perhaps I shall reteach you manners. Lay down, now. I hope you’re prepared for what’s coming.” 

Funny can look calm during any arguments he has with you, thus making him a tough man to debate. He is authoritative and believes he knows what’s best. While some backtalk is fine for the most part, after a while he puts his foot down and tells you to stop. 

But then you two see each other after you’ve calmed down, and he holds you while apologizing. He’ll insist he loves you very, very much, but he’s just under so much stress and while you may have your heart in the right place, there are some things that just can’t go as you like. 

Possessive when it comes to you, keeping you monitored by guards and by his side almost 24/7. You weren’t planning on betraying the country you love so much, were you, dear?

[vaspider]

Okay, let's try this without the errors and casual domestic abuse references and classism/racism!

All of the below may be worn "because I like how they look." When I say what they're worn for, I mean the intended practical intention of their design.

This is a compression tee or workout tee. They are usually made out of synthetic materials for moisture-wicking purposes. They are worn for exercise or workouts, to draw sweat away from the skin.

This is a muscle tank. It is worn for working out (lifting weights, most often) or showing off one's muscles.

This is a sleeveless tee. Note the different sizes of the armholes. This is pretty much just a fashion statement, two tickets to the gun show, etc. but sometimes worn at the gym.

This is an A-shirt, ribbed knit tank, or fitted knit tank. In the US it may colloquially be called a "wifebeater," but that's classist, racist, and fucking gross, so knock it off.

Originally intended as an undershirt, may be worn as a primary shirt. Still worn as an undershirt by many men/mascs.

This is a fitted tee. They come in crew necks (pictured) and v-necks, typically. These also started as undershirts and are often still worn as same, but now are often worn as casual shirts as well. The difference between one intended as a casual shirt and one intended as an undershirt is mostly just fabric weight.

This is a tee shirt, also known as a heavyweight tee (a reference to fabric weight), loose-fit tee, or unisex tee. Intended as casual wear.

This is a polo shirt. Usually worn fitted and tucked in as shown, unless being worn with shorts. This is a "dress casual" sort of shirt, the kind of thing a person might wear to a semi-nice dinner out with family during the summer, but it's also part of the work uniforms of a lot of working-class people now, so.

This is a Henley or y-neck. Usually 3-5 buttons at the neck and made of cotton knit. This started as underwear too - a warm layer for winter - and is still used that way, often layered with camp shirts, chamois shirts or flannels. Also worn alone. These are pretty common chores/work shirts in my experience.

This is a camp shirt or work shirt. It is made of broadcloth, denim, canvas, or another sturdy material. Worn either as an outer layer unbuttoned over a tee, tank or henley, or if it's a nice shirt in good shape you can button it up and tuck it in and get away with wearing it to a semi-casual thing, like a weekday dinner with friends or an event at church/synagogue which isn't a service, like a potluck or a meeting.

These can often be bought lined or quilted and used as a light jacket. I used these for throwing on real quick when going to bring in wood so the wood wouldn't chew up my forearms.

Now THIS is a flannel. The difference is this is made out of flannel.

Everything I said above applies to this, except flannel shirts are more "casual" than a nice camp shirt bc the material is softer.

Flannel. Shirts. Don't. Have. To. Be. Plaid. A lot of them are, but I own/owned plenty of solid color flannel shirts. I don't care for these as much for chores bc the soft material means stuff is more likely to poke through, but they're great for layering.

I'm out of pictures so hang on, adding more.

[fredwkong]

The Boxers

Sometimes, the perfect life just finds you, bruh.

I used to be a pretty normal guy. Wait, scratch that, I was a total fuckin’ nerd. I spent all my time playin’ video games and readin’ fantasy books and shit. I was getting a degree in computer science, so I spent all my time alone, coding shitty apps and nerding out on Reddit.

I had, like, no sex life, lmao. I was a weedy little Indian geek, bro, you know the type, right? I had negative game. Every weekend, I’d spend all night playing WoW or whatever, then go to bed and fantasise about how many bros I’d get once I was, like, CEO of a multibillion dollar startup.

I guess the universe looked at me one day and said, “Why wait, bro?”

I got back to my dorm one night and these, like, gross boxers were sitting right on my floor. I remember I thought they were totally lame, because they had the Sriracha logo all over them. “Who wears those but nasty frat boys?” I thought to myself. Huhuhu, little did the old me know.

Anyway, these boxers were totally messing up the vibes of my dorm. I used to be such a neat freak, bro. A place for everything, and everything in its place. A smelly, used pair of boxers made my skin crawl. So, obvi, I went to pick them up with two of my slim little fingers and toss them in the trash. I figured it was some kind of gross prank on me.

Once I’d picked ‘em up, I could see exactly how dirty those boxers were. The legs were stiff with layers of musky sweat, the smell wafting off them strong enough to make my eyes water. There were a couple of grease stains on them, like some dude had eaten dinner in just his undies. The crotch was crusty, too. Someone, maybe multiple someones, had cum in these boxers.

I remember wondering why the thought got me hard.

Rather than taking the Sriracha boxers to the trash like I’d planned, I found myself giving them a second sniff, and then a third. Goddamn, they were fuckin’ gross, bro. I thought it was just my disgust making me smell them over and over again. Like I was trying to figure out exactly what had gotten on them.

Before long, I was palming my lil cock through my slacks, holding the boxers close to my face with my other hand. It was, like, a total head rush every time I took another sniff. Like I could feel my brain blanking out as I took more and more of the musky stench into me. Not that I knew that was what was actually happening, huhuhu.

When I stripped off my pants and undies to jerk off better, I suddenly had an awesome idea. I could, like, wear the Sriracha boxers and jerk off in them. My brain was already at least halfway transformed by then, lol. I was definitely no nerd at that point. The idea of wearing another guy’s musky boxers got me so fuckin’ turned on.

I pulled the boxers up my skinny brown legs. They hung on my hip bones, barely able to stay on. I laid down on my bed and felt my rock hard cock through the crusty fabric. It was like I could feel the cum and sweat of everyone who’d ever worn that underwear seeping into my skin as I massaged drops of precum out of my balls.

As I writhed on my sheets, lost in pleasure, my skinny Indian body started to change. It started with my feet, which cracked and stretched as they grew big and thick. They started to sweat, a funky foot musk joining the renewed stench of the Sriracha boxers, which were getting super wet with my precum. It was like the brown leached out of my skin with my musky foot sweat, too, as my big feet got all pale.

The change continued up my bare calves, which got super hairy as the muscles flexed and swelled. My legs lengthened as huge quads and hammies swelled up under my whitening skin. God, said my musk-addled mind, I love leg day. I started to flex and wiggle my bulky thighs, feeling the muscles stimulate my growing prostate.

I let out a high pitched little bitchboy moan as my ass inflated with juicy muscle and fat, but I knew that my voice wouldn’t sound like that for much longer. I’d totally embraced the transformation as my cock and balls filled out the pouch of the boxers. They were no longer, like, loose and shit. My fat ass and big bro cock were stretching the sweaty fabric to its limits, bro!

My chest followed, going from slim to bulky so fast that all the buttons on my nerd shirt hit the ceiling. Sweat instantly started to roll off my furry new pecs, and I ran my soft little hand up and down my thick, firm belly and flexed the solid abs I knew were underneath the fat. More than the boxers and the smell, my body was starting to turn me on, bruh. I was becoming, like, a total frat god.

The curly brown hair that grew in my armpits smelled sooooo good as sweat started to drip off it. I totally buried my little nerd face in my own pits and licked up my sweat as I watched my arms bulk up and get all pale and hairy. It was so hot flexing my bicep and watching it bulk up before my eyes, dude! I felt my hand grow as I tugged my big jock cock in the Sriracha boxers, thickening up and getting some hard-earned weightlifting calluses.

The last thing to change was my head. My moans got deeper, slower, and totally dumb-sounding as my neck thickened. A thick brown beard grew on my cheeks, framing my cheesy dumb smile perfectly. My nose cracked and grew into a big ol’ sniffer, even more sensitive than my old nose so I can really take in my bros’ musk.

My old black buzzcut grew out into a curly brown mane, totally greasy from all the sweat I soak it with when I work out, huhuhu. As my forehead got all pale and my eyes turned blue, I felt my cock go over the edge, and I came right into the Sriracha boxers. Pump after pump of musky frat bro cream, taking my old self with it to impregnate the boxers with even more fratty juice. As the room filled with the smell of my thick load, I totally passed out.

The next morning, I woke up in an unfamiliar room. I was in a big bed with musky, sweat-stained sheets, a bunch of stale, unwashed gym gear all over the floor. I was still wearing the Sriracha boxers, my cum caked into the stain along with all the other bros’, along with a cap that I turned backwards as I sat up. I pulled on a tank without too many sweat stains on it and went to explore.

Turned out I lived at the Mu Upsilon Sigma frat house now. The whole place smelled like a sweaty armpit, and it was full of musky bros who were more than happy for me to get all up in their smelly pits and cracks.

I wore the Sriracha boxers for a couple days. Honestly, I dunno how long, I usually only change my boxers like once a month, huhuhu. I worked out, jerked off, got drunk, got fucked, and jerked off some more, all while wearing those boxers. Then I left ‘em in some nerd’s dorm as a prank, huhu.

It was so hot to watch the lil Japanese guy get as zonked out on the musky boxers like I had, bro. We hid in his closet and watched while he jerked off and turned into another musky white frat boy like us, then carried him to the MYS house once he passed out.

It’s been a couple weeks since then, and MYS membership has only grown, bruh! Each bro wears the Sriracha boxers for a few days, adds his personal touch to the, like, seasoning, and then we pass ‘em on to another nerd and induct him into frat life! Maybe some night soon, you’ll see these bad boys in your dorm, huhuhu. Life's perfect in the frat, bro!

[lindsay00000008]

Ghost x Fem!Reader

DownBad!Simon Ghost Riley x JustAFriend!Reader

Part 2 (Prev)

CW: suggestive fluff, bad jokes, boners, reader is willfully dumb, author doesn’t know where this story is going but wants to write more parts anyway, first cod fic actually send help, is he smiling too much? Idk, happy ghost I guess

“Well that… that is not a book.”

Ghost’s eyes lock onto yours, too close for comfort. Your whole body flushes, and your stomach dips. This situation is way out of hand. His breath huffs and his body tenses, and your skin tingles with the charge in the air — the playfight isn’t over.

You do the only thing you can think of. You wriggle your arm between the two of you and cover his mouth with your palm, using his surprise to smoosh his face away from yours and twisting your body to the side. Both of you roll off the couch and onto the floor. You’re on top, and ready to break away, to end the fight with a handshake and burning cheeks.

But you gasp as his legs come up and around your hips, and his arms catch your torso and head, bringing you into his hips like a tree to a bear.

“Simon!” you yelp, though it sounds more like Fimom, the word getting lost in his meaty shoulder. His hold is gentle but stiff, and it’s impossible to go anywhere. You shift your body, feeling like you’ve been gift-wrapped by a professional knot-maker. “Mmph…” you give up and let your body relax on top of his.

After a few moments of heavy silence he sighs and relaxes his grip.

“Mmm,” he purrs. “This is nice…”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up as he finally allows you to move.

“If you wanted a cuddle you could’ve just asked,” you tell him, rolling off him to land on your back.

“I meant the roughhousing,” he deadpans, turning his head to watch you.

“Oh, of course. My mistake,” you quip back. Then you remember the box on the floor and jolt upright, stuffing the contents back in before stumbling to your feet and heading to your room, your shoulder tensed for a possible pounce. But it seems playtime is over, and you make it to your room without a fuss. You toss the small box on your bed, then change your mind and put it in a drawer instead.

When you return, Simon is in the kitchen, peeling the dry outer layers away from an onion.

“You can just cut it in half and it’d be easier to get those bits off,” you tell him.

“It’s not clean,” he retorts.

“You’re worried about a little dirt?”

“No,” he doesn’t elaborate, but keeps peeling it anyway. You settle into his side and smile, taking the skin off a second onion. How silly, that this man cares so much for grocery store germs, when he probably had days at a time in the field where he couldn’t even wash his hands?

When he finishes peeling his onion, he washes his hands again, and even rinses the onion, before grabbing the knife. You follow the routine, not wanting to gross him out or overstep. You guess it may be an overcorrection, him trying to be as clean as possible when he can. You just don’t remember seeing these tendencies when he’s made food for himself, those times you came over after your own early dinner. In fact, this may be the first time he’s cooked for you.

“You want to become God, then?” You joke, feeling a bit lame.

“What?”

“Cleanliness. Close to godliness.”

He shrugs. “You deserve a clean onion.”

That’s makes you snicker. “You must think so highly of me. Odd, considering you’ve seen the kind of messes I make when I cook for you.”

He smiles at that. You’re thinking of the time you accidentally heated up soup in a soapy pot. Simon had half of his bowl before you took a bite, only commenting that he must have that rogue cilantro gene. But he could be thinking of one of the many other food mishaps that occurred under your hospitality.

As he chops, you bend down and pat his leg to scooch, so you can access the cabinets beneath him. He tilts his hips and steps away — but not before you notice the bulge tightly packed behind his zipper. As you nonchalantly grab the glass bowl and pan you need, your head spins. Is this some odd side effect of cutting onions? Your eyes sting, you cry, you pop a boner…

Or was it because he just had your body under him, atop him, picturing you using your recent delivery…?

No. It’s not you he’s reacting to, he’s just a guy. He just got a little excited, got his blood pumping for a play fight with his bestie. That’s normal. But you can’t help thinking how you have this giant, manly — sexual man in your kitchen. How you ever managed to disregard that fact in the first place.

You’ve stalled after placing the pan on the stove, and you don’t realize until a handful of minced onion hits the pan in front of you.

“Oh wait, the oil,” you tell him, looking up at his face. He looks concerned for you, and maybe a little warm himself, a pink flush on his cheeks.

“Just poured some. You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah… Water?”

He grunts his confirmation. You open the fridge to find the filter empty. You sigh.

“Beer?”

“Beer.”

(Next)

[thebearer]

the milestones menu: teddy's toast

prompt: you and carmen tell teddy some big news.

the rest of the milestones menu can be found here!

contains: fluff. dad!carmen x mom!reader but truly just fluff :)

3 tablespoons granulated or brown sugar

2 teaspoons ground cinnamon

Pinch of kosher salt

Unsalted butter, for cooking

4 slices of brioche bread

In a small bowl, stir together the cinnamon, sugar, and salt. Melt some butter in a nonstick skillet over medium-low; you’ll want enough to lightly coat the bottom of the skillet when melted. Swirl the bread around to absorb the butter. Cook until light golden brown. Add another pat of butter. Sprinkle the toasted tops edge to edge with a thin layer of the cinnamon sugar. Cook until the underside is golden brown. 

“Daddy.” It was hardly a whisper, teetering on the edge of a hiss. Carmen’s vision blurred, still foggy with sleep, making out a mess of curls in front of him. 

“Daddy,” Teddy’s voice was louder this time, ticking up in octave the way yours did- a sweet coo you always used when you were coaxing her out of bed. Carmen’s heart swelled, she’d picked up on that. Teddy was acting more and more like you every single day, and Carmen couldn’t be happier. 

“Yeah? Yeah, ‘m up.” Carmen groaned, rubbing the heel of his hand to his eyes, rubbing out the sleep in them. His body ached, sore from the long week. Hamstrings burning in the most miserable way. “What’s up Teddy Bear? You sleep good, hm?” 

“Yeah.” Teddy giggled, pushing up on the edge of the mattress. She was still too little, which selfishly made Carmen smug. She was so big now, four years old. He blinked, and now she was her own little person. 

“Where’s Mama?” Carmen muttered, looking around. It was too late in the morning for you to be in bed. The doorway was vacant of you leaning against it, a tiny smile and cup of coffee cradled to your chest, soaking in watching Teddy and Carmen interact. 

“She’s throwded up again.” Teddy frowned. “She not feel good?” It was a question, head cocked to the side and brows furrowed.

“I think she ate somethin’. Got her tummy all messed up.” Carmen muttered, tickling Teddy’s little tummy, leaving her squealing and kicking in his arms. He hoped it would distract her. Stop her from asking too many more questions. 

“Are you hungry? Mama made you breakfast yet?” Carmen asked, sliding out of the bed with Teddy on his hips. 

“No,” Teddy shook her head, tiny, chubby fingers poking at Carmen’s chain. “She was gonna until she gots sick.” 

“Oh,” Carmen nodded slowly, opening the door. Anchovy chirped, stalking in and out of his legs, head nuzzling against his calves while he walked. He wanted Teddy down, the toddler and the cat had been inseparable since birth, but Carmen liked to tell himself Anchovy was excited to see him. 

“How about we make somethin’ that will make Mama feel better?” Carmen suggested. He could hear you in the guest bathroom, water running and vent going to drown out your heaves. It had worked at the beginning, but now Teddy was catching on. 

“What?” Teddy asked, head tilting to the side so sweetly Carmen wanted to squeeze her. 

“What do I make you when you’re feeling gross?” Carmen asked, settling the toddler on the counter, one hand on her hip to steady her, the other preheating the oven. 

“Soup?” Teddy chirped. 

“In the mornings.” Carmen tried again. 

Teddy thought for a moment, a grin spreading across her face. “Teddy’s Toast.” 

“Yeah,” Carmen smiled proudly. “You think that will help Mama feel better?” 

“Uh-huh.” Teddy nodded, curls bobbing when she shook her head. “I helps?” She pointed at herself, lips rounding cutely when she asked the question. Carmen was sure his heart might just swell and burst out of his chest, she was so cute sometimes. He didn’t know how he’d handle two. 

“Yeah, you can help. Get me the bread?” Carmen put her on the ground, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before nodding to the pantry. 

Teddy scampered past you, nearly knocking you over in the process. You looked sick, a little woozy still. It was less now, just a little upset in the morning, then you were fine. 

Carmen’s eyes flicked over to you, rounding with concern. “Hey, mornin’, baby.” He muttered, a hand running across your back when you met him. “You feel alright? You good? Need some ginger ale or Sprite?” 

“I just need water.” You swallowed the spit that filled your throat, still a little sensitive from the retching moments ago. 

Teddy swung the bread on the counter, jumping with raised arms to Carmen so he could lift her up- so she could ‘help’ him cook. 

Carmen passed you a glass of water, which you took gratefully, lifting Teddy on the counter. “Gotta sit still, Dorothea, alright? You start movin’, you’re down.” He gave her a stern look, which she just waved off with a cute nod. 

“Teddy,” You cooed, voice still a little raspy. “Did you go wake up Daddy?” 

“Yes.” Teddy nodded. “‘Cause you-you was sick, Mama.” 

Carmen’s eyes met yours, a knowing look shared between you. “I was. Thank you for getting Daddy. That was a good thing to do.” You praised her lightly. 

Teddy beamed, looking at Carmen gleefully while he cut the butter into slices. “Now we make you breakfast, Mama.” Teddy nodded. 

“Oh? What are you making me, Chef Teddy?” You asked, head leaning into the palm of your hand. 

“‘S a secret.” Teddy whispered, fingers pressed to her lips. “Surprise!” 

“Oh, it’s a surprise, hm?” You asked dramatically, hoping to reach her level of excitement. 

Carmen smirked, wrist rotating the butter on the pan. “Yeah. You’ll like it, honey. Promise.” He winked at you softly. You flushed, cheeks tingling with heat. He could still make you flustered, still make you swoon. 

“Yeah, pwomise.” Teddy added with a little bob of her head; her own nod of approval. 

“Hey, Teddy. Could you do Mommy a big favor?” You ask, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “Could you get Mommy’s phone from the living room and bring it in here? Two hands, please?” 

Teddy nodded, Carmen setting her down so she took off, two feet pounding against the hardwood floors. “Do you think we should tell her?” You asked, sipping the rest of your water, eyeing Carmen carefully. 

“Tell her now?” Carmen pointed towards the counter, sprinkling the sugar mix on top of the browning toast in the pan. 

“Yeah, I mean… She’s catching on.” You mutter, hearing Teddy’s rough grab of the charger ripping out of the wall with your phone. “Might as well tell her before she starts telling everyone I’m sick and they get worried.” 

“Yeah, we-we can do that.” Carmen nodded, flipping the toast gentled in the pan. “If you want, honey.” 

“I think it would be best. Try to do it and then I can get the thing out of the closet for her.” You mutter, Teddy running back in, announcing triumphantly she found your phone. 

“Thank you, my sweet girl.” You coo, lifting her in your arms, peppering her face with kisses while she squealed and squirmed. Carmen tensed at you lifting her, eyes glaring at you in warning before turning back to the food in front of him. 

Teddy sat in your lap in the nook. You weren’t sure why you wanted to hold her, cuddle her softly while she babbled to you and Carmen, feeding you pieces of ‘Teddy Toast’ with an excited screech. You’d blame the hormones, mixed with the anticipation of telling her the news. 

“‘S good?” Teddy asked, turning to you with bright eyes- identical to Carmen’s. You wanted to melt. “Feel better?” 

“So much better.” You nodded. “How did you know this would make me feel better, hm? You’re so smart, aren’t you Teddy Bear?” You baby talk her, pressing kisses to her cheek. You know you shouldn’t anymore, she was four, growing up now, but how could you not? She was still so little to you. 

“Hey, you done?” Carmen asked, wiping Teddy’s hands when she nodded. He pushed the plate away, eyes cutting to yours carefully. “Teddy, we gotta tell you somethin’, ok? Somethin’ big.” 

Teddy stilled, ears perking at Carmen’s words, his tone. “Big?” 

“Mmhm.” You nodded, smoothing a hand down her curls. You moved her, turned her in your lap so she was facing both of you. “You know Mama’s been getting kinda sick lately?” 

“Yes.” Teddy nodded. “‘Cause you ated something.” 

“Right.” Your eyes cut to Carmen’s. “Well, not really ate something… Do you remember when Aunt Sugar had baby Jamie?” You started. 

Teddy’s lips twisted in thought, nodding. “And you remember Aunt Sugar had Jamie in her, uh, belly?” Carmen tickled her tummy softly, a lopsided smile spreading across his face at her little squeals and giggles. 

“Yeahhhh…” Teddy sang, collapsing into Carmen’s arms dramatically. 

Carmen snuggled her to his chest, nose pressed to her hair, looking at you. “Well, Mama’s been a little sick because,” You took a shuddering breath, clammy hand smoothing over your tummy. You weren’t sure why you were so nervous, so nervous to tell your toddler. 

“Because Mama has a baby in her tummy.” Carmen finished it for you, found the words that were choking in your throat, struggling to make their way out. 

Teddy frowned slightly- confused. You wanted to laugh, she looked so adorable. “A baby?” 

“Mmhm,” You nodded. “Your baby. Well, our baby, but your baby brother or sister.” You and Carmen paused, looking at Teddy, analyzing her every little move- every tiny tick and quirk as she thought silently.

“There’s… There’s a baby… in there?” Teddy processed it slowly, pressing a tiny finger into your ribs. 

“Yeah, right in here. That’s your baby brother or sister.” You nod slowly, voice calm and even, hoping to help her understand. 

“That’s why Mama’s been a little sick.” Carmen added. 

“Because of the baby?” Teddy clarified. 

“Because of the baby.” Carmen nodded slowly. 

“Because you ated it?” Teddy’s brows furrowed, looking up at you. 

You and Carmen paused, looking at each other. You’d played hypotheticals for weeks now- what if Teddy was upset, how would you say it, should you tell her until you’re out of your first trimester, what if Teddy didn’t want the baby? 

You hadn’t planned for this. 

“Uh, I didn’t…” You looked at Carmen for help. 

“Mama didn’t… she didn’t eat the baby.” Carmen said slowly. 

“Then how’d it getted in there?” Teddy asked, throwing her tiny little palms out for emphasis. Not at all affected by the news of a sibling- oh no, your child was worried about how the baby got in your tummy. 

“Uh,” Carmen looked like he might throw up, looking at you for help. 

“Daddy put it-” Carmen’s eyes widened, face reddening furiously. “I mean, Daddy and I got it at the store, and-and we have to grow the baby.” You stuttered, heat rising up your own cheeks. “Like-Like the flowers we grew in the backyard, remember?” Teddy nodded. 

“It’s like that. A little baby seed that has to grow in my tummy, then you’ll have a brother or sister in a few months.” You said as calmly and confidently as you could. 

Teddy was silent, nodding slowly, finger tracing on the table slowly. “Are you- You have any questions for us, Teddy Bear?” Carmen asked hesitantly. 

“Where did you buy the seed at?” Teddy turned to look at Carmen. 

“Target.” You said smoothly, ignoring Carmen’s bulging eyes at you. “Anything else? Are you feeling ok?” 

“Can I buy a baby seed?” Teddy asked, little hands pressing into her chest. 

“Absolutely not.” Carmen scoffed, louder than he meant it to be, harsher. 

Teddy’s eyes rounded softly, shining with hurt. You glared at Carmen lightly. “No, baby. You have to be older to buy it.” 

“A lot older.” Carmen added, holding the tiny toddler closer to his chest. 

Teddy thought for a moment, silently processing everything. “Do you have any more questions, baby? I know this is a lot of big news. It’s ok if you do.” You say softly, grabbing her little hand in yours. 

“Can we go to Target today?” Teddy asked, eyes shining bright and excitedly. “Yeah. Yeah, we can.” You giggled, tickling her sides softly. You grinned, beaming at her. She looked just like Carmen, but she was just like you. You hoped the next one would look just like Carmen too, act like him too.

[mrsriddlenott]

Can I get a FIC abt the reader being Theodore’s gf and best friend and she’s embarrassed and alone in her dorm bc of cramps and they are REALLY REALLY bad and he just comforts her and they snuggle and he gives her his hoodie and fluffy!! (I’m dying from my cramps in my bed rn 🙏 I need comfort from my book bf)

~ Comfort ~

Bf!Theodore Nott x Fem!reader

masterlist

Thank you so much for the idea, I hope you like it🥰😊

Warnings:Period Struggles,Self Esteem Issues,Fluff

You lay on your bed curled up in a ball under your blanket as you press your hands into your lower abdomen. You decided to skip dinner that day, you had zero appetite from being bloated and nauseous and you knew you probably looked a wreck. You felt gross and you didn’t want people seeing you that way.

Your cramps were worse than usual this month and no matter how many soothing spells you put on yourself, they started up again within the hour. You instead opted for the muggle way by putting a heat spell on your favorite stuffed animal, making a heating pad and clinging to it in a fetal position. You groaned as you heard your door opening, you enjoyed being alone at this time and there were very few people who could change that.

“Hey Baby,” Theo said in a soft, cautious voice as he closed your door behind him, “I know you never feel like eating on your period so I figured you wouldn’t be at dinner, but you’ve gotta get something down, so I snuck some dinner rolls out for you,” Theo rambled as he fumbled in his pocket, pulling the napkin wrapped snack from his robes.

“I know you probably want to be left alone so I’ll just leave these here and I’ll come check on you later, I love you Baby,” He sighed as he set the food on your nightstand, leaning forward on your bed to place a kiss on the side of your head before you pulled away. Theo sighed, frowning and rubbing his hand up and down your arm before you turned your body to lay flat on your back, looking up at him.

“I’m all gross right now, you won’t want to kiss me,” He chuckled down at you as you frowned up at him, “I’m serious Teddy, I haven’t showered today,” You huffed as Theo smiled down at you wider.

“I always want to kiss you y/n, a little sweat won’t hurt me.” He said softly as he ran two of his knuckles down your cheek. You groaned and turned away from him remembering that your face always breaks out during your period.

“Baby?” Theo said as he positioned himself on your bed, sitting crossed legged behind your curled up body as he began to worry.

“I feel disgusting Teddy,” You said quietly as he sighed and rubbed your shoulder while repositioning himself to lay behind you, draping his arm over your waist.

“Well you’re not Baby, it’s all natural. Beautiful in a way if you think about it.” He whispered as he laid the side of his head against yours and pulled your back closer to his chest, grabbing your stuffed animal and hugging it against your lower abdomen for you. He pampered your face with kisses as he whispered about your beauty, before starting to get up to leave. “Will you stay?” You blurted out.

Usually you would spend this time holed up in your dorm room with Theo checking on you between classes and when he had free time. You were so embarrassed by yourself that you’d almost always end up asking him to leave for your comfort, but this time the only comfort you wanted was him.

“Of course my Love,” He whispered as he placed a kiss on your temple and pulled you back into him with a hand on your stomach.

“Don’t touch my tummy,” You mumbled as he softly giggled into your hair at your grumpiness, “Theo.” You scolded as he swiftly apologized.

“Sorry Baby you’re just so cute, and I love your tummy,” Theo said with an exaggerated pout as you lightly cringed at the idea of him paying attention to the layer of fat on your abdomen.

“I don’t like the way it looks or feels when I’m bloated like this.” You sighed out, wanting to cry but not wanting to worry him. Theo quickly pulled away, swiftly taking off his quidditch hoodie, that was much larger than any of your clothes, before you had even fully turned to face him.

“Here Beautiful,” He said as he started putting the hoodie on over your head, “this way you can feel more comfortable and I can still cuddle you, if you want me to of course.” He sighed as you looked up to him with watery eyes before taking you back into his arms, this time chest to chest for your comfort.

“Thank you Teddy, you have no idea how much this means to me,” You said on the verge of tears while he chuckled lightly in your ear as he held you tightly.

“Baby, you don’t need to thank me, this is my job as your boyfriend. You go through this every month so that one day we can be parents, it would be wrong of me not to help.” He said in a sigh and snuggled up to you more with a yawn.

“I love you,” You whispered, you were more comfortable than you had been for the past few days, all thanks to him.

“I love you so much my Pretty Girl,” He sighed as he began to drift off to sleep, you following suit with the pain of your cramps fading as you slept in your boyfriend’s arms.

~~~~

[rockatanskette]

Semi-related to my post on how human conservation practices, but I have a cold today, and it's got me thinking about biological altruism—the biological imperative to put other creatures ahead of yourself, to benefit the group.

When talking about possible interactions with other species, we talk a lot about humans being crazy and thrill-seeking and impossible to kill. Never use a warning shot as an incentive to keep humans out of a fight; it'll just make them angry. And that's true. But a valid criticism I've seen in the "Earth is a death world" community is that according to our understanding of evolution, every planet must be some form of death world. Competition fosters evolution—the wolf with sharper claws survives when its litter mates die. You can't reach space travel without some casualties along the way.

But the dog survives because it makes friends with the strange ape carrying a sharp stick. And the strange ape survives because it befriends the wolf. Underneath the death world is an inextricable and undeniable layer of the bond world; the love world; the world, together.

I imagine some worlds are not death worlds. They're peaceful and tranquil. I suspect there are worlds far more deadly than Earth, where the skies rain diamonds, harder than any substance we know with the species to match. And I imagine that they are united in their confusion at the duality of humankind.

Today is a great example: I have a cold, and I want someone to take care of me, but the people who would are immunocompromised, also sick, or live 8 hours away, respectfully. I also want no one within the walls of my apartment or I will eat them. I feel gross, I feel tired, and I don't want a single human being anywhere near me, even if they did bring soup.

In my constant scrolling through my phone today, I decided to look up why the hell I feel so bad—why everyone feels so bad when they're ill. And the answer surprised me. I always thought it was because your immune system is active, so it's using a lot of your energy. That is part of it. Another part is that your brain and body are communicating across the blood-brain barrier to fight the infection, which is rare and energetically expensive.

But that doesn't explain everything, and according to more current research, it could also be what's called the Eyam Hypothesis: that we feel so gross, so we instinctively isolate from other people. We're too tired to deal with others, and so we don't infect them. Misanthropy for the good of the species. Of course, it can also backfire: one of the criticisms of the Eyam Hypothesis is that humans also instinctively care for each other. If my brother has a headache, I drive to the store for Advil.

Personally, I think it's a little bit of both: biological altruism. Either way, the majority live on. The first thought I had this morning when I woke up wasn't "I feel gross" it was "there's no way I'm going to work today." And while that might not be everyone's first thought, you don't even have to be a particularly altruistic person to not want to leave your home or your bed when you're sick. It's inborn.

And so when the human named Ismail comes down with a case of the interstellar common cold, his alien friend Dyos grows very concerned. Ismail is usually intensely social, almost off-puttingly so. Some crew members joke about how his quarters are for sleeping and prayer only; if he's home alone? You should be worried. But when Dyos demands an answer to the severity of Ismail's malady, the other humans just nod knowingly.

"Nah, he's okay, the medics already cleared him. It's not a severe infection."

"But there are so many...fluids. And his body has changed color."

There is a moment of confusion there until they remember that Dyos's species can see in the infrared color spectrum.

"Nah, that's just a low-grade fever. It should break in the next couple days."

"But he doesn’t want to play chess today," Dyos insists.

"Ohhhh," says human Claudia, finally understanding. "No, that's normal. Humans don't like being around other people when they're sick, it's supposed to be one of the major evolutionary advantages. Protect your community from your illness and the genes live on."

"So we're just going to leave him alone?" Dyos is troubled by this. He can go for weeks without speaking to another life form, but he has seen Ismail grow despondent when unable to participate in social gathering.

"Oh, no," human Claudia says, laughing. "We're going to employ one of the other most longstanding human evolutionary advantages."

There are many to choose from and Dyos settles on, "middle age?"

"Sort of," human Claudia opens up a small shipping container and holds up a brown paper bag tied with a colorful ribbon. It glows brightly in Dyos's vision, almost as brightly as human Claudia's smile. "His nanni's hot soup, express delivery."