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#I cannot wait to draw that hot mess
luveline · 2 years
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ive never done an ask before so sorry if i type it out wrong but could you do a eddie munson x reader where reader color's in eddie's tattoos i literally cannot stop thinking about it 😭 really just pure fluff and them goofing around
thank you for your request this is literally the sweetest idea ever! i didn't nail the goofing but he's a sweetheart and hot <3 0.9k
Eddie looks cute sitting in front of your desk in your soft backed chair. He's curious but careful as he picks over pen stands and coloured pencils. 
"Can I see some of your work?" he asks. 
You could kiss him right there for calling it 'work'. He's never once been dismissive about your art, though most everyone else in your life calls it a hobby or your 'little side job'. 
You stand up from the bed and move to his side. His arm wraps around your waist lightly, easy as you open the desk drawer for your current small sketchbook where you thumbnail paintings. 
"All my canvases are down in the garage," you say. 
"I'd love to see them." 
He opens your sketchbook with infinite care, arm quickly stolen from your skin. You hover anxiously by his side, waiting for his verdict. He's quiet as he turns each page, not patronising you in pretending that every single sketch is interesting, but an honest peruse of your talents. 
He stops on a drawing of him. Quite recent, you'd forgotten all about it. In his club shirt with the sleeves pushed up, a quick rendering of the planes and shadow of his arms, less detail but enough to make out his face through a curtain of curls. 
"Is it biased if I say this is the best one?" he asks, hands splayed over the page, face turned to you. He's grinning. 
"Very biased," you say. "I've messed up all your tattoos. You were moving too fast." 
He turns to the page and raises his eyebrows. "They look just fine to me." 
He's lying, of course. They're blurs of dark without detail. 
"You have to say that." 
"I don't have to do anything," he says. You shiver as his hand wraps around your back again, his touch featherlight. A ring scrapes your skin as he slips his fingers under the fabric of your t-shirt.
"If you'd only stay still," you whine. 
He tips his head back and pouts at you mockingly for a split-second before chuckling warmly. "You're tortured, bub." 
The pet name has your chest aflame with heat. You look at his shirt rather than his face, toying gently with one of his messy dark curls. "Whatever," you say, wanting to move on before he does something to tease you.
He pushes the chair back and encourages you into his lap. You sit tentatively on his leg, aware of every point of contiguity between you as his hand finds your soft tummy over your shirt. The other arm he lays flat on your desk.
"Take a look." 
You rub your face with your shoulder, unsure. Eddie squeezes you, reassuring. "Go on." 
Your relationship is new enough that you haven't seen every tattoo properly. You leap at the chance to study them. Despite your nervousness at this proximity you lean forward on his knees and take his arm into your hands. 
You like the first one over the smooth inner stretch of his forearm, it suits him, a demon of some sort puppeteered by a bony hand. Turning his arm over, you find his flock of bats tapering over his elbow. Familiar, you could likely draw them from memory. 
You're holding your breath as you turn in the circle of his arm, finger pushing carefully under his shirt sleeve to expose the scary bird/lizard amalgamation that you don't recognise, its frilled spines flared and its mouth open. 
"I like them," you say. 
He pulls you up his leg. "Yeah?" 
"Mm. Would you ever get something in colour?" 
"Sure, I'd love some colour. S'just expensive as shit, so…" 
He sounds embarrassed. It's not what you meant to do, and you rush to fix it with a spur of the moment thought. 
"Could I colour one?" 
"Could you?" he asks, voice low, laughing a laugh that's more breath than sound. 
You burn, shifting forward to take a marker into your hands. He keeps a good hold on your abdomen to keep you anchored. It's nice. 
You take a light red into your hands, slow and steady as you set it to his pale skin and fill in the majority of his demon. Then, with a slightly darker red, the midtones. You round it out with a dark purple in the shadows, giving the demon a more three dimensional feel. 
"Is it too cold?" you ask as you go, voice a murmur. 
Eddie rubs the tip of his nose against your shoulder. "It's fine." 
"You don't want to watch?"
"No way. Tell me when you're done, I want the full effect. Blow me away." 
You nod and flush with heat and finish up as the heat of his body soaks into yours, relaxing in his lap as time passes. 
"There," you say, capping a black fineliner. "I'm done, Eds." 
Eddie pushes his chin over your shoulder to take in what you've done. 
"Baby, that's fucking sick. Oh my god," he sounds sad, beggy, in that awful way boys do. "I want that for keeps." 
You smile because you're glad he likes it. You'd thought you'd done a pretty good job, too. 
"You have talented hands," he says into your ear, voice warped by a clear double entendre. 
You melt, a shiver coursing down your back as you lean towards him unthinkingly. 
"I'm not gonna shower. I need it forever." 
Spell quickly broken, you wrinkle your nose. "That's disgusting."
"That's punk rock, babe." 
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m1ndpalace · 5 months
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i like it when you tell me what to do. —osamu dazai.
contains: dirty talk, playful!reader, mafia executive!dazai, if you think about it the positioning of furniture here is kinda weird, teasing, kinda dom reader maybe a switch, masochism (and sadism), gun play, unprotected sex, edge play
warning: unedited🤧
dazai's mischievous smirk greeted you as soon as your eyes met when he padded his thumb to your lips, raising your chin up.
playing with your bottom lip, you licked his thumb, slightly biting it to fully suck it. "ah, belladonna, i like this shade on you, i cannot wait to smear it off you."
you were then pulled to face your reflection as he kept your arms behind you, pulling bandages to restrain you. you tugged playfully as his grip tightens around your wrist.
trailing the tip of his nose on the side of your face, you meet his gaze and lowly chuckle at his dalliance. "you're losing your touch osamu," freeing yourself from the knot of his bandages, you roughly cup his jaw, dragging his face onto your height.
"you're not as fast as you were," you whisper as you lead a hot path to his ear.
with one swift motion of turning you and pushing you to his desk, you suddenly find yourself bending over—with his arm weighting your back, keeping you from standing.
"that's where you're wrong belladonna," his teeth grazing at your jaw, the barrel of his gun trailing up and down your leg to your thigh. "mhm?" you mindlessly hummed, your tone teasing. "i stay the same, if not better."
"as you do," he chuckled, his fingers making their way to your soaking folds. "my hands easily turn you into this wet mess, like the whore you are."
"and you easily get hard because of my dainty fingers," you smirked, stroking his hard length through his tight pants. "are you trying to out-whore me, osamu? hmm?"
while he enjoyed pressing his hard-on on your behind, you took advantage of breaking free off his hold and facing him, your back now at the table.
taking his semi-soaked gun, you licked your juices off the tip of the barrel and teasingly trailed it to the tight part of his slacks. up and down the barrel went, tracing the outline of his hardness.
dazai's mischievous smirk and occasional moans clouded your thoughts yet followed what his eyes wanted. "i like it when you do things to me, bella," he moaned. you notice a growing damp spot on the tight spot.
"like this?" you chuckled, tenderly pulling him into a kiss, slowly biting his lower lip until it bled, all the while cocking his gun and drawing a trail up and down his neck and torso.
"mhm," he whispered onto your teeth, saliva and blood mixing."
after a few more mindless patterns, you settled the tip of his barrel on his chest, directly above his heart.
his eyes glimmered with the same excitement whenever he faced danger. you pulled the trigger but none came. you continued dancing with his tongue, ravaging each other's mouths.
strings of saliva stretched from your mouths as soon as you gasped for air. laughing with your partner.
dazai grabbed at your hand, placing it onto his tight pants. he leaned on your neck only to beg and to bite for a few licks.
"tell me what to do with this, i like it when you tell me what to do."
as he let go of your settled hand, you feel the cold barrel traversing your back, following the trail of your spine.
as if a damsel in distress, you dramatically sighed and slightly opened your legs. "do the work for me osamu."
"but that's no fun," he gritted out, turning to you for him to face your behind. his feet pusing your legs on both sides to make room as he unbuckled his belt.
"do you love it when i fuck you from behind?" he whispered dramatically, his gun trailing your side.
"do you like being allowed to fuck me at all, osamu?" you replied with your usual seductive tone, your nails playing with his chin and your thumb padding his bloodied lower lip.
"would you rather like being fucked from behind," you teased, now gripping his dripping cock.
"i would love to, ah—," he moaned as he hungrily claimed your mouth as you pumped.
as if on cue, his gun stopped on the side of your head. without any second thought, he pulled the trigger, but none came.
"just like that, ah, yes—" with his head mindlessly drawn back, his face drunk on pleasure, you slowly intensified your strokes as you pushed his back to his desk where he found his knuckles tightly gripping its edges.
"mhm, ah, bella, you do me so good."
pornographic moans reverbated in the room as both of you panted, restlessly trailing each other's hands, fighting for dominance before the other takes over.
after successfully pinning your back to the same position on his desk, he teasingly rubs his hard dick on your now exposed ass, slowly drawing mindless lines up and down your behind and inner wet folds.
you grind on his hardness, smirking mischievously after his huffs of groans. with both your bodies sticky from sweat and pleasure, you couldn't help but moan with him as he went in.
the chorus of both your low and seductive chuckles filled the air. "ah bella, you make me believe in heaven when we're like this."
with dazai thrusting in and out of you like a maniac it was only natural that he lost his focus on your restraints. you were able to twist your body to face him, delaying his near nirvana.
he grinned like a maniac as you gripped on his exposed hard on. "kneel," you commanded through your teeth.
it took a swift second before you sat yourself on his desk, opening your exposed wetness. "osamu, you're forgetting something," you opened your legs wider.
his lips slowly climbed from the tip of your toe to your inner thighs. he sighed, taking in the warmth. he slowly lapped on your folds. when he gets a little too excited, you grip on his hair to withdraw him from you.
"ah, bella you must be a goddess to turn my pains into this pleasure," he moans.
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What do you think Katniss and Peeta’s unexpected turn ons are? Like a small innocent thing about the other that drives them wild just because they really love them so much? And makes the other one go “really? 😉”
This was way too much fun to answer and got out of hand. I could probably think up a thousand more of these if I had the time.
<3 kdnfb
Canonically, Peeta cannot lie to Katniss and look her in the eyes. When she figures out that he still can’t post-mj, she uses it to her advantage. She can always tell when he’s trying to fib his way out of accidentally revealing an innocuous secret or a surprise he’s planning, like what he’s getting her for her birthday. And it drives her a little insane. Like “either look me in the eyes when you try to lie to me or take me to bed right now, since you won’t give me my present right now.”
Katniss is a consummate caretaker, to an almost annoying degree. Fortunately for her, she husbanded someone with a caretaker kink. That boy was dying of blood poisoning, raging with fever in a deathmatch arena, and he was still laying down the lines and making her laugh. Every time she fusses over him or bosses him around when he’s got a minor injury or just a little sniffling cold, that man is in full on flirt mode and dragging her into bed with him. “I’ve got a surefire way you can make me feel better.” “If we have sex, will you stop whining and get up so I can wash the sheets afterwards?” she sighs in exasperation as she’s stripping off her clothes and crawling under the covers with him.
Meanwhile, Katniss goes feral whenever Peeta gets a little protective of her. Some whackadoo from the Capitol comes out to Twelve to check on the progress of the new medicine factory and brings a limousine with him on the train, but the roads in Twelve are not made for cars like that and the idiot almost runs people over. So of course, Peeta wraps his arm around his wife and bodily lifts her out of the path. One second she’s walking through town, reciting her shopping list, the next she’s pressed up against a storefront with Peeta’s body caging her in and some idiot driver is careening past, honking his horn. And if you think Katniss doesn’t almost climb him right there and he has to toss her over his shoulder to drag her home before she tears his clothes off, I cannot help you.
Both of them become unhinged morons whenever the other one is a complete mess. 
By this I mean Katniss comes in from tending the garden, her shirt all sweaty and clinging to her. Her hair’s a mess and she’s got a little sunburn on her nose and cheeks and Peeta’s already naked, demanding she take him on the spot. 
Similar response when she comes home a little disheveled from a hunt. “At least let me put the meat in the freezer first, Peeta.” Nope. She gets railed up against said freezer and can’t keep a straight face when they have to invite Haymitch over to eat all this meat because they had to cook it immediately after or it would’ve gone bad.
Peeta starts coming home from the bakery deliberately a little messy. Flour in his hair, sugar stuck to his neck. A random smear of frosting on his arm. Why? Because Katniss starts squirming the instant she sees him and honestly, he really likes it when she mounts him in the hallway because she couldn’t make it the five extra feet to the bedroom.
He’s lost count of how many times they’ve had sex because he didn’t get all the paint washed off his hands before a meal or before bed. And he almost never notices the smear of paint or pencil dust that winds up on his left temple because he brushed back his hair at some point while he was painting/drawing and why is that so hot? She has no clue, all she knows is that she wants to bathe in him. Usually, she manages to wait a little while for that one, mainly because she wants to see what he was painting before she jumps him. What he was painting often dictates the flavor of their sex.
He doesn’t paint the Games as much, after the first time she tells him “Real,” but when he does, the sex is tender and usually happens in the art studio itself, on a paint splattered sofa or on the floor, rolling around on his floor tarps so that both of them are smeared with paint afterwards.
If he’s painting her or other people that they love, they’ll make it up to the bedroom before clothes start flying, laughing and teasing each other the entire way. Katniss will be laughing so hard she snorts while she’s moaning and coming at the same time. Peeta lives to make her snort laughing while she’s coming, btw. Huge turn on, switch flipped to feral mode as soon as she's done coming, and Katniss feels like she won’t be able to walk straight for a day after he finishes inside her.
He uses her as a canvas? Well eventually he's gonna wind up covered in paint too. They go until the paint starts to dry and by then, they're sleepy and content and can barely move anymore.
Painting landscapes and nature scenes? Absolutely feral pig sex where the neighbors worry about them and ask each other if they should… knock? Make sure everyone is still alive in there? Katniss really can’t walk straight for a day after that, but she’s not complaining. Instead she’s demanding her husband carry her around, because he did that to her, after all.
Sadly for Katniss, Peeta carrying her around is something she absolutely loves for the tenderness and silliness of it, but also at times it turns her into a raving madwoman "take me to bed and throw me on it then fuck me this instant before I pull out all my hair, husband!"
And ho buddy, when the two of them come home all sweaty and gross from rebuilding the district? Round one on the floor in the entryway. Round two with skin squealing on shower walls and borderline screaming moans echoing off the bathroom walls. Hair pulling, biting, clawing sex. Let me inside your skin, ten minutes later we’re still actively sweating well damn it that shower was fucking pointless in terms of getting clean sex.
Katniss eats her pie backwards, crust first and Peeta doesn’t know why, but for some reason, he thinks it’s adorable and needs to have her instantly. Haymitch wonders why he no longer gets pie on nights when he eats dinner with them. There’s always dessert… but no pie. So Peeta starts baking Haymitch his own pies and dropping them off, because he’s not giving up his absolute need to toss Katniss on the table and eat her out like he’s a dying man whenever she eats her pie like that.
Peeta looks like he’s solving all of the world’s problems when he’s brushing his teeth. So serious. Sometimes, Katniss will throw small objects at his prosthetic until he notices and giggles when he does, looking at her like she’s an annoying brat. Sometimes, she sneaks up behind him and makes faces at him over his shoulder until he laughs and spits out the toothpaste. Other times, her hands on him are incredibly naughty and the next thing he knows, he looks like a rabid animal in the mirror while he’s bent over the sink, holding on for dear life with her hands on his dick, unraveling him one caress and stroke at a time. But whatever she does, it ends with their sheets an absolute wreck and both of them naked and sweaty and staring at the ceiling going “Wow. So that… happened…”
Katniss bites her nails when she’s nervous and Peeta fixes it by snatching her hand and kissing her from her fingertips up her arms to her neck… where he blows a raspberry until she’s laughing. Do smutty things happen after that? Depends on the setting.
Peeta still flirts with her. Like blatantly, let's see how red I can get my wife’s face flirting with her over the bakery counter or in the town square, in front of literally everyone’s salad. And Katniss just melts like a loon but is secretly plotting how to get him naked asap. She’s not against throwing him against the nearest tree if only there weren’t so many people in the district. Oh but she’s absolutely savaged him against several trees in the woods because he was flirting.
Peeta whistles when he’s working in the bakery. Katniss thinks it’s adorable and sexy as hell. She sings in the shower and Peeta never misses the show, sitting on the toilet or just standing against the sink just to hear her sing. It’s the only time he manages to move silently.
Katniss cannot keep her hands out of Peeta’s hair. Girl is obsessed. And Peeta finds it at turns, adorable, adorably annoying, a mild turn on, or holy hell hot. Like “pull my hair again when I make you come” hot. Conversely, she absolutely loves it when Peeta brushes and braids her hair for her. He’s trying to have a tender, loving moment, and she’s often “are you done yet because as soon as that hair tie is on, i’m gonna be all over you.”
Both of them absolutely love it when the other one laughs. It’s not always a turn on, per se, but when it is… lord have mercy they broke a whole ass bed one time because Peeta laughed at something Katniss said.
Peeta wearing loose, soft pajama pants or the like. Katniss is all hot and bothered and “i’m not that big you can definitely fit me in there with you…” Peeta looks at her like she’s lost it, but they actually do try it once or twice. Numerous pairs of pants have been ripped and sewn back together in this pursuit, and not because she couldn’t fit in there with him.
He’s long since accepted that if they’re dressing up for some occasion, he has to get dressed two hours early. To give Katniss enough time to rip it all off and have her way with him and still have time for them to shower and get dressed again so they’re not late.
Anytime Katniss wears one of his shirts, sweaters, etc, he’s pretty sure he’s going to die unless he gets his mouth or hands on her and then his cock inside her because half the time, she’s not wearing a bra or pants with them, just panties, and he just… has to have her. NOW. While said garment is still on her body. Especially a particular red sweater he was wearing the day they had sex the first time and she wore it the morning after.
She absolutely has a sunset orange nightie that nearly gets removed (or not removed) every time she wears it, but removed or not… either way, Katniss can’t feel her toes after Peeta makes her come as many times as he can whenever she wears it. 
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Hi could you do a Morpheus x reader where the reader is krypton (like supergirl) and they are husband and wife and the reader protects him but the bad guys uses him to get to the reader and they use the green kryptonite which causes the reader to pass out and he catches the reader and carries them to their shared bedroom and waits till the reader wakes up and have a happy ending
Potato Chips
Dream of the Endless x Krypotian!Reader
Summary: "Ah, yeah. I can't seem to catch a break," I groan, "one moment I'm buying potato chips, next thing- BANG! Shot with kryptonite."
Word Count: >600
Warnings: fem!reader, wife!reader, mervyn 'i will die for y/n' pumpkinhead, nightmare!dream, protectiveness, fluff?, typos, etc.
A/N: hi nonnie i had a similar request to yours before so i did this alshfasfh and i hope you like it (: Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @deniixlovezelda @shadow-pancake9
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"My love," is the first thing that my senses register when I relapse into consciousness.
I rouse with a cold sweat. I feel a hot hand on my cheek. My eyes flutter open-- or at least I feel them flutter open. I rub my eyes with my palm and release a groan.
"How are you feeling?" the voice grumbles, deep and loud. It echoes through every crook and chamber; it rings in my ears, effectively waking me up.
I open my eyes, finding I was laid in darkness. I sit up from the cushions and blink rapidly, as if willing the color and light back into my eyes. It doesn't work. But then I see something glimmering in darkness; there were specks of shimmer. Instinctively, I knew it was Dream's eyes.
I reach out to his cheek, "Dream? What's going on?"
The room vibrates when he speaks, "you were hurt."
I straighten up. Yeah, that would explain why I can't see in the dark right now.
I take a moment to think back on the events that happened prior to being submerged in this darkness. Why was it so dark anyway? Am I in the Dreaming?
And then it clicks.
"Ah, yeah. I can't seem to catch a break," I groan, "one moment I'm buying potato chips, next thing- BANG! Shot with kryptonite."
"I removed the shard from your side," he speaks tightly. I do my best to really focus on his face but it was just too dark for me to see.
"Dream, why is it so-"
CRACK! There is a loud creaking sound, followed by a voice that steps in with an orange light, "BOSS!"
A similarly orange pumpkin head draws near. The cigarette in his mouth is lit by the candle in his hand, "I finished the torture room."
"Torture room?" I mumble back.
Dream pulls his face away from me and looks at his scarecrow servant. Mervyn does not look at his master at all, even as he says, "very good."
"Wait- what tort-"
"I ordered every nightmare to have at it with the miscreant who was stupid enough to mess with our lady."
Our lady? So he- "Wait- hold on. Why is there a torture-"
Dream pulling away makes my words go dry, that, and finally seeing his form with the help of the one light in the room. I suddenly wish I hadn't looked. He rose up to the ceiling, body long, spindly, dark, matted in material I couldn't make out. He had feathers? Scales? Horns? Claws? Appendages? He was terrifying; a true nightmare, so much so, when my breath caught in my throat, I am stunned and forced to look away.
"Very good, Mervyn," his voice bellows, making a shiver run down my spine.
I feel him look at me. I cannot look back.
"My love," my Nightmare speaks, "I will return in a moment."
I can only squeak in response.
Slowly, the darkness in the room dissipates. When the light touches us again, I turn to Mervyn, who blows out his candle.
I release a sigh, "what was he?"
"What do you mean, milady?" Mervyn takes his cigarette between his fingers.
"I mean Dream! He was-" I place my hands on my head, "he was horned! And- and gooey and -"
"You mean you actually looked?" Mervyn chuckles in surprise, "wow. Love is wild. I've never once felt inclined to look at my lord when he was in nightmare form," he puffs some smoke, "don't worry. It's not for you. It's for the bozo that shot you."
I raise a finger at that, "so the torture room-"
"My best work to date," Mervyn says, "of course," he begins to walk off, "I had to work last minute and overtime," he grumbles on his way to the door, "but, I mean, at least, for once, it's not entirely irrational-" he slams the door on his way out.
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iamthecomet · 3 months
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COMET
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IFRIT CORE
PLEASE ELABORATE AT YOUR LEISURE
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ALWAYS HAPPY TO ELABORATE. Nearly 700 words of Ifrit and Dew fucking each other senseless (as they should) under the cut.
The room is dark and weed scented. Dew’s sheets are cool beneath his knees. There’s a draft blowing in under the door. The abbey is silent save for the harsh slap of skin on skin and Ifrit’s broken moans.
“Please,” Ifrit begs. Voice gravel rough, right next to Dew’s ear. Breath hot over the pointed shell of it. Lips grazing over that sensitive skin as Ifrit pants above him, behind him. 
Ifrit holds him close. One arm tight around his waist. Hand pressed to his sternum. Dew’s back to Ifrit’s front. Glued together with sweat and spit and Satan knows what else. Ifrit’s other hand is lower. Fingers splayed over Dew’s lower belly. Digging in. Dimpling taut skin. 
Dew’s hot. Engulfed by Ifrit. Every rough thrust a spike of pleasure so intense he swears he feels it in his teeth. Ifrit’s got the angle just so. Hammering the same spot over and over again that makes Dew twitch and whine. His dick–untouched–waggling and spitting as Ifrit fucks him senseless. 
Dew can barely breathe. Each breath a ragged effort, knocked out of him when Ifrit shoves back in. Fucking him with abandon. 
“Please, Dew. Please let me.” 
Dew leans back, presses the back of his skull to Ifrit’s shoulder. Lets himself drift away on this pleasure.  He shakes his head, just a little. He can’t speak. The sounds Ifrit is fucking out of him cannot be turned into words. 
He gasps, high pitched and devastating as Ifrit slows. Shoves the fat head of his cock right up against Dew’s prostate and grinds. 
It doesn’t last long–Ifrit’s intended teasing. Dew clenches down on him, just a little, and Ifrit’s spiraling again. Rocking into him. Short thrusts now. Staying deep. Quick rabbit thrusts as he whines in Dew’s ear. 
“Please, Droplet. I can’t hold it. Please let me–inside. Please, Dew.” 
Dew doesn’t answer. Eyes fluttering closed as he drifts away on the way Ifrit is fucking him. Thorough. Desperate. Dew wants to drink his pleas down. Wants to drown in them. Make a home in them. Wants Ifrit like this always. So good, so considerate. “Wanna cum inside so bad, Dewy. Please. Please I can’t–please don’t make me pull out–” 
Dew turns his head to mouth at Ifrit’s jaw. Sharp teeth catching against thin skin. Tongue dragging out to lick the sweat beading there. Tasting salt and need. 
“It’s for you Dew. So much. Let me give it to you. Please, baby. Fucking, please.” 
Dew will have bruises tomorrow. On his stomach, his chest. Around his swollen abused nipples. It will hurt to sit. He can’t wait. 
Ifrit’s whines get higher, more frequent. Each breath canting up into desperation. 
“Fuck, Droplet. So close. Please let me give it to you. Tell me I can. Wanna fill you up–need to. Please. Dew. Please. I can’t–I gotta–fuck–please. Satanas Dew, say something.” 
Dew huffs out a little laugh, broken in half by a moan as Ifrit fucks into him a little harder. His whines nearing sobs. Fingers digging into Dew’s skin so hard it hurts. Dew melts into all of it, draws it out for as long as he can. Touches himself, finally. Stroking himself with languid strokes, root to tip. Squeezing the ruddy head, knuckles slick with pre in no time. Orgasm rushing up on him with barely any warning. He leans into it, slips closer and closer to the edge in time with Ifrit.  Ifrit starts to tense,and Dew feels disappointment and worry flicker through his body. Feels him get ready to pull away. Dew presses his  mouth to Ifrit’s neck. Pulse hammering against his lips. “Come on then” Dew whispers just as he starts to cum, words shaking as he forces them out. Cum dribbling over his fingers. “Do it. Fill me up. Make a fucking mess.” 
Ifrit cums with a sob, holding Dew painfully tight. Wheezing with each squirt of his cock deep inside Dew’s body as Dew mliks him for every drop. “Thank you,” Ifrit chants into Dew’s hair, “thankyou thank you.” A breathless mantra repeated over and over as Dew laps at the tears dripping from Ifrit’s jaw. 
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tj-dragonblade · 4 months
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[FIC] Ambrosia
Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling (Hob x Dream) Rated: E Word Count: 3965 Tags: Top Dream, Bottom Hob, Tob Hob, Bottom Dream, multiple orgasms, body hair appreciation, scent kink, Dream of the Endless has a human kink, sweat is sexy, armpit appreciation, Hob is at his most beautiful when he's most human, rimming, felching, anal sex, oral sex, cumslut Dream, Dream of the Endless is a Horny Little Weasel, hair pulling, unnegotiated hairpulling, both of them are on board, but it's heat-of-the-moment not talked about beforehand, in case that's a strong point for anyone, overstimulation
Notes: This got sidelined for several months behind other inspiration but I've finally come back and pulled it all together. Springboarded from several of the monthly smut prompts posted up by @staroftheendless, to wit: 3/23/23 chest hair 3/24/23 weakness 3/25/23 scent, teasing 4/10/23 hair pulling
Summary: An exercise in celebrating the human messiness (and messy humanness) that Dream finds so attractive in Hob
On AO3
Hob is sheathed to the hilt in Dream's arse and holding himself desperately in check, Dream trembling in the grip of climax astride him, prick in hand. Long stripes of come decorate Hob's stomach already and there is still more dripping between Dream's fingers, smearing into the hair trailing down from Hob's navel.
"You've made a right mess of me, love," Hob gasps, breathless, waiting only for Dream to come down from the high enough that he can resume.
The rigid lines of Dream's body collapse at last and he pitches forward, a satisfied smile curling his mouth. His wet hand he wipes purposefully in the thick hair across Hob's chest.
"And I would have you. Make, the same of me," he breathes, accompanied by a sinuous roll of his hips, the tightening of his body on Hob's cock—and that's all the sign Hob needs.
He considers for an instant surging up and over, tumbling Dream onto his back and driving him into the mattress; ultimately, though, he'd rather finish just like this tonight: hands tight on Dream's hips, keeping him lifted into exactly the right position, Dream's hands braced on his chest and Dream's heavy-lidded gaze holding his, fucking fast and smooth up into Dream easy as anything and thrice as hot. It only takes a moment until he comes at last, clutching Dream's hips flush against his own as it hits and making the commanded mess within him.
Dream settles down over him as he goes boneless in the aftermath, laying atop him fully with absolutely no care for the semen smearing between them. He doesn't even pull off of Hob's cock properly, instead letting natural softening separate them a moment later; there is a wet squelching sound as Hob's dick slips free and then Dream is kissing him, languid and sated.
Hob kisses him in return, slow hands running up Dream's body and back down, blissed out and content. But then Dream shifts, draws back from the kiss, and Hob is reminded of the mess between them.
"Ugh," he says, poking at the wet smears on his chest. "Wow. That's…a lot."
Dream smirks. "I enjoy the sight of you wearing my spend."
"Clearly." Hob makes a face, wiping his fingers clean in a bit of chest hair that's still dry. "Well, if we're going to make a habit of it. Maybe I should shave all this off."
Dream stiffens, pushes up further, gives him the most affronted look possible. "You will not."
"Oh, I won't?"
"Hob Gadling. I will not allow it."
Hob is ready to say something lightheartedly over-dramatic about 'you DARE presume to tell me what I can or cannot shave', but something in Dream's tone stays him. There's a note of flagrant alarm underneath the imperiousness, and Hob smirks as the lightbulb goes on.
"Got a real weakness for body hair, haven't you."
Dream gives him an unimpressed look that nevertheless has shades of smug satisfaction in it. "I have a preference—"
"Sorry, yes, a preference for body hair."
"—for your body, and all its features, as it is now."
"Including all this hair."
"Yes, including this hair." Dream is running his fingers through it now, heedless of the sticky mess, clearly enthralled with the texture. "It is. Delightful. I enjoy, the feel of it, against the skin of this form. It is very much a part of you, and I would not see it removed."
"It really does make cleanup a sight more difficult, though."
"Then I will. Assist you," Dream purrs, and suddenly he's got his tongue on Hob's chest, licking the smeared and half-dried semen out of the hair with thorough, unhurried strokes and Hob's not really inclined to go again quite so soon but this…this cat-like grooming, it's almost enough to change his mind.
"You make a convincing argument, love, but I don't know if I'm sold," he says, voice wobbling just a little bit.
Dream makes eye contact as he finishes a gloriously long swipe; he smirks, runs the tip of his tongue along his upper lip. Still holding Hob's gaze, he raises up and reaches behind himself, returns with messy fingers and smears them deliberately over Hob's chest, and then his tongue is back at its work again.
Hob drops his head back with a groan; his dick is not going to get hard again for a good while yet but by god, it's certainly trying. "Okay. Okay. I concede; the hair stays." Dream makes a pleased little sound into his chest and Hob feels himself smiling fondly. "Still need a shower, once you've finished there."
Dream lifts again to regard him intently. "Then I will assist you, in the shower as well. But not yet."
"Oh?"
Dream closes his eyes, rubs his face against Hob's wet chest hair like he's savoring the feel of it against his skin, and inhales deep and slow.
"You smell of your sweat, of your spend, of yourself." His eyes are still closed, and the drag of cheek-to-chest reminds Hob of nothing so much as a cat scent-marking. "You smell of my spend; you smell of me. You smell of the love we make, and I would. Linger, awhile, to appreciate it."
"Ah." Hob lets his smile turn into a grin. "Got a thing—preference, sorry—for my scent as well as my hairy chest, then?"
Dream shifts atop him, shimmying gracefully down his body a ways. "Yes," he says, succinctly, and licks a slow stripe up Hob's well-furred abdomen where the mess is thickest.
Hob bites his lip, settles his hands lightly on Dream's shoulders, and lets him work.
"You smell exquisite, here," Dream says moments later, nose pressed into the wet thicket of curls at the base of Hob's cock, and while that's never been the word that Hob would use, he's not going to argue. Especially not when Dream is taking him into his mouth, soft as he is, and suckling him clean again. It's a sharp sensation, close to being too much with how recently he came, and he groans.
Dream releases him a moment later, laves wetly over his balls, hands settling on the insides of his thighs and pushing his legs further open for easier access. Hob spreads them readily, happy enough to comply.
"I would have you. Spend for me again, Hob," Dream breathes then, a soft exhalation against Hob's tender flesh. "Into my mouth, where I might. Savor it."
Hob whimpers, arousal kindling in his gut, but his dick only manages an interested twitch. "The spirit is willing, love, but the flesh is of the waking world and needs just a little more time?"
"Then perhaps—" Dream's hands slide underneath Hob's thighs, pushing up, back, encouraging his knees toward his chest "—I might find a way to assist you, in your recovery." He noses his way under Hob's balls, laps up the runaway come that has gathered there, and then his tongue is probing slickly at Hob's arsehole.
"Oh yes," Hob gasps, grabbing the back of his thighs to hold himself open for Dream, who hums his pleasure and goes to work in earnest.
There is nothing quite like being opened up by Dream's tongue; he shapes it as long and as thick as it needs to be and his saliva is better than any lube. Hob is panting in very short order, pleasure blossoming through him as Dream delves deeper and deeper, softening and stretching him. Dream seeks out his prostate, lavishes it with curling rolls of the tip of his tongue, plays with it lovingly until Hob cannot see straight.
"Please," he breathes, when it's gone on long enough that he's dizzy with how good it is and ready for a proper fucking. "Dream—"
Dream slurps out of him, lifts his head so Hob can't help but see the hedonistic expression on his face when his over-long tongue licks all around his mouth before shrinking away, and then Dream is rising up and flowing into position over him, lining up and sinking in with the same smooth motion. Hob arches into it with a whine of satisfaction, letting go his legs as Dream bottoms out; he wraps them around Dream's bony hips, urging him closer, deeper. Dream bends down to kiss him, draws out and fucks back into him smooth and slick, again, and again, and Hob groans into Dream's open mouth before his head lolls bonelessly, eyes rolling.
"Fuck, Dream—" He shudders, grasps helplessly at Dream's shoulders as Dream nuzzles against his throat, still fucking him with long gliding strokes. It feels good, so good, better than practically anything and Hob has just enough presence of mind to remember the preferences Dream has confessed to; he loosens his legs a tiny bit around Dream, just enough to let Dream's body shift between them with each thrust so he'll feel the hair on Hob's thighs rubbing over his skin. He sends the thought out as a vivid daydream, how the slim prick in his arse is raising gooseflesh all over him, how that makes the hair stand up on his thighs, perfect for Dream to brush against with every motion.
Dream inhales sharply against Hob's throat, shudders, lets out the most wanton sound Hob's heard from him yet and moves faster, fucking into him harder. One hand moves to Hob's thigh, grips it tightly and strokes down the back of it, fingertips scratching at the hair; Hob grins, threads a hand gently around the back of Dream's head and tucks him close underneath his raised chin. He unhooks one calf from around Dream's hip and runs it slowly down over his buttocks and thigh, brushing the texture of his leg hair against smooth alabaster skin. Dream whines, short and sharp, bites at Hob's throat and starts fucking in earnest.
Hob just hangs on for the ride, awash in the hazy pleasure of getting fucked without his own cock clamoring for attention. The angle Dream's at would be awkward for a regular human but Dream being Dream of course manages effortlessly, smooth gliding thrusts that hit hard and fast while he sucks tender bruises all along Hob's neck. Then abruptly he raises up, out of Hob's hold, leans back and pulls Hob's hips up into his lap; his hands settle on Hob's waist as Hob wraps his legs loosely around Dream's hips, adapting to the inclined angle.
Dream eases his prior pace, pulsing deep up into Hob and holding, relaxing then thrusting again. His eyes rake over Hob's body, sleepy prick to furred abdomen to the pelt of his chest and up to meet Hob's gaze, where they hold on another languid thrust. Hob can't keep back the moan that trembles out of him, doesn't even try, and the slow little smile that lights Dream's eyes says indeed that was the right choice. Dream likes to know his pleasure, delights in the orchestra of sounds he can draw from Hob, and Hob has no interest in denying him that enjoyment.
Dream thrusts in deep and stills, slides his hands slowly up Hob's body, along his sides, into his armpits and on up the arms themselves, pushing them up over Hob's head. Hob lets himself be moved easily, warm and hazy in the moment as Dream crosses his wrists and pins them to the mattress, holding Hob's eyes as he leans close above him. He circles his hips, a lazy thrust that makes Hob's breath catch in his throat, and smooths his hands back down to Hob's chest.
It's clear in his demeanor that Hob should leave his arms where they were placed, so of course he does.
Dream presses into him again, still deep and good and the furthest thing from hurried. He curls his fingers in Hob's wet chest hair, traces patterns through it slowly, enjoying himself at his leisure. Every thrust sends pleasant warmth seeping into Hob's veins, heightened by the play of Dream's touches, and he would be utterly content to stay like this for hours, if Dream should ask it of him.
Dream bends down and kisses Hob, deep and unhurried, still fucking him at a lazy pace. He nuzzles up under Hob's chin when he leaves off, and Hob tilts his head back towards his crossed wrists, giving Dream room to nibble or bite again if he likes. But Dream just breathes him in, licks up the length of his throat and and then moves sideways, across his collarbone and into his armpit, where he buries his face with a sigh. "Divine," Dream murmurs, inhaling the scent of him. "You are. Fragrant, with exertion, with the needs and wants of your human body." He mouths at the thick hair there, ardently, and the languid pace of his hips picks up. "I would taste—" His tongue laps firmly behind his words and he groans. "I would. Consume you, Hob—"
"I would let you," Hob breathes, hands flexing above his head as if they truly were restrained, everything in him thrilling to the want in Dream's voice, the worshipful press of Dream's mouth to his armpit. "Darling, I would let you devour me—"
Dream keens, drags his face back up across Hob's chest, across the sweat and saliva and remnants of semen there, scenting it all as he fucks Hob now with abandon. His hands are clenched on Hob's hips, nails digging little crescents into Hob's skin as he moves faster, harder, his cock perfectly angled to punch against Hob's prostate at the peak of every thrust and Hob arches into it, gasping open-mouthed, arms still crossed above his head. It's good, it's so good getting railed like this, Dream's panting little whines against his chest only pushing him higher and he can feel his own dick waking up again at last. He moans, loud and low, breathless and encouraging as Dream speeds up, rhythm growing erratic; when Dream cries out and buries himself deep at last, trembling, Hob abandons the pretense of restraint and wraps a hand around the back of Dream's head, holds him cradled to the hollow of his throat while Dream's spend blooms hot and wet inside him.
As soon as Dream's orgasm lets him go he's wriggling free of Hob's gentle hold, pulling out with a squelch and slithering down Hob's body, pushing his thighs up and apart and diving between them. His tongue darts over Hob's open hole, laps inside once, twice, again and again, licking his own spend out of Hob with a desperately hungry little noise.
"Fuck," Hob gasps, squirming at the press of Dream's tongue, alight and swollen with pleasure inside. The sweetest sort of ache is rising in the wake of the pounding Dream has given him and his cock is standing now at full attention, finally ready, twitching at the wet little sounds Dream is making.
Dream lifts away and Hob is disappointed for half a second, and then Dream's slick wet tongue is dragging eagerly up the length of his dick. "There you are," Dream breathes, the hitch in his voice both wanton and hungry. "I await your offering, my Hob—" He laps at the head, makes a show of savoring the taste, then takes him fully in, tongue squirming like a living thing as he goes down.
Hob moans, enthralled by the sight, the feel, riveted as always by the sheer unfathomable reality that Dream of the Endless likes sucking his cock; Dream's eyes flick up to his, hold them while he slides down and back up, the red of his lips stretched prettily around Hob. He is skillful and enthusiastic, making sounds in his throat like he's consuming some posh delicacy and Hob moans along with him, overwhelmed. It's so good he can't see straight, can't properly breathe, and the fact that he gets to have this is just. It's amazing.
Dream pulls off with a lingering lick, runs his mouth sideways down the shaft, over Hob's balls and then his tongue is squirming back into Hob's arse, curling deep before withdrawing. He raises his head and lifts up, poises over Hob's cock and locks eyes with Hob again as he briefly opens his mouth, for show. There's a wad of spend on his tongue, his own retrieved from Hob's body, and then he's closed his lips, is letting it dribble between them to decorate the head of Hob's prick in wet white-ish rivulets.
It's possibly the hottest thing Hob has ever seen and he whines, cock jumping; Dream's fingertips take hold of the base delicately, keeping Hob still while he finishes drizzling his own come over Hob's dick like he's glazing a pastry. He takes his time licking it all back off again, thorough and relentless; Hob is tense and shaking by the time Dream decides he has finished.
And then the wet tip of Dream's tongue is tracing patterns along the underside of his prick, worrying at the little seam of flesh beneath the head, right where Hob is most sensitive and Hob feels orgasm building fast in his blood. "Fuck—darling—" he gasps, pushing clumsily at Dream's shoulders, because Dream had specifically said he wanted it in his mouth and there are much better angles to accomplish that than with Hob flat on his back. "Up—your mouth—want to see—"
Dream, bless him, understands Hob's half-coherent babble and slides off the bed to his knees. Hob scrambles to his feet in front him, leans shakily back against the wall, takes his dick in hand and strokes it once, twice, then holds it steady. Dream leans up, mouth open, tongue out, inviting; Hob lays just his tip against Dream's tongue while Dream holds his eyes, unblinking. His hands come to rest on Hob's thighs; he smooths them gently through the thick hair, scratches softly and Hob whimpers, slaps his dick very lightly against Dream's tongue, whimpers again at the eager sound that Dream makes. He's so fucking close; he can feel it rising hot in his gut, drawing tight in his balls.
Dream flicks his tongue, bouncing the tip of Hob's cock, then does it more gently, little squirming licks right in the very best spot and Hob sees stars. Dream teases his leaking slit, licks him underneath again, wriggles his tongue right there and Hob gasps, sobs, trembling ferociously on the edge. He sweeps the fringe of Dream's hair from his forehead, threads shaking fingers through it, holding gently; Dream tips his face up just that little bit further, curls the tip of his tongue just so, eyes full of darkness and starlight and locked with Hob's—and then Hob is coming, a sweet molten rush spilling thick and warm into Dream's waiting mouth.
Dream moans, the most sensually-fulfilled sound Hob's ever heard, and strains forward, nails digging into Hob's thighs as he takes the entirety of Hob's offering on his tongue—and Hob can do nothing but give it to him, grunting breathlessly with each pulse that throbs out of him.
Dream's mouth closes around him as the orgasm subsides; Hob has an instant to register his cock settling in the puddle on Dream's tongue and then Dream swallows, drawing him further in. Hob gasps sharply, trembling, hand tightening in Dream's hair, and then Dream sucks on his twitching length, draws another spurt of come from him that's swallowed down as greedily as the rest.
"Fuck!" Hob jerks inadvertently on Dream's hair and Dream inhales sharply through his nose, mouth still full of Hob's cock. He sucks again, harder, continuous, eyes flicking up to Hob's from beneath sooty lashes, bleeding back to vividly blue. Hob swears again, trembling, overstimulated; Dream's lips are flush against the wet curls at Hob's groin and he's sucking, swallowing, nursing—milking Hob dry for all he's worth, still clinging tightly to Hob's thighs. Both Hob's hands are buried in Dream's wild hair now, hanging on desperately; he knows he's pulling, knows he hasn't ever cleared this with Dream, but Dream is not objecting and Hob cannot for the life of him make himself let go.
"Dream—fuck—I can't—Dream, Dream—!" Dream doesn't stop, shows no sign that he plans to stop; Hob is swiftly passing the point where the continued stimulation has any pleasure left to it and finally uses his grip in Dream's hair to haul him bodily off his cock, collapsing to his knees as soon as it slides free. His hands are still clenched in Dream's hair and Dream is gazing at him, heavy-lidded and dangerous, mouth wet and ruby red, half open, inviting.
Hob dives into it, loosening his grip on Dream's hair at last, kissing him fiercely between panting breaths. "You magnificent, divine, insatiable creature," he manages, stroking dark feathery strands back from Dream's cheeks, settling that beautiful sharp angular face between his hands. "The hair pulling wasn't too much? I didn't hurt you?"
"You cannot hurt this form if I do not allow it," Dream replies, smug, satisfied, every inch the cat who got the cream and Hob is aware of how terribly aptly cliche that thought is right this second but he does not care, not in the slightest.
"Well, good, that's…that's good," Hob says, still catching his breath. "Gets a little hard to keep control when you go feral like that."
"You did promise that I might devour you," Dream says, utterly unrepentant, and Hob absolutely has to kiss him again at that.
Dream is perfectly amenable, kissing back with wet enthusiasm, open and eager and still slick with traces of Hob's orgasm. His tongue charms its way into Hob's mouth, apparently still intent on the devouring, and then he is rising up on his knees, tipping Hob's head back, bearing him over and down to the carpet and crawling atop him.
"Your smell, your taste, you are. Positively ambrosial," Dream breathes, scenting along his throat before briefly reclaiming his mouth. "I would have you again—" His tongue darts between Hobs lips, a fleeting tease. "I would have you fill me, repeatedly, in every orifice, until I am. Overflowing, with your spend—"
"Sweet christ—" Hob surges up to kiss him, rolls them over so that Dream is pinned beneath him before breaking away with a gasp. He is so aroused, and his dick is so very far from being anything close to ready. "You'll be the death of me at this rate, love. Best move to the Dreaming if you want to continue."
"Indeed." Dream lifts a hand, reaching for Hob's forehead.
"Whoa, hold on now—" Hob twists to avoid the touch, catches Dream's hand to plant a kiss to his fingertips instead. "You are not knocking me out and leaving me on my bedroom floor in this mess while we ravish one another in the Dreaming. Mind your manners, Dreamlord."
The expression on Dream's face would be a pout on anyone less regally held. "I would have you now. While you are still so. Fragrant."
"Impatient. Insatiable. I adore you." Hob kisses his fingertips again between each declaration and then stands, pulls Dream up after him. "I'm delighted that you so love the natural mess of my humble human body but unless you're going to snuggle down with me here, I'd prefer to get cleaned up a bit. Help me in the shower, I will change the sheets, and then you can tuck me into bed properly to join you in your realm. Where I will dream myself as 'fragrantly ambrosial' as you like and do my very best to stuff you so full of come that it will be leaking from you for hours. Days. Weeks, even."
"Such promises you make, Hob Gadling," Dream purrs, obviously mollified, and follows as Hob leads him to the shower.
=== Started: 3/21/23 Drafted: 11/26/23 Posted: 11/27/23
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fandomfluffandfuck · 4 months
Note
*crashes through the nearest door* WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT
Okay so it’s already established that big beefy chris is (in my universe at least) the sweetest little subby puppy ever. But y’know what subs do (other than be good for their Sirs)? They go into subspace. And can you imagine the first time Chis slips into subspace? Just Sebastian, who is riding him like he’s made for it, looking down and stopping, holding his sweet puppy’s face in his hand and cooing
“Oh, I’ve got such a good boy. You feelin’ a bit floaty right now, puppy?” And Chris nodding with glazed eyes and whimpering for his Sir to please keep going, he feels real good. So Sebastian does, much slower than be was originally, making Chris whine and pout. God, Sebastian’s gotta take a photo of him like this one day.
“A very pretty puppy, aren’t you, baby? Yeah, whose puppy are you? Whoever he is, he’s really lucky. Tell me, puppy, whose are you?” He croons, teasing him as he increases the pace, punching soft pants out of the man beneath him each time.
“Y-uh-Yours, Sir! ‘M your puppy!” Chris wails, words split between whines and whimpers in a way that makes Sebastian’s head spin.
Alternately, think about the aftercare. A sugary sweet Chris pliant in Sebastian’s lap, snuggles and kisses and the feeling of safety. Maybe it’s raining and Chris hears the sounds of rain hitting the roof accompanying his lovers praises.
“You were such a good puppy, Chris. So good, I’m so so proud of you. Can’t tell you how perfect you are, y’know why? It’s because I can’t put it into words.” And Chris just smiles wider, hugs Sebastian closer, and falls asleep knowing he’s loved.
I don’t have a problem I swear.
related to this
You rn, lmao:
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And me:
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Don't fucking do this to me 😮‍💨😮‍💨
I cannot fucking process the thought of Chris lying back on their bed, his hands uselessly curled into fists by his head his legs spread just wide enough for Sebastian to straddle, bouncing on his cock, and all the while... all. the. while. Chris has this stupid, dreamy expression on his face. He's drowning in the pleasure of having Sebastian take what he wants from him, use him how he wants, getting him as deep and hard as possible. Then, Sebastian cups his jaw in his hands, and, Jesus Christ, there's not a damn thought there. His face is slack, eyes rolling to the back of his head, plush lips fallen complete open, heat high on his cheeks, spreading all the way to the tips of his ears and over his neck, sweat pooling in the hollow of his throat. He can't even swallow. He can barely gasp. He hardly shivers.
He wants to fuck up into the tight heat of Sebastian but he can't.
He can't.
It's too much. He can't even get his hands up off the bed, despite the fact that they're not even pinned in place. He's purely floating on all that pleasure. Blushing hot red and so hard and thick inside Sebastian, getting off hard on this despite Sebastian being the only one to ever draw out this side of him. Usually, he wants--he fucking revels in being able to fuck his partner just how they need, hard and fast or slow and heavy and make them shake and moan until they can't feel their legs, but Seb encourages him so sweetly and he feels so safe with him that he melts. Now, all the thoughts he has have left his head, and he's left a drooling, boneless mess.
God.
Problem? No, pfft, what? No problems here.
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Did I have that gif saved to my phone? ...Maybe. (I don't remember if I made it or someone else did. My apologies if it is someone else's and I didn't credit it!)
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xxmaddyxx · 2 years
Text
poking your stomach rolls for funzies :) pt 2
boys included: bokuto, kageyama, kenma contents: plenty of fluffiness 4 u, implied fem reader ur bootiful masterlist
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Bokuto
HE LUVS TUMMIESS
u cannot convince me otherwise
they just so soft and squishy
perfect pillows
so when you were wearing some tighter sweatpants and your roll was showing
heehee he was a happy owl
he trotted over to where you were laying and shimmied his way into your warmth
he nuzzled into your neck and placed gentle kisses on your jawline and collarbone which made you giggle
he wrapped his arms around your waist and poked your ribs (which is the most ticklish spot for me personally)
you let out a lil squeal which made him chuckle and place a kiss on your nose
"you're really cute baby." he said in a baby voice ofc
"thank you." you made a smug face and booped his nose
"don't change."
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Kageyama
he kinda blushed when he saw you in his sweatpants and sweatshirt
"hey, wait. BOKE! those are my favorite! u better not mess them up!"
"i won't, relax." you laid down on the couch and pulled out your phone
"God, it's hot." you took off the sweatshirt, so you were laying there in a bra
the blush just got worse
"ugh, don't stand there like an idiot, c'mere."
he laid beside you with his hand on your exposed tummy
he began to trace images with his finger and you looked up from your phone
"aww, what're you doing kags?"
"i dunno, it's a good drawing space. and it's soft."
"well, thank you?"
"yes, it's a good thing. nothing's wrong with being soft, just more to love."
you were dumbfounded
kageyama had never said something so heartfelt before
"aww is the big bad king being soft?" you teased and smiled at him
"you ruined the moment y/n." he whined and poked your side
"ouchie, it's okay. i love youuu." you cooed at him and kissed his cheek
"yeah, love you too... boke."
"hey!"
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Kenma
okay, headcanon
my thoughts are as followed
you sit on his lap at his pc, like chest to chest kinda sitting
you can feel him with one hand, clicking on stuff and the other one on your waist
and he's gently rubbing his thumb on your roll (cue internal screaming)
like he loves laying on you playing his switch or ds, and he loves wrapping his arms around your waist and just feeling the plush
it's so cute, i can't
he's such a simp for plush like i cannot express how much he loves you for it
and your personality obviously because that's glowing as well
he also likes to game with you and if you beat him he'll poke you or tickle you
he'll also do it if he beats you to tease
there's really no winning when competing against him
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dolcezzzza · 1 year
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𝐔𝐧𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈𝐈: 𝐏𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠
Ryoumen Sukuna x Reader // ♡ follow #ULSukuna for updates ♡ // ⁿˢᶠʷ mdni
POV: second person, AFAB reader, feminine pronouns Chapter tags: dominant Sukuna, submissive reader, themes of dubcon/ seduction, spitting, violence, blood, degradation, orαl, fingering, sex, αnαl, orgαsm control Chapter length: 4.5k
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He descends on you, the kiss open and hot. Like his kisses are drawing out snake poison, the pain ebbs away. You’re melting into him, hands up and pressed against his chest before you realize it. He lets you cling to him as you kiss him back, the smooth skin of his muscles hot under your palms, even as something cold slides down your cheek, tacky and sticky against his fingers.
Blood.
He draws back and spits right into your still-open mouth.
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Read after the jump or on AO3 // set the mood
I have a very strict adult-only interaction policy. Ageless, blank, and clearly minor-run blogs that interact will be blocked. If you have questions about what that means, please read the byf in my pinned.
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Author's note: If anal is unappealing to you, I would advise skipping to the last ~7 paragraphs / lines for plot purposes or, at least skip when it comes up in the last 1/3rd. (From the line "Half-lidded eyes shoot open, and you slide your hands across the floor to prop yourself up on your forearms. 'Sukuna – no, wait – '" -> to the line "'Me first,' he says, ragged and raw, and thrusts again, again.") Also, I have been scouring the canon material and at this time I cannot find anything saying that the terms of Binding Vows cannot be changed if both parties agree to it (as would be the case with real life contracts). If I'm wrong... whatever.
It comes back in a feeling similar to the delicious satisfaction when you remember a word that’s been dancing on the tip of your tongue. A forgotten word just out of reach, clouding at the back of your mind and fogging up the rest of the conversation. And then – a burst of clarity when you least expected it. “ Oh, ” comes the cry in those moments, interrupting whatever dialogue has continued, but basking in the revelation when it’s there – “ that’s it! I knew it!”
But this feeling, this here, this now, is the inverse of that delightful eureka. When the burning ecstasy strikes, it’s dark and sickening, the sudden familiarity of your surroundings turning to dread. The yawning jaws around you, the rancid puddles at your feet, the ghostly blue shrine and the smirking man sitting in it, elbows on his knees and eyes fixed on you.
That’s it. I knew it.
Sukuna pushes his fingers together, letting them fall through each other. He props his chin on the collapse of his hands. “Well, well, well. The little slut is back again.”
You swallow, and notice shamefully that you’re naked.
“You just came as you were. Was it good?”
You raise your hands to cover yourself wordlessly.
“Ah, did you come at all?” He laughs once at his own joke. “So was the body in your bed worth messing your sheets for? Is your throat raw from his cock, is your cunt satisfied?” he asks in a slow voice dripping with sarcasm, shifting his hands and cracking his knuckles to enunciate his words. The second pair of eyes rolls forward to you, blinking out of time with the first. “It must have been something, my dear. You’re dirty, and here you come to be cleansed from another’s touch. That is our vow.”
Sukuna pauses, but you do not offer any words.
There’s nothing you can say. Your mouth is dry. You can faintly hear your own breath as it escapes from you in shallow, sickly puffs.  This place is familiar , you recognize Sukuna, but - memories do not come flooding back. It’s like a recognition of deja vu but an inability to trace it. And when you try to follow that thread back, back in your mind, it snaps like gossamer. 
But you do remember the night you were just living. When you blink, you see the dented pillows, the shoes left by the front door. You can’t see who was in your bed, just elbows, just feel the sense of coarse hair pricking under your fingers. 
He’s right. 
Sukuna drops his hands to his knees and leers closer to you. Your legs go weaker. He doesn’t stand from the steps of the shrine, doesn’t approach you down among the bones and filth, but his eyes – all four – are locked keenly on your shy gaze.
“Nothing to say? I remember when we first met you were so determined, so desperate to escape. Where’s that fighting spirit gone?”
Now he stands. The folds of his kimono swing open, his bare chest exposed more and more with every step closer to you.
You can't avert those eyes.
“Yes,” you say, your voice soft and stunned. “I remember.”
You don’t - quite, though. The thread reaches forward again, and snaps. But, it sounds right.
The black markings highlighting his bone structure ripple with the movements of his face, a devious smile that shines in the cut shards of cold light. “Do you? I'm well familiar. Do you remember how desperate you were for my cock, how you rutted right over my hand, your mouth greedily sucking me down, all the begging and pleading just rambling from your whore mouth? So desperate for your own pleasure you bound yourself to me.”
He’s beautiful, horribly beautiful.
“You wanted it,” Sukuna continues, and when he looks down his nose at you, the light of his eyes fall away into shadows. “You entered this vow of your own free will, you said ‘ yes ’ – this is what you desired.”
You lift a foot, skating the top nervously against the puddles as you prepare to take a step away.
“Sukuna, I can’t -”
And then pain strikes you, when you open your mouth. The weight of the words contradict the binding contract of the vow and ripple heavy down your shoulders. Your ribs sting, suddenly, sharply, as if cracking, and you interrupt yourself with a painful gasp. You grab at yourself and almost collapse, desperate to hold yourself together. It feels like you’re being torn apart, though no blood gushes from your midsection, right where your shaking fingers grasp at an invisible wound. 
“Can’t ?”
You stare helplessly at him.
Sukuna’s lips part in a sneering smile, and he raises a hand to your face. You shudder into his grip. The point of his nail pricks against the back of your skull, and then he digs in. The pain comes washing, nauseating, drowning out the panic.
“Free will is such a fickle human thing. But irresponsible to wield it thoughtlessly when you’re signing yourself to a contract, hmm ?” Sukuna strokes his thumb against your temple, the side of his nail cutting into your face now too, and you let out a strangled sound through gritted teeth. “You know what you have to do to make that pain go away. Submit willingly. Fulfill my terms, and I’ll fulfill yours and let you free again.”
Sukuna slides his hand down, and it slices your face right at the jaw, forcing your mouth open in a gasp. He descends on you, the kiss open and hot, tongue coming right into your mouth and wrapping on yours. It slides and tangles between you, barely letting your mouth close in response.
Like his kisses are drawing out snake poison, the pain ebbs away. You’re melting into him, hands up and pressed against his chest before you realize it. He lets you cling to him as you kiss him back, the smooth skin of his muscles hot under your palms, even as something cold slides down your cheek, tacky and sticky against his fingers.
Blood.
He draws back, lets his lower lip fall, and spits right into your still-open mouth. Your stomach drops, rolls, and he draws you back for another sloppy kiss. His lips lock onto yours, that hand still bracing against your face, the other coming to press right into your hip. A sick embrace that he breaks with one last caress against your cheek.
“Your thighs are shaking, you’re already clinging to me. If I touch your cunt you’d be wet, am I right?” Sukuna says in a hoarse murmur. His finger shines with blood, your cheek stinging sharply.
“I…” you struggle for the words to defend yourself. He smirks, lolls out his tongue, licks your blood from off him. Bright red liquid webs into the ridges of his finger.
“Still so needy. How arrogant of you, to just come crashing back in, disturbing my rest and violating the terms of our arrangement, and just expect your pleasure satiated once more. You have to earn it this time.”
He lets go of your hip, letting his hand drop and squeeze against your skin as he does, before turning and walking back up into the mouth of the shrine. The water slides cold against your feet as you follow, like a dog to its master. Light breaks through the cracked bones caved around you, that blue glow just out of sight.
Sukuna disrobes as you walk up into that yawning entrance, almost carelessly, his elbows dancing to the side of his body as the obi comes untied and the kimono falls to the ground. He turns to you, flicking the last of dried blood from under his fingernails and regarding you with a haughty expression in those four gleaming eyes.
“Get on your knees. I prefer looking down on you like that.”
You sink to the ground, a position of pious supplication before him. He strokes his cock before you take it in your own hands. 
“I know you just had a visitor,” Sukuna repeats. “But do better for me, yes?”
He’s hard under your fingertips as you stroke down his shaft, wrapping your fingers down at the base, and harder in your mouth when you part your lips for the head of his cock.
You let out a “mmph” as you taste him, so familiar. 
Sukuna sighs in pleasure, hand on the top of your head as you suck gently. You let go to keep moving and run your mouth over him, more of him, tongue working against him. The ridges of his cock, of the veins, the flattened slit at the tip, you explore them all, saliva spilling from you. You open your mouth again, to take him in at the top and down your throat. He lets out a groan that reverberates right at his stomach against your forehead, hands tightening on you.
“Yes.”
Your jaw tires out almost immediately, lips stretched wide over him. As if you’re just too tired from earlier - but you keep going, building a rhythm and picking up your speed, smacking and rolling your tongue. Your one hand still braces against his groin, thumb stroking down under, slick and then tacky with drying saliva before your finger drags more down. The other is tight against your knee, your own fingernails digging into your skin as you hold yourself up, keeping your mouth busy on him.
It shouldn’t feel so good just to suck his cock, just to have him heady and thick on your tongue but it still pulses through you, throbbing behind your stomach and settling in your core. You shift on your ankles. Your heels dig into your thighs as your legs shift, hunting for some sort of friction that your lower body needs. The sedulous, busy work of your hands and your tongue isn’t distracting enough from the rising urgency of your own body.
“Mmm...”
But it does make you move faster, moaning over him, opening your mouth and licking Sukuna’s cock sloppily. He groans above you, only slight movements of his own hands controlling your motions, turns of the wrists to angle you. He raises your head just enough to make you take his cock deep down your throat, a quick thrust of his hips into your face and stilling the motions.
It gags you, muffles your moaning cry of half-protest, but his pleasured grunt is gravelly and loud. Your throat closes and convulses, feeling him down you, and the thick fingers tightening his grip. It’s only a brief push before he lets go, pulling his cock out of your mouth with strings of saliva following.
“Enough,” Sukuna says, his breath gasping at the end of the word, and a pause to collect himself. He looks down at you again, with an expression almost like pride. “That whet your appetite, didn’t it? Let’s see how desperate your body is now.”
He keeps a hand on the back of your head as he circles you, the nail tracing down the column of your neck and between your shoulder blades, and evoking a slight shiver from you when he slides away. His hands lock around your ribs as he kneels behind you, cock hard and wet with your own saliva against your back. His knees come splayed on either side of your own, a light dusting of hair on his thighs silvery in the sickly blue light.
Sukuna’s hands slide down your ribs to your waist and down, spreading over your own legs and you shudder again, a light “oh” when he squeezes the sensitive skin right at your inner thighs.
“How does your cunt feel?” he asks, his breath right at the back of your ear when one hand comes up to feel for you.
“Oh,” you say again, harder this time, when his finger slides between your folds. You’re slick and part for him easily. The throbbing inside you rises again, thick and hot. It feels like you’re pulsing over his finger, and then fingers, when his wrist flicks up and he pushes two into your entrance.
“That was easy,” Sukuna says, his voice thick and syrupy. He kisses the side of your cheek, a wet, drooling smack, and he laughs without humor. “My whore is ready and waiting, aren’t you?”
You moan, a wordless whimper, desperately tightening and fluttering your muscles over his fingers as you compose an answer, anything close to intelligent. “Sukuna, I, it… feels so good.”
“I know it does.” He pulls his fingers out of you, wiping your own arousal across your hips and thighs. “Forward, right on your hands and knees.”
You almost lurch into the yawning blackness of the shrine, beyond the fangs and jaws, as you move forward on your hands. The heels of your palms scratch against the ground, and you rock your hips back when his hands slap across your ass in a brief spanking. The tip of his cock comes to your entrance, nudging you open, teasingly as your thighs shake, your body already primally searching for more.
And that’s when something else, something stronger than deja vu and memories, unlocks – being bent over here, the floor hard and cold under your hands, Sukuna’s breath right in your ear before he leans back, the rough touch of his skin on you – this has happened before . And before . And before .
The dark realization hits again. It’s sickening, it’s cold.
Oh. That’s it.
“There it is,” Sukuna grunts, his fingers drumming against your hips as your gasp echoes through the shrine with a sharp clarity. “I told you, any time, any time you were dirtied by another, you’d return. I told you, I’d clean you with my cock. I told you, you’re mine. But you never seem to really remember the full thing until I do the work for you. And I’m sick of reminding you - every time. Again, and again. ”
He thrusts hard inside as his hands come down, a sharp slap, and you cry out. The jerking dance of your bodies pushes himself immediately inside you. 
Sukuna pauses before moving, his cock slowly pulling out over the immediate fluttering squeeze of your inner walls. And then - again . The next strokes are faster, his rhythm building. Moans begin to slip from you as he picks up the pace.
This is familiar. You know this feeling. You know his cock.
Sukuna’s hold on you moves, gripping at the back of your shoulders, up to your neck, and the angle shifts his cock higher and deeper up in you. His hand moves again, sliding to your face, and his fingers flash in front of your eyes.
“You’re just my fucking toy wasting my time. Tell me you’re sorry for disturbing me.”
You scramble to speak through lips suddenly spread painfully wide, words that cannot come out coherently. Two of his fingers are hooked in your mouth, salty, coated with the drool spilling involuntarily from your lips.
“I – can’t – hear – you – !” Sukuna jeers, snapping his hips into you with an aggressive force. The back of your thighs sting with the slap of his skin against yours. His other hand clenches down on your own grabbing desperately against the shrine floor, nails digging into the skin of your fingers. One slips right into the nailbed of your middle finger, and you scream sharp and shrill enough to cut glass. The pain ebbs away, cold down the back of your fingers as he adjusts his grip, and your cry peters out. Your tongue lolls over your bottom lip, and you struggle to swallow with an open mouth. He’s still waiting for you to speak.
Yes. All you are is a fuck toy at his whim.
But fuck. His cock feels so good, so good. The words are babbling, rubbery and half-formed, out of you – “so good, so good,” – slurring “ shooo guuud ” for a moment - and when his fingers slip, first one, then the other, out of your aching lips, you spit the gathered drool onto the floor and keep speaking, singing his praises in hymns. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry , I’m sorry I disturbed you, forgive me, Sukuna, it’s so good .”
“Begging and pleading,” Sukuna says in a hiss, and he puts his hands back over you as his body collapses into yours, pushing your crouched position as flat to the ground as he can, chest falling over your knees. Your elbows bend, splaying, and you grab at your ankles, wrapping around the width of his thighs. His hands press into your waist, shoulders into yours, and his sweat smears down over your back.
He hisses in your ear, with a thrust that doesn’t move back down, and you moan and clench over him, thighs trembling: “You actually enjoy how I fuck you, don’t you? Getting treated like an object like this.”
You whimper, unable to deny or fight him. He rolls his hips up, the angle so tight inside you and you try to shift your hips down in response. The oil of sweat and arousal across your thighs tacks you to the floor. You’re drenched, something hot and burning behind your stomach aching as you try to shake and meet him.
“You’re mine, you little slut,” Sukuna says. “Every part of you, every part is mine.” His tongue flickers down to your shoulder, cold and sticky as he relishes the taste of your sweat, and then bites sharp against your bone. One clawing hand against the back of your arm, the other groping at your chest, his touch is hot and electric. You cry out again.
“Sukuna! ”
“Ask me – if you want – to come,” he pants before scraping his teeth again down your skin.
“I want to come, I need, please, please, let me come,” you say in a broken whimper, repeating over and over when his hips slam faster against yours and his grip moves again. His hands spread, fingers pushing under your stomach, and down, searching.
“Every part,” he says again, a growl, and then he pulls out of you. “Not just this filthy dripping cunt.”
You have no strength to move, to force your elbows up, but the pressure on your ankles slips as he leans away from your body, breaking out of the tangle of limbs. It throbs as he leaves you empty. You shift, rolling your hips slightly, then harder and harder in a desperate attempt to feed yourself friction even as you drip on the floor. His hands come hot and strong to your waist, pushing down to your ass, a spitting sound, and then it’s cold as something dribbles down onto your skin.
Half-lidded eyes shoot open, and you slide your hands across the floor to prop yourself up on your forearms. “Sukuna – no, wait – ”
“I said, mine,” he says, a triumphant crowing claim. His hand scoops up from your sore, dipping folds, dragging your hot arousal past your cunt and up with it. The sounds are wet and almost disgusting behind you, and you whimper, muscles clenching as he smears it over your body. His fingers press, squeezing in and spitting again when he spreads you.
You jolt, every nerve in your body a live wire. “Sukuna, please , please , I can’t – ”
“But I can,” Sukuna says in a terrible voice, and his finger slides in. It urges your body to the ground and you slide into a pained whimper. “A tight little ass, and it’s mine, as much as the rest of your pathetic body.”
The problem is, more than that he’s right, is that it feels good. Even as you clench over his finger and cry when the edges of his nail slip down your ass on the way out. He comes down to your cunt again, finding more of your own slick to bring up, and leans back over you. His smile spreads across your shoulder, teeth rubbing into the grooves of his previous bite marks, as his cock comes grinding against the curve of your ass.
“Just my own little whore,” he says, his breath so hot in your ear your eyes screw up and your neck cranes back, meeting his gleaming sets of pupils. You’re just too full of thrill to relax so it hurts, it hurts so fucking badly, when he presses against you and pushes in.
You scream.
“Please!”
“Oh,” Sukuna groans, and he acutely shudders as he sinks slowly into you. He grunts, easing inside as your body clenches, neck jerking forward and head dropping back down. Your mind reels, and his hands move, one at your hip pulling you wide and eliciting another sound of anguish from your aching lungs.
The screams spur him on, and you feel more than hear the rumble of laughter in his chest so close against your back. “Cry out, you stupid little whore, scream and yell,” he taunts, and the other hand grabs at the back of your neck, pushing you into the floor.
Your sounds taper off into a shuddering groan, your body going limp beneath his, squeezing your eyes shut and blinking teardrops away. He moves, a thrust out and another slowly in. The movement somehow helps. More and more now it’s feeling good as the pressure melts away, your back arching and body starting to relax in response to his pace. Sukuna’s moving slow, mercifully slow, if you were so foolish to think he’s being kind. He’s rocking almost gently, stretching you open and moving just a little faster each time.
All you are is his fuck toy. Just used for his desires.
And it’s – so –
“… so… good… ”
He lets out a groan, and he must know he’s being too kind, because then he picks up the pace, hips slamming against yours and hand so tight on your neck it could snap the bones. Blood rushes through you, the slice on your cheek throbbing in time with your heart. The sounds coming out of you are grating messes, your legs trembling even as your knees rub against your ribs, crumpled in two below him.
“Sukuna,” you let out again, his name little more than a breath, pleading now not for him to stop, but to keep going.
“Your ass is gripping my cock,” he says, his voice slipping low and mumbling. “I just entered you, and I’m going to come. What an excellent toy you are, you fucking slut.”
“Sukuna, please,” you start. The words taste thick in your mouth. You’re trembling as he thrusts again and again, every part of you flushed and strained. “Please, let me come.”
“Greedy – fucking – whore,” Sukuna grunts, giving no indication he’s either heard you or plans to heed you. “Can’t – control – yourself?”
“Please, please let me come! ”
“Me first,” he says, ragged and raw, and thrusts again, again.
He pulls out and it makes your stomach drop, your hands scrambling against the floor. It’s hot when he comes in long spurts across your back, dirty and slick and claiming you once more. But he’s still moving, right over you, hands clamped at the top of your thighs as he breathes heavy and hot in your ear.
“You need to ask me, ask me, beg me,” he’s hissing as his hands move, one spreading you open and the other just so gently right over your clit. Your legs shake.
“I need it, Sukuna, I need to come, please let me come, please.”
“No. You don’t need it,” Sukuna says, his chin digging into your shoulder as he speaks. His fingers dance down, pushing over you, so sore and over-stimulated when he begins rubbing over your clit. The fire burns under his touch, rocketing up somewhere behind your stomach, thighs trembling and squeezing together erratically.
“Greedy, selfish, demanding, I need to do it all for you, don’t I? You stupid little slut, you can’t come without my cock, without my fingers, you just so desperately want to feel pleasure.”
Sukuna moves faster, pressure down and off you, harder again and again with his words. Your lower back spasms, arching, wet against his stomach when you meet his body. “Please,” you whimper, his finger rubbing tight circles faster and faster, your hips rocking and pushing into him.
His jaw slides down, teeth biting into your shoulder again, and he moans into your flushed skin. The finger at your clit slides down, fully over you, and back up again, pressing on and off faster and faster.
“Then fucking come,” Sukuna says at last, a snarling edge in his voice that fades into a guttural growl, and it rockets through you. The climax soars overwhelmingly as it hits, dizzyingly, your heart racing and head pounding as it peaks. You cry out, an incomprehensible sound.
He rubs you through the orgasm, the hand spreading your folds sliding down and releasing you, the nails nicking the inside of your thighs and drawing another cold thin trickle of blood across your skin. You barely feel it when he fully lets go, his body off of yours, your shoulders trembling and cramped legs rolling out as you slide down, panting.
Sukuna is silent as you lie shaking against the ground, heels of your palms scraped with the pulls against the floor. Your shoulder throbs where he bit you, your face hot and aching, every muscle weak. Your vision begins to blur, eyelids sinking heavier with each blink.
“Are you satisfied?”
His voice is flat, and you let out a weak sound of agreement.
“Then let me offer you a new deal, before you leave my Domain again.”
You force your eyes open, the swimming blackness beginning to descend from the corners of your eyes once more. Sukuna is sitting, one knee drawn up with his elbow resting across it, turning his head to the side. Two eyes roll down to regard you as he speaks.
“You tire me, if we’re going to repeat this song and dance struggle every time. If I need to remind you what’s going on. If I’m doing all the work to make you heed the terms of this arrangement. Frankly, you’re close to boring me.”
You open your mouth, and close it again, uncertain. 
“So let’s change the conditions. I’ll bring you back here once more, in fact,” – he barks out a harsh laugh, eyes glittering down at you – “I’ll offer you a race again, too. Next time you come here, if you can come first, you’re free. Completely free. But if it’s me, you little whore, then you’re all mine to break and dispose of when you no longer entertain.”
One more time. Another race. Another impossible race, a lying chance. But he’s waiting, and as your body thuds in time with the swirling blackness overtaking you, you say that word to agree and to bind it:
“Yes.”
chapter iii
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myfandomprompts · 1 year
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𝐀𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐌𝐞 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟑
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Warning: Violence, blood, fluff, possessive behaviour and jealousy.
Summary: You are confronted by Aemond who is determined to have you for himself.
Masterlist (Part 12 - Part 14)
You still wanted to scream.
Aemond's eye was looking straight at you, a mad glare inhabiting it. He was firmly holding you against a post and you could feel how effortless it was for him to keep you still.
"I will remove my hand now, don't you dare scream or I'll kill anyone who comes, you understand?"
You nodded. You would've screamed, but not for help, only because it was surreal and that your body was struggling to take on this new reality. But you kept quiet as he slowly lifted his hand from your mouth, letting his fingers rest around your throat now.
"What are you doing here..." you managed to say in a raspy voice, his touch on your neck heightening your senses, even with gloves on.
"I came for you, of course."
You watched him warily, chin high in defiance, waiting for something, anything.
"You cannot take me away, I have engagements," you tried to reason.
"Oh right. Engagements," he approached his head from yours, in order to whisper in your ear. "Do you think I care about that?"
You shivered at the sensation of him so close to you. You hated your body for betraying you like this, but your current situation was making you well aware of the trouble you were in.
"Aemond, please, let me go-" you begged.
You felt his hand tighten around your throat and his breath hot on your skin. "Beg me again, and I'll consider it."
He was strangely smiling. He looked like a predator who had managed to close in on his prey and was now taunting it to the point of pure happiness. In truth, Aemond was so pleased to see you that he wanted to play, just a little.
"You cannot do this, please Aemond, you're making a mistake," you pleaded.
He took a sharp breath, something coursed through him, something indescribable to you as he took in your form, watching you from head to toe, taking in the black light dress you wore.
"Look at you, all dornish now. You even smell like them, sweet and exotic."
He brushed away a trail of sand stuck between the folds of the cloth that hid your chest and looked up at you again, letting go of your throat.
"Come now, Vhagar will be pleased to see you," he said as he twirled you around, leading you in the opposite direction of the Stronghold. Panic slowly began to take you.
"Wait no. Aemond- If you do this, if you take me away, the Crown will be poorly looked upon."
"I am the Crown right now, and I will do I as please." he shot back at you. "I am no fool, I know Dorne is not to be messed with. This is why I let my army in the Storm Lands."
His hand on your waist was pushing you forward, but you still managed to make you both stop as you turned to face him, placing your hands on his shoulders to block him.
"Fine, I will come with you, I will follow, but let me do things my way. I promise just... Not like that, not right now. Please ."
"Who goes there?"
You straighten at the voice at the same time as Aemond. Your heart dropped when you recognised the shadowy form of Perros walking toward you, carefully advancing in the half-lit corner where you stood.
"Y/N is that you?" he inquired, before narrowing his eye at the hooded figure, seeing his hands firmly clawed to your elbow. "Let her go at once," he warned.
Aemond, still facing you, closed his eye in deep annoyance before slowly turning around, widening his arms in a sarcastic gesture.
"And who might you be? Lord Qorgyle I presume?"
"Tell me your name and let her go." Perros repeated, ignoring the taunt.
"Have you come to protect her?" Aemond asked before laughing maniacally, apparently finding the idea comical.
You hadn't moved an inch. You saw Perros draw his sword in a swift movement, and you heard Aemond's laughter vanish, his cold voice emerging.
"You should walk away, warrior. Unless you want to shed blood on that dear sand of yours."
As Aemond said that, he had drawn his dagger as well and it was enough to wake you from your frozen state, the alarming tension making you jump into action.
"No stop it! Please don't do anything, stand down, I beg you!"
You placed yourself between the two men, hoping to avoid what would come next.
"So tell your dog here to go back to where he came from and let us leave in peace," Aemond commanded without taking his icy eye off Perros.
"Yes, yes, alright," you nodded to yourself, raising your hand in the Dornian direction. "Perros, everything is well, please don't do anything, I'm taking care of this, I am only talking to a friend of mine. Please go home."
Perros detached his gaze from Aemond to look at you, brows furrowed and body ready for anything. He scrutinised you thoroughly, as if he was trying to decipher the meaning of a very old inscription. But soon he reported his gaze onto the hooded man, determined.
"No."
As Perros uttered this word, he began to put two and two together. The dark did not hide the stranger's face so well any more, and he was clearly seeing the eye patch now. If you knew him, it could hardly be anyone other than the famous Kinslayer.
Tension heightened around you, and you were at lost at what to do. You felt Aemond shift into position, you went to him.
"Wait please, there is no need to do this," you said, putting your hands on his chest in an attempt to make him look at you. "I will do anything you want. Anything. Do not fight, do not start this."
Aemond watched you for a moment, his beautiful purple eye softening momentarily at your words, but he soon found his threatening demeanour again.
"You would do this, all of this to save your husband?" he asked you.
"He is not my husband, not even my betrothed, he has nothing to do with me. Let's leave Aemond please, you and me."
You were not certain who would win or who would lose if they fought, and it scared you. Both men would surely harm each other greatly if it came to this, and you were not sure you could take any of those prospects. However, you had underestimated Perros's sense of honour.
"I am sorry Y/N but I cannot let him take you, I cannot let my brother be humiliated like this. Come to me now and you won't have to deal with him ever again," you heard him say.
Before you could react Aemond's hands grabbed yours that rested on his chest and pulled you behind him in one swift motion before going straight to Perros.
"Stay your tongue warrior or I swear I will take it from you. She is not yours to command."
Aemond was on him now and it happened fast. You saw the glint of two blades clashing, Aemond's hood falling back, revealing his platinum hair and Perros's cloak drop on the floor. Soon the clanking of the steel was all that you could hear, dread filling your entire body.
At one point Aemond was disarmed, his dagger buried into the sand, quickly retrieving his sword from his belt to block another blow. Swords clashing, you barely registered what was happening as you saw blood spill on the sand, not deciphering whose, and one of the men roared in pain. The next moment you saw Aemond's sword plunge into Perros's leg and spill blood again, the Dornish men falling onto the ground in affliction. When Aemond's sword rose again, ready to strike, you ran to him and seized his arm, begging him to stop.
"Don't please! Don't kill him, Aemond, you can't, please."
He looked at you, still submerged by his wrath, furious that you were now standing between him and his opponent. But soon he looked at you, truly looked at you and your pleading eyes, and he dropped his arm.
You feared that others might have heard the commotion, and Perros seemed to be unable to stand up, his wound still spreading dark blood all over the ground. You couldn't worry about him now, you had avoided the worst, and the priority now was to lead the Prince away from here, throwing a sorry and guilty look at the man onto the floor.
You took his hand and began walking in the opposite direction, you didn't know where you were going but it was better than not moving at all. The Prince said nothing as he readjusted his hood over his head and followed you in the dark alleys. Soon you were in the open desert and Aemond directed you towards a far away dune.
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You struggled to walk in the soft sand, Aemond striding ahead of you. Vhagar was there, hiding behind a large mass of sand, there in the cover of the dark. She squealed as she saw Aemond while you came in her direction, and the next minute you were climbing the ropes with the help of Aemond in order to seat yourself onto her back.
He sat behind you, like you did like it seemed an eternity ago, and you felt his warmth envelop you.
"You are freezing," he stated. You were in your light satin dress, not having planned to stay out in the cold night for so long.
You felt him move as he took his cloak off, making him groan in pain.
"What is it?" you asked as he put the cloth over your shoulders.
"Nothing," he replied. He puts his arms at each side of you to take the reins and you both took off, flying into the sky and above the arid mountains of the desert. After a while, you didn't know how long, you could discern water under the half-moon light and wondered if it was the sea of Dorne already. You had no idea how long the trip would take, and Aemond had not said a word.
You shivered. You were cold despite the cloak Aemond had given you, and his body was not heating you up as expected. You felt Vhagar lose altitude.
"We will stop. Or I fear that you will freeze to death," he said, his voice slightly lower than usual.
You tightened the cloak around you in an attempt to protect you from the icy wind as you descended, and you felt a strange dampness at one side. When you looked at your hand, you saw red.
"Aemond why is there-"
You could not finish as Vhagar roughly landed on a cliff near the coast, or you believed so. You heard Aemond wince as he dismounted and proceeded in helping you down as well. On the ground at last, that's when you saw it.
The left side of his torso was soaking in blood, a huge stain imprinted on his clothes.
"Aemond you're hurt, you're bleeding!"
"Yes I am," he stated, clutching his side slightly as he walked toward a rock not far from there. You watched him reach for arid twigs on the floor, picking up several and gathering them in a small pile.
"Let me help you, you could, you could-" you stammered. "You're bleeding out, Aemond."
"It is alright, don't worry about me. You didn't bother before anyway."
You arched a brow in hurt. You felt Vhagar shift behind you, her huge eyes watching her rider with sad interest, sensing his pain. Aemond took several steps back from the pile before looking up at Vhagar.
"Dracarys."
Vhagar took a moment to look at Aemond before approaching her head to the pile of twigs and setting it on fire. When she retreated, Aemond walked over the fire and dropped against the rock in a grunt. You rushed toward him, kneeling at his side.
"Let me see Aemond."
You reached for his waist and tried to peek underneath the cloth to see how deep the wound was. It was too drenched to see anything, so you started to unfasten his belt in order to lift his shirt up.
Aemond watched you with hooded eye, not protesting as you revealed his skin, marked with a fresh wound across his ribs. It was a cut, not alarmingly deep, but large enough to spill blood in concerning amounts.
"Alright, you will be fine. You will be fine," you said mostly to yourself. You just had to clean it for now.
"I know I will be," he said. He was looking at you, half a smile and through half-closed lids. His hand was resting on your thigh as he watched your serious and worried face think fast.
"I will stop the bleeding, and then I will bandage it until we make it to King's Landing."
You ripped a piece of your cloak as you pressed your hand onto Aemond's wound, eliciting a hiss from him.
"Would you believe me if I said that I had really, really worst?" he asked in a hoarse voice as you pressed the cloth against his wound.
You looked at him with amusement. "Of course I would."
Your smile felt good, considering the situation. You tried to wipe the blood, enough to see properly, as you applied yourself in executing what you have learned from the maesters during all of these years of medicinal care.
"Maybe we should not go back to King's Landing. I have often considered it, each time I'm on Vhagar with you, in truth," he said, breathing in sharply. "We could go to Essos, live there. Like many in my family did before me."
You laughed quietly at that. "It sounds like a sweet dream, my Prince."
"Hmm."
The blood had stopped flowing, and soon you were able to bandage the wound tightly enough for it to hold for a time. Watching your work done, you allowed yourself to sit beside him, leaning on his good side, and put the cloak over you both, staring into the fire.
Aemond pulled you close, putting an arm around you, and you rested your head on his chest, careful to be gentle. You felt him caress your waist where your skin was left bare by your dress.
"I was to be married today," he softly said.
You didn't look up at him as he said this, only staring into the flames. But he felt your disarray nonetheless.
"In conclusion, I would say that this day was a success," he kept on, a smile in his voice.
It was your turn to smile as you settled in comfortable silence, next to the man you would never be away from.
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-0- Part 14
@let-love-bleeds-red @crazylokonugget @jeyramarie @ephemeralninon @mrswhitethornbelikov @dudfahsn @missusnora @queenofterrasen418 @honeytrapsblogp-graham @heathclifftragedyy @discowizard88 @ivartheblessed @xceafh @bubbletae7 @omgkatherine97 @tzipora-art @signyvenetia @ml0103 @nsainmoonchild @lonadane @skythighs @bietchz @samnblack @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @projectcampbell @ripdragonbeans @caribbeangal
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strawbs-screaming · 7 months
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☆ the boxers at a escape room ☆
did this because i felt bad about not posting, will post a weekly update during the weekend + some art hopefully, ive had this on my shoulders for a while, this is so cringe fail
Build-Up
Okay so i made up lore for this escape room:
It's an abandoned hotel, decorated all fancy, theres old couches, fake rotary phones and a bunch of weird symbols used later in the puzzles.
It's really colorful but the theres barely any lightning because the vibes need to be settled, theres a lot of puzzles, including: puns, math and the weird symbols mentioned
The lore starts as a hotel shutting down after a serial killer takes over & goes on a massacre, theres a time limit of 2 hours, when the time is over the game is done & a dude with a really bad voice effect says "the killer has got you" Before the doors open
When theres only a few minutes left, a buzzing sound effect plays
Theres a lot of "fake" spiderwebs with cryptid texts too so enjoy that
Glass Joe
- struggling with the puzzles, his brain is melting
- "we have to turn on the TV for clues i think"
- "or a baking show"
- "either way im watching"
- hes not taking this seriously, at all
- keeps using a prop phone like its real & talking on it, ended up getting into a argument with the air
- laying down on the decorative couches "draw me like one of your french girls.." style when hes tired
- "we're gonna die, is the killer hot at least?"
Von Kaiser
- complete opposite with Joe, hes taking this seriously, too serious
- "I WILL NOT LET THEY EVIL HOTEL MAN KILL US ALL. NO!"
- acting like the evil hotel man will actually get him
- doing really good with the math puzzles, hes a natural
- dialing 911 on the fake rotary phone
- runmaging through everything, no chair left un-thrown, no couch left un-turned, no drawer left closed
- when the 10 minutes notice ringed in he screamed like a goat
Disco Kid
- Just bored, he got dragged along and doesnt feel like doing anything
- "does the TV have anything interesting on it"
- "Disco we are being chased by a evil serial killer i dont think you should be so calm"
- escape rooms dont have enough charm for him like haunted houses
- doing cartwheels across the room, accidentally knocked over a bookshelf and revealed a clue
- hes already done with this shit, let him out
King Hippo
- doesnt have any idea whats going on, hes just confused
- doesnt know whether to help kaiser or laugh with Joe
- thinks the argument between Joe and the air is real
- hes so lost
- "mom i frew up" pose while watching everyone do the puzzles
Piston Hondo
- calmly trying to do the puzzles
- trying to help kaiser calm down
- laughed at disco toppling over the bookshelf for a solid 20 minutes
- hes SLAYİNG the puzzles
- "Joe did you take your meds?? You're arguing with the air"
- "wait i got too caught up"
- He isnt taking this seriously but isnt fucking around like Joe either, hes doing his best to have fun, not too much fun
Great Tiger
- also messing around with Joe, both of them are hysterically laughing at everything knowing damn well they dont know whats going on + cant solve a puzzle to save their lives
- "whens the baking show coming on??"
- reading the books on the bookshelf disco kid rko'd
- He could be helpful but he refuses to because seeing everyone go batshit is hilarious
- keeps tripping over the carpets
Bear Hugger
- him & hondo are peacefully doing puzzles while everyone else is going apeshit, hes having fun
- re-organized the bookshelf disco kid slammed down on, he knows damn well they dont get paid enough for this bs
- cheering Joe on his fight with the atoms
- cleaning up behind everyone because hes a decent person
Don Flamenco
- very confused, he thinks theyre all stuck in a silly room for nothing, cannot do puzzles & cannot be silly at all
- Just wandering around & looking for clues
- hes concerned, not only for the boxers but the employees
- thinks the decorations look great, taking notes for his room
Aran Ryan
- doing his evil gremlin thing, chucking stuff, sneaking around, rolling on the floor, hes simply thriving
- scaring people for fun
- hysterically laughing at everything because the lightning is shitty & that makes everything funnier for him
- saying the dumbest shit
- got inspired by disco kid wrecking the bookshelf and decided to throw a couch across the room
- laughing at the wall
Soda Popinski
- Really confused along with King hippo
- hes just following everyone around like a sick puppy
- sad that he cant bring his soda but understands because he has spilled soda multiple times on his stuff and suffered the consequences
- awkward shrugging anytime someone asks him whats going on
Bald Bull
- also hysterically laughing with aran, bad lightning with cheap horror music fits too well for him
- him & aran are cackling at kaiser knowing damn well they both need therapy
- Just having fun
- He doesnt give a shit about anything right now, this is one of the only times he can maniacally laugh at thin air and not get stared at
- was the one to convince disco kid to do a cartwheel
Super Macho Man
- pretending to understand whats going on, Just as confused as soda
- Really bored
- not much to say, hes just.. neutral
Mr Sandman
- Really calm & carrying the entire team
- concerned for aran & bull since he was the only one to notice them maniacally cackle at thin air
- suprisingly not ready to punch someone out into orbit
- extremely worried for disco's bones because no one throws a entire bookshelf onto themselves and walks away fine
- brought a camera to get some real gems
- keeps coughing like hes on life support because of the ridiculous amount of dust
Extra
They made it out suprisingly thanks to hondo & sandman (barely)
Don realized he has some problems with his lungs after that trip because holy shit he was fighting for his life
Sandman convinced aran & bull to go to therapist (somehow)
Joe enjoyed taking out his anger out on a cheap fake rotary phone
Disco needed to go to the hospital after the bookshelf incident, no one is letting the fact that he broke his back thanks to a bookshelf go
Piston Hondo & bear hugger do sudoku together now since they realized they both enjoy math puzzles
Great Tiger still laughs about the bookshelf incident at night when trying to sleep
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endergirlplayz · 2 months
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A small collection of my fave drawings pt 2
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this was me messing with a braid brush, I just like the pose and vibes, she looks like a space popstar
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One of my first ever blue renders (made in like,, 2022??) I'm pretty proud of this one :3
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I tried to make stylistic matching datwings of two of my spirit ocs. I love theese and the characetr design vibes
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This is a redraw if an art peice inspired by the Billie eilish(?idk how to spell it) song "bury a friend" I re did almost everything about it, I'll hunt down the comparison photo if ppl really wanna see it :3
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I don't really know what to say abt this one, it's just pretty cool :3
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My second part of the ocl contest on paper demon:3,the purple oc isn't mine, they belong to another artist on paper demon
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This is a character I'd like to make an animated short about someday. I call him asparagus (he has no real name)
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Another drawing of Katy (she was in part 1) she is in her magical girl outfit this time, originally this just started as some simple skin rendering. I remember this took me like 7 hours
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My third ocl peice (raccoon oc is made by another artist on paperdemon) I put more effort into the backround on this one
(Eyestrain warningfor next one )
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Inspired by" hyper pop" animie art I saw online! I like it alot, they tuned out so cute
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One of my first lineless commisions, I put alot of love into trying to make it a cool as possible vibe if it was something I'm less familiar with ( not my oc)
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My vtuber, I rlly gotta use her for something , I made this mostly to show her off :3
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My favorite blue drawing I think I've ever made:3 she looks so pretty and I adore the bg
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My drawing of my cuties oc :3 she's dressed as a zombie cheerleader for holloween :D
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Mmm my second most tremendous render. She is hot pink and stunning 😍
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My amoebud bianca, and my most recent render :3 this was my referance for her.
I adore Bianca, I cannot wait to make more semi-complex art
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lukewarm-beef-stew · 5 months
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opinions on heroes x izuku?? whichever ones, like top ten of most popular
i tried to find the "ah shit, here we go again" gif but it just came up with a lot of kpop boys. so instead im psychically beaming that image into all of your skulls. youre welcome <3
(for this one, im just leaving out any heroes i dont have any thoughts/opinions on. if you dont see them here, im probably entirely neutral on the ship)
>endeavor: no. -100/10. hate all endeavor ships but this one is esp yuck to me
>hawks: i like it for a lot of the same reasons i like present mic/izuku! however, i also like the interpretation that hawks is Flirty AF but secretly a virgin, so after weeks of flirting and teasing they actually get into bed together and as soon as hawks realizes this is really happening, hes suddenly a wide-eyed stuttering mess with no idea what to do. and izuku isnt much better, so they have some over all clumsy but cute sex and spend the rest of the day cuddling <3 (hawks gets emotionally attached Immediately. i totally hc that he Cannot get good dick without falling in love xD) 11/10.
>mirko: straight people seem to like this one a lot. i bet its bc izuku is the audience self insert and mirko is a hot feral muscular bunnygirl. ...ngl i get it but people are always so boring with it!! i think this dynamic could be really interesting, but it almost never is when people write/draw it, its just izuku both of them acting way ooc just so izuku can be some suave top to "tame" mirko with his dick. ive seen that exact storyline play out in five different doujinshi before i stopped reading this ship. 6/10 for that, but 7/10 if mirko is topping/domming.
>gang orca: this puts the rare in rarepair but i kinda like this one ;w; im always a fan of someone who looks "monstrous" or "scary" x someone who does not gaf, plus i think they both have similar aspects to their personality, such as loving kids and trying their best to be encouraging, but orcas is just hidden under a bit of a tough exterior (hey, wait, this sounds familiar-) and that scene where orca is encouraging them after the first remedial lesson but then fumbles to act all tough and scary immediately afterwards is cute!! and orcas have a prehensile penis. 10/10.
>mt. lady: dislike. similar feelings to the mirko ship, but the dynamic is way less interesting. plus this ship feels Aggressively hetero in a way that is oddly off putting. 1/10.
>fat gum: ehehe my beloved <3 im always gonna be a fan of "never takes care of themselves"/"please eat what i made and fall asleep in my arms", which is why i Adore fat gum/izuku And fat gum/eraserhead. plus i just like fat gum!! this ones very sweet, just a lovely comfort ship. 10/10.
>wild wild pussycats: individually, ehh nothing is sparking joy. all together?? (and that Has to include tiger, you cowards!! stop leaving him out!!) 6/10 id read it but not go looking for it.
>rocklock: that man already has a beautiful wife and kid, and izuku is Not a homewrecker!!! 1/10.
>sir nighteye: okay listen. im a nighteye hater til i die. im not happy he died or anything, but im so glad hes not in canon anymore. like hell am i gonna ship izuku with a jealous, possessive, manipulative douche with a tickling fetish!! -5/10.
>ingenium (og): okay ngl i have a soft spot for "person/their friend's older brother" ships. and i esp like this one bc that dynamic of ship usually takes on a sort of dabideku vibe, where the older brother is sort of punk/suave/a fuckboy, and the younger one has an innocent crush that gets them dicked down but not much else. but no, ingenium would treat you right!! i think tenya would pop a blood vessel if he found out izu was dating his older brother, but tensei would be so responsible and sweet about it. the ship itself and dynamic between them isnt very exciting, but the drama around them very much is. 7 or maybe 8/10, depending on the vibes.
>lady nagant: this one also has some aggressively hetero vibes, the kinda thing where people only "ship" it to see a pretty girl get dicked without having the balls to make a self-insert. nothing wrong with that, less icky vibes than the ppl who do the same with mirko anyways, but not my preference. However, i did read a fic where nagant was teaching nomu!izuku how to speak again while they were both locked in tartarus (entirely gen/platonic) and it was such an interesting character study that i cant help but kind of love the ship now. i think it has a lot of potential, could go in a Bunch of different directions, but specifically lends itself well to slow burn/identity shenanigans/"please let me save you" kinda vibe. wont read it if its just smut tho. 8/10.
wow, writing this made me realize just how few of the canon heroes i actually know/care about that arent UA staff xD btw if you disagree with any of the things ive said in any of these posts, feel free to send me an ask and let me know!! id love to discuss it if you have an interesting take on a ship i find boring or anything else <3
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calamari-ao3updates · 4 months
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Warning! Long-ass post
SO!
Turtle Hot Pot is coming, don't worry, I've just got other things to get off my chest first.
After losing my drafts I just didn't do a whole lot in regards to that fic, but I'm getting back on it and have another chapter 7 ready to be finished up. Problem is, the drafts that got deleted had all the funnies. Now they've turned into crumbs of angst.
So yeah, very much looking forward to the reactions to that hehe
Anywho, I have a lot of hours on the Sims 4, most of it building houses as a way of literal fanfiction. This house is no different :D
Started building Aprils farmhouse from the 2012 series and that kind of spun out of control. Like, small farmhouse turned giant mansion out of control. 64x64 isn't nearly big enough...
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Note: Early build/accidental screenshot of the house. I am in pain. The house is based roughly on and built most like this house but there are definitely some changes made to the final build.
I now have a 2012!FutureAU (like so many others-) and it is just Not Letting Me Go. I can't draw for the life of me so I'm writing a fanfiction to appease the turtle overlords while continuing the build. Which is actually kind of fun to have a visual of the place I'm writing about.
Anyway have Donnie's laboratory!
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Completely finished with a small med bay, reinforced room for his wacky inventions and an observations/chemistry lab for all kinds of extra-terrestrial things Mona brings in. Her latest find was a weird-looking plant thing, hence the plants in there.
Some headcannons I gathered for Donnie's laboratory throughout my time being hyperfixated on turtles:
Kirby O'Neil gifted the farmhouse to the boys on one of their birthdays (idk which one, either eighteen or twenty-one) and gave them full permission to tear down the house and rebuild it. Simply because you cannot expect four mutant teenagers to live in a tiny house when their social network reaches into literal SPACE, nor did he want these kids to have families and expect all those people to move into the sewers of all places.
It's a big mansion, and took them three years to build and furnish the house alone. (I'll show snippets once it's furnished :P the backyard is a hot mess right now-). Afterwards they tore down the barn and rebuilt it, however the insides were custom-crafted with specialized materials (because labs).
All materials were procured via either Bishop or Mona.
The finished lab has a couple of different sections to it, as requested by both Donnie and his brothers.
The main area
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The main area of his lab is where he does most of his tinkering. Either he's shoulders deep into blueprints or looking through data and whatnot, he's most likely to be found here right away.
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Donnie's favourite nook in his lab is under the stairs. Usually the one place to find him late at night, illuminated by the one lantern on the back wall and the one desk lamp on the counter.
Casey decided it was also the perfect place for a fish tank, because it was away from his doohickeys and whatchamacallits. No one's complained and the fish are all thriving to Casey's surprise.
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One of Donnie's most proudest trinkets is the portal, albeit secured and looked at regularly by both him and professor Honeycutt. It's known to boot up randomly and definitely isn't involved in bringing a past version of our 2012 boys into the future ;) hint hint
The Reinforced "Ticking Time-Bomb"
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Raph loves referring to this place as a "ticking time-bomb", no matter how many times Donnie tries to tell him the walls are made from a special material scientists use for heat-resistant, explosion-resistant and all kinds of-resistant laboratories back on Mona's planet.
If you can't find him anywhere else, try your luck here. He might've bitten himself into a set of blueprints or experiments he absolutely couldn't wait to try.
The Med Bay
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Note: ignore the succulent planter squares on the wall, I might change those. Don't like them a whole lot.
The only place he has to force Leo to step foot in. It's mostly used for routine check-ups or have Leo walk on the treadmill (bc his knee is a rice krispy and can crack so loud it makes Mikey think he'll start glowing in the dark).
Chloe made him the sunset painting (bc I headcannon her to be an art major) and Raph crocheted the plushies on the couch in case one of the kids ever have to come here for check-up and they need a buddy ;)
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The desk has postcards stuck above them, Mikey being the cause behind it. He thought the space was too boring and "it needed some rizz" when asked why. So he one time asked Karai what he should hang up there and she's been sending them double postcards ever since. One for the kitchen on their fridge that has her message on it and another for Donnie's wall that only says "for the rizz".
Donnie has reportedly not tried taking them off or stopping them.
Also, peep Ricky in the corner. Guess who gave him that name.
The Lounge
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Note: the blue line going through the wall on the right side is from a roof. Don't worry about it. It definitely isn't an overhead cover for Raphs chickens.
Where his brothers hang out if they want to hang out with Donnie :D
I don't know if you can tell from the first photos, but Donnie has stuck black and yellow security tape to the flooring leading from the door to the stairs. He decided that if his brothers wanted to hangout with him, they could do so in a designated space, reachable via a path that doesn't put them or his inventions, experimentations and research at risk.
The paintings were once again made by Chloe, waiting to be hung up somewhere. Leo and Raph collaborated on the ceiling planters (Leo brought the plants and Raph crocheted the strings) and Mikey stuck a hell of a lot of flower decals to the walls (and might have snuck in the unhealthy amount of butterflies, which Donnie definitely is pretending not to have known)
The toy bin is to keep the little kiddies busy and there's two pet beds in there in case Chompy decides to grace him with a visit.
The item display is definitely Casey's dumb idea and the sunflower rug definitely didn't come from Shinigami.
Donnie also decided to make the space functional aside from recreational and brought a corkboard up there, he might've asked Slash for help with that one. They needed to stick evidence somewhere, and Leo wasn't allowing it in the house. Raph and Donnie are found regularly up here, trying to crack cases they were given access to.
Mikey and Chloe regularly stick drawings up there, only to have them disappear. They got concerned Donnie was throwing them away until Raph showed them one of Donnie's many filing cabinets on the third floor; their drawings neatly sorted and safely tucked away in the various binders needed to contain them all.
If Donnie started finding more A4 drawings than other sizes pinned to the board, there definitely wasn't a reason for it.
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There aren't cockroaches in the game, so let's pretend this spider is one.
Because of course Donnie has his little spyroaches roaming his lab, keeping an eye on things alongside Metalhead. Raph despises them, but has learned to tune them out.
If they hide while he specifically is hanging out at the lab, it's definitely not because Donnie has instructed them to do so.
The Observation/Chemistry Lab
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It's mostly used for observation and testing of various subjects brought in by either Mona or Bishop.
He holds both video logs and written logs of his observations. It's also the place where he produces the retro-mutagen in small quantities.
The nozzles on the wall are a safety measure against harmful chemical fumes and are stocked with a generic neutralizer developed in collaboration between him, Mona and experts in the field from her home planet.
The Archive
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Donnie's files on past projects, researches and all kinds of tidbits of information. There's a lot.
Anyone browsing and taking out random binders will find them filled with gibberish, words bordering illegible and photos of things that don't seem real.
If you find a shelf filled with binders containing art, you definitely didn't stumble upon his little treasury.
And that's about it!
I have a lot more headcannons but I've been working on Donnies lab in the Sims for two days, the story itself since the weekend. I really needed to share and remembered I had an entire blog dedicated to TMNT and my AO3.
I should really use this more often...
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middleearthpixie · 7 months
Text
Promise Me ~ Chapter Twenty-Two
Summary: Friends since childhood, Gabriella has long held back her feelings where Boromir is concerned, as she did not want to risk losing his friendship if he didn't feel the same. But, then he is summoned to Rivendell, and the night before he is to leave, he stuns Gabriella by confessing his feelings for her as well. 
But, war is coming and he cannot put off what he knows must be done. All Gabriella can do is wait for him and pray for his safe return. 
Fandom: The Lord of the Rings (AU, Boromir lives)
Pairing: Boromir x ofc Gabriella
Warnings: none 
Rating: T
Word Count: 3.6k
Tag List: @sotwk @heilith @fizzyxcustard @evenstaredits @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @emmyspov @finnofamerica @lathalea @ass-deep-in-demons @quiall321 @mistofstars @justfollowtheroad @guardianofrivendell @glassgulls @doctorwhump @kmc1989 @estethell
If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!
Previous chapters can be found here.
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“I’m not hurting you, am I?”
Boromir turned his head to peer at her over his right shoulder. “Not at all, love. I’m fine. You need not fuss over me, you know. I assure you, I’m fine.”
“I know, but it’s been a rough day for you.” Gabriella shifted her position, which was firmly seated on his backside, and smiled as she got more comfortable to resume the back rub she’d offered him. “And, I don't wish to cause you any more pain at all. So you’ll tell me if I grow too heavy, won’t you?”
“You’re fine, Gabby. I promise.”
“Good.” She bit back a sigh at the sight of his bare back. Rain pattered softly against the windowpanes. The bed was a bit of a mess, with the sheet and quilts untucked and half hanging onto the floor, and was thoroughly rumpled besides, and a single candle burned on her bedside table to cast dancing shadows along the walls around them. The flickering golden light highlighted the swells of muscle along his back, across his shoulders, burnishing his skin ivory. He bore several scars across that broad plane as well. Most looked as if they’d come from blades—raised long and thin white lines stretching across this way or that, white with age.
She leaned forward, her hands coming to rest along the thick muscle across his shoulders, and he let out a soft groan of appreciation as she kneaded those bands, his sigh almost lusty as he whispered, “Oh, that feels heavenly…”
“It’s supposed to.”
“It does.”
His head still turned to the right, all she could see was that side of his face and when his eye closed, she smiled. His was such a fascinating profile—the sharp definition of his jawline, the prominence of his nose, the ridge of his brows—she wished she could draw, for she would love to capture the sheer masculine beauty of his face. 
His eye opened then and his lips curved upward in a grin. “That side of my face grows hot, love. Why do you stare?”
“Because you steal the breath from my lungs, Boromir, and you have since we first met.”
That grin grew into a full, if sleepy, smile. “You had a soft spot for boys with big noses, then?”
“Your nose is just fine the way it is, you know. And I doubt anyone would argue that with me.” She gave the thick band of muscle beneath her fingers a gentle squeeze. “I love your face. It’s perfect.”
“It’s far from perfect and you know it.”
“Stop. It’s perfect and I love it.”
His eye closed again and with a low sigh, he seemed to sink more deeply into the mattress. “That feels wonderful, you know. Thank you.”
“You’ve had a long day,” she told him, resuming her kneading. “And I hope I did not overstep earlier, at the funeral.”
“Overstep?” His eye opened again. “How so?”
“Well…” she shrugged, digging her thumbs into a knot in his left shoulder, “I stood with you and Faramir, as if I was part of your family. As Cadell pointed out.”
“Ask me if I care what that fool thinks. You’re going to be my wife, Gabby. I care not if anyone was troubled with you being there because we’ve not made us official yet.” He sucked in a sharp breath as she continued trying to massage out the knot in his shoulder. “Do take care, love. That hurts a bit.”
“Oh,” she stilled her hands and bent to sweep a light kiss where she’d just been kneading, “I’m so sorry. I didn't realize I was rubbing so hard.”
“It’s fine, just a bit tender, is all.”
“Even so.”
“No, there is no need to apologize.” He let out a soft groan as she stretched out and came flush against him. “Oh, this is evennicer.”
She smiled, her lips brushing his ear. “You’ll tell me if I’m too—”
“If you say heavy, love, I’ll toss you clear onto the floor,” he said with a hint of laughter in his voice. “You are anything but heavy and even if you were, I would not care. This feels just perfect, your amazing breasts pressing into my back more than make up for any discomfort.”
She trailed her fingers along his forearms, slipping beneath the pillow under his head to link them with his. “Is that so?”
“Oh, definitely.” His eye closed again. “Most definitely, indeed.”
This time, she swept her lips along his cheek, bristly with new beard once more. “I love you.”
A soft sigh whispered through his lips. “Mmmm… I love you, too, Gabby.”
He sounded half-asleep, which was perfectly understandable, given it was nearly two in the morning and he’d had an extraordinarily long day besides. She snuggled against him, brushed his shoulder with a light kiss, then whispered, “Should I move?”
He didn't answer, but instead carefully shifted onto his back without dislodging her and smiled, letting his hands sweep down over her backside, before bringing them up and wrapping her in his arms once more. “Never.”
She gazed down at him, brushing his hair away from his forehead, her fingertips lingering once more over that scar that probably wasn't very noticeable to anyone not familiar with him. “I never realized how you look after your brother. Not until I heard all those stories tonight. You risked your father’s wrath for him.”
“I did it to spare him. Our father always rode him hard. Too hard, if you ask me. And even when I tried to take the blame, Faramir usually got the worse punishment.” His eyes softened, taking on a bit of a faraway look. “But it wasn't always that way. Denethor was always a bit more lenient with me than he was with Faramir, but our mother would call him out if he went too far.”
“What happened to her? You so rarely speak of her.”
He offered up a sad smile. “She was never truly happy here. She came from Dol Amroth, and Minas Tirith never quite suited her. She was twenty years younger than my father, you know, and he was never an overly affectionate man. I cannot recall ever seeing either one of them touch one another on a whim, but only when formal portraits and or the occasion called for it, now that I think about it.
“But, she was always affectionate with me and later with Faramir. I often wondered if my father preferred to have a daughter instead of a second son, for he always seemed ready to simply ignore Faramir. He left him for my mother to rear on her own and I can only now, looking back, surmise that his birth had been rough for her, for she was never the same after he was born. She grew frail and was often sick. She missed her home. Missed being near the sea. The river wasn’t quite the same, you know.”
Gabriella pressed her lips together as his eyes grew shiny. He cleared his throat and said, “She became a ghost of herself. Just grew weaker and weaker until one day, I went into her chambers to ask her if I could take Faramir to the river and I thought she was sleeping. She’d taken to napping on and off through the day, so it wasn’t so unusual at that hour. But when I touched her arm to wake her, she was cold.”
His voice grew softer, as if speaking hurt, and Gabriella could feel that pain herself, her eyes stinging as a hint of confusion came into Boromir’s voice. “And I just kept trying, just kept asking her to open her eyes until finally, my father came in and saw…”
His voice trailed off and his eyes closed as he drew in a deep breath. “I think he blamed Faramir for her weakened state. I think that’s partly why he always was so hard on him. He was punishing him for what happened to our mother. As if Faramir had intentionally made things rough on her.”
She waited for him to continue, but he just lay there, his eyes closed, and his breathing hitched slightly. Carefully, she eased off him, stretching out alongside him and whispered, “I’m so sorry, Boromir.”
He slid his arm about her shoulders, tugging her closer, and pressed a kiss into her temple. “She would have liked you, I think.”
“Do you? You don't think she or Denethor would have thought along the lines Cadell thought?”
“My mother? No, probably not. Denethor? I couldn't even begin to hazard a guess. I know he didn't think I should waste my time chasing any women.”
She lifted her head. “What?”
He nodded. “I told him I’d met this beautiful girl and he looked me in the eye and said, ‘Your duty is to Gondor first.’ And when I tried to describe her, I was told in no uncertain terms, that lust fades and passion dies and Gondor and power were all that mattered.”
Her gut kinked at that. “Was this when you were sweet on Kaia?”
He shook his head. “No. She didn't even come close to this girl’s beauty.”
Gabriella pursed her lips, wracking her brain to think of who he might have meant. “Danica?”
“Try again.” 
“It had to be Asta, then. I’m fairly certain no woman in Gondor is prettier than she is.”
He rose onto his elbow to gaze down at her. “You’re forgetting one, Gabriella.”
“Then who—” She met that gaze. “Wait…”
He smiled then. “I’d met this beautiful girl who was too young for me then because she was but thirteen years old. By the time we’d both worked up the courage to kiss for the first time, she was thirty-eight and I was forty-one and she is still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”
“Boromir, you cannot possibly be telling me the truth.”
“Why?”
“Well… because… you simply can’t.”
“Of course I can. And you can ask Faramir if you don't believe me. My father didn't want to hear one word about it. I imagine my mother would have wanted to meet you to give you her approval in person.”
“And if she didn't approve?”
“It wouldn’t have mattered. I’d still be here.” He leaned in and his lips touched hers. A moment later, he was pressing her down onto her back and nudging her legs apart to ease his hips between them, and that was the end of all conversation. 
Somewhere in the distance, a door closed, the bang sharp enough that it roused Boromir from a heavy sleep. He lifted his head to squint toward the bedroom door, which was ajar. 
Gabby lay sound asleep beside him, on her side, a hand tucked up beneath her cheek. He draped his arm about her waist, his fingers just barely brushing the soft curve of her belly. She didn't stir, so perhaps the bang he’d heard was simply his over-active imagination toying with him. Or perhaps it was in his dream. He didn't recall, but was thankful he didn't lurch awake or cry out, as he did from time to time since he’d left Rivendell. 
She snuggled closer to him, which made him smile, as nothing offered the same sort of comfort as her seeking him out, of her pressing herself as close to him as possible. It was one thing when she was awake, but quite another when she did it in her sleep. He’d shared his bed before, but she was the only one who, each night, moved closer to him. The only one who, come the morning, he was happy to find there. In past relationships, he preferred to leave, slipping into the darkness before the woman could try to convince him to stay. And he almost never allowed women to pass the night in his flat. 
Until Gabby.
A soft creaking reached his ears. This time, he knew it was not his imagination and so he carefully—and noiselessly—slid from the bed, easing into his small clothes and trousers as he stood. He fastened them, then reached for his sword, gripping it firmly as he padded—noiselessly—to the door and slipped about it. 
The bedchambers were at the end of the narrow hallway, and as he crept toward the snow-clear sound of footsteps, he heard the low hum of whispers.
“If she is not here, where might she be?”
“Perhaps with a friend?”
Both voices were low, only slightly softer than the other and Boromir tightened his fingers on the sword’s grip before stepping around the corner, the blade out. “Who are you and what business have you here?”
“What the deuce!” Agnar sputtered, lurching back to step smack into his wife, Gabby’s mother. 
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” Eir shot back, shoving her husband to the side. Her gaze alit on Boromir, widened as it moved over him. “Where is my daughter? What have you done with her?”
Both relief and horror washed over Boromir as he lowered the blade and tried not to think about his state of undress. “I beg your pardon, of course, but Gabby is still sleeping.”
“And you—” Agnar’s eyes narrowed. “Boromir? The steward’s son? What the deuce are you doing here, boy? Is Gabby all right? Has something happened to her?”
“She’s fine, and yes, it’s me,” he nodded, looking from Gabby’s father to her mother. “I assure you, she is perfectly fine. Just… sleeping still…”
“Why are you here, though?” Eir asked softly.
Agnar coughed, a hint of color coming to his cheeks. “Eir, I think we both know the answer to that.”
“We do—oh…” Eir’s eyes went wide, her jaw went slack, and her blush outshone her husband’s. “She did tell us about you. About the two of you, that is… I—I… I don't know what to say.”
Boromir breathed an inward sigh of relief that neither one of them seemed ready to demand his head on a pike, but that didn't mean he wasn't still somewhat uncomfortable, standing there in only his trousers. Gesturing toward the kitchen, he said, “I might fix us breakfast. I think.”
To his surprise, Eir smiled. “I know where everything is, so I will make us breakfast. Perhaps you might tell Gabby we’ve arrived? She’s obviously not expecting us, as I have the feeling we’ve arrived before our post, since I think she might have told you if she knew we were coming.”
“I should hope so. Trust I would not greet you with a blade if I expected you.”
Agnar grinned. “I am only glad you did not swing it.”
“As am I.” Boromir gestured over his shoulder toward Gabby’s bedchamber. “I’ll go wake her.”
“Thank you, Boromir,” Eir said as she began bustling about the kitchen. 
“Do you need wood?”Agnar asked his wife. 
“I think there was some still in the rack,” Boromir replied. “I will go fe—”
“Nonsense!” Agnar boomed. “I am perfectly capable of bringing up wood, my boy. Who do you think did it before we left?”
He didn't wait for Boromir to answer or argue, but tugged open the kitchen door and disappeared down the staircase. That left him and Eir and a rather awkward silence. 
“So, I see you survived your travels to Rivendell. Gabby wrote us to tell us you’d returned home.”
He managed a smile as he leaned his blade against the wall in the corner. “I did, indeed.”
“Although” she peered at him over one shoulder as she moved to the icebox to take out the last of the eggs on their tray, “you do look a bit worse for the wear.”
“I beg your pardon?”
She set the eggs on the counter and gestured to her own collarbone. “The bandage rather gives it away. Were you seriously wounded?”
“Seriously enough, yes.” He stepped up as she struggled to reach one of the bowls on the top cupboard shelf and brought it down to hand to her. “What else did Gabby tell you?”
Eir’s eyes softened. “She said she was worried for you, That you’d walked a long way to return home and were in sorry shape.”
“Sorry shape,” Boromir managed a chuckle. “I suppose that would be one way of describing it. Might I help you with that?”
“You might, indeed. Light a fire, if you’d be so kind.” 
“Of course.” He moved to the hearth, where the kindling was still perfectly stacked and ready to be lit, with both flint and steel on the mantle above the hearth. It took only a few minutes before the flames crackled to life and he stood up, feeling almost no pain from his wounded thigh. 
“So, tell me,” Eir cracked an egg into an earthenware bowl, “what are your intentions, where my daughter is concerned?”
“I promise you, my intentions are the most honorable.” He scooped up the broken eggshells after she cracked each one into the bowl. “I’ve already asked her for her hand and she has said yes.”
“Good. And what does the steward have to say about this?” she asked, attacking the eggs with a whisk.
He cleared his throat softly. “I am the steward, madame. And I am perfectly fine with it.”
The whisk went still. She slowly turned away. “What was that?”
He nodded. “My father… uh… died… ten days ago. So…” he offered up a slightly smile, “I am the steward.”
“I’m so sorry, Boromir. Your father was a fair and noble man.”
“Thank you.”
She bobbed her head and turned back to the eggs. “So, have you and Gabby chosen a date?”
“We’ve not, but simply because she wished to wait until my father was laid to rest, which he was yesterday.”
“Again, I am so sorry. Had we but known—”
“Known what?” Agnar asked as he came through the door, just barely making it with the armful of wood he carried. 
Boromir moved to relieved him of the burden as Eir said, “The steward has passed, Agnar.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Agnar replied, looking up at Boromir. “My condolences.”
“Thank you.” Boromir moved to the rack near the hearth to stack the wood, then straightened up. Looking from Agnar to Eir and back, he finally said, “I must confess, I’m rather surprised neither of you is upset at finding me here.”
Eir set down the bowl and moved to set the frying pan over the fire, letting it heat. “What purpose would it serve? She is no longer a child and neither are you. And to be honest,” she smiled, “she could do far worse than you.”
He chuckled. “Thank you.”
“Mama? Papa?”
All three of them turned to see Gabby in the kitchen doorway, her hair a tangled mess about her shoulders, her eyes sleepy and heavy-lidded. Eir’s smile widened. “Good morning, love. I was just making breakfast for us.”
The sleepiness faded as she stared at them. “And you’re not… angry?”
“Not at all, no.” Eir shook her head. “Why would we be? As I was just saying to Boromir, neither of you is a child. And while I’d rather not think about why he’s here, I’m certainly not angry about it and neither is your father, isn’t that right, Agnar?”
Although he didn't appear all that happy at all about it, Agnar still nodded and managed to say, “It is, indeed.”
Boromir pressed his lips together to hold back his own smile, especially when Gabby looked at him with her eyebrows practically raised into her hairline. She, however, did not trouble to hold back her own smile as she sank into one of the chairs. “Good.”
“Besides,” Eir added with a hint of pointedness, “he has already assured me he plans to marry you.”
“He does.” Gabby’s eyes softened as they met his once more. “And we will, now that things have begun to settle down here.”
Eir moved to pour the egg mixture into the frying pan. “You’re out of eggs.”
“I know. I need to go to the market, but some things are very hard to come by still.”
Boromir moved over to stand behind her and let his hands come down on her shoulders. Despite her relaxed demeanor, tension wound tight through the delicate muscle of her shoulders and without thinking, he gentle kneaded that tension from them. “I will see about the state of supplies and inventories when I return to the tower, which I should probably do now.”
“You must have something eat first,” Eir told him as she scrambled the eggs in the heavy iron pan. “Go and dress and it will be ready when you return.”
A hint of heat swept through him, growing hotter when Gabby leaned her head back and offered up the impish smile that made him melt on the inside as she said, “Mama’s right. You need to eat.”
The sparkle in her eyes made his stomach flutter and without thinking, he leaned over and pressed his lips to hers in a soft kiss, letting his fingers trail lightly down her cheeks and over her jawline. When he drew back, it was to find her still smiling and without thinking, he murmured, “I love you.”
She winked. “I know.”
With that, he straightened up. “I’ll be back in only a few moments.”
“No worries, Boromir,” Eir told him. “The eggs aren’t going anywhere.”
He smiled, gave Gabby’s shoulders another squeeze, and then retreated back to her bedchamber to dress, still marveling that neither her mother nor her father were looking for his head on a pike, but instead seemed happy enough for them.
Brighter days had most definitely come to Minas Tirith at last. 
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dnfao3tags · 2 years
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Monthly Fic Roundup - June 2022
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you know what it is !
once again make sure to leave lots of love to all the writers in the form of kudos and comments <3
— soon goodbye, now love by hari (expl. | wip | 25k+)
To everyone's surprise, Dream and George fall in love in London.
— The Curse and Cure of the Internet by consciousness_streaming (expl. | wip | 32k+)
Life is on pause while Dream waits for George’s visa approval to allow him to finally meet his best friend. All the plans post face reveal are on hold until George can move. In all the downtime, Dream starts writing again. Sure, it’s fanfiction for his own character on the DSMP, but it’s not like he’s writing DNF. He wouldn’t do that. Would he?
— our love lasts so long by itsallfutile (teen | comp. | 5k)
this is the story of dream and george— how their friendship began, how it was tested, how it ended and ultimately, how they reunited.
— the universe works in mysterious ways by brokenlikeastitch (teen |comp. | 13k)
five times dream and george each hated their neighbor plus one time they really really didn't
— Pretty Boys by Anonymous (mature | comp. | 2k)
george has a crisis
— if you draw that line, babe, i hope you know i'm crossing it by ploobies (expl. | comp. | 7k)
Dream asks George to watch the newest Manhunt before he uploads it, but ends up pushing the blurry boundaries of their friendship.
— rituals by starziee (expl. | comp. | 17k)
Dream and George go on vacation together. They create something new, or maybe discover what was already there.
— what it is (not) to lose by effervescentwolf (teen | comp. | 13k)
George is sick, and Dream is terribly in love with him.
— Fic Every Other Day in June 2022 by jestbee and BirbWatcher
A collection of fics posted every other day in June, written alternately by jestbee and BirbWatcher.
oh my god just read every fic in this collection (has some karlnap too)
— i know the end. by reydays (mature | comp. | 1k)
It wasn’t an uncommon experience in the slightest, to watch young ladies essentially throw themselves at the blond. He guessed it was one of the perks of being a first son. It’s not like George would know. Sometimes he felt like he didn’t know anything.
— you can't hide a heartbeat by effervescentwolf (teen | comp. | 4k)
George wears a heart rate monitor on stream, and Dream joins vc to try and fluster him. (Spoiler: it works.)
— ill timed by itsallfutile (teen | comp. | 4k)
george's first day in florida is ruined by the fact he's sick, but dream doesn't mind, he's just happy george is finally here.
— You Called My Name, You Let Me Fall by snakeinaboyband (expl. | comp. | 7k)
“You look sad.” George is alone living in this big room, he sleeps in a big bed within walls that he pretends didn’t contain his father’s last breaths, by himself always at the end of the day. And he is sad but he says, “Did I ask for your insight?”
— Syzygy by tangerinehoney (expl. | comp. | 11k)
5 times a cat hybrid and a dog hybrid learn about each other, and the one time they learn together.
— start a (love) war with you by niunepp (mature | comp. | 11k)
George gets a hot, new neighbour whose name he doesn't know, and accidentally starts a war of nicknames.
— look up at me (i'll look down at you) by effervescentwolf (expl. | comp. | 5k)
Dream likes being big. George likes being small. It's a good combination.
— If You Mean It by crabnap (teen | comp. | 6k)
On a lazy Geoguessr stream, George decides to mess with the viewers. What happens when Dream doesn’t seem to realize it’s a joke?
— whatever a sun will always sing is you by purestcinnamonroll (teen | comp. | 10k)
George arrives in Florida, and Dream cannot help but love.
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