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urwifebabes · 2 months

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A/N: okayyy this is from the poll everyone! https://www.tumblr.com/heaartzforcupid/745456435020873728/vote-for-which-ones-next-breeding-catnap-x

“Breedings and marks.” (Modern AU)

relationship(s): catnap x bunny!

reader x Dogday

warning(s): smut, mentions of kids,

Catnap = breeding

Dogday = marks

you guys had been dating for a year and 36 days. you all were trying to get into the groove of this .. poly relationship. they didn’t love eachother but they loved you. so they made it work, all for you.

you all had been walking around the store when this wolf came up to you. you smiled softly as he began to ask for your number and casually flirt with you. The wolf didn’t even notice them both, actually. Catnap picked up on it before Dogday. but when Dogday did pick up on it, his mood was quite sour to. Catnaps tail gripped the inside of your thigh, before he grabbed your hand and took you away to the bathroom. while Dogday looked at the guy and before he could even blink, he got punched in his face by the golden dog.

Catnap had been roughly fucking into you as his tail held your legs up and you laid on the spacious counter. his cock slid in and out of your tight cunt. he groaned each time his length squeezed itself into your velvety walls. it felt like his cock was in a sauna but oh, so good - it was like heaven to him. the more his cock pumped into you, the more he thought of how you’d carry his kittens. his eyes looked into yours before he whispered “can’t wait to see you swell with my kids, Midnight..~” he whimpered, helplessly as he dumped load after load inside you.

you were walking inside the store again, thighs squeezed tightly as you swayed. Catnap was walking behind you, proudly as Dogday was pouty that you guys had, had ‘fun’ without him. you had quickly got everything you would need for dinner and went to the cash register, embarrassed of your actions. Dogday did not let you pay as he gave the cashier the money you owed. you smiled softly, he was too sweet for this world.

when you guys had made it home, you had helped take everything out of the car before rushing to your guys shared bathroom. you got undressed, showing your perky nipples and plump ass. you got in the shower and began to bathe yourself of the icky lavender scent left on you and your cunt. about 10 minutes later, Dogday bursted inside, his vanilla scent bursting in with him. you could make out him moving a bunch before you heard his collar clink to the ground.

Before long, he was climbing in the shower with you. he pinned you against the wall and slid his musky thick cock inside. you took a gasp as he thrusted himself to the hilt, his eyes shut tightly. you both panted. he controlled himself better then you though and grinned, as he seen you so overwhelmed. the sharp teeth he had looking almost devilish as he began to fuck into you ruthlessly. the loud clapping noises could be heard from downstairs or even upstairs. the white goo that connected you both was mesmerizing. white, stretchy, and glossy. the deep harsh sounds of his balls slapping against your ass was enough to have you crying out for him. his dick was just too much for your tight pussy. he couldn’t hold back anymore, he was about to cum! he looked at your pretty unmarked freckled skin and he opened his jaws, biting. you yelled loudly as he sucked the piece of flesh as his hips kept moving. you moaned in ecstasy and abit of pain. - which made it, oh, so thrilling. he came deep inside your womb before softly pulling out. when you regained your senses, you rushed him out, aggravated that you had to bath yourself again.

“have fun without me, Midnight?” you blushed as you had recalled your shenanigans with Dogday. Catnap had began to mimic your moans before you had hit him with a wooden spatula right on his dome. “oh, shut up, you stupid cat.” Catnap chuckled, rubbing his head before he sat at the dinner table across from Dogday. They both began to do their own thing. Catnap scrolling on his phone while Dogday watched people throw balls at their dogs on the tv. you smiled at your two boys as you were ready to make them dinner.

you finally had made dinner when there was a knock on the door. you looked at Catnap and Dogday who were just as confused as you. you opened the door to see the wolf from earlier. you smiled and waved before you realized his eye was bruised. you quickly asked what happened before you put two and two together and realized it was Dogday. you offered to pay for the medical bill but the white fuzzy wolf told you it was fine and that you had dropped your ring and he just wanted to give it to you.

you smiled at the sweet wolf as you watched him leave. you then looked back at Dogday and Catnap, who were looking anywhere but you. let’s just say, you gave them both a lecture of a lifetime and no pussy until the next day.

what? you just couldn’t help it when it came to your boys.

A/N; Hihi, yes I am still doing requests.. more should be out by tmr everyone ❤️

TAGS: @2faced-fairy @alyssalololol

#reader insert #reader x character #reader x crush #smiling critters x reader #smut #dogday x reader #catnap #catnap x reader #dogday x reader x catnap #dogday #dogday poppy playtime #catnap poppy playtime #poppy playime #poppy playtime x reader #poppy playtime #modern au #Spotify

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am-i-interrupting · 2 months

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If you're still taking requests, can we get hazbin characters react to you asking them to dom you one night? Preferably the women but do it for whoever you'd like

Fuck. I just realized after I posted I read this wrong. I will do the correct one. I promise. I’m so sorry. I mixed up some words. Processing problems and all. This is:

Reaction to You Doming

(Part two— the boys)

Lute

She is resistant at first.

She shuts it down almost immediately.

It’s more so in a flustered way than a rude way.

She just sort of gets up, puts her hands up in surrender, and shakes her head as she walks away muttering, “No, no, absolutely not,” underneath her breath.

It takes her a while to build up enough trust and confidence in your relationship to allow you to dom no matter how much she may want or fantasizes about it.

Trust me, she fantasizes about it.

She’ll wake you up in the middle of the night whimpering in her sleep, telling you she’s been a good girl.

Or you’ll wake up with her having placed your hand somewhere on her body as she gets herself off, pleading for you to let her come.

Then, several weeks or maybe even months later. Maybe you’re in public, maybe you’re not but she’ll just casually walk by you and say, “You can dom tonight.”

She walks away before you can even process what she just said.

When you come home, she pulls you into a kiss immediately as she walks you both to the bedroom.

“Let’s talk about this first.” “Later. Please. I just— I need you to let me come and be your good girl.”

It’s clear she’s already partially in a sub space.

Not wanting to overstep her boundaries, you stick to doing just that.

You move so she’s laying with her back against your chest, her hands wrapped around your neck as you play with her clit and kiss her neck, whispering what a good girl she is as she whines.

When she’s close she starts muttering about how she wants you to make her take it.

You hold her legs spread out as she shakes and writhes.

Eventually you get to talk to her and set clearer boundaries but for now, she’s out of breath, panting against your skin, and slumping down into the safety of your embrace.

Rosie

Your sex with Rosie is by no means anything vanilla beforehand, it’s just Rosie didn’t have the terms to describe it.

Having come from a time where sex was not spoken of and was very much just a situation where the woman gives and man takes, she didn’t have any proper sex education.

After she does some research, she realizes what category your sex life thus far has fallen into.

She’s sort of taken on the role of a service too, guiding you, praising you, putting your needs before her own and expecting little in return.

She’ll gladly explore this with you.

She buys books on the subject, looks at all the resources she can.

She learns a lot and is nearly giddy with excitement each time she comes across something she thinks either of you will like.

She has a whole notebook filled with words, phrases, descriptions, and even gear that’s highlighted and underlined.

It’s not secret that Rosie is one for a bit of pain play. You’ve walked out of the bedroom covered in bite marks and hickies many times.

What she didn’t know was how much she’d be into knife play.

She never thought to bring a knife into the bedroom when her teeth and nails worked just fine but if you hold a knife against her throat, oh, she just melts.

She will just lean against you as you make her take her pleasure while whispering such soft works into her ear, in such contrast with the sharp knife against her neck.

If you bind her and give her oral? She will be nearly unresponsive with pleasure.

She does still live to please you.

She thrives when you guide her down to where you want.

You can basically puppeteer her, she’s so responsive.

She loves to worship you with her tongue and teeth.

She enjoys marking you as much as she loves being marked up in return.

Vaggie

“Oh, yeah, um, sure. We can. . . We can try that.”

Vaggie is sort of always flustered by the conversation of sex. She has no problems or qualms adoring you but when it comes to sex, she gets tongue tied.

She has a hard time expressing herself sometimes in any manner but especially when it comes to sex.

She’s much more confident and comfortable with giving to you than receiving.

It’s very much a situation where she feels embarrassed, like an imposter, getting love and lust from you.

When she’s between your thighs, she’s in a place even better than heaven.

She loves to give you pleasure with you explicitly guiding her.

She squirms when the roles are reversed though and you’re pleasing her.

When she tops, she normally gets herself to come with her own fingers or there’s a toy that’s being used. Rarely is it you and your fingers, your mouth, your touch that makes her come when she tops purely because she’s too embarrassed.

She tries to hide her face, muffle her voice.

She gets very whiny and flushed when you don’t let her.

Feeling seen by you makes her feel vulnerable and it’s not that she doesn’t want to be vulnerable with you, she just doesn’t know how.

Every time you praise her, she squirms and closes her eyes.

When you get her to look at you while you praise her, get her to look in your eyes, she never comes harder than those times.

She’ll see stars.

Velvette

At first she sort of takes it as a challenge at first.

Don’t go into the sub space.

She doesn’t like being vulnerable. It takes a while.

When you’re trying to please her, she’s going to automatically get into that commanding mode.

It’s not until you make her please you, directing her explicitly that she starts to drop that persona.

There’s something about you telling her explicitly how to tease you that just makes her more receptive to dropping.

Of course, when she’s topping, she will be using the information on how to make you feel the most pleasure against you.

When you do start putting her pleasure on the forefront of your mind, bondage and blindfolds probably have to come out or she will start to be bratty.

She either yanks on the bindings or she just slumps, hanging like a doll.

She will still be bratty no matter what you do though. It’s just a matter of how much.

When she’s giving you oral under your guidance, she will try to tease you.

A slap on her ass is normally enough to get her to stop though, if just momentarily.

If not, she’s reduced to a helpless mess if you start fingering her perky little ass though.

She’s actually big on anal and double penetration, be it vaginal and oral, anal and oral, or vaginal and anal.

She’s a cock slut.

#hazbin hotel velvette x reader #hazbin hotel velvette #hazbin vaggie x reader #vaggie x reader #hazbin rosie x reader #rosie x reader #hazbin lute x reader #lute x reader #nsft

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orbitariums · 5 days

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warmth | art donaldson + patrick zweig + black fem reader (a snippet)

full length part 1 here!

i miss posting on here real bad and i keep teasing things (christopher moltisanti, richie jerimovich) and not actually writing/releasing them SO i'm putting this snippet of this oneshot i'm writing to encourage myself to actually put this out.

i think this will probably have multiple parts because the tension needs to builddd. and please, let me know y'alls thoughts!!! what do you think, what do you predict is gonna happen, r u thirsting adequately, etc. i love hearing your little comments <333

& let me know if you’d wanna be tagged when this comes out

essentially: reader, patrick and art were childhood best friends who conveniently were all in love with each other, or at least had enough sexual tension to make it feel that way. fast forward almost a decade later, and reader has made it onto the red carpet with her fantastic pen, and patrick and art have gone pro. when she invites them to her house for a star-studded friendsgiving, tensions rise and old doors open, springing forth new possibilities. this is only the beginning.

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warmth

“We should just turn around now, save ourselves the embarrassment.”

Patrick paid Art no mind, rolling down the window and leaning out of it, pressing the buzzer as you had dutifully instructed them in your email invite.

“Too late now. Already threw away about a gallon of gas just coming up the hill to this place,” he replied, the sense of ease in his voice only egging Art on even more.

“Exactly why we should leave. I mean, fuck. Does she have to live on a hill?”

“Residence of [last name], to whom am I speaking?” a male voice rings on the other end.

“Uh…” Patrick starts, Art reaching up over him,

“Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson?”

A silence filled the air. Patrick swatted at Art, forcing him back in his seat.

“Why’d you say it like a question, dumbass?”

Art stammered, already starting to get red in the face,

“I was --”

The gate swung open and both the boys let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you!” Patrick chimed, smirking at Art, who seemed to be sinking in his seat.

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Meanwhile, you were inside the mansion that you call home, flowing around the kitchen like there weren’t about fifty people milling about and mingling amongst one another. It smelled like something out of Hansel and Gretel -- from the fragrant brown roasted turkey sitting in the oven, to the gourmand scent of perfectly caramelized candied yams, to the vanilla musk perfume you dotted on your wrists. A black mini Schnauzer nipped excitedly at your feet as you added half a cherry tomato to the giant bowl of salad you’ve been prepping for the last twenty minutes. You look like a pro, like a party of this magnitude is no big deal to you.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

“Do we ring the doorbell? Or maybe… should we knock?” Art questioned, hands tied behind his back as he glanced up at Patrick for answers.

“It’s open,” Patrick retorted, but he too stood stupefied at the door, like a weary traveler wavering in horrific awe before the mouth of some epic beast.

“On three?” Art suggested, and when he didn’t hear a response, he started to count, “one… two…”

Patrick stepped in before Art could get to three. Art scoffed, but followed behind him anyway.

The two of them stood there silently, taking the grandiosity of it all in — the sky-high dome ceiling, two grand wooden staircases directly opposite one another, the shiny verdant porcelain flooring, the Basquiat painting hanging above the wide bookcase directly in front of them. Mouths open, they looked like they were ready to catch flies.

“Fuuuck me,” Patrick breathed out heavily. Art’s head was stuck staring up at the ceiling, so high he thought it’d never end.

“You made it.”

Both Art and Patrick seemed to stand straight at the sound of your voice, like soldiers at attention. You almost laughed, but instead you stood there coolly, smiling at them both with your lips and your eyes— in them, a look that was almost knowing, wise beyond your years. It seemed like a lifetime before either of them would speak. They spent half that lifetime practically gawking at you, drinking you in. And how could they not, when you were draped in that cream-colored silk dress, the flowy bottom dancing above your ankles. You looked more beautiful than they remembered you, calmer, secure — of course, they hadn’t seen you since they were teenagers. Now there was this air of timelessness about you that was only just poking at the surface when you were in high school. Now it surrounded you. Something mystic encompassed your entire spirit, dripping from your head to your feet. They’d spent years seeing you from behind a screen, being interviewed on live TV, attending red carpets for award shows, blending in with the Hollywood mecca — another beautiful twenty-something industry talent. But the glow of the television that seemed to give everyone a perfectly filtered sheen was nothing compared to your beauty here.

“It’s so good to see you,” Patrick broke the silence first, practically lurching forward with open arms to embrace you. His beard scratched against your cheek. You could smell the cologne that was beginning to wear off, mixed with a hint of cigarette smoke. His arms nearly suffocated you.

When he pulled away, you couldn’t help but chuckle at the way he smiled at you so fervently.

“Good to see you too, Patrick…” you glanced over at the mousy boy who didn’t seem to have changed much since high school. “C’mere, Artie.”

Art chuckled: a nervous huff of relief, inching forward into your open arms and nuzzling his chin into your shoulder, closing his arms around your midwaist. You could smell the aftershave that still clung to his face, and the detergent still fresh from his clothes.

You pulled away, but took one of each of their hands, squeezing.

“My two boys. Man, how long has it been?”

“Oh, just a while—”

“Seven years,” Art interjected.

“Who’s counting, right?” Patrick grinned, making all of you laugh.

You looked at them almost expectantly, eyes wide like a doe, the slightest smile playing at your lips. They looked back with bated breaths. Always, you were in charge, always. It had been like this since the scabby-kneed days of childhood. If you wanted to play on the swings, they were there on either side of you. You were the queen of the sandbox. In middle school, they snuck extra cookies for you from the lunchroom and fought over who got to surprise you with the treat every day. Senior year of high school, in the hotel room in London, when you had them perched on either side of you like baby birds waiting for mother’s return— when you had both your hands on each of their thighs, had them panting like puppy dogs, inching your hands further and further only to leave the minute you heard “lights out.”

It had been seven years since then and still, it was the same. Only this time, you were stupidly rich, thanks to the soaring success of your two psychological thriller books turned TV series. It wasn’t that you’d forgotten about them, or didn’t care about them now that you were rich and famous. You’d gotten accepted to study creative writing at Brown, Art went to play at Stanford, and Patrick went on his path to go pro. You were delighted to see that they were only a click away thanks to the internet, just one click away from being reintegrated into your life. Your childhood best friends.

“C’mon, lunch is almost ready.”

Friendsgiving. Who didn’t love the concept? It was a readily welcomed, wholesome idea — friends of all ages and backgrounds coming together to rehash their Thanksgiving with leftovers, stories from the year, and maybe a game of cards. Except your friendsgiving was attended by A-list actresses, Cannes festival attending screenwriters, and the odd Grammy-nominated artist. And your friendsgiving was not at all an intimate affair — it may as well have been a club party. Most people were outside, dancing, shrieking with laughter, drinking, and skipping their way to their seats. Your backyard was vast and verdant green, with a pool in the center, the perimeter lined with lemon and peach trees, and miles to explore.

“This is fucking insane, is that Dakota Johnson?” Patrick scoffed. He and Patrick had been left to their own devices yet again, while you flitted around being the hostess with the mostest, easing and gliding about. A laugh here, a clink of glasses there, and a coolness to you that stood in striking comparison with the warmth that stirred deep down inside you. A warmth that could be served with a ladle into goblets, like some elixir with magical properties only you possessed.

“No, you idiot, that’s— oh shit. That might be Dakota Johnson.”

Clink clink clink.

“Everybody, hi, hi! Thank you for coming, please, sit down,” you called out, clinking your glass to get the attention of your guests. Patrick and Art scrambled to find seats, ending up at a table with people who might have been minor celebrities or art critiques or designers -- at least one of those options.

“I wanna thank you all so much for coming, this really means a lot to me. I know these sorts of things can be really hectic, but you guys make this house feel like a home. I’m glad that some of you will be staying with me for the next few days, there’s always room for more,” you glanced over at Art and Patrick. “Some of you are new friends, some of you I’ve known for far too long. But I think it’s incredibly fucking cool that we’re all here together now in this moment, just enjoying each other’s presence. I do this every year, and every year I meet even more amazing, talented, fascinating people and you all are so dear to my heart. And now, what we’re all waiting for… lunch is served!”

A cacophony of cheers rang out as staff rushed about to place plates in front of everyone. You stood giggling, basking in all of it. Patrick and Art couldn't help but watch on with deeply impressed smiles — you were meant to bask: in glory, in pleasure, in everything. You looked just right standing where you were.

The rest of the afternoon Patrick and Art spent attempting to blend in as best they could. They were pro tennis players, but this was another level of stardom that they couldn’t quite fathom yet. They watched you ruthlessly the entire night, unable to squash those rising feelings of attraction and yearning for you that had never quite simmered to begin with. You’d always been cooler than them, but watching you now there was a certain air to you that belonged to a grown woman, someone comfortable and confident and in their element. You were positively swimming in the sunlight the entire afternoon. It was like you had this sort of magnetic pull to all things good, rich, and warm. People wanted to be around you. And god, did this prove that.

By night time, people were finally starting to leave. The sun hung low in the darkening sky, making the fairy lights glow stronger now. The few people that were staying with you for the rest of Thanksgiving weekend had disappeared to their rooms. Besides the waitstaff still milling about, clearing the tables, it was just you, Patrick, and Art. The two of them hadn’t meant to stay so long, really. It wasn’t like they were forcing themselves to stick around and be acknowledged by you in a way that felt meaningful. Sure, you’d had your small talk and cracked a few inside jokes, but as much as neither wanted to admit it, they needed more. If it was hard to get your attention before, it was nearly impossible now. They were surrounded by so many people who all wanted to network and talk and introduce themselves, they found themselves mingling with your friends, some of them people who they’d seen on screen in the past year, more than you. They’d been dragged onto the dance floor multiple times by multiple acquaintances, only to gawk at you swaying your hips rather than actually dance themselves. It became overwhelmingly clear, in their increasingly present desperation, that they should’ve accepted your offer to stay in this castle of a house for the weekend. Neither of them had packed a bag.

“This is awkward, we’re the only ones left,” Art sighed, still sitting at their table.

“Let’s just… wait, okay? She might come back out."

"And give us a little speech?"

"Yeah, asshole, maybe she will."

At that very moment, you appeared again, this time clad in a two piece linen pajama set. You didn’t miss the way both their eyes trailed up your legs as you stood in front of them, arms crossed, smiling expectantly.

“I was hoping you two would still be here,” you said. You glanced between the two of them, that awkward silence filling the air once again. “C’mon. Let’s talk.”

You turned and walked back inside, the two of them trailing behind you.

"Your house is fucking sick by the way. I mean holy shit," Art blurted once you got to the main entrance hall.

"Feel like I just walked into a page of Architectural Digest," Patrick added on.

You led them up the stairs. Both their eyes dropped to your ass, which poked out just a bit from under the pair of shorts you wore. Silently watching the way your body curved as you walked.

"Ha, thanks. I think I did pretty okay for myself," you replied.

You led them to the den on the second floor and sat criss cross apple sauce on the lush green couch. Art sat on your left, Patrick on your right. Patrick spread his legs and Art had one foot up on the couch, bouncing against his knee.

“Sorry we didn’t get to talk much. I was so busy being the host of the year that I didn’t pay enough attention to you two. My favorites.”

Art chuckled,

“Favorites? You’re just saying that.”

“No, I’m serious! D’you know how much I missed you guys?”

Patrick scoffed playfully,

“All those TV interviews I watched of you? I wouldn’t even be thinking about us.”

You couldn’t help but grin, that warmth coming through once again. It nearly made the two men melt.

“Well I was. I always think about you guys.”

Now came Patrick’s voice again, a heaviness to it that almost made you jump,

“Do you think about anything specific?”

Although it had been nearly a decade since you’d last seen each other, you didn’t miss a single thing about either of them. Patrick didn’t mince words, and he never shied away from not just hinting at, but blaring his salacious intentions every time he spoke. You tilted your head towards him, a cool smile tugging at your lips.

“Just what good times we had.”

A silence, accented with a flood of nostalgia and a pointed reference to those “good times” permeated the air. You took a moment to gaze at the two of them ever so softly — enough for them to feel it, but not enough to make them squirm (though, they were easy to make squirm) — before you decimated the silence by slapping your hands down on either of their thighs and squeezing endearingly.

“So tell me, where’ve you two been? I’m not the only one on TV these days.”

“Ahh, you don’t wanna hear about boring tennis,” Art waved a hand of dismissal.

You chortled, a trademark of yours that Art and Patrick had always poked fun at in school,

“You’re right, I don’t.”

“You still laugh the same,” Patrick said, grinning like he was trying not to but was unable.

You chuckled, this time low in your throat, and turned your head to face him again. You and Patrick were similar in the sense that you were always pushing the boundaries, tiptoeing closer and closer to the line — but the three of you had never quite established where that was. At some point, you were all just too close to even think about “the line” or “boundaries” — all of you appeared clueless to societal expectations of friendship, spurting a sort of cultlike relationship where everyone else was an outsider.

“Do I?” smiling at him like you were warning him not to tease.

“Yeah, that little snort you do,” Patrick replied, unshaken.

“You do do a little snort,” Art chimed in, always chirping like he spoke from a less nefarious place.

“And if I get started on you guys’ little tennis grunts?” you grinned fully now, showing teeth, looking between the two of them and leaning back a bit.

They followed, leaning back against the couch and keeping their heads in line with yours so you were never too far away from them, each of them turning their heads to look at you.

“No way you actually watch us,” Art replied.

“I do!” you insisted. “Seriously, if you’d asked anybody here you would know.”

“Sure, let me just strike up conversation with George Clooney,” Art shot back.

“Ha-ha,” you bleated sarcastically. “I don’t even know him… but I have walked past him once on the carpet.”

“Look at you,” Patrick smirked. “Little Miss Superstar.”

He punctuated his sentence with a hand on your knee. Your eyes flickered over to him and you caught the way his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat when he swallowed, felt the way he gazed up at you. You didn’t miss the desire twinkling in his eyes.

Then Art, always second but not necessarily last,

“She’s our little superstar, you know that, right?”

His hand just gently grazing your shoulder.

You let them revel in the moment for as long as you felt appropriate, then huffed.

“You know you guys can stay for the weekend, right? I mean, you should.”

“Oh… no, we wouldn’t wanna impose,” Patrick said, his hand slinking away from your knee.

Another chortle from you, this time the kind that said everything about how you lived in comparison to them,

“You wouldn’t be. This is a five bedroom house. It’s fine. Besides, don’t you guys wanna actually catch up? I’ll let you torture me with tennis talk.”

Art started to stammer,

“I-I mean… we didn’t bring anything.”

“Just our idiot selves,” Patrick added.

“Don’t worry. I’ll get Charles to get you guys all set up.”

“Charles?”

“Oh, he’s my assistant,” you said nonchalantly, as if it were nothing. “You’re not fighting me on this. I want to spend some quality time with my boys. Don’t make me have to beg for it.”

“We could never make you beg for anything,” Art replied, just a little too quickly.

“I know, Art, that’s why I love you,” you grinned over at him. “So, are we all in agreement? Stay with me. Just this weekend.”

“Yes,” they both replied a little too quickly this time.

You bit your lip, suppressing a smile.

“You know… I really, really missed you guys. And those good times we had.”

You let the memory of that night of almosts in London resurge, let their minds run amuck with whatever teenage fantasy was still left over from that night. A moment so brief it could almost be forgotten, could even be flagged as incidental, accidental, but the three of you knew, even as grown adults (especially as grown adults), that it would always stick and remain unresolved, unless someone ran to the rescue with some sort of solution. Once again they held their breaths. You stood up, glanced between the two of them like you were sizing them up, and then smiled as if nothing had happened at all — you let them breath.

“Your bedroom’s the second on the right when you leave here. Charles will help you get set up— I’ll see you guys in the morning for breakfast.”

And just like that, you were gone. The air in the room seemed to clear. Your presence was like a thousand tons of pressure weighing on their bodies and their minds. Finally, they could breathe.

They glanced at each other with the same longing, almost nervous expression — high school all over again.

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eek let me know what y'all thought. i wanna finish it by this week <3

#challengers #challengers smut #challengers fic #patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig #art donaldson #art donaldson smut #art donaldson imagine #patrick zweig imagine #x reader #x black reader #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig x black reader #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x black! reader

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smallmariofindings · 5 months

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In Super Mario World, some graphical tiles of water on the overworld map are mirrored, creating a line where the waves seem to meet and then bounce off each other. The line can be seen between the empty island and the the pipe on top of Vanilla Dome; note the "seam" being created by the waves touching each other directly to the left of the cliff with the pipe.

Main Blog | Twitter | Patreon | Small Findings | Source: SMW (NA, SNES)

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ghostlytide · 2 months

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For Business Only | One

I hope you like it ^^

Vincent Renzi x Fem! Reader----1.6K

MASTERLIST -> Next

Synopsis:

After the whirlwind affair Vincent and you shared years ago, he was sure his goodbye was definitive. A fleeting memory filled with both regret and a peculiar ache that he can’t quite place. But life wishes to scorn him once again when his newest case obliges him to seek out your help. Though this case isn’t the only complicated thing in this strictly professional relationship—not with the way his heart seems to jump at your proximity, or the already familiar tune of your voice. For all the things that had changed, would this mean your story could have a different ending now?

General Tags: Second Chance/Exes to Lovers; Slow Burn; |They were Coworkers; Denial of Feelings; Pining & Longing; Idiots in Love; Eventual Friends (?) with Benefits (?); English isn't my first language so watch out for typos;

It was a late spring night when Vincent said his goodbye to you, so it was only fair that your reencounter would occur in another.

Life played both hommage and karma at him, remembering his words: You may forever hate me, but I promise you that you'll never see me ever again. I've bothered you enough.

That night, he had regained the common sense that had slipped out his grasp since you entered the law firm as an intern; eager to learn from whoever would spare you a glance for something more than to request their thousandth cup of coffee.

Of course, he did.

And how could he not to? When you were so bright and cheerful, all the opposite from those seniors who had seen the worst, to experience who knows how many times the balanced and blind justice's weight to tip at the wrong side. To have to face the client's hopeless expression.

Of course, you'd probably be sheltered from such a dark world at your station once you reached juniorship. But that wasn't the point right now.

Just as it wasn't the point to reminisce. He felt as ashamed as it could be possible while climbing the stairs of the skyscraper, which on the inside was decorated with pieces of steel, glass, and contemporary art that combined perfectly against the simple columns and the frescoes painted in the dome of the main hall.

Vincent shouldn't be overwhelmed by the sight, but he'd never been inside the Building of the Société Générale, white marble walls against a dark mosaic creating a cube to showcase the colorful paintings hung on the walls.

The secretary at the front desk showed him the way to the elevator behind the reception, polished black walls against the metal door as Vincent felt a pull in the pit of his stomach—either for the sudden upward movement or for nervousness, he didn't wish to dwell much on it.

Walking much faster than he wanted to, the secretary passed through an empty, quiet hallway in which Vincent could read a myriad of plaques varying from Accounting Department, all the way to Human Resources.

Finally, she stopped at a door labeled as Banking Associate: Cultural Department. Calling your name, she said: "Monsieur Favrè has sent his lawyer impromptu to meet you."

A muffled voice—your muffled voice echoed in the still hallway, stirring old memories inside of him he wasn't aware of keeping in the first place. "Alright. Let him come in."

A simple nod and the woman was gone. It was only the two of you now.

He took his time, a skipping beat. At the same time, you finished writing away at your keyboard. Then the door was closed with a gentle click.

"Monsieur Delaroux, what can I do for y—" A tentative pause, your bright, smart eyes locked into his. "Vincent?"

This hadn't been the deal planned out in his mind; he was almost hoping you'd ask, with a puzzled voice, who he was as if memory could morph at will rather than being one's source of torture.

So many years passed since he heard his name coming out of your soft lips, that if he remembered quite well, would taste like mocca and vanilla. But why was he remembering that now, from all times?

"Hello," he said, an awkward smile shining in the well-lit office. He put one of his hands inside the pocket of his dress pants, suppressing the childish urge to wave.

You blinked. "What… what are you doing here?"

"I know this isn't what we agreed on," he started, using small steps to get closer to the desk, as if you were a deer likely to run off, or a lion ready to pounce. Vincent had no idea which of the two could be worse. "But I need your assistance for a case. You're the most capable person I can think of, so I had to come and ask for your help."

Reclining from your seat, he let the words simmer into you, using the little time he had to look around your office, part of him was curious to see if he could still recognize a glimpse of the old you, and what he could learn from the present.

"How did you find me?" you asked, hands gesturing from him to sit in front of your desk.

"There are not many art lawyers with your name," he said, slightly flustered he had to admit about searching your name among colleagues, prying into your life when his promise was all the contrary. It wasn't the first time he felt like a fool, yet prideful because he was here for work.

And solely for work.

"I have a case linked with a small private art collection." His voice was plain, devoid of any emotion. He wasn't Vincent right now, the man that tried not to break your heart but failed terribly; he was Maître Renzi one of the talented lawyers from the before small law firm that now was rising like smoke after every case taken. "A murder. Probably linked to the growing art stock. I need an expert in the subject to conduct the required procedures."

"Since when do you take cases about private art collectors?" you hummed, eyes almost twinkling with amusement from all those times he had shit on the upper class and their slippery ways around the judicial system.

It was a good sign that you weren't bringing up his words last spoken, the past that at this moment felt too much aflush despite the time trying to bury it.

"This one is an exception." He couldn't help but get defensive, feeling like a stupid teenage boy being teased despite you being quite some years younger than him. "The owner of the law firm assigned me this case directly. We need to win so the firm can have an expansion." Which meant more law specialties, and more hired lawyers. And then it was… "They're even considering putting an Art Law department."

You could join, he almost said foolishly. Why would you like to be coworkers with him again, when that exact professional relationship prompted all the rest?

You seemed to be thinking the same. "It'll pay well," he added before you could say anything that derailed from his sketched conversation. "And it can help with your curriculum." Vincent signaled to the plaque in front of your computer, reading Junior Consultant. "It could be the case that turns you into a Senior."

There it was the ghost of you, biting your bottom lip in a pondering manner while your gaze was glued to the empty seat next to him.

"What makes you think you're going to win?"

"Have some faith in me, will you?" He chuckled, though deep inside he knew what you meant. It was a question that always lingered at the bottom of his mind, the one that stole his sleep some nights.

"Vincent—"

"Trust me. This is a high-profile case, very important for all people involved. I need your help. I know you're the only person that can help me." He couldn't make another empty promise. To never see you again? Vincent just broke it, and the opposite of that, to be partnered with you as colleagues didn't sound appropriate either. "You're the only one I can trust to remain on my side even if everything goes to shit," Vincent muttered after a while, blue eyes searching for yours as he tried to convince you with pity, even. Because you could never say no to him, and because this case was obliged to use all the desperate, creative measures he could think of.

Though Vincent wasn't lying about said statement. And you knew it.

You looked at him in a long, silent gaze that felt strangely, annoyingly charged inside the medium-sized office, silent so thick he heard the moment you chortled, a breathy, contained laugh that blessed him with the tiniest of smiles.

"Send me the generalities of the case so I can give it a glance tomorrow and write the protocol to follow."

"If tomorrow is one of your free days, we can discuss it over lunch," Vincent found himself saying before his brain could tell him to do better. "I'll give you a printed copy of everything so you can revise it easier. I apologize, but due to the nature of this case, I don't find myself comfortable with sharing this information via remote."

You put away the pencil you were playing with, settling it against the wooden desk with a thunk. "Breakfast. Tomorrow at 9 AM meet me at the Fontaine Saint-Sulpice. We can go to a nearby café once there." Looking from your computer to him, you arched an eyebrow. "Something else you need? You should go before the receptionist notices that you aren't Monsieur Favrè's lawyer."

He shrugged. "I showed her my card, she didn't say anything."

"Well, I'm not allowed to take private clients while on my shift."

"I'm not a client, we're colleagues."

You gestured away. "Wording. You know what I mean."

"You're a lawyer, Mademoiselle, wording matters."

"I write contracts and track art exhibits, Vincent," you told him in a familiar tone he recognized from when you two engaged in a well-needed, unwinding banter. "The one asked to give speeches is you, not me."

"Well, then you better prepare for an exception, because you will have to declare at court about your findings." Vincent heard your sigh and took in the sight of your angry pout, one you dedicated at him when it was time to get out of his office and help other junior lawyers while on your time as an intern. He was surprised to find it as charming as it once was. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

He stood up, torn between walking facing you or just striding toward the door. He did the last one, turning to smile at you while his hand tapped to feel the door's handle.

It was his time to call your name. "Thank you. Truly."

You nodded, one of the locks of your hair falling toward your brow, obscuring your view. "I'll see you tomorrow, Vincent."

#vincent renzi x reader #vincent renzi #vincent renzi fanfiction #anatomy of a fall fanfiction #swann arlaud x reader

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f1crecs · 5 months

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Fic Rec List - Lando/Oscar

if your fic is on this list and you don’t want it to be, please let us know and we will remove it immediately, no questions asked. we have contacted most of the authors on this list, but sometimes people fall through the gaps - just pop us a message🤍

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Only a few months ago, we featured a Lando/Oscar fic on our super rare pair list. Now, it's our most requested ship. Wow!

We hope you enjoy these ones! 🍊

nsfw: By a thread by @mctwinkdom | 5k | E

Oscar and Lando have a text conversation about thongs – things escalate from there. I loved the formatting of this fic, the texting really works well as a structure and the rest is filled up by the authors lovely characterization of both Lando and Oscar. I especially love Oscar being his normal aloof self, a little bit nervous about his new teammate (but so so in to it when the convo turns spicy) while Lando is just a strange little horny boy with a liking for ”thongs”.

Oscar raises an eyebrow. He thought his answer was pretty straightforward, didn’t think he’d have to spell it out for Lando. (me): I wasn’t talking about shoes in my tweet” Now that would teach him. Fucking British. Always thinking they have full powers over the English language. Okay, granted, maybe they invented it but still.

Sanctus by debrief | T | 5.5k

This is a renaissance au with lovers to enemies (and back), beginning with Oscar serving Lando's high-status family. What I like: This is some of the most incredible writing I've encountered. Not only is it a masterclass in non-linear narratives, but it's packed with striking imagery and fascinating power dynamics. There are phrases and sentences in this fic that I can quote off the top of my head. It's immersive and heart-wrenching and beautiful.

'Lando had been blithe, Oscar had been brave. They were seventeen and unforgivably naive. It was a time of spires, domes, cathedrals, rebirth celebrated at the heart of the greatest city-state this side of the world. A war of high art and marginalized decadence, long expanses of moon-kissed skin bathed in gratuitous bathos, love and lust flirting vows over gilt-framed canvases commissioned by wealthy nobles who have known neither.'

legerdemain by anonymous | Not Rated | 5.8k

Oscar gets roped into teaching Lando how to play chess, and quickly finds out that Lando's endgame is a lot more complicated than it seems. I loved this fic for a variety of reasons - firstly because of the way that the author's love for and understanding of chess shines through so clearly. And secondly, the characterisation of both Lando and Oscar is complex and witty and so fitting to who they both are. Lando is cheeky and a little weird and far sharper than he lets on, and Oscar is dry and matter-of-fact and unexpectedly into Lando. This is one of those fics that can get you sold on the Lando/Oscar pairing if you were initially uncertain about it - the slow build-up of tension and realisation is brilliantly captured, with chess and chess strategy being used to build UST between these two in a way that feels perfectly fitting to them.

'“Gotcha,” Lando says. “So like. D’you prefer blowjobs?” He moves the white rook to attack the hanging pawn and figures out the rest of the endgame puzzle pretty effortlessly.'

soft vanilla foreplay by anonymous | M | 7k

AU. Lando, a member of a Robin Hood style crime group, meets Oscar, who turns out to be a cat-hybrid vigilante superhero himself. Oscar joins Lando’s gang. Together they fight injustice (by doing crime). This fic is really well written and incredibly funny. It leans hard into the cat-Oscar joke - Oscar is very catlike in all the best ways and has some mannerisms that made me think the author definitely has one. Their meet-cute is hilarious and sets the tone for the entire fic.

' “No, I actually inherited the genes from my ancestors, who came from a planet of felids.” “Excuse me, did you mean a planet of furries?” “No, Jesus, Lando,” Oscar says emphatically, then he’s laughing, crinkling eyes and soft cheeks and bunny teeth. God, he’s so fucking cute. “No, I was found, um,” Oscar says, sobering from the laugh. He takes a deep breath. “In a handbag. Someone left me on the. Doorstep of a stranger’s house.” Lando looks up and gauges Oscar’s expression. He’s telling the truth. “I don’t know why I’m a cat,” Oscar says. Makes this shrugging expression without actually shrugging. “So…” Lando says. “How did you find out?” “Well. For one, I can speak to cats,” Oscar answers. Huh. This probably explains all the neighbourhood cats serenading Oscar from his balcony so much. “Okay,” Lando says, taking it all in stride. “And you fight crime by night?” “I work graveyard shifts at the supermarket,” Oscar says. “Yeah. Part-time. That’s three out of seven nights.” And Oscar is with Lando for two or three of the four remaining nights (they fuck every evening though) (and morning). Anyways, the maths doesn’t add up. Oscar sighs. “Well, I.” He pauses. “I climb up to fancy penthouses of people who run trust mills, and I take stuff. Then I redistribute.” Oh. Lando is mouthing the oh. “You’re a cat burglar,” Lando whispers it like it’s the funniest secret ever.'

nsfw: Needs Improvement by @strawberry-daiquiris | 7.1k | E

Zak tells Oscar his 'teammate communication' needs improvement. Mark sends him to a 'Psychic, Clairvoyant, Sorcerer' who ends up doing some voodoo that leads to Oscar and Lando being able to read each others' thoughts. Its got great characterisations and some humour mixed in with some angst and, of course, some smut. Plus one of the first Landoscar fics I read and it really drew me in.

'If he’s really that worried, Mark suggests, he could see a sports psychologist. Someone who can advise him how to work with Lando, really get to the core of what it means to be a good teammate. They could even do sessions together. “Like couples therapy.” Mark grins, clapping Oscar on the shoulder. “Only worse, because you won’t get any sex out of it.” The irony, really, is that Oscar and Lando don’t not get on. He’d actually thought they were doing pretty well. Lando laughs at his jokes, Oscar smiles through his stories. They don’t see eye to eye on music, or hobbies, or the taste of fish, but none of those things matter on track anyway. Even more ironic is that Oscar really wouldn’t mind having sex with Lando, if he’s honest.'

nsfw: Never have I ever by @mctwinkdom | E | 13k

Lando and Oscar play a game of Never Have I Ever, and it leads to some interesting revelations. Although its majority (very good) smut, this was a very heartwarming fic. The dialogue is fun and keeps you reading more. The characterisation of them feels realistic!

'But there was something between them, without shape or name, something that made them avert their gaze after staring at each other for one second too long, something that made them slightly jump if their hands were to brush. Something Lando had named in his mind: “I wanna fuck my teammate: the Remix”, in bold orange (papaya) letters with some glitter and fireworks.'

we are all in the butter but some of us are looking at the cars by xiaoluclair | T | 14.3k

Oscar's first season in F1 is about reaching the stars. It becomes about reaching Lando, too. The timing of this one feels very real to me, the way pieces slowly slot into place. The author places threads and waits until the end to pull on all of them, and it's lovely.

'Peer pressure, thinks Oscar, this is peer pressure. But Lando keeps it held out, eyes on Oscar and Oscar. Oscar takes the damn shoe. It’s probably one of the oddest experiences of his life. When he lowers it again, can feel the thin river of it cold on his chin, Lando’s still looking at him. Crows have walked in the skin beside his eyes.A minute later, Oscar watches him tip his head back, shoe against his mouth. Light shines through the gap and, just for a moment, it looks like he is swallowing the sun itself.'

nsfw: carried away by venerat | E | 22.1k

AU, non drivers. Lando impulsively asks Oscar to pretend to be his boyfriend to make an ex jealous. Oscar agrees, even though it's probably a bad idea when he likes Lando so much. Lando gradually comes to realise he is in love with Oscar. I am crazy for the fake dating trope. This has all the best parts of it - miscommunication, angst, gradual feelings realisation from the POV character and obvious pining from the other. Venerat is so good at this and the fic is a lovely journey. The characterisations are perfect, especially Oscar and his natural talent for understatement, which muddies the waters a bit.

'If there was anything Oscar would do, it was was focus very intently on the task assigned to him, until he got it exactly fucking right. That was what made him perfect for this particular task: the task of being Lando’s boyfriend. Fake boyfriend. “Okay,” Lando said, clearing his throat. “Stunning. Was thinking, maybe we could try it out at the cinema tomorrow.” He, Oscar, and the Lefrères were going to see the new Bond film. It was the perfect opportunity to be dickish and in love, as far as Lando was concerned. “Just didn’t want you to get all jumpy if I touched you,” he explained. “If that’s alright. Like. Yeah.” Oscar nodded. “Got it. Sounds good, mate. I’ll be, er, ready.” It was nice to be around such passion. Lando rolled his eyes. He was smiling inside, when he thought it. But Oscar did have some capacity to surprise him. Before Lando fucked off, Oscar stepped forward, closing the normal non-sexual gap between them, and wrapped Lando in a light hug. It was nothing—Oscar’s arms were barely even squeezing him—but Lando’s breath still caught in his chest like a stupid fucking idiot, freezing inside the hug. “Have a good one,” Oscar said when he drew back. He was pink, which made Lando feel better, given that his own ears were warming. Okay. They clearly needed practice. Desperately, in fact. “You too, babe,” Lando said, and winked. Then, before he could embarrass himself further, he spun on his heel and walked out.'

nsfw: climb up to your lips by @scenetocause | E | 28k (wip)

This fic is Lando/girl!Oscar (the always-a-different-sex trope). Lando has a massive crush on his teammate. He also has a submissive streak that starts to express itself around her. As their relationship develops, she picks up on this and starts finding ways to take care of him. They’re both a bit inexperienced at relationships and sex in general. I just love these two. They’re both slightly weird and awkward and don’t quite fit with anyone else but are turning out to be perfect for one another. It’s a learning curve for them both.

“Yeah, fuck.” Lando has to tilt his head back onto the sofa. He can feel it in his arse, where she touched him. He might feel it for the rest of his life. “Yeah, I. Fuck.” “Later.” she says, like a promise. It takes him a moment to work out she means them, later. Fucking. Which might be ambitious because he currently feels like he needs a refractory period of about a decade, after that one but he won’t spoil her dreams just yet. She's acidic, clever as ever in debrief and brutal in the way she deconstructs her own, botched Q3. Lando's probably staring at her a bit lovestruck but he's been doing that all season anyway so no one has to know it's over the phantom sensation of her inside him. Despite the lecture from Zak earlier Oscar tucks him under her arm on the drive from the hotel, playing with his hair. He's actually less worried about being killed by Andrea or whatever now but still doesn't get his phone out because he hasn't had time to clean up his insta follows and he doesn't want Oscar to think he's into anyone else. For someone who doesn't seem to think much of herself, she seems fairly assured he likes her. Which might, in retrospect, be something to do with the best part of a year he spent broadcasting that to her before he'd even realised it himself.'

already home by @nyoomfruits | T | 32.5k

Lando marries Oscar, his best friend and roommate, to keep his family from worrying about him so much. This is an absolute gem. It's sweet, funny, cozy, and the dynamic between the pairing and their friends is delightful.

“Yeah, well, you’re marrying me, so,” Lando says, sticking out his tongue, and Oscar laughs, that loud, bursting out of him laugh he does sometimes where he completely folds his body in half. Lando hides his self-satisfied smirk behind another bite of his pancake, and pretends like he isn’t committing the little laugh lines in the corner of Oscar’s eyes to his memory.'

thank you to @singsweetmelodies, @ocontraire, @maaxverstappen, @lydia-petze, @frickinsweet & @welightitup for compiling this list 🧡

#landoscar #driver:lando #driver:oscar #pairing:lando/oscar

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angelbarelywrites · 2 days

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♡ slashers scenarios | let’s get kinky (part 2)

♡ fandoms; Friday the 13th, House of Wax, Scream (kinda), Hannibal (TV), Dead by Daylight, slashers (general)

♡ characters; Jason Vorhees, Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Danny Johnson, Hannibal Lecter

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡cw; graphic sexual content, kink content, daddy kink (NOT ddlg), blood kink, knife kink

♡notes; i’m alive (ish) !!! i think i forgot how to write but have this

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Jason Vorhees

> he’s a vanilla guy, honestly

> he’s a virgin when you meet and still believes a lot of what his mother taught him

> however, he is eager to please

> so eager to please that with some gentle coaxing, you could get him to try about anything once

> he’s a natural service top- but he’d bottom no questions asked

> in terms of dom and sub dynamics, he fits pretty snugly in the sub category

> but as I said, he’d try anything once, including completely doming you

> and even if he is submissive, the man is tall, wide, and pure muscle

> it’s not hard for him to get rough- sometimes he is without even realizing it

> but the aftercare is always top-notch, he takes care of you the whole rest of the day/night even if it’s not necessary

> funnily enough he thinks oral is pretty scandalous at first, but god he loves when you suck him off, lapping and trying to take all of him even though it’s probably impossible

Bo Sinclair

> maybe listing kinks he doesn’t have would be faster

> in all seriousness, there are quite a few he’d be gunning for when the topic comes up for the first time

> he loves being called daddy or sir, or would accept most other dom titles

> he’s super into roleplay- but he loses the plot pretty fast

> he love love loves tying you up and using you as he pleases

> if you trust him enough he’ll gag you too, and maybe leave you tied up while he goes to take care of business

> he likes spanking and biting and bruising your hips from gripping you too tightly

> and he likes kissing all of the little marks he left for days afterwards

>making sure they heal properly, he always says, though he’s quick to replace them

> if you can manage to get him to sub- big if- he’s an incredibly whiny and desperate brat. but taking him can be fun.

Billy Lenz

> he’s the switch of the century 🔥🔥🔥

> he alternates so frequently between praise and degradation that it’s jarring at times

> “oh just look at my pretty whore- you like billy’s cock? take it like the fucking slut you are—“

> and he loves loves loves being on the receiving end of both as well

> he has an oral fixation, big time. And if your fingers aren’t in his mouth, his fingers are in yours

> and, to no one’s surprise, he loves phone sex

> he’ll call you from the attic as foreplay

> and he loves watching you, peeping through the wall as you put on a show for him

> he loves edging- mostly on the receiving end

> and when he finally cums, he wants it to be all over your face or chest.

Danny Johnson

> borderline exhibitionist. maybe not even borderline.

> y’all are fucking in the car, in alleys, anywhere you can have just enough privacy

> and man oh man, is he going to take so many pictures of you

> posed on the bed or on your knees in front of him or freshly fucked and nearly in tears

> when he has you screaming, he wants to hear his name, not anything else

> he’s a hair puller, and he’s more than happy to choke you

> if you ask nicely, that is. he’ll have you beg for most things

> he calls you his kitty or puppy, or baby doll if you don’t like either of those

> if you stroke his ego and praise him, he’ll do absolutely anything you want

> he’ll even be a good boy and bottom for you if he trusts you enough - though he’s an absolute pillow prince when he does bottom

Hannibal Lecter

> debatably the “worst” of the bunch

> he’s the type to really commit to BDSM dynamics

> you WILL call him master, and he’ll probably call you “my pet”

> he likes choking, spanking, the whole nine yards that a lot of the other

> but he very much has a knife kink, and a blood kink. he likes giving little nicks and lapping the blood up, getting a proper taste of you

> of course he can live without it, but if you let him indulge you’d be greatly rewarded

> and even with his strictly dominant nature, he is a very generous master

> he loves going down on you, and he loves overstimulating you when he does

> he’ll have you whining before he gets past your thighs, seeming to always know just what to do make you squirm

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teez-the-time · 2 months

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Strawberry and Wine: PREVIEW

Pairing: Consort! Seonghwa x Emperor! Fem! Reader

Genre: fantasy, romance, smut

Synopsis: as an Emperor, you liked to indulge in the pleasantries of life. The shiniest jewels, the best wines, the tastiest delicacies. But in the years of your reign, you had never found something as exquisite as the lips of Park Seonghwa.

Warnings: masturbation (f and m receiving), oral sex (f), breast play, piv sex, riding, dry humping, grinding, a lil food play, alcohol consumption (no drunk characters), pretty vanilla actually, body wordship, my characters are whipped as usual, pls tell me if I miss something

Wc: 7k-8k

Taglist:

Release date: April 21, 2024

A/N. Let's pretend like I didn't disappear for three entire months after promising to have some stories coming soon. College kicked my ass, but at least I have two free weeks before going back to that hellhole. Either way, if you want to be added to the taglist, comment here or DM me!!

The wing reserved for the royal consorts was exquisite and lavish. Several rooms expanded around, forming a circle with a marble fountain in the middle depicting two lovers embracing each other with the utmost intensity. A dome was constructed on top of it, so the lovers were perpetually bathed in sunshine or moonlight. The floors were carpeted with the finest rugs imported from exotic lands in faraway continents. No speck of dust could be found on any corner, and all vases were always kept full with your favourite flowers. All the artwork was seasonally changed and handpicked by the emperors themselves according to their consorts' tastes. After all, it was the emperors' duty to pamper them and keep them content.

Having prided enough in your work at the consort wing, you began walking through the left part of the circle. Despite being able to hold many guests, most of the chambers were empty. In your short reign as emperor, you had only taken four consorts, without planning to add more in the foreseeable future. As a female emperor, it wasn’t a good look for your legacy to be remembered for promiscuity rather than your political achievements. Also, you were quite content with whom you had chosen to be your lovers.

Normally, the consort wing was brewing with life, always full of servants and guards waiting on your partners. While it could be refreshing to breathe that atmosphere, it was undeniable that the emperor’s visit was a cause of drama in the palace. Everyone was always eager to learn who were you coming to see, what you talked about and what to expect, and no doubt the speculation resulted in scheming that you weren’t ready to discover just yet. That’s why you tried to keep your appearances late and spaced in between, just to keep gossip at bay.

And, maybe, add some excitement too.

Seonghwa’s room was the farthest away, much to your dislike. Nevertheless, the wait made your little escapade even more thrilling. You reached the door, softly knocking on the sturdy wood. A few seconds passed and no one answered it. You knocked again, and still no answer. By now, one of Seonghwa’s servants would have opened it to let you go in, but tonight didn’t seem to be the case. Starting to get worried, you grabbed the knob and tried to push it open by yourself. Surprisingly, it offered no resistance and you found yourself inside Seonghwa’s chambers. You were preparing to scold him for his imprudence of leaving a door unlocked at night when the most pleasant of smells inundated your nostrils.

At first, it was just the sweet aroma of vanilla and jasmine, but the more you breathed in, the richer the smell got. Soon enough, your mind was floating along with the scent, making you relax into the atmosphere. It reminded you of something hidden in the depths of the soul. Desire. It wasn’t strong nor overpowering, but it lingered there, just barely out of reach .

When you shook out the initial stupor of the aroma, you scanned the room looking for your companion for the night. Normally, he would be waiting for you in one of the exquisite sofas and chairs of the sitting area before the door, but tonight he wasn’t there either.

Apparently, the young lord had made sure that your night was full of oddities.

#teez the time #ateez #ateez fanfic #atiny #seonghwa #park seonghwa #seonghwa x reader #park seonghwa x reader #seonghwa smut #seonghwa fluff

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garactor-zuckerberg · 1 year

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This is one from Super Mario World "Yoshi's Island 2". There is a video version of this scene on my YouTube channel, so if you are interested, please watch it ✌

channel name "Garactor Zuckerberg" video title "Super Mario World (SNES) - Glitch Part 4"

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kittysarchive · 2 months

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Xdinary Heroes, what they liked to be called during sex

@bruh-2004, @bungbruh :)

Gunil

Daddy

It's simple, he is your daddy. He is fucking you so well as most likely older than you, being called daddy will emit how well he is controlling or pleasing you! Gunil often calls himself Daddy to.

Master

When in the mood for roleplay, Gunil would want to play a controlling and older role. Switching away from Daddy, Master will replace. Master also gives him a sense of authority in sex.

Fuck....Who's your daddy?" Gunil loosened his grip on your neck, allowing you to answer him. "Y-you" You croak out. "I didn't hear you?" Gunil continues thrusting deep into you, ever stopping for a breath. "Y-you're my daddy" You cry out, overwhelmed in pleasure.

Jungsu

Baby

When having sweet, vanilla sex being called Baby is enough! Junsgu feels loved if you call him that, it shows how comfortable you are in bed with him :)

Sir

Sometimes vanilla sex isn't enough, he needs to feel in control sometimes and that is by calling him sir. Whether role play or not, calling him Sir while having sex will turn a screw, making Jungsu fuck you harder, faster and better.

"F-fuck me harder S-sir" You cry out. Jungsu hips smack forward, following your commander. "Such a s-slut for Sir" Jungsu says sharply, never stopping his insane rhythm.

Gaon

Pretty boy

Giving sub vibes, calling Gaon pretty boy when you are doming will make him faint! Being used by you and being called a pretty boy...It's all Gaon wants!

"My pretty boy" You purr, rolling your hips as Gaon gripped your breasts beneath you. "I-I'm your pretty boy" Gaon whines out, feeling your hips roll over deliciously.

Baby

Romantic and sweet, Goan prefers being called this when you are having lazy sex. Nothing to intense but it still gives him a title, your baby :)

O.de

Daddy

Massive Daddy vibes! Being a general caretaker! He is better in sex! Like everyone else, it stirs something inside him, it brigs out the more dominate, ruthless but still caretaking side of him.

"So g-good daddy" You whine out. With your legs over O.de's shoulders, he has never been able to get so deep before. Hearing your words, he speeds up. "That's right...Daddy makes you feel good" His pace speeds up, living in the illusion of being your daddy.

Handsome

Nothing better than being all sweaty during sex....and being called handsome. Whether O.de is the sub or dom, being called handsome will make him more confident during sex.

Junhan

Baby

He wants to be loved and cared by you during sex, please call him baby! Being called baby also makes him feel safe, safe that he is being called such a playful name during a serious act :)

"You're doing so good baby" You praised Junhan as you continued to bounce on him. His sweet whines fill the room. "So good baby" You praise once more, bouncing your hips harder down.

Beautiful

Like O.de, it's not the best feeling being sweaty during sex. Junhan being all tired, sweaty and whiny beneath you, calling him Gorgeous or Beautiful really boosts up his confidence during sex!

Jooyeon

My pretty/good boy

Huge sub vibes, being complemented at how well he is doing is what Jooeyon wants! He may not be thrusting into you or kissing but telling him that what he is doing is good enough, is what Jooyeon needs.

"Such a good boy" You compliment the whining mess beneath you. His whines become louder after that affirmation. "Y-your good boy" He whines out, confirming your words.

Slut

Genderbending here, Jooyeon loves being called a slut. In fact any degrading words is what turns him on! Knowing you can do whatever you want to him and call him whatever you want is what gets Jooyeon going!

#xdh headcanons #xdinary heroes smut #xdh smut #xdh scenarios #enhypen headcanons

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suppermariobroth · 2 months

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Extremely rare officially licensed Super Mario World seat cover from Japan, depicting a unique scene that could possibly be inspired by the small cells made out of Turn Blocks that can be seen in the game in Vanilla Dome 1.

Main Blog | Twitter | Patreon | Small Findings | Source

#super mario world #nintendo

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spiderispunk · 1 year

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(Because mine is coming up and I’ll need a pick me up about it lol) can I get 🎁 birthday sex with tasm!peter pretty please? Love you! 😘😘

A Cause For Celebration

Pairing: TASM!Peter Parker x afab!reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: Smut (18+ only). Food (A cupcake). Fingering. Unprotected Sex. PinV. Light Breathplay. Fluff.

Summary: In which Peter Parker shows up at your front door with a slightly smashed cupcake and a whispered "Happy Birthday" or Birthday Sex with Peter Parker.

A/N: This is for my beloved Jey (@flightlessangelwings). Happy belated birthday! I'm so sorry this fic took so long, but I really hope you like it. Thanks for being patient with me. I love you!

You didn’t want anything for your birthday.

When you first told Peter, he thought he had misheard you.

“Nothing?” He asked, eyebrows creeping up into his hairline.

“Nothing.” You confirmed.

Peter squinted at you, and tilted his head to the side like he couldn’t believe it. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “I just want a quiet night in, with you.”

“Okay.” He shrugged. “If that’s what you want.”

And he’d really tried his best to keep his word, but as he passed a little bakery on the corner, on the way to your place, he couldn’t help but stop.

At first, he hadn’t known how the little hole-in-the-wall had escaped his notice all these months, but then he realized he had more of a habit of swinging to your apartment than using his legs. One tended to miss the little things when swinging three hundred feet in the air at break-neck speed.

The smell caught his attention first. An enticing swirl of warm sugary vanilla-cinnamon-hazelnut and rich chocolatey sweetness that wafted out the front door as a customer exited. He floated into the entrance– literally drifted through the door like a cartoon.

Rows of pastries lined the shelves of the display case. Chocolate eclairs, powdered donuts, flaky, sugar-dusted dough, loaves of pumpkin and gingerbread still steaming as they cooled. But there on the counter, under a glass dome, was a lone cupcake, with swirls of pastel blue and white icing sculpted into tiny flowers. A dusting of silver sugar rested on the top, sparkling in the light.

It was perfect. Peter bought it immediately, pulling a crumpled ten dollar bill from his coat pocket. He dropped the change in the glass tip jar, and was on his way with a promise to return soon.

He figured the cupcake didn’t count in the nothing category, as it was much too small, and probably much too delicious to deny.

Peter carefully cradled the cute little box it came in all the way to your apartment building. Unfortunately it got a bit jostled during his ascent up the six flights of stairs, but that couldn’t be helped. .

Two knocks signal his arrival, and you’re quick to open the door and let him in.

“Hi, Pete.” You step aside to let him into your apartment.

Peter brings in the snowy night with him. You can feel the cold drift off of his body. It makes you shiver, even in your pajama pants and sweatshirt. He smells like ice and smoke. Small white snowflakes dust the messy brown hair that has escaped his blue beanie, and cling to his long lashes. His cheeks are rosy red, having been abused by the icy wind. His chapped lips stretch into a smile that reaches the warmth of his hot chocolate eyes.

“Hey, baby.” He kisses you sweetly, tasting the smile on your lips. “Happy birthday!” He pulls the box from behind his back.

You frown down at the box. “I said no gifts.”

“It’s not a gift.” He opens the box. “It’s a cupcake.” He sways the box under your nose. “I passed a bakery on the way over here, figured you deserved something to celebrate. Look, we don’t need to light a candle or sing happy birthday or anything like that. But everyone should get a cake on their birthday.”

You take the box from him. The frosting is slightly smeared, but you can still make out the shape of the delicate flower that was once there. It’s beautiful. And more importantly, the cupcake looks delicious.

“Thank you, Peter,” you say with a soft smile. “This was really sweet of you.”

Peter’s face lights up. “So…I’m not in trouble for buying it?” He wraps his arm around your waist.

“No. You’re not.”

He wipes his free hand across his forehead. “Phew! I was actually really worried there for a second. You’re hot when you’re mad, but you’re also really scary.”

You pull him forward by his scarf. “C’mon, let’s eat this cupcake before your mouth gets you into trouble.”

Peter nods. “Yeah, that’s probably best.”

He shrugs out of his coat, and pulls the cotton beanie from his head. His hair springs free in a frizzy and comical halo. You try your best not to laugh, but you can’t help the small chuckle that escapes your lips.

“What? Are you laughing at me now, sweetheart?” Peter raises his eyebrows.

You cover your mouth and shake your head.

“No?” He asks, draping his winter gear over the kitchen chair. “Sure sounds like it. What’s so funny?”

“See for yourself.” You point to the mirror hanging by the door, and Peter looks at his reflection.

“Huh.” He brushes his fingers through his hair with a grin. “Yeah, I’ll admit that’s pretty funny.” Peter turns back to you and rubs his hands together. “Shall we begin the festivities?”

Thirty minutes later you’re sitting on the sofa watching Empire Strikes Back for what has to be the 500th time, or at least enough times for you and Peter to have memorized every other line. You’re giggling at Peter’s terrible impression of Chewbacca that sounds more like a nauseated cat than the Wookie himself, and Peter is looking at you like you hung the very stars in that galaxy far, far away.

The cupcake box sits empty on the coffee table, only the wrinkled paper and crumbs are left of it. It really was delicious. The blue icing sweet, but not overly so, the cake fluffy with a hint of nutmeg. You were reluctant to ruin those pretty flowers, but in the end, you and Peter split the cupcake in two and chowed down.

Now, you lick the remnants of the sticky icing off of your fingertips. Peter’s eyes meet yours, and his lips part into a blue-stained grin.

“Happy birthday,” he whispers, eyes shining in the light of the television.

“Thanks,” you say. “And thank you for the cupcake. It was delicious.”

His smile grows, albeit a little bashfully. “Anything for you.” Peter drags you closer to him by your legs. “I’m glad you liked it.” He leans towards you, his hands cupping your cheeks, and presses his lips to yours softly.

His fingers gently trace the length of your jaw, and tangle in your hair, teasing the curls at the nape of your neck. Normally, you hate when people touch your hair, but Peter is always gentle, and the light tugging of your hair elicits a quiet groan from your lips. Peter swallows it greedily, tilting his head to deepen the kiss.

You can still taste the faintest hint of the blue buttercream when his tongue sweeps into the seam of your lips. From the way he moans as his tongue meets yours, you think he tastes it too.

Peter hooks his fingers into the front of your pajama pants, and pulls you into his lap. You settle above him, legs splayed around his waist. His hands easily find the hem of your sweatshirt, and it’s not long before they’re slipping under the fabric to touch the skin beneath.

You surge towards him, hips meeting his in a slow roll, as his hands follow the trail of your spine. Up, up, up, they go, and then around. Cupping your breasts and feeling their weight. Slender fingers and calloused tips. He teases your nipples, pinching and pulling lightly. Working you up with just the slightest touch. It sends a shudder through your body, and a small cry of his name into the air.

Two can play at that game. You think, tugging at the blue corded sweater he wears. You pull it over his head and toss it somewhere behind you where it falls with a muted thud.

His skin now bare beneath you, you carve a new path across the planes of his body. First over his jaw, then down his throat – you don’t miss the hitch in his breath when your fingers brush over his pulse point. They then sweep across his collarbones, down the lean muscles of his scarred chest, and further down still, following the smattering of hair that disappears into the waistband of his jeans. He shudders and sighs under your touch, jumping slightly to meet your fingers.

Peter watches your exploration with hungry eyes. You can feel the ridge of his erection straining against the denim. You rock against it, your own eyes fluttering shut at the sweet pressure. Peter lets out a huff of your name, teeth digging into the skin of his bottom lip.

Your shirt comes off next, giving Peter unfettered access to your chest. He plants kisses that are somehow sloppy and sweet over the peaks of your breasts. When his lips wrap around your nipple you let out a reedy moan.

“That’s it.” Peter mumbles, spit slicked against your peaked nipple. “Let me hear you.”

You tilt your head back. “Peter.”

He hums. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” His eyes are glued to your face, taking in your every movement. His molten gaze burns a hole into your skin. “Sound so pretty.”

“I want you,” you whisper, fingers fumbling to undo the silver button of his jeans.

“Want you too, baby.” Peter’s lips let your nipple go with a pop. “Gotta make sure you’re ready for me first.” And with that, he’s worming his hand down the front of your pants. “Shit,” he groans, playing with the wetness gathered on your underwear. “You’re soaking, honey.”

And really, who’s fault is that?

Slender fingers hook your panties to the side and slide against your folds. Your knees nearly give out when his thumb circles your clit. You yank Peter’s lips back to yours to muffle the moans growing in the back of your throat.

Peter slides a finger into you with no resistance, and mutters a curse under his breath. You’re so warm and wet around him, squeezing him in a way that makes his desire to be inside you flame even brighter. It’s not long before a second finger fills you, stretching deliciously as they scissor and curl within you. A poor substitute for the real thing, which still presses against your ass.

You rock your hips hungrily, grinding down onto his open palm. The friction sets off bursts of light behind your eyelids, like fireworks on New Year’s Eve. A curl of fire licks at your curled toes, arcs like lightning up your spine and settles deep in your stomach. If Peter kept going, he’d stoke the flame into a wildfire. Have you falling apart with a choked wail. But that’s not what you wanted.

“Peter,” you manage to grind out. “Don’t want to come yet. Wanna save it for you.”

You feel his answering grin against your cheek. “That what you want?” Though he acknowledges your request, his fingers still move, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Yes,” you whine, fighting the losing battle to keep your hips still. Because even though you want to wait until you’re riding his cock, you’re dangling over the edge, and still want so badly to come. “Want to ride you.”

Peter’s fingers stop, still buried inside of your cunt. “Well, it is your birthday.” He pulls your pants down to your knees. “So I guess you’ll get what you want.”

Birthday or not, with Peter you always get what you want. He never passes up an opportunity to spoil you rotten. You are his, after all– my baby, my love– something he’ll remind you of repeatedly in a few moments.

You fumble out of the remainder of your clothes, and Peter hastily yanks off his jeans and boxers in one fell swoop. He also grabs the blanket from off the back of the couch.

“Can’t have you gettin’ cold,” he mumbles, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders.

You falter for a moment, somehow still shocked at how caring he is. He pulls you out of your thoughts with a kiss to the underside of your jaw.

“Ready for me?” Peter whispers.

You nod, wrapping your fingers around his aching cock. You rub your thumb over the head, wrist flicking slowly. Peter groans, head tilting back to the light of the room. You want to keep going, keep stroking, until you feel the warmth of Peter’s release on your hand. Want to hear the choked moan of your name as you took him to that highest peak–

As if hearing your thoughts, he grabs your wrist. “Thought you wanted to ride me, honey?” He raises his eyebrows.

“I do,” you reply coyly.

Peter’s hands slide to your hips, and he pulls you towards him, until you’re hovering just above him. “What are you waiting for?”

You stroke him again, just to watch the stern look be replaced by one of wanting.

Peter groans. “Need to be inside you,” he mumbles, voice cracking with lust. “Please, honey.”

That’s what you were waiting for.

You sink down onto him slowly, a moan of reverence sliding from your lips, and one that Peter echoes loudly.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” Peter’s dropped his head into your collarbone, so his words are muffled by your heaving breasts. “Feel so fucking perfect wrapped around me.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, using the broad surface to steady yourself. You feel so full and so close to him. It’s as if, in this moment, he’s the only other person in the world, and it’s just you and Peter in your small apartment, and nothing else matters but the slow rock of your hips and his body pressed to yours.

You can’t even hear the movie playing in the background, or the sound of traffic right outside your window. All you hear is the raggedy inhale-exhale of Peter’s breath, and your own stilted breaths in return.

Peter’s grip on your hips tighten. “Fuck me,” he groans, something desperate twisting in his voice. “Faster.”

You comply, hips speeding up until they almost match the thudding of your heart in your chest.

“That’s it, baby– shit,” Peter says. “Take what you want. Always fuck me so good.” He tilts his head back against the sofa cushions, jaw going slacked, and looking at you with glazed eyes. His fingers find that hallowed place between your sweaty bodies, and rub insistently at your clit.

You bite your bottom lip, head going dizzy from his praise and the sweet sensation of your own orgasm building up inside of you. There’s the whispered flame curling up inside of you again, licking over your body. You raise up onto your knees, changing the angle in search of that one blissful spot deep inside of you that only Peter seems to be able to reach. You almost wail when you find it.

Your hand slides up Peter’s body, coming to rest on his chest as the roll of your hips begins to lose their steady rhythm. He grabs your hand, a flash of wanton mischief in his gaze, and rests it on the bottom of his throat. You quirk an eyebrow, and he nods, something desperate and unspoken in his gaze.

Peter nearly comes on the spot when you fit your thumb into the hollow of his throat. His pulse thuds under your touch wildly. He bucks his hips up against yours, the dam of his self-control breaking. He holds your hand in place, urging you to squeeze tighter, which you do.

The two of you chase your pleasure together with sloppy thrusts and broken moans. You can almost taste it on the back of your tongue, hot and molten like lead. This all-encompassing, enrapturing desire. Judging from the expression of complete bliss on Peter’s face, you know he’s nearly there as well.

He tells you as much with a cracked whisper of your name. “Please tell me you’re close, cuz I’m gonna come.”

You nod, because it’s all that you’re able to do. So lost in all of it. And then without warning, it builds and overtakes you. You fall against Peter’s chest, a silent cry of his name on your lips.

It’s the end for him too. Though he doesn’t go quietly. Peter explodes inside of you with a strangled groan of your name, and several breathy moans. Warmth floods your body, and you tighten your knees around him, holding him against you like a vice.

“Goddammit.” Peter grits his teeth, as he fucks you through both of your orgasms.

It takes a while for his hips to still and for your breathing to return to normal. All your senses seem to come back at once. Suddenly you can hear the traffic and the movie playing behind you. Smell the sweat that lingers in the air. Feel the stifling heat of the blanket around your shoulders. You let it fall into a heap on the floor, content with the warmth of Peter’s body pressed against yours.

His hands roam your body, more gentle in their approach now. He traces random patterns on the expanse of your back and thighs. Presses tender kisses to your forehead, and holds you tightly against his chest.

“Happy birthday,” he finally mumbles, lips sweeping against your skin.

“Oh yeah.” You grin. “Nearly forgot.”

“That good huh?” Peter gives you a lopsided smirk.

You return it. “Always.”

Peter hums. His eyes fix on the empty pastry box. Suddenly it dawns on him that you’ve had dessert before dinner. He casts a wary look at the clock hanging on the wall. It reads 7:34.

“Did you wanna order food? Or go out for dinner? Or…” He trails off.

You bury your face into his chest. “Later. Just wanna be with you for now.”

In the end, you didn’t go out. Just ordered takeout and cuddled on the couch. It may have been a quiet night in, watching a movie you’d seen a thousand times, but it was perfect to you.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker smut #andrew garfield #the amazing spider man #drabbles #rion writes

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