#anyway! hope u enjoy

[gralixe]

All objects of worship in one place

[blabberoo]

;]

[seafoamsol]

Gaze upon me, and witness my glory!

[buzzingroyalty]

@davekatweek day 7: fluff

you didnt think he would leave his pony boy hanging did you

gn davekat nation

[hinamie]

someone asked if i had ever drawn gojo with his scars, now i have :>

[ivysangel]

Waking up with Jason's arms wrapped around you, feeling him breathe into your hair, letting out the occasional snore. His hand is under you, pressed into your side, and you feel him squeeze the flesh of your waist to make sure you're still there, a habit he developed when things started getting serious, constantly searching for you, even in his sleep. He squeezes a little tighter, his breath suddenly quickening at an alarming rate. You try to turn to face him, fear settling in your stomach, wondering if something was plaguing him in his dreams again.

When you shift ever so slightly, you feel the other arm lying over you tighten, pulling you flush against his body. A chill runs down your spine as you feel him exhale a particularly strangled breath, and you force yourself out of his grip, sitting up to get a better look at the man next to you. His eyebrows furrowed, hair flat on one side of his head from laying in one position the entire night. One of his hands reaches out to your pillow, searching for you in your sudden absence, and when it's met with nothing, Jason jolts upright. He turns his head frantically, blurred vision searching for something, for someone, for you.

His shoulders drop in relief when he finally stops long enough to notice you barely a foot away from him. You watch his chest rise and fall as he tries to calm his breathing, and you're not sure which thing caused it, the nightmare or the fear that you had left him. "What are you doing up?" he asks, voice laced with sleep. "You were having a nightmare," you say quietly, sliding a little closer to him and settling back into your spot on the bed. "I was just trying to make sure you were okay." confusion is etched across his face like the concept of him having a nightmare was foreign, and you develop an equally confused expression upon seeing his own. His face drops suddenly, and he clears his throat, "Right, a nightmare." he shifts beneath the covers, seemingly uncomfortable. "I'm all good. Just go back to sleep, okay?" he sends a reassuring smile your way, his attempt at trying to make you forget this whole debacle and coax you back to sleep, but it was too late; you were already wide awake.

"Was it him again?" your hand finds the scarred expanse of his back, lightly grazing your fingers against old wounds and trying to ease his angst; his body tenses at your touch, and a groan leaves his lips. "it wasn't-" he pauses, running his hands through his hair and sighing. "it wasn't him again. It wasn't even..." he trails off, turning away from you and sliding off the bed. "wasn't even what?" You ask, more confused than ever, watching as he lifts his arms above his head, back muscles flexing while he stretches before crossing his arms. He just stands there, back towards you, and all you can do is sit in silence while he seemingly contemplates something. "It wasn't what, Jason?" you ask one more time. He turns his head slightly to look at you only for a second and lowers his eyes when he sees you in the same spot you've been this whole time. "It wasn't a nightmare," he says, turning around to face you, this time allowing you to see his whole body.

His face is flushed a bit out of embarrassment, and your confusion starts to reach its peak. That is until you do a once-over of him and notice the patch of dark gray on his otherwise light sweatpants. Your mouth gapes a bit, and all you can manage is a quiet "Oh." his eyes find the same spot on his pants, a tent growing beneath the soft cotton. "Yeah. Oh."

[hoshiina]

pairing: hoshina soushirou x gn!reader (no prns)

summary: in which he realizes you were the one for him

warnings: none i think !

wc: 1100

Hoshina wasn't a player. He wasn't one to say yes to everyone who came his way nor was he one to lightly pursue just about anyone who slightly interested him— not to mention he didn’t fall easily to begin with. He was a busy man in a dangerous line of work so having a relationship simply didn’t make sense most of the time.

However, this is not to say he hasn’t had a few relationships here and there. He loved those he dated, he really did. He did not believe in dating for the fun of it nor did he believe in starting a relationship he knew would end at some point, but subconsciously he tried not to get attached. He kept his distance and locked away his heart to keep from getting hurt. Was it unfair? Well yes, but he was scared. Everyone has something that terrifies them greatly, this just so happened to be Hoshina’s.

Yet, recently he could tell that something was different with you. It had only been a few months since you started dating, but he feared the shift in his feelings. He knew what it was— he knew very well, but as soon as he admitted it, it would be over. There’d be no going back for him. He knew he was being rather irrational, he knew that if he sat down and confronted these emotions he’d realize they weren’t that big of a deal, but he couldn’t. He’s never been able to.

However, while fighting this kaiju, it became plain obvious that he was simply in denial. 

It upset him how important you were to him, but more than that it upset him that he knew he was important to you. You had made it so painfully clear that he meant the absolute world to you and that broke him to pieces every single time.

To him it was easy being alone— he just had to make sure his job was complete before he died. If he could ensure everyone’s safety or at least help Mina out, there was nothing more he wished for. Yet while fighting Kaiju no. 10 today, when he saw his life flash before his eyes, his immediate thought was of you. If he died you’d cry. And that alone was going to get him home alive.

He’d rather die than make you cry. Especially not alone.

As he stood up again, he could see his blood dripping from his wounds and immediately it made him chuckle. You’d cry anyways when you see the state he’s in. 

I’ll have to be around to wipe your tears at least, he said to you in his head.

He was incredibly lucky that you didn’t work on the battlefield, his heart simply would not be able to take it. But he did, and for you he’d have to get home safe. Even if no one else cared that much, not even himself, he knew you would.

All of a sudden, it was easy to admit. He was hopelessly in love with you, in a way he didn't know he was capable of. He wished that he would spend the rest of his life with you and he hoped you would spend the rest of yours with him. Perhaps he was just afraid and a little flustered to admit that he was important to someone, especially someone special to him too. He had seen how painful it was for those left behind, a little too often. 

But there was an easy solution to that, he’d just get back to you safe every time. He just won’t make you worry and he’ll be there for you. This was supposed to be a dilemma, something he thought he'd stress over, but in the moment he felt eerily relaxed, definitely not like he was fighting an identified grade kaiju. The rest of the fight was a blur, he couldn't remember much. His head was clear but the fatigue had taken over at that point, but before he knew it, the kaiju laid in front of him still.

He was faintly conscious as they rushed him into an ambulance and patched him up. Once he was properly treated and awake, they had warned him to stay put and take it easy, but all he wanted to do was see you.

As soon as he left his assigned room, he immediately bumped into you. You had been waiting to be let in to see him. You took one look at the way he was patched up and tears welled into your eyes. He could tell you didn't mean to, you didn't want to worry him.

“Please don't cry,” he said softly, wiping your tears away. He couldn't help but smile at the sight of you. “I'm perfectly fine.”

“I'm not crying,” you said with a scowl on your face, but the way your voice cracked was not very convincing. “I'm so glad you're back.”

“Can't live without me?” he teased. He knew you couldn't live without him, but he couldn't either. Yet, now he even hated the thought of you living without him, let alone with someone else, so here he was. And here he always will be.

“Shut up,” you said. “You know I can't.”

He knew, but hearing you say that still made his heart flutter. He reached out with his right hand to grab your left and held it carefully. He leaned in to kiss you, but it was so much sloppier than the careful ones he usually gave you. Forgive him, he was terribly exhausted.

“I can't either,” he said, snuggling his face into your shoulder.

“You can't?” you asked, a little surprised. It broke his heart that he had possibly made you feel such way.

“Not for a second,” he said, still avoiding eye contact. “I'd rather die than wake up without you next to me, actually.”

You wouldn’t reply, so he brought his head back up to look at you.

“Oh, don't cry,” he said and chuckled a little, wiping your tears away as he kissed you again. “I didn't mean to make you cry.”

He hadn't let go of your hand and although he was gentle, he held it firmly. He didn't say anything, but he vowed to himself that he'd put a ring on it someday. He wasn't letting go of you ever.

You were the one for him.

[niccolites]

one of the requests i received from the lovely @crazyweirdnoodles about meeting one or some of the 141 on holiday. bc u said ur going to scotland (period) i am thinking soap for this one

johnny who clocks you as a tourist immediately, catches you staring at your phone to figure out what way you're meant to be going. staring at all the plaques next to statues that the locals don't bother to look at

you look like a sweet thing, so when you duck into a nearby pub, he follows his gut as he does with most things, and follows you inside. slides up next to you at the bar and offers to buy you your first proper drink in scotland, on him. (you've been in scotland for a few days now, but it feels rude to point out now)

he's charming, in the way that, excited dogs are charming. it's endearing, watching someone be so enraptured by you even as he barely lets you get a word in, jabbers on about how he'll be taking over your tour of the town, show you all the real highlights, a real local insight

oh, is he from around this area? no, he beams back, and you forgot to follow up with your confusion when he places a warm palm on your thigh

he was right, you are such a sweet thing, only a couple of drinks in and your letting him tug you into the bathroom and bolt the door shut. letting him slip his hand down the front of your panties and pant into the flesh of your neck

he's army he had told you, chest puffed up as he tried to impress you (and succeeded). you feel it as you cling to his arms and there is no give in the muscle there. dig your nails in and feel the teeth of his grin on the soft skin beneath your jaw.

there's a beat after he makes you come after he had three fingers curled into you and a thumb mean on your clit, and he's tugging down the zip of his trousers. you tell him you don't normally do this, and his ego swells until it suffocates the room

just for him, eh, lovey? he locks his arms around the backs of your knees and lifts until he slides inside you with a groan that's so loud you have to slap a hand around his mouth. he slobbers on your palm and god if that does make you shudder anyway

he's so filthy, running his mouth about your sweet tits, how tight your cunt is, begging you to let him come in you. it's a flush all the way down to the centre of you, white hot, shameful but still causing a pulse to run through you

fucks you against the door of the bathroom, ignoring the pounding on the other side from an angry staff member. too caught up in the flush your cheeks, the sweet part of your mouth as he fills it with his moans, drool slipping down your chins

his brain feels like static when you let him come in you, every muscle tensing and then unfolding until he is around the shape of you. his mouth pressed against the hairline of your temple. the first time he has touched someone there

pulls away from you with a mournful noise, already trying to plan how to get back inside you. rights himself and watches as you try to sort your appearance out to not look like you've just been fucked in a bathroom

takes your hand and guides you out. what a gentleman, glares at anyone who is looking at you (which is the entire pub). you think it's to defend your honour in some strange way, actually soap is almost rabid at the thought of anyone else hearing how sweetly you moan when you took his cock

he still offers you that tour, and you take it (he doesn't tell you that this is the thinnest excuse he has to get you to fuck him in his car, off the nature trail or in another pub again. if you both aren't banned from the entire town by the end of your visit, he's decided he is the worst guide)

[kandismon]

totally lore-accurate swanqueen screencap redraws 4/∞

they're on their first date :3c

[fiyaharts]

bruce and clark missed each other :) audio from the basement yard podcast

[ittybittyfanblog]

Part 2 (?) of the hybrid!reader x beast tamer!sylus blurb (also my first proper attempt at writing full smut!!) *runs away and hides* CW: Smut (+size kink), Hybrid!AU | 1.2k words | Pt. 1 <- here !

"Nnggh—t-too much," you mewl, voice breaking on the last syllable as your body jolts with every deep, measured thrust. The pleasure is overwhelming, teetering on the edge of being unbearable, yet you can’t stop it. 

Your grip on the sheets is wrenched away—useless against the brutal pace, the relentless pounding from underneath you, your back pressed flushed against his chest.

His large, calloused palm finds your face, fingers curling around your cheeks, squeezing, forcing your mouth open. Your breath stutters, eyes tearing up as you choke around the long, thick digits pushing past your lips, pressing down on your tongue. Effectively gagging you. 

The moment you try to squirm away, his hold on you tightens. Sylus lets out a breathless laugh, almost indulgent, as he nuzzles his nose against your temple, breathing you in. He feels it—the delicious way your tight hole flutters around his cock as you tense up, fruitless in its attempt at resisting the overwhelming, almost painful, intrusion. He loops a solid, sinewy arm around both your thighs, hoisting it higher, forcing you wider, until there’s nowhere left to run. He splits you apart with every deliberate thrust, dragging his hard length along your slick, overly sensitive walls, stretching you beyond your limits.

“M-ma’ter—” you whimper pathetically around his fingers.

Ah. 

That shattered little plea sends something dark and electric down his spine. A sharp hiss leaves his mouth, his grip on you flexing—possessive. Oh, how he loves this. Loves the way you tremble in his embrace, utterly helpless against the sheer size of him. Loves the way your body struggles around his girth, trying—and failing—to take all of him, fully, inside you.

"S-s’ow dow’, pw’ea—" your muffled words spill out between broken gasps, slurred and drenched around the fingers still holding your tongue firmly down. Spit trickles from the corner of your bruised lips down to your chin, glistening rivulets of your desperation, and he groans at the sight of it. At the sheer debauchery of you.

You’re a vision, he thinks, near euphoric. 

But he doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even consider it. How could he, when you begged so prettily? If anything, the pace stays merciless—punishing, unrelenting. All-consuming. As if he’s daring you to try and escape again.

Too much. 

Too big. 

Too deep.

Ah, but he doesn’t stop. Because he knows you can take it. Knows you will.

And gods, do you struggle.

It’s intoxicating—the way you writhe against him, comically tiny compared to his broad frame, completely at his mercy. He can see it in the way you wince, the way you chew on his fingers using your sharp, little fangs. Trying so hard to withstand the unforgiving push and pull of his thick length, driving in and out of your sore pussy. 

So weak beneath him. So perfect like this. 

He drinks in every broken sob, every little flinch. Every desperate attempt to wiggle away—only to be dragged right back where you belong. Powerless. Caught. Owned.

Sylus licks his thumb, wetting the pad, before trailing it down your sticky pussy. He caresses his finger against your outer lips, teasing your twitching hole before sliding up—catching that swollen, aching bundle of nerves before pressing down.

He moves in slow, deliberate circles; coaxing your achy, engorged clit to give him what he wants.  Your reaction is instantaneous. You jolt like you’ve been electrified, a broken cry slipping past your spit-slick lips. Your whole body seizes as you clamp down on him, walls spasming, squeezing him so hard it knocks the air from his lungs. His cock twitches inside you, hard and throbbing. He’s driven nearly to madness by the sight of the white ring forming around the base of him while he forces you up and down—like some kind of personal fucktoy—and the lewd sounds that come from your violent lovemaking. 

"That’s it," he purrs, voice raspy, near reverent. "Take it."

And you do.

You take it because he won’t let you run. Because he wants you like this—desperate, corrupted, brain-dead in his arms. Because he's relentless, and because he's bigger, stronger, and you’ve never felt safer than you are when you're with him, despite his forceful ministrations. (You’ve wanted this, after all.) 

Because you’re his—beautiful, pliant, domesticated—pet. 

His. 

Sylus hums, dragging his lips over the flushed skin of your throat, where your pulse thrums wildly beneath his teeth. He lingers there, nipping at the delicate flesh, savouring the way you arch into him, tail shooting upwards.

His free hand smooths down the expanse of your thigh before tightening around the soft, supple muscle. "Look at you," he murmurs, voice like crushed velvet, tinged with wry amusement. "You don’t even know what to do with yourself, do you?"

The words wreak a shiver through you, a full-body tremor that he feels everywhere—around him, against him. It’s as if your body itself is a live wire, made to heed his call. 

His hold on you tightens further, a steady pillar that grounds you.

"You like this, don’t you? Being made to take me?" He pushes his fingers deeper down your throat, silencing the tiny whimper that slips out. "No need to answer. I already know."

The sharp inhale you take, almost a gurgling sound, and the way you pulse around him in response—it’s all the confirmation he needs.

You’ll be a good little kitten for him. Won’t you?  So you just give him a small nod, eyes wide and wet. You gaze at him with an endearingly dumb, dazed look on your face, and Sylus knows you're close. He feels it in the way it pulsates around him; that unbearable squeeze, along with the stinging pinch of your nails on his forearms. It sends a rush of heat through his veins, fervid and heady, stoking his hunger like a kindling flame. 

Your lashes flutter, pupils dilating into impossible pools of black, and he watches—utterly mesmerized.

"Ah, there it is," he whispers, his voice thick with satisfaction, laced with something darker. "You’re right there, aren’t you?"

Your response is near incoherent; a choked sob, a desperate whine. Your body twitches—contracting in uncontrolled, uneven spasms as your juices continuously drip, wetting his cock, drenching the both of you.

Lust coils in his stomach, heavy and searing. You’re trying so hard to take him, but you can’t. Not properly. Not completely. You’re too delicate, too tight—ambitious thing that you are, caught in the impossible task of handling all of him. 

It’s fucking maddening.

Sylus adjusts his grip, firm hands roaming over your body, grounding you as you tremble on top of him. His left thumb indents into the dip of your hip, fingers mapping out every little tremor, every miniscule movement. You’re so soft, so pliant. So utterly overwhelmed. 

Your ears flatten against your skull, and he can’t help but steal a kiss on the downy fur. "You can take it," he coos softly, a stark contrast to the aggressive way he fucks his dick into you. "I know you can."

The pressure builds higher, unbearable now. The sensations coil deep inside you, a devastating rise toward the inevitable. And Sylus watches—soaking in every second, drinking in the moment before you unravel before him, and he looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he's ever laid his eyes upon. 

"Come on," he urges, two of his fingers rubbing against your clit, forcing your pleasure to crest. "Let go for me."

His command is the final push. And then—

[madootles]

jon sims losing his mind in seasons two and three <333

the magnus archives has me in a serious chokehold right now

[delicourse]

lesbian pride moment 😳🌸

[iinryer]

a little scene prompt game to get me writing!

from @eddiesgaymustache: “what about 3....... 😳🤝🫠 or 🌈🦭✨ ........ the world is your oyster”

[😳🤝🫠 + 3: hiding face in neck]

“Don’t think I can’t see that!” Chim calls, sing-songy and bright, from where he’s making his way to the kitchen.

Eddie tears himself away and immediately tucks his hands under his own arms, face burning. Buck just makes a disgruntled sound from where he’s been dozing with his head tilted against the back of the sofa for the past fifteen minutes, now awoken and obviously confused.

“Oh god, what are they doing now,” Hen drops her book down from where she was reading at the table, holding her empty coffee cup up for Chim to grab over her shoulder on his way past. Despite the implication of reproach, her tone is much too gleeful for Eddie’s liking. He narrows his eyes at her. She grins lazily back at him.

“I was literally asleep!” Buck groans—whines, maybe—scrubbing at his eyes, “What did I do!”

“PDA!” Chimney shouts, head in the cabinet where he’s rummaging around, before emerging with a jar of peanut butter and continuing, “PDA is what you did!”

Hen makes a disappointed tsk tsk tsk sound, putting on an air of aloofness and pretending as though she’s already returned to reading her book when she adds, “We did have an agreement,”

“The agreement!,” Chimney echoes, clenching a fist theatrically, “is nothing sacred in this house?”

“Ugh,” Buck pouts, matching Chimney’s energy, “you’re so dramatic. We’re not allowed to sit next to each other anymore?”

Eddie sinks a little into the sofa, absolutely burning with the flush across his face.

“Sitting, I can forgive. But hand-holding?,” Chim says, closing a drawer as punctuation, “I dare say that’s a public display of affection, little brother,”

Buck’s posturing immediately melts into sleepy fondness as his gaze snaps to Eddie, and says, “Aw… you were holding my hand?”

Which just causes Hen and Chim to break out into a chorus of gagging and groaning.

“Alright, alright,” Bobby placates from where he’s cresting the stairs to the loft, amusement clearly painted across his put-upon captain’s demeanor, “I think they have a right to a little unobtrusive hand holding,”

“Excuse you!” Chim says with mock affront, pointing with the spoonful of peanut butter he’s just scavenged, “It is my right—nay, my privilege—nay! My duty! My privileged duty, as newly minted brother, to embarrass one Evan Buckley,”

Eddie opens his mouth to argue that Buck is not the only one being embarrassed here, when Chimney directs his peanut butter scepter Eddie’s way and adds,

“And if his boyfriend gets caught in the crossfire,” he pauses for dramatic effect, before decreeing with a lofted spoon: “so be it!”

And the thing is, it’s new.

The boyfriend of it all.

And it just makes his flush blaze anew as something pleased and hungry and elated blooms so strongly and suddenly in his chest and has to fold over into Buck.

“Ohh, that got you, huh?” Buck coos, teasing and affectionate and full of love as he wraps an arm around Eddie’s shoulders, easily accepting the way Eddie tucks his face into the juncture of his shoulder and neck to hide his blush.

The heckling picks up, Buck shakes with laughter underneath him, and Eddie snakes his arm across Buck’s lap to grasp onto his hand again.

[spearxwind]

SHUT 🤏 UP

[slurmpinheimer]

And that is the story of how Harry learned he cannot *Out-Kim* The One and Only Kim Kitsuragi