#food mention /

[andillwriteyouatragedy]

cannot stop thinking about that upcoming ham dinner.

[mephy-doodle-dandy]

Mephistopheles! He’s a real sweetie-pie with me! 🥰

Happy Valentine‘s Day!!!

Reblog with one of your F/Os to receive candy from them :3c

[deepdisireslonging]

Just a Movie

It feels like the world is going to hell in a handbasket. Finn takes the time to give the Reader a bit of peace.

Pairing: Finn Balor x Reader

Warnings/Promises: Fluff, SMUT, winter weather, food mention, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, p-in-v

Word Count: 2240

Note: Wanted to give my writing bestie @neversatisfiedgirlfics a little treat. Happy Valentine’s, dearie!

He had gone all out. Blankets. A flickering fire. And a pile of movies to choose from. There were your favorites from Jurassic Park to Sleeping Beauty, classics like Gilda and Philadelphia Story, and movies always in your rotation like The Mummy and Howls Moving Castle. With the snow piled high outside, you chose The Mummy. What better way to escape the cold than with a giant pile of blankets and a movie set in the desert?

Finn snuggled close under his own pile of blankets. He kept you plied with hot chocolate. And, when Evie and Rick had cutesy moments on screen, he nuzzled his nose along your cheekbone and under your jaw. It never failed to make him grin when you said your favorite lines before the characters did. And, despite him doing it every time you watched this movie, he squeezed you suddenly when a mummified Anuksunamun popped up. It made you squeal, making him laugh.

When the credits began to roll, you cracked open your blankets to snuggle into his.

You squinted at him. “What was all this for?” Innocent as sin, he tried to avoid your gaze. But you drew him back by nestling your head into the curve of his neck. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, Love.” He kissed your forehead. “I wanted to give you a little bit of a rest. You’ve had a lot going on.” His cheek rested against yours. “We both have.”

The movie finally reverted to the home screen. Finn turned off the tv. Outside, the snow created a muffled barrier to the world. The fire crackled like static in the silence, lulling you closer and closer to sleep. Finn breathed steadily. You began to match his rhythm, breathing in unison until you couldn’t tell your exhale from his, and his inhale from yours. Every so often, you hummed contentedly. Finn’s hand rested on your thigh. His thumb smoothed back and forth, creating little arches in the fabric of your lounge-wear.

You tried not to think about what the world had in store for your tomorrow. Or what it had done to you already in the days and months past. Despite all the stress and barriers, there would still be laundry to do, and dishes to wash. Finn always folded and put away what clothes you dumped into the clean hamper after a wash. And he washed the dishes so you could dry them and put them away. In every task shared at home, his body was a reassuring, reoccurring wall to bump into. He was sturdy when you wanted to fall. And he let you pour your heart into caring for him when you needed to create proof of goodness in the world.

A log crackled and split in the fireplace.

The thoughts swirling in your head popped like a soap bubble. Instead of thinking about yesterday or tomorrow, you focused on the warmth of the blankets. Finn’s even breathing. How loved you felt. Finn’s thumb was still making little arches in the fabric of your lounge pants.

You could have sat together forever.

But Finn was so warm. You couldn’t stop rubbing your hands across his stomach. Down his thighs. Dipping under his shirt to feel his warm flesh against your fingertips. Finn’s breath caught. His sigh hummed across your forehead.

“What do you need, moi ghrá?”

“You’re so warm.”

“Mhmm.” He inhaled deeply and gave your forehead a lingering kiss. “So are you.” His stomach contracted as your nails grazed over the hills and valleys of his muscles. “Then again, you are playing with fire. It’s easy to be warm with a woman like you.” Finn’s mouth lingered from your forehead, down your cheek, and under your jawline. He suckled softly on the curve of your neck, making you gasp. “Is this what you were after, a stór? I thought we were having a movie day.”

You swallowed hard. “I thought so too. You gonna put in the next one?”

But he continued to kiss around your neck, across your collarbone, and to lick at the hollow of your throat.

“Finn?”

“Hmm?”

“How long have you been planning this?” You yelped as he guided you back into the couch cushions. Your chest heaved as his hands slid up under your sweatshirt.

“No plan,” he hummed. “Just knew I wanted to take care of you. In any way that you needed.” His breath stuttered as he found you bra-less and breathless for him. “How am I doing so far?”

You bit your lip as his hand squeezed around your breast. “Don’t stop.”

If his face hadn’t been so pretty, the lurid grin that crossed it would have been irksome. But his hands kneaded across your body. Any aches or pains that life had knotted into your joints was massaged away. And underneath your skin, your body pulsed with the growing desire that Finn was sure to pour into you. He removed your lounge pants, humming with delight to find you bare there too. He licked his lips.

Finn kissed you deeply, distracting you from how he leaned back, dragging you with him. But instead of finding yourself face-to-face with him, he continued to lay back and guided you to sit on his stomach.

“Finn?” You nervously looked between him and the windows in front of you. The sheers were drawn. But even they didn’t fully block out the winter wonderland outside. Nor would they block the view of the warm interior from the outside. Your eyes crossed as he dragged a finger through your slick, noisily sucking on his fingers. Next thing you knew, he had you situated over his face. “Baby... the neighbors.”

“So?” His nose traced little circles to the inside of your thighs.

“Someone might see.”

He grunted. “So let ‘em see. I am not moving from this spot, and neither are you,” he flattened his tongue against your sex to make your back arch. “Not until you don’t care about the world anymore.”

A sad laugh bubbled out of you. “Then we could be here for a while.” You tried to dismount his face.

But Finn wrapped his arms around the back of your thighs and held you down. He growled, sending the vibrations where he knew would make you tremble. “Then we’re here for a while.” His loving glare deepened as you tried to hover and not smother him. “Nobody, not Samoa Joe or Roman or Cesaro has been able to do what you’re scared to do. If I need to breathe, I’ll find a way. Now get down here.”

Pinning you down over his mouth, Finn began to lick and suck and lap happily at your sex. Your head fell forward and lolled to the side with the sudden onslaught of pleasure. Bracing your hand forward against the arm rest, you did your best not to roll your hips. But Finn rolled them for you. He slid you back and forth against his tongue.

Staggered, you raked your hand across the end table, knocking the remnants of the hot chocolate mugs into the floor. You couldn’t find it in yourself to be bothered by the mess. Not when Finn was making happy noises under you, turning you into another kind of mess,  and devouring you like his last meal. When he did finally pull back for air, his face glistened with your arousal. The top curve of his cheeks were pink with delight. And his smile was downright pussy-drunk.

“How ‘ya feelin’ a stór?”

The tiny whimper that passed through your lips was not what you intended to say. But he got the gist.

With a chuckle, he dove back in. Sucking at your clit, he made you see stars. Any source of light in the room that your eyes glanced over had a halo from his power over you. Or maybe it was just double vision from the same reason. Your hips moved of their own accord. He sucked hard on your clit, finally making you cry out with release. But he didn’t stop attacking your bud until your thighs were shaking and you were begging for mercy.

“You gotta let me breathe, baby,” you whined.

He loudly lapped up your release. “So breathe.” But he did take pity on your sensitivity. Soon, you were once again on your back against the couch pillows. He messily kissed from one side of your neck to the other. When he pulled back to look at you, your hand on his cheek tilted. You ran your thumb across his lips. They were beautiful on a normal day, and plumped from eating you out. As your other hand reached for his length still trapped in his own sweats, he grunted. Finn resisted your efforts to turn him over.

You pouted. “Wanna do the same for you.”

“Nuh-uh. You get your mouth on me and I’ll blow in a minute.”

“And what am I supposed to do when you get your cock in me?”

He shrugged. “Clamp down on me ‘till I see God? It has been a minute since we chatted.” With a chuckle, he dragged his length into the open. His eyes closed and he hissed, his hand gently fisting himself. He rasped, “I’ve been hesitatin’ to speak to a priest. Don’t want to threaten his frock with the details of what I’ve been doin’ to ya. Or what else I want to do to ya.”

You made whatever sounds you pleased as he slowly filled you. The stretch and drag of him pulled desperate groans from between your lips. But you also held your breath so you could hear Finn’s pants and moans. You ran your hand up under his sweatshirt, whining until he dragged it over his head and out of the way. Now you could really see him. How his stomach flexed and contracted as he tried to hold himself together. How his chest heaved in rhythm with yours. And how his arms flexed on either side of your head once he was fully seated within you.

It was taking him too long to move. You tried to roll your hips, needy for the friction. But Finn’s hands rushed to pin you down.

“Need another minute.” He breathed heavily. Eyes closed, and plump lips parted, he fought to hold off on his release.

“Breathe,” you cooed.

If he caught the sass riding on your tongue, he didn’t mention it. But he did catch his breath. Resolve finally as hard as the rest of him, he slowly dragged his cock from you before thrusting again. You arched, canting your body as best as you could to feel every inch of him. He didn’t hesitate to give you any of it. Again, the room acquired a halo. With the window behind him bright with the snow outside, he was backlight for your viewing pleasure. He shoved up the hem of your sweatshirt so he could have access to your breasts again. Leaning forward, he caught your nipple between his teeth. As your body rocked, he lightly nipped at the bud and the side of your breast. Your walls fluttered around him.

Beneath you, the couch legs creaked. If the whole thing started to move, you wouldn’t have been surprised. But you were too busy being folded in half to give a damn about scratches on the floor. Finn’s pace increased. His brow scrunched as he fought to keep his eyes open. You couldn’t return the effort. Your vision, already blurry around the edges, kept blacking out each time you blinked. It was nice being able to feel him, and to hear his grunts and muttered Irish promises.

Finn’s pace took on a frantic chase. You cried out beneath him. Your nails dragged thin red welts down his stomach. But his goal was at hand. Just a few more thrusts. And a few more. Your body quaked and shivered as you fell apart. He continued to thrust as you cried out, wailing his name. A shudder ran up his spine. With a shout, he followed you down into bliss.

With both of you panting, Finn collapsed onto your chest. His hot breath puffed across your chest, still on display while your sweatshirt was bunch up over your breasts. Chuckling, he kissed at the valley between them.

“You ready for round two?”

Gasping with a smile, you asked, “that was all round one?” Your fingers stroked at the hair at the nape of his neck. “Sure. Just... give me a minute?” Kissing at his heaving chest, you pushed him back till he was seated. You straddled his waist.

His hands rubbed back and forth over your thighs. Kissing under your jaw, he grinned against your skin. “I was thinking about The Mummy Returns, but this works too.”

“What?” You nipped at his jaw. “You can’t just... rock my world and then tell me we’re going back to watching a movie.”

“Why not?”

“How the hell am I supposed to focus when I’ve got all that,” you waved your hand over the general area of his physique, “sitting right next to me?”

After locating your scattered clothes, he helped you back into your lounge pants. “Dunno. But we’re supposed to be relaxing. So sit back.” He reburied you under your blankets and put in the next film. “Relax. And enjoy the show.”

It wasn’t fifteen minutes before his wandering hands found you again for “round two.”

***

Master List

Finn Balor/Prince Devitt Masterlist

[juicedpeachy]

“I’m gonna make some chicken and rice” I say. You watch in horror as I top my sticky rice with buffalo chicken wings and ranch

[tj-crochets]

Three of them!

In a repeat of the worm incident, I looked over at my shelf, saw the perfect fabric for a thing, and am now making a bunch of them This time it's strawberries! Using up the last of my red dot minky

[prokopetz]

The real reason your sapient dragon character needs a "rider":

Dragons on the wing are vulnerable to being mobbed by smaller, more agile flyers, particularly in your large rear blind spot, like a bird of prey being mobbed by crows. Having a human armed with a long spear perched on your back helps to dissuade anyone from getting any funny ideas.

Breath weapons are impressive enough on the ground, but in flight they're really only good for strafing stationary targets; trying to use your breath weapon in an aerial dogfight is a good way to get fire up your nose. A real fight calls for sterner measures – and, concomitantly, a crew to aim and reload the cannons.

In today's competitive world, it's not enough to devour a flock of sheep and call it a day if you want to keep your edge. You're accompanied at all times by a qualified personal alchemist tasked with carefully regulating your internal furnace to ensure peak performance, and sometimes you even listen to them.

No dragon of any quality would be caught dead without their valet. It's not as though you can announce your numerous long-winded titles yourself when introductions are called for, can you? You suppose next you'll be expected to pick up the spoils of your conquests yourself, like a common brigand. Perish the thought!

[writing-is-a-martial-art]

You meet god and she's mostly dead fish. You ask her why and she says most of the world is dead fish, and she's made herself to appeal to the most common denominator, the everyman funnyman comedy show that runs for eleven seasons but with the entire universe in mind. You ask her how much of the dead fish is your fault, she says it's far less than you'd think, in the grand scheme of things. You ask her if you matter at all. If you can do anything. She shrugs her rotting shoulders and says mattering is a made-up concept, like life, but sure, you can matter if you want to, on some scale. She has many scales. She doesn't know what you mean by 'anything', but you can do everything you can. You ask her if it's enough. She says there's no base requirement for deserving to exist. She's smoking a joint and the smoke filtering out of her gills gathers and forms gas giants and red dwarfs. You ask her if there's any hidden secrets of the universe you should know and she says it's not a secret if she tells, plus it's fun to let you figure it out yourself. You ask her if any of your questions were right questions and she says you worry about being right so much it might keep you from fucking around, which is as close to meaning of life as she ever bothered to make. You don't ask but she says she loves your hair, also your whole being, also your planet. She says she figured out what love is yesterday and is trying it out, which explains the ten thousand rainbows and sudden influx in rains of fish. She offers you a drag of her joint and you wake up half past midnight behind a chain restaurant clutching a smoked salmon. The new stars are winking like they're in on some joke and you're sure if you try hard enough you'll remember what it is.

[catfindr]

[thebibliosphere]

MCAS update: since starting iron treatment with the aim to get my ferritin stores over 100 for migraine prevention, I’ve finally been able to raise my protein intake.

(Hey, did you guys know that while some MCAS patients present with abnormally high levels of ferritin, low ferritin can cause mast cells to degranulate? And mast cells store and release ferritin when they degranulate, so it’s like a shitty ouroboros of self-fulfilling misery? I didn’t. No one told me, the person with a mast cell disease and chronic lifelong anemia 🙃🙃🙃)

This is a big deal for me because even after years of treatment, this time last year I was living on 7-16g of protein a day because attempting to eat more than that was priming me for an anaphylactic reaction.

As of today, after 3 months of consistent iron treatment, I’m able to eat 50-60g a day.

Progress!!! ��

[sleepymccoy]

This is also a bit of a culture query, cos these are all in my house so I genuinely cook with these all (except chicken salt, that's been in my cupboard for ages)

But I'm not from the USA and most people here are, so I wonder if that's similar! Maybe your cupboard is identical to mine. Maybe we use the same stuff but call it something else. Maybe USA has a different relationship with pre mix spices and you use none of it. Maybe you've never heard of pre mix spices. I dunno. That's why I'm asking!

I use plain herbs and spices as well. Especially when making a complex meal I'll do it myself. But I use pre mixes other times, so I'm voting. Voting for a pre mix doesn't mean you don't also use paprika! If you genuinely have no pre mixes in the kitchen tho, then hell yeah, tell me!

Also, I know I haven't listed everything in the world. One, that's impossible. Two, this is a bit of a culture thing so I just checked my kitchen and used those. This selection is representative of me only

(you don't have to be from the USA to vote, obvs, we just all know that's how the results will end up. Please tell me about your spice mixes in other countries!!)

Morrison spice blend: Pepper, tumeric, ginger, cardamom, parsley, salt

Chinese five spice: Star anise, cinnamon, clove, fennel, Sichuan pepper

Chicken salt: Salt, chicken stock, garlic, paprika, pepper, onion, celery

Gluhwein gewurz: Orange peel, cinnamon, lemon peel, star anise, hibiscus, clove

Chimichurri: parsley, garlic, oregano, vinegar, chilli, salt, pepper

Za'atar: thyme, cumin, coriander, sesame seeds, sumac, salt, chilli

Garam masala: coriander, cumin, cardamom, cloves, pepper, cinnamon, nutmeg

[remindertoclick]

Your reminder to Click for Palestine today!

Once you've done that, here's a fun poll to say thank you!

[espeonkin]

light? never, MUST DIE

PRINCESS are my favorite guy

DINNER, i'm wanting more

DUKE ONKLED, scrub the floor

OAH, hear the king go munf

SQUADALA, we are off!

TOASTERS TOASTING overload

EVERYBODY PIIIIIIIIINGAAAAAAS

[deepdisireslonging]

💜💜💜

Just a Movie

It feels like the world is going to hell in a handbasket. Finn takes the time to give the Reader a bit of peace.

Pairing: Finn Balor x Reader

Warnings/Promises: Fluff, SMUT, winter weather, food mention, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, p-in-v

Word Count: 2240

Note: Wanted to give my writing bestie @neversatisfiedgirlfics a little treat. Happy Valentine’s, dearie!

He had gone all out. Blankets. A flickering fire. And a pile of movies to choose from. There were your favorites from Jurassic Park to Sleeping Beauty, classics like Gilda and Philadelphia Story, and movies always in your rotation like The Mummy and Howls Moving Castle. With the snow piled high outside, you chose The Mummy. What better way to escape the cold than with a giant pile of blankets and a movie set in the desert?

Finn snuggled close under his own pile of blankets. He kept you plied with hot chocolate. And, when Evie and Rick had cutesy moments on screen, he nuzzled his nose along your cheekbone and under your jaw. It never failed to make him grin when you said your favorite lines before the characters did. And, despite him doing it every time you watched this movie, he squeezed you suddenly when a mummified Anuksunamun popped up. It made you squeal, making him laugh.

When the credits began to roll, you cracked open your blankets to snuggle into his.

You squinted at him. “What was all this for?” Innocent as sin, he tried to avoid your gaze. But you drew him back by nestling your head into the curve of his neck. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, Love.” He kissed your forehead. “I wanted to give you a little bit of a rest. You’ve had a lot going on.” His cheek rested against yours. “We both have.”

The movie finally reverted to the home screen. Finn turned off the tv. Outside, the snow created a muffled barrier to the world. The fire crackled like static in the silence, lulling you closer and closer to sleep. Finn breathed steadily. You began to match his rhythm, breathing in unison until you couldn’t tell your exhale from his, and his inhale from yours. Every so often, you hummed contentedly. Finn’s hand rested on your thigh. His thumb smoothed back and forth, creating little arches in the fabric of your lounge-wear.

You tried not to think about what the world had in store for your tomorrow. Or what it had done to you already in the days and months past. Despite all the stress and barriers, there would still be laundry to do, and dishes to wash. Finn always folded and put away what clothes you dumped into the clean hamper after a wash. And he washed the dishes so you could dry them and put them away. In every task shared at home, his body was a reassuring, reoccurring wall to bump into. He was sturdy when you wanted to fall. And he let you pour your heart into caring for him when you needed to create proof of goodness in the world.

A log crackled and split in the fireplace.

The thoughts swirling in your head popped like a soap bubble. Instead of thinking about yesterday or tomorrow, you focused on the warmth of the blankets. Finn’s even breathing. How loved you felt. Finn’s thumb was still making little arches in the fabric of your lounge pants.

You could have sat together forever.

But Finn was so warm. You couldn’t stop rubbing your hands across his stomach. Down his thighs. Dipping under his shirt to feel his warm flesh against your fingertips. Finn’s breath caught. His sigh hummed across your forehead.

“What do you need, moi ghrá?”

“You’re so warm.”

“Mhmm.” He inhaled deeply and gave your forehead a lingering kiss. “So are you.” His stomach contracted as your nails grazed over the hills and valleys of his muscles. “Then again, you are playing with fire. It’s easy to be warm with a woman like you.” Finn’s mouth lingered from your forehead, down your cheek, and under your jawline. He suckled softly on the curve of your neck, making you gasp. “Is this what you were after, a stór? I thought we were having a movie day.”

You swallowed hard. “I thought so too. You gonna put in the next one?”

But he continued to kiss around your neck, across your collarbone, and to lick at the hollow of your throat.

“Finn?”

“Hmm?”

“How long have you been planning this?” You yelped as he guided you back into the couch cushions. Your chest heaved as his hands slid up under your sweatshirt.

“No plan,” he hummed. “Just knew I wanted to take care of you. In any way that you needed.” His breath stuttered as he found you bra-less and breathless for him. “How am I doing so far?”

You bit your lip as his hand squeezed around your breast. “Don’t stop.”

If his face hadn’t been so pretty, the lurid grin that crossed it would have been irksome. But his hands kneaded across your body. Any aches or pains that life had knotted into your joints was massaged away. And underneath your skin, your body pulsed with the growing desire that Finn was sure to pour into you. He removed your lounge pants, humming with delight to find you bare there too. He licked his lips.

Finn kissed you deeply, distracting you from how he leaned back, dragging you with him. But instead of finding yourself face-to-face with him, he continued to lay back and guided you to sit on his stomach.

“Finn?” You nervously looked between him and the windows in front of you. The sheers were drawn. But even they didn’t fully block out the winter wonderland outside. Nor would they block the view of the warm interior from the outside. Your eyes crossed as he dragged a finger through your slick, noisily sucking on his fingers. Next thing you knew, he had you situated over his face. “Baby... the neighbors.”

“So?” His nose traced little circles to the inside of your thighs.

“Someone might see.”

He grunted. “So let ‘em see. I am not moving from this spot, and neither are you,” he flattened his tongue against your sex to make your back arch. “Not until you don’t care about the world anymore.”

A sad laugh bubbled out of you. “Then we could be here for a while.” You tried to dismount his face.

But Finn wrapped his arms around the back of your thighs and held you down. He growled, sending the vibrations where he knew would make you tremble. “Then we’re here for a while.” His loving glare deepened as you tried to hover and not smother him. “Nobody, not Samoa Joe or Roman or Cesaro has been able to do what you’re scared to do. If I need to breathe, I’ll find a way. Now get down here.”

Pinning you down over his mouth, Finn began to lick and suck and lap happily at your sex. Your head fell forward and lolled to the side with the sudden onslaught of pleasure. Bracing your hand forward against the arm rest, you did your best not to roll your hips. But Finn rolled them for you. He slid you back and forth against his tongue.

Staggered, you raked your hand across the end table, knocking the remnants of the hot chocolate mugs into the floor. You couldn’t find it in yourself to be bothered by the mess. Not when Finn was making happy noises under you, turning you into another kind of mess,  and devouring you like his last meal. When he did finally pull back for air, his face glistened with your arousal. The top curve of his cheeks were pink with delight. And his smile was downright pussy-drunk.

“How ‘ya feelin’ a stór?”

The tiny whimper that passed through your lips was not what you intended to say. But he got the gist.

With a chuckle, he dove back in. Sucking at your clit, he made you see stars. Any source of light in the room that your eyes glanced over had a halo from his power over you. Or maybe it was just double vision from the same reason. Your hips moved of their own accord. He sucked hard on your clit, finally making you cry out with release. But he didn’t stop attacking your bud until your thighs were shaking and you were begging for mercy.

“You gotta let me breathe, baby,” you whined.

He loudly lapped up your release. “So breathe.” But he did take pity on your sensitivity. Soon, you were once again on your back against the couch pillows. He messily kissed from one side of your neck to the other. When he pulled back to look at you, your hand on his cheek tilted. You ran your thumb across his lips. They were beautiful on a normal day, and plumped from eating you out. As your other hand reached for his length still trapped in his own sweats, he grunted. Finn resisted your efforts to turn him over.

You pouted. “Wanna do the same for you.”

“Nuh-uh. You get your mouth on me and I’ll blow in a minute.”

“And what am I supposed to do when you get your cock in me?”

He shrugged. “Clamp down on me ‘till I see God? It has been a minute since we chatted.” With a chuckle, he dragged his length into the open. His eyes closed and he hissed, his hand gently fisting himself. He rasped, “I’ve been hesitatin’ to speak to a priest. Don’t want to threaten his frock with the details of what I’ve been doin’ to ya. Or what else I want to do to ya.”

You made whatever sounds you pleased as he slowly filled you. The stretch and drag of him pulled desperate groans from between your lips. But you also held your breath so you could hear Finn’s pants and moans. You ran your hand up under his sweatshirt, whining until he dragged it over his head and out of the way. Now you could really see him. How his stomach flexed and contracted as he tried to hold himself together. How his chest heaved in rhythm with yours. And how his arms flexed on either side of your head once he was fully seated within you.

It was taking him too long to move. You tried to roll your hips, needy for the friction. But Finn’s hands rushed to pin you down.

“Need another minute.” He breathed heavily. Eyes closed, and plump lips parted, he fought to hold off on his release.

“Breathe,” you cooed.

If he caught the sass riding on your tongue, he didn’t mention it. But he did catch his breath. Resolve finally as hard as the rest of him, he slowly dragged his cock from you before thrusting again. You arched, canting your body as best as you could to feel every inch of him. He didn’t hesitate to give you any of it. Again, the room acquired a halo. With the window behind him bright with the snow outside, he was backlight for your viewing pleasure. He shoved up the hem of your sweatshirt so he could have access to your breasts again. Leaning forward, he caught your nipple between his teeth. As your body rocked, he lightly nipped at the bud and the side of your breast. Your walls fluttered around him.

Beneath you, the couch legs creaked. If the whole thing started to move, you wouldn’t have been surprised. But you were too busy being folded in half to give a damn about scratches on the floor. Finn’s pace increased. His brow scrunched as he fought to keep his eyes open. You couldn’t return the effort. Your vision, already blurry around the edges, kept blacking out each time you blinked. It was nice being able to feel him, and to hear his grunts and muttered Irish promises.

Finn’s pace took on a frantic chase. You cried out beneath him. Your nails dragged thin red welts down his stomach. But his goal was at hand. Just a few more thrusts. And a few more. Your body quaked and shivered as you fell apart. He continued to thrust as you cried out, wailing his name. A shudder ran up his spine. With a shout, he followed you down into bliss.

With both of you panting, Finn collapsed onto your chest. His hot breath puffed across your chest, still on display while your sweatshirt was bunch up over your breasts. Chuckling, he kissed at the valley between them.

“You ready for round two?”

Gasping with a smile, you asked, “that was all round one?” Your fingers stroked at the hair at the nape of his neck. “Sure. Just... give me a minute?” Kissing at his heaving chest, you pushed him back till he was seated. You straddled his waist.

His hands rubbed back and forth over your thighs. Kissing under your jaw, he grinned against your skin. “I was thinking about The Mummy Returns, but this works too.”

“What?” You nipped at his jaw. “You can’t just... rock my world and then tell me we’re going back to watching a movie.”

“Why not?”

“How the hell am I supposed to focus when I’ve got all that,” you waved your hand over the general area of his physique, “sitting right next to me?”

After locating your scattered clothes, he helped you back into your lounge pants. “Dunno. But we’re supposed to be relaxing. So sit back.” He reburied you under your blankets and put in the next film. “Relax. And enjoy the show.”

It wasn’t fifteen minutes before his wandering hands found you again for “round two.”

***

Master List

Finn Balor/Prince Devitt Masterlist

[iluvyoubuddy]

these were the most popular on this post if I missed other popular ones I'm sorry

* note: they can be non-dairy for those who don't/can't eat regular ice cream and also gelato and sorbet count

[clockwayswrites]

Danny in Metropolis part 4

oh look, gave in, masterpost

by HH discord vote, wrote on this while waiting for my nerve test today (good news, nerves good. bad news, hands bad because ?????. other news, OW) which was nice because this is very soft and I was very nervous about it all. Apparently I had another chunk not posted here too so have a decent bit!

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“Yeah, well, you just met—saw? You just saw my parents. They’re just sort of like that. Everything always becomes dramatic,” Danny said, some of his humor fading as he talked about his family.

“I’ll remember not to come over for dinner,” Conner said with a purposefully light tone.

Danny snorted. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t subject you to that horror. Easier to just eat out anyways.”

“And yet you don’t eat lunch,” Conner pointed out.

Danny ducked his head and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, school lunches aren’t exactly appetizing.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Conner agreed after a beat. Him and Dad might still have some issues that they were working through, but Clark made sure that Conner always had a lunch to take to school, no matter how busy he was with a story. The only times there wasn’t a lunch is when Clark was off world for three or more days.

Conner wondered if Dad would mind making an extra one.

“Anything you hate?” Conner asked curiously.

Danny gave a little shrug. His fingers twisted restlessly against Conner’s. “That’s a complicated question.”

“I’m okay with complicated answers.”

“Turkey and chicken, but only if it’s the whole bird. Hot dogs. I guess all meat can be iffy a lot, depends on the day. Tofu. Um, plain broths and Jello at this point. Anything fake cherry favored. Lime Gatorade,” Danny listed off in a rush.

Conner blinked. “Okay.” He’d do his best to remember that.

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Like, I think that’s actually not that hard to work around. And you can remind me if I forget anything, but, like, I’ll try not to,” Conner said. He gave Danny’s hand a reassuring little squeeze.

Danny stared down at their clasped hands like it was the most confusing thing.

Conner tried not to worry too much about it. Danny could be odd like that.

The shop was actually a pretty nice one. Maybe it was a little too hipster, but it was a coffee shop. The music could be worse and the spray painted art on the wall was actually pretty cool. There was no one waiting, so Conner pulled them up to the front where they could easily read the menu to make their choices.

He nudged Danny gently with his elbow. “They have some vegetarian stuff, if it’s one of those days.”

“The beetroot sandwich is damn good,” the heavily tattooed barista who was waiting on them said.

“Yeah?” Danny said, looking over that on the board. “I’ll do that, I guess, and a large iced coffee.”

“Whole milk, skim, or oat milk?”

“Oh, um, whole is fine,” Danny said.

“Same drink for me, but I’ll do the avocado BLT,” Conner decided. He went to pull out his phone to pay, but Danny beat him to it, holding out a credit card.

“My treat, since we couldn’t work at my place,” Danny said quickly.

Conner huffed. “Fine. But next study session is my treat then.”

“You two can go ahead and have a seat, I’ll bring your stuff over soon,” the barista said with a smile as they handed back Danny’s card.

Conner followed Danny’s lead over to a comfortable looking pair of armchairs around a low table. They were forced to finally let go of each other’s hands to sit, and Conner tried not to pout. Now that he knew Danny would let him, Conner figured he could find another excuse to hold Danny’s hand if he worked at it.

Danny pulled out his sleek, new laptop and set it open on the table. The assignment was already open on the screen, glaring in the large, red text that Mrs. Simmons liked to use for all of her assignment headers. It was especially bold on the black background of the dark mode that Danny seemed to keep everything in.

Under every poet’s name, Danny had typed a sentence or two about them. It was far from academic writing (some of it was actually hilariously blunt), but it actually had some really useful information.

“Damn, Danny, you call this only a little?” Conner asked as he scanned over the notes.

Danny fidgeted in his seat. “I mean. Just like I said, I'm not good at English work and I don't want to be why you get a bad grade.”

“Hey,” Conner leaned over and bumped their shoulders together, “it's just a grade.”

“Yeah, try saying that in my house with two doctorate already and a third on the way with my sister,” Danny muttered.

“Well, good thing we aren't in your house then,” Conner joked. When Danny rolled his eyes, Conner reached out and tapped Danny’s hand, getting the other to look at him. “It’s just a grade, Danny, but I'll do my best to make sure that it's a good one, okay?”

Danny’s smile was a little wobbly, but at least it was there. “Thanks.”

“Course. Tell me what you've done so far.”

His smile turned shier, but Danny started to explain that he’d wiki searched the poets and also scanned whatever there most famous poem was. He didn’t really know how to talk about the poems, but tried to write a word or two about them. As they went through the list, it was clear that Danny already had some he didn’t like, by the way his nose wrinkled as he talked about them, scrunching up his freckles. He also had some good points about some poets that they shouldn’t do as two white guys. Conner didn’t know if he actually really counted as a white guy, not with Clark, but he figured since socially Clark was seen and raise as one, it fit as much as anything.

(Not like Conner could talk about the whole half alien clone thing anyways.)

[outofcontextdiscord]