#i think they all turned out pretty damn good

[queenofthequillandink]

Apparently adding onto these DPxDC posts is what's getting my creative writing brain going lately.

Danny tells Damian a lightly sanitized version of events as Danny Fenton The Civilian would remember them. He'd prefer to keep the lying to an absolute minimum and Damian deserves to know. He's usually calm when stuff like this comes up; being a Gotham citizen is a lot like being an Amity Park citizen. You just get used to handling shit. Danny's so used to Damian taking things in stride that sometimes, he forgets his boyfriend is just a civilian.

So Danny expects a calm admonishment about being more careful walking home, maybe an insistence on letting Damian call him a cab or an Uber the next time they're out and about late.

He's not expecting his boyfriend to go full Ghostbusters on the situation.

"Damian, I'll really be fine. Got kidnapped by some bogus cultists, the Batclan showed up and kicked ass, all cultists are now in prison awaiting trial. How many cults can one city have?"

"There are 63 individual cult or cult-like sects identified as operating within Gotham City limits," Damian replies, serious as he is with most things. Damn, Amity only had 18 last time he checked. Though it's a much smaller city, so that's probably why. "Even if you think it's foolish, I would prefer you wear this charm. I took the time to have it affixed to an accessory I thought you would like."

Danny does like the braided leather cuff bracelet Damian's presenting. Unfortunately, the small metal amulet inscribed with runes is the real deal, instead of being new age bullshit that Danny wouldn't have a care in the world about keeping on. Trust Damian to find the one spiritual shop in the city that knows its stuff. The bracelet hums with power he can already feel itching all over him from here, and he hasn't even touched the stupid thing yet. Damn, it makes Danny feel like a complete asshole to turn down the gift Damian clearly put so much thought into.

"Babe," he says gently, putting his hands on Damian's wrists. He can't grip any closer to the bracelet. "I appreciate it, I really do. But I'll be fine. You don't need to worry."

Damian frowns harder. "It won't hurt you to wear it." Unfortunately, false. "You can't just keep it on for my sake?"

Would that I could, Dames. Danny looks away, a little ashamed of the card he's about to pull. But desperate times. "It, uh. It reminds me of my parents, actually," he admits softly. "They had stuff like this all over the house. I'd prefer not to be reminded, if I can help it." The worst part is, it's not even a lie. They were more into the high-tech side of ghost hunting, not the occult, but the buzzing, unwelcome feeling sets his teeth on edge and reminds him of the home defense system that shot him 7 times out of 10 when he tried to enter his parents' house.

Damian sucks in a breath through his teeth. Danny hasn't divulged much about the home life he and Jazz are running from, but Damian knows enough to know how touchy a subject it is. Reluctantly, he draws the offered bracelet back. "My apologies. I did not mean to remind you of darker times."

"Hey." Danny smiles slightly, reaching out to touch Damian's face. "It's okay, you didn't know. But I'm serious, you know. One-and-done kidnapping. You don't have to worry."

Damian scowls, looking away. "You cannot promise that.

Danny kind of can. He can escape pretty much any Rogue in this city whenever he wants to. Penguin's guys have unknowingly had him three separate times, with the longest capture lasting exactly 37 seconds.

But he can't say that, so he just turns Damian's face back to his, gently. "Hey. I'll take other precautions, okay? I'll always call you when I get home. I'll let you pay for a ride when it's a late night. Is that okay?"

"I suppose it will have to do," Damian huffs, folding his arms.

"Okay, good. I know you're worried, and that's fair. And I really appreciate the thought. Maybe I can take the bracelet without the charm? I do like it, you were right."

As Damian unhooks the amulet and stuffs it in his pocket, Danny breathes an internal sigh of relief. Damian's just got to let his mother hen instincts out, be overprotective for a little bit, and then things will go back to normal. He can handle a week or two of hovering! And he gets this cool new bracelet too.

~*~

Damian's first attempt at getting an anti-possession charm on Danny may have failed, but he doesn't come away from the conversation empty handed.

At first, he worried that the strange reluctance to wear so harmless (to Danny's knowledge, at least; Constantine does good work, no matter how obnoxious he is) a trinket was a sign of the King of the Dead's influence even now.

But his pattern of speech hadn't faltered or changed and the awkward shame and embarrassment of his reveal was real, as far as Damian can tell.

No, far more interesting is the revelation that Danny and Jasmine's parents are somehow involved in ghosts and the occult. Could they be the reason that the King of the Dead is interested in Danny as more than a one-time vessel?

Damian has been trying to respect Danny's privacy and not pry into his past. Richard says it's an important part of a relationship, to trust a partner to reveal their personal secrets when they're ready. Unfortunately, it appears that Danny's past has just become case relevant, and that makes it fair game as far as Damian is concerned. He'll just have to make the intrusion up later, once Danny is out of the King of the Dead's clutches for good.

DP x DC Prompt.

Deadserious

.

>Danny had a problem. He thought he handled it well. He couldn't tell his civillian boyfriend of his half-dead status.

He definitely couldn't let him find out by being summoned by some culty wannabes who wanted to rule the world.

Easy solution: Volunteer to be the sacrifice, turn his eyes green, and act like a Royal prick and powerful being. Get rescued by one of Gothams 50 vigilantes. And claim no memory.

Boom, secret identity underwraps.

He didn't expect everyone to treat him so fragile after.

>

Damian also had a problem. That problem, being his civilian boyfriend, was obviously possessed by a spirit of the ghastly ghost king and was utterly clueless about it.

And it was all his fault.

Danny Fenton was the next June Moore/ Enchantress. Except he was hosting one of the most powerful beings in the universe.

And that lovable idiot had no damn idea about it.

[sweetcherriexs]

good girl; b.e.

smut...

It had started innocently enough. billie was on tour, thousands of miles away, and the distance was starting to wear on both of you. you’d been texting throughout the day, little updates about your lives, but the conversation had taken a turn after dinner when billie sent a photo of herself backstage. She was leaning against a wall, all sweaty with hair stuck to her forehead and eyes hooded. she had that damn eyeliner on that made your pussy throbb and pulsate with need each time you saw her wearing it. the picture was casual, but the look on her face was anything but.

you had responded immediately. you’re killing me, bils. I can’t handle how fucking hot you are.

billie’s reply came swiftly. I know. and I know you’re lying in our bed, thinking about me.

how do you always know? you had typed back, cheeks flushing.

because I know you, baby. I know how bad you want me right now. for me to be inside you, for my mouth on your wet pussy

The flirting escalated quickly. billie’s messages became more explicit, her words laced with the kind of confidence that only she could pull off.

I’m thinking about how soft your skin feels under my hands. how you whimper when I kiss your neck. how you beg for my cock to be inside your pussy.

your fingers trembled as you typed. I miss your touch. I miss the way you make me feel. fuck, bils, please.

then tell me what you’re doing right now, billie pressed.

you hesitated, heart pounding. I’m in bed… thinking about you.

Are you touching yourself? billie’s message was direct, leaving no room for evasion.

your breath hitched. not yet

mm, will you?

you gulped at the message, hand itching to touch your pussy yes

send me a picture, pretty

The request made your stomach flip. you'd done this before, but it still felt daring—exhilarating. you propped your phone up, took a moment to adjust the lighting, and snapped a photo. your skin was flushed, hand resting on your thigh, and your lips parted. your sent it quickly without overthinking.

billie’s response was immediate. fuck, baby, you’re youre so hot. I wish I could be there to take care of you.

then tell me what you’d do, you typed back, fingers moving faster now, eager to know what billie's thinking about doing to you.

call me.

you didn't hesitate, pressing the call button in a second and she accepted the call immediately, her smooth voice ringing out "hey, baby" she mused, a smirk noticeable in her tone.

"hey, bils..." you panted out, breath heavy even though you haven't done anything. "tell me, please" you begged, already so worked up and desperate. you heard her chuckle on the other line before she spoke again;

"I’d start by kissing you. softly at first, just to tease you. then I’d bite your lip, just hard enough to make you gasp. would you like that?"

“yes,” your breathed, your free hand drifting lower.

“and then I’d move down your neck, leaving marks where only I can see them. I’d make sure everyone knows you’re mine.”

you moaned, fingers brushing against yourself through your pants. “billie…”

"ah- ah - ah... mm, I want you to strip for me, slowly. take off those clothes, pretty" billie's voice was like velvet, commanding yet sensual.

obediently, you began to undress, your fingers fumbling with the buttons of your shirt. billie smirked to herself, listening to your eager fumbling.

"That's my good girl. Now, slide those pants down... god i wish i could see you." billie's words were like a drug, sending a rush of heat between your thighs.

you complied, your movements becoming more fluid as you reveled in her instructions. the cool air caressed your naked skin, and you shivered, not from the temperature but from the intensity of her gaze, even though she was miles away. when the cool air of you and billie's bedroom hit your drenched pussy, you gasped the slightest bit, biting your lip in anticipation.

"good... now lie back" she instructs and you comply, shifting back and lying down with a shaky breath. "now, touch yourself, baby. slide your fingers down and tease that clit. I want to hear you moan for me." billie's voice was hoarse with desire, and you could almost feel her breath on your neck.

your fingers trembled as you brought them to your core, circling your clit gently at first, then with increasing pressure. "fuck, billie!" you whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut at the sensation. "fuck fuc-... mmm, yes, yes. please-" you gasped out almost incoherent phrases.

"that's it, baby. rub that pretty pussy. imagine its my fingers, hmm? stroking you, making you wetter." billie's words were a symphony of filth, and you were her willing conductor.

you moaned, your fingers working feverishly, picturing billie's long, slender digits joining yours, claiming your pleasure as her own.

“keep going, baby,” billie encouraged, her voice a mix of tenderness and authority. “tell me how it feels.”

“so-... so good, fuck." you moaned "I wish it was your hand, though. your mouth.”

billie’s exhale was sharp, as she drank in your words “I’d make you come so hard, pretty, I’d take my time, make you beg for it,"

your hips lifted off the bed, body craving the release only billie could give you. “please…”

"stop" you whined at the single command, but your body knew better, obeying her immediately. "good girl. touch your pretty tits"

you inhaled deeply, moving your wet hand up your body until it reached the plush mounds on your chest, squeezing them.

"that's right, baby. imagine my fingers playing with your nipples, pinching and rolling them between my thumbs and forefingers."

you whimpered again, rolling your hardened nipples between your fingers. tugging, rolling, repeat and anything in-between as you let out soft gasps.

your fingers slipped deeper between your folds, slick with desire, and you moaned as you imagined billie's hand moving in unison with yours, claiming your pleasure as her own.

"that's it, baby. you're doing so good. such a good girl" her voice only intensified the burn in your stomach further, breath coming in short gasps as your fingers pumped in and out of your sopping cunt, the sound of the wet squelching noticeable through the phone as your chest rose and fell with each thrust of your fingers.

"bils... bils- fuck, baby-" you moaned, rutting against your own hand. "I- shit, please-" your wrist was burning, but you couldn't stop. your fingers were plunging in and out of your wet pussy at an erratic pace, desperate and needy for release. for billie's touch.

“you sound so pretty when you’re like this,” billie murmured. “so desperate for me. I love hearing you fall apart.”

"I'm gon- please-... fuck, fuck... I'm gonna cum-" you moaned, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you imagined billie's fingers being the ones fucking you so good. "can-... can I? please, please" you panted, feeling your clit throb, needy for a touch as the knot in the bottom of your belly threatened to snap any second now.

billie hummed, the sound spurring your orgasm on even more and you whimpered. "I don't know, baby... can you?"

"please-" you gasp out again " I've been a good girl, bils. please-.."

billie smirked, letting out a breath before speaking. "cum for me, pretty girl. cum all over your own hand as you imagine it's mine"

the coil snapped, making you gasp loudly, back arching off the bed as you surrendered to the pleasure, your body convulsing as you climaxed, your cries echoing through the night. your body tensed as waves of pleasure crashed over you and you cried out billie’s name.

as you lay panting, Billie's soft laughter filled your ears. "Gosh I wish I was there... tasting your sensitive little pussy" she muttered, breath noticeably heavy and her voice husky.

"yeah?" you breathed out, your heart still pounding in your ears. "I'll do it for you-..." you said and your head came up to your lips, taking your drenched fingers into your mouth and moaning around them, pushing them deeper as you gagged around them before pulling it out.

"fuck" billie huffed "do you taste good, baby? hmm? tell me" she asked, her voice dropping an octave as the desire caught up to her.

"yes, yes I do" you nodded, though she can't see. "wish I was sucking your cock though" you heard billie groan on the other line, then some rustling before she spoke again.

"keep it up, pretty. it's my turn"

[jujuprincesinhasofia]

because Stranger Things did not say

“you shouldn't like things because people tell you you're supposed to" in s1,

"Nobody normal ever accomplished anything meaningful in this world" in s2,

"Instead of dating somebody because you think's gonna make you cooler, why not date somebody you actually enjoy being around?" in s3,

and screamed "It's forced conformity. That's what's killing the kids! That's the real monster." in s4

for people to assume a character's sexuality and use it as an argument to say there's no chance a ship is endgame, ignoring countless parallels with canon ships (crazy together, lost you, hand holding, screaming for the name, running to apologize, sleeping in the hospital, characters sacrificing their feelings, looking at lips, and more)

the show is called stranger things, its about NOT being what's considered normal, it will NOT have the boy and girl who met at 12 and kissed a few days later when she didn't even know what she liked be endgame if they don't work their many problems out (for example mike lying in the monologue)

but ultimately, its a show for the "nerds and freaks," it's a show for the "I'm not like your other friends. And I'm not like Nancy Wheeler"

it's about realizing that "I may be a shitty boyfriend but turns out I'm a pretty damn good babysitter" and that being "Platonic with a capital P" with a girl can be "bitchin" too

it wont be mileven endgame until el knows who she is without almost dying for more than one episode and without a boyfriend. come on, why do people want her to get proposed to at 18 when "there's more to life than stupid boys"

the show is about making "when you’re different, sometimes you feel like a mistake" people "feel like she’s not a mistake at all. Like she’s better for being different."

and well, if "fruit on your pizza is gnarly, you say? Well, I say try before you deny"

update abt posting a similar on reddit: people are surprisingly nice!!! im happy to have been proved wrong. 6 upvotes, a respectful comment saying im reaching, and not banned!!

update two: some downvotes :(

update three: some very mean people, some very nice people!!!!

update four: some are confusing, but no one cussed me out yet, im still happy bc of that nice person who doesn't even ship byler

update five: i got removed and called a very awful person lmao, it lasted an hour

[leighsartworks216]

You Don't Have To Say It

Sylus x gn!Reader

Makes references to past stories in the Raven universe

Inspired by this fic by @wriokitty <333

Warnings: fluff, established relationship, cuddling, kissing, literal sleeping together, declarations of love, swearing

Word Count: 787

Main Masterlist

The Raven Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You stare at him in the dark, seeking out the planes of his face. The form of his nose. The gentle parting of his lips. Breaths rise and fall in his chest.

You think he's asleep. It's hard to tell; he's so damn good at pretending. The only advantage you have right now is the alcohol in his system, lauded onto him by the twins during the New Years celebration. With Miss Hunter's encouragement, he drank a little more than usual, and, for once in a long while, became tipsy. Just enough to force him to sleep it off; not enough to leave him completely plastered.

So, you think he really is asleep this time.

Still... one can never be too sure.

You slowly reach out. Your fingertips brush over his bicep, against firm muscle, solid and powerful. He breathes in a little deeper. His pretty hair falls into his face as he shifts his head on his pillow with a long exhale. Fast asleep.

You pull your hand away with a smile. It's so surreal to be here, with him, completely unguarded and at ease.

He let his guard down first. He showed you that it's okay to trust someone other than yourself. And every day, you're grateful for it. You have no idea where you'd be now if you hadn't. Probably still under the Devil's thumb, or worse.

You can't think about it. Not now. Not when Sylus is so at peace.

After so long of containing your words, keeping them to yourself and letting them die unsaid, there is so much now you want to say. So much you want to get out. So much you should say now, while he's the perfect prey for it...

But these words... How can you say them? They're so... important. Worth so much more than a whisper to someone who can't even hear them...

You reach out once more, settling a hand on his chest. His heartbeat is a little slower than normal, but no less erratic, jumping around wildly. He shifts in his sleep, reaching out for you like a child grasping for a plushie. You willingly take up the mantle, sliding from your side of the bed into his awaiting arms. They wrap firmly around you, pulling you to his chest. A leg hooks over your hip. His face buries into your neck.

You wrap your arms around him in return. His heat sinks into your body, warmth chasing away any cold inch of skin. You slip one hand up to play with his hair. He sighs softly, breath fanning across your skin like a sweet caress.

Those words ache to be said. To be screamed if it means their meaning will get across. All the agony of a lifetime of loneliness. The pain of abuse and fear. The relief of patience. The bliss of kindness. All of it culminating into these damn words.

Just thinking about saying them scares you. Of all the things you've done and seen, this ranks amongst the most difficult of them all.

"I..." Your voice feels too loud in the silent room. He doesn't move. Doesn't react. You close your eyes and tamp down the fear in your heart. "I love you."

There. At last.

You let out a shaky breath and tuck your face into his shoulder. Safe. Secure. Wholly and completely at his mercy, to do with as he pleases - and all he does is turn to kiss sleepily at your skin.

He hums, a low rumble in his chest that vibrates through your body. "I love you, too, sweetheart..."

"You're supposed to be asleep," you bite back. The harshness in your tone is betrayed by the slight tremble in your arms as you squeeze him tighter. You feel his smirk against your skin. Feel the way they curl and press along your jaw.

"Say it again for me?"

"You're drunk."

"Just once more?"

"Go back to bed, Sylus."

"Will you say it then?"

"..."

A beat passes, where you think he may have relented and fallen back asleep.

Then, a loud snore sounds out right by your ear.

You burst into laughter against your desire to stay indifferent. His low chuckle joins you, filling your soul with an effortless affection for the man.

He kisses your neck and shoulder between giggles as your shared laughter dies down. "You don't have to say it," he assures you sincerely. "It doesn't change anything."

You turn your head to get a glimpse of his face. "What if I never say it ever again?"

He turns to meet you. Your noses brush against each other, breaths mingling. His eyes glimmer in the dark like a pair of red protocores. "I'll know."

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry

[yvesismywife]

— ⋆˚｡ IWH2BMX ᝰ.ᐟ chapter nine

y/n l/n, the 4th member of the rnb girl group flo, is notorious for her very noticeable lack of pr training. once she goes through a very public breakup, her pr team finally decided it was time to control her online presence. daniela avanzini, the main dancer of the girl group katseye, found her reputation getting caught in the cross fire of her band mate’s blunt personality. so when both groups are caught at the same party, management gets a not so great idea.

wc: 1.2k (you can skip it if you want, but i think it’s crucial to the story. but do as you please 😭🙏)

not my type

AFTER WHAT FELT LIKE ETERNITY, yn heard the words she wasn’t quite sure if she should be excited, or scared, to hear. “we’re here” “uhm where exactly is ‘here’” the singer asked, following her manager out of the car. “just follow me.”

“y/n l/n. welcome to geffen! you too leila. i guess.” yn is a little confused about the random man who side-eyed her manager, but more confused as to what she is doing here. “don’t drag this out jacob.” her manager said, walking straight past the random man -jacob, to an office. “aren’t you jolly.” he curses under his breath.

“sorry to ruin the dynamic y’all got going on, but, why am i here exactly? if it’s to go solo, that’s too much pressure… so.” the curly-haired girl follows the steps of her manager and takes a seat. “i will take that into consideration! however, that is not the reason you are here today.” jacob sits across from them. “damn. am i not talented enough to be a soloist?” yn dramatically clutches at her heart, like she has been deeply wounded. “i- that’s-” he looks towards her manager, who simply shrugs her shoulders. “you got yourself into that one.” “that’s not what i was trying to say!” “oh so you think i have soloist potential, just not for here?” the singer was having a little too much fun seeing the man squirm trying to answer her pressing questions. “okay enough! one; i don’t have the credentials to sign you, even if i want to. two; that’s not why you’re here. come in.” yn turns around to see a pretty girl with blonde curls. “sit down, daniela.”

“this is why you’re here today.” jacob says, crossing his arms over his suit-covered chest. “what? you guys doing some irl-tinder shi-stuff?” yn laughs. her laugh quickly dials down once she is answered in silence. “i was… joking. you know that right?” she looks towards her manager, for any sign of acknowledgment. “we are all aware of your rather impactful social media presence” the rnb singer smiled. “didn’t say that as a good thing. but such a hefty reputation is not the best for a group.” “oh, don’t worry sir jacob. my fans love it.” yn gleamed with pride. “fans that have been around, yes. but for newcomers, your reputation seems a bit…problematic” the office went silent, nothing other than breaths being heard. “problematic is…crazy. jacob.”

“let me get this straight. i was brought to a foreign building to talk about my social media presence…? this couldn’t have been an email? zoom call? phone call at that?” yn squinted her eyes, looking back and forth between her manager and jacob, trying to understand the situation. “well. maybe i should leave, this clearly has nothing to do with me.” the blonde finally spoke. “not too quick daniela. i wasn’t finished.” with a sigh, daniela sat back down. “as you know, daniela, katseye does not have the shiniest social media presence either.” of course the dancer knew that, she just does not know what that has to do with her. “the whole group knows that, but why am i here for that? sophia’s the leader. and also- to clear things up…again. i’ve never caused anything or any drama. i fear you have the wrong member. manon is at home, i can call her up for you?” “that won’t be necessary,” jacob said, causing daniela to put her phone back in her pants pocket.

“we were going to deal with these…issues, separately. but after seeing a few rather popular tweets last night, we got an idea.” “if it works, i take full credit. if it backfires, it was all his doing.” leila chimes in. “i don’t think i agree with that, but that’s not the focus right now. we have come up with a rather splendid idea. we will fix both problems. together.” “i’m not following…” daniela says, followed by yn. “yeah. you said a lot but nothing at the same time, really.” “what’s your problem? no one understood a single thing you said. not even me and i already know the dang plan.” leila rubs her forehead. “what he was trying to say is, because of such a terrible professional reputations, to fix it, you two-” she points towards yn and daniela, “-will be having a pr relationship. do you see how easy that was? telling your whole life story before getting to the point.” “i didn’t just want to blurt it out without any explanation!”

while the two managers were arguing, the minds of both daniela and yn were spiralling.

“wait. let me just make sure i’m not correct. you want me and this stranger to date? because of a few tweets?” the blonde asked. “yes! exactly!” the man replied. “no.” both girls say in unison. “i shouldn’t even be here. i’ve never caused any problems! again, manon should be here! why am i taking the blame?” daniela was perplexed that her blame by association had gotten this serious. “while that is true, her image is… horrendous. but i felt, considering you are almost always a part of manon’s actions, and needless to say a very popular member right now so i felt this would be perfect publicity.” “well you felt wrong. i don’t want to be involved. and, not to put your efforts to waste, but she's not my type.” that was the rudest sentence yn had ever heard her whole career. “not your type!? i was gonna say no to this whole ordeal because i legit just had a somewhat, public breakup. but you saying no because i’m not your type is crazy!”

“wow! okay! let’s.. uhm move on. quickly! breakups! yn, you just got out of a breakup… that was all over pop base. and daniela, the girls talked about how you recently got out of a relationship with…i don’t know who, so now- the public knows you are both single which is why you two are also perfect for this.” jacob is a little too excited to play fake match maker and yn is a little concerned this was not thought through. “not to doubt your...creativity, but we -i- just got out of a relationship, so why is this a smart idea??” “i read it in a book once.” “yeah, no.” the blonde chimes in. “as much as i don’t like her because she is rude, i have to agree. no.” daniela annoyingly scoffed at yn’s response. “i’m not rude simply because you’re not my type.” “actually that’s exactly why you’re rude! that was the rudest sentence anyone has ever said to me!” “you’re so conceited.” yn lets out a loud gasp in response to daniela’s very vocal opinions about her. “looks like your plan is a bust jacob.” leila leans back, crossing her arms across her chest.

“enough!” jacob yells. “this is happening. not because i want to replicate a novel, but because all the other chances and choices have yet to work. you two will get along and will make this believable. understand?”

“yeah, i guess” “fine. but there were totally other options.”

prev - masterlist - next

a/n: i got carried away 😕 and i pictured jacob to be a british man…idk why lolz so i tried to give him british flare.. but i’ve never met a brit soooo… and ALSO i acc don’t know if hybe has a building in la… or if katseye practices at geffen, so i had to use my big brain and CREATIVITY 🫨

— taglist: @1luvkarina @yjiminswallet @sunshinez4 @winnmin @lara4eclipze @wtfisthisnoclueman @flowerluzx @meizinisnumberone @leotapes @meganskiendielsbtc @reey0w @haerinkisser @cassiespoiler @peanutbutterlover05 @p1hbrook @kristalag @yeetaberry127 @blushmimi @xochitlisbest @urmom2314 @bowforgodjihyo

[joelmillerisapunk]

okay thank you for all the tags loves my heart is full <3 @baronessvonglitter @604to647 @sawymredfox @itwasntimethatdidit40 @milla-frenchy @slimybeth69 @ace-turned-confused

Okay so obviously terminating any of these men kills me because it should be smash marry smash. I spent the night thinking long and hard about this so lets dive in:

Round 1:

Smash: Dave York -> I have only recently experienced this man, watched the movie, read some fics and hot damn I would smash him all day even if he would stalk me afterward yes murder daddy yes please murder my pussy

Marry: Javi G -> I think this is obvious because like its JAVI G?! he is ultimate hubby material no explanation needed

Terminate: Pero -> no thank you bye bye mr. Tovar I am not even remotely attracted to you and I know nothing of you but no thanks. And I think this is the only boy I would not give a smash pass to ever he is just too dirty for me.

Round 2:

Smash: Ezra -> It's the way he speaks for me that's pretty much it, he really does it for me on some deep feral level but I don't think I could not marry him he would piss me the fuck off so fast

Marry: Oberyn -> Beause "he is the slut I wish I was" and who doesn't want to have orgies with beautiful people for the rest of your days. I have never seen GoT but I would marry him. Not only is he incredibly beautiful, the voice (yes I definitely have a thing for voices) his wardrobe?

Terminate: Marcus -> Sorry babe, you're so hot and so sweet but I think you're too sweet for meeeeee (hehehe) This Narcos remake was not it even though I have watched it twice. I need a man to degrade me

Round 3:

Smash: Whiskey -> I LOVE HIM YOUR HONOR I WOULD DIE FOR HIM. HE IS SO DAMN HOT AND COCKY AND I NEED IT IN ME ON ME BENEATH ME IN MY MOUTH ALL AROUND ME.

Marry: Tim -> Because I feel like he would be so good to me but he could probably be the most feral boy in bed once you cut deep beneath his layers. He's already tortured from the merge mansion case I bet he could take it out on me in bed

Terminate: Din -> I am sorry to everyone who loves this man sized tin can but I have not seen the show and the fact I can only see him as a tin man is giving wizard of oz vibes for me which is hurting the only delicious thing about him his voice... If anything I'll get off on audio clips of him speaking

Round 4:

Here is where I cheat because fuck the rules... I am smashing Dieter and Lucien -> they both give me the same energy I couldn't marry them as I fear they would be too obnoxious for me and Dieter may eat me out of kit kats but I would smash them together at the same time and separately all day every day. I also feel like we could add another beautiful woman to this and that makes me happy too

Marry: Javi P -> I NEED HIM IN THE MOST FERAL YEARNING LONGING WAY POSSIBLE. This man does it over and over and over again for me. He's the hottest man in the world, he smokes (which shouldn't do it for me but does) he's tortured, I can fix him, his puppy dog eyes. I know he fucks like an animal and he's willing to tie me up. He would also die for me this I know. I think underneath the layers he's a perfect husband deep down and I just love him more than life itself.

Round 5: Nope. I will marry and smash them all every day all day. Brother-husbands. I am breaking every rule but EXCUSE ME?! this one is ridiculous. Smash and pass me around. you literally get the best of every single world here and now I need to go write a fic about them as my brother-husbands

thanks for coming to my ted talk

npt to everyone because I want to see everyone's answers and if you wanna do it consider yourself tagged also please I am dying for the entire worlds answers: @thundermartini @evolnoomym @aurorawritestoescape @ace-turned-confused @almostfoxglove @reddedmiller @gothcsz @almostempty @arcanefox207 @probablyreadinsmut @sunshinehaze1 @sunshineispunk @dilf-hunter-fantasies @nicolethered @kedsandtubesocks @toxicanonymity @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @myownwholewildworld @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @angiewatson @persephone-girl @swankyorange

Comment who you’d choose from each round 👀🥵

[icedcoffeechris]

mirror, mirror

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.

chris sturniolo x reader

contains: fluff, sexual innuendos

! this fic is inspired by ‘ congratulations ‘ by mac miller 🙃 !

y/n sat in front of the mirror as she removed her makeup, she had a long day, stressed as always.

everyone and their mother told her that college wasn’t going to be easy, especially in the law field. between the bar exams and the constant stress of trying to be the best, y/n often felt herself constantly having a weight on her shoulders, a weight that only chris could take off.

so taking this time to herself to sit and listen to music and unwind was important to her, made her feel grounded in the moments where chris couldn’t be there, he was currently live streaming on twitch with matt, playing a ridiculous amount of fornite, so in order to pass the time she decided to wind down.

as she wiped the last of her mascara she felt a presence behind her, she glanced up in the mirror to see chris leaning against the door way, his arms crossed and a big ol’ grin on his face.

he stood there effortlessly, his hair was messy, covered with the hood of his grey hoodie and his blue flanneled pajama pants hung just below the waist band of his boxers, “hey pretty,” chris smirked gently

y/n gave him a small smile through the mirror, “hey,” she breathed out

chris made his way towards her, standing behind her, his hand against her jaw as she stared in the mirror,

“such a beautiful girl..” chris mumbled, he leaned down and sat his chin on her shoulder, looking in the mirror, “my beautiful girl.” chris spoke with a smirk

y/n felt a shiver go down her spine, she bit her bottom lip and chuckled softly, “you’re such a flirt” y/n brushed off while shaking her head,

“ ‘m serous, ma, you’re the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen” chris spoke as he turned her head to face him, her face between his thumb and pointer finger, “you seem stressed” chris mumbled, “what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

y/n sighed, “just..a long day” she spoke with a small pout, “feels like i haven’t been able to relax all day”

chris huffed, “you worried about that damn exam, huh?”

y/n tilted her head at him, he could always read her like a book, “yeah..a bit” y/n spoke gently

“listen to me..and listen to me good, you’re gonna be the best damn lawyer there is, okay? fuck it, i might just get in trouble on purpose so your fine ass can defend me” chris spoke giving her a reassured look. y/n couldn’t help but smile, “you really mean that?”

chris scoffed, “do i ever lie?”

y/n playfully rolled her eyes, “no..no you don’t”

chris gave his girlfriend a small smirk, a knowing look, his hands trailed down to her shoulders and rubbed them gently, “but hey, i think i know just the way to help you relax” chris hinted,

y/n giggled and playfully rolled her eyes, “all you ever think about is sex”

chris softly chuckled, “oh well, you know me so well.”

: shay speaks!

💌: hi cuties!! i hope you enjoy this short little blurb! i’m so excited to keep writing, any advice or tips is very much appreciated ❤️

[gnohomotho-blog]

Just a game

Pairing: Hwang In-ho x fem!reader

Summary: Just you, your wannabe boyfriend, and the start of an encounter that will change your life. With one phone buzz.

Warnings: Mainly a beginning of something more, mentions of stalking and spying, some rude language, mentions of doctors and ignorance of the ethical codex. Please have fun! Responsibly.

"I'd like that very much."

The voice of your companion echoes through the room, flaps against the wall and hits you in the face. It jumps on empty hospital chairs, the doctor's desk, all white and plastic, as dull as whatever the words are dancing on your eardrums with.

You brush your hair behind your ear. All too aware of how mannquine-like and empty the face in front of you looks. Your own head is reverberating. Your lips purse.

"I wouldn't."

The chair under you doesn't move. You wish it would. Carry you away on its little legs. You wonder how chairs could graze freely on some kind of chair-free plane, free from the shackles of architecture---you hear the doctor's words again, and you hear yourself thank them, apologize, plan to take the errant papers and leave the door open behind you. Always planning. Always going away.

"What? Y/N, I...what? Let's talk abou this. Please, stop acting like this! Don't do this to me."

The voice is broken, and you truly do try to care beyond wondering about a chair's natural habitat. Truth be told, all you manage instead of a grand exit is silence. You stand up - silently. You thank the doctor - silently. And you walk out of the door, muttering some native curse words under your breath and pondering whether vending machines truly are as deadly as the statistics say. He made it about himself, again, you think to yourself.

"I can't believe you...no, wait, I fucking can."

You're tired. You feel violated. You would like to crawl into a bed, had you had a safe one to do in. Hug a cat, if you had one. Hug a crow, if you could. Anything.

You mumble to yourself in hushes as you finger the coffee machine, knowing whatever it serves up will just make you feel sick. Your companion is catching up. A tall, imposing kind of boy. Not that it mattered. You never did find pretty boys pretty.

"Boy," you think to yourself. A boy. A boy who can't get his toy to work, and now he's wasted all those friendship tokens and used up all his faces on you, you ungrateful little...

"Y/N, look, what the hell---I really tried, I went all this way, I took you here, I'm just trying to help!"

He really did sound like a little boy tearing at his mother's skirt. His dark black hair fell into his forehead, his neat sweater leaning a bit to the left. You notice his lips and wonder, whatever possessed you to even begin to think of a future with them?

"Help. You wanted to help yourself. Fix your little broken toy and have something to fuck. Did it get tiring? Pretending to care?"

The coffee machine whirred in what you hoped was something of an agreement. You turn around and face the man, boy, whatnot, and try to look put together. Some old couples begin to notice the commotion. An old lady with a dog in her purse is not doing a very good job of looking disinterested in what, ironically, resembles a lover's quarrel.

"Wow, that's low. Y/N. I was there every time. I did so much for you, you didn't have to ask."

"You insisted. You didn't listen to any 'no thank you'. You dragged me here. Every time. Promising you..."

Your lips twist a little in disgust, but mostly, you don't feel anything anymore.

"Promising you love me, with that big "but" of yours. Well, good thing we have it on paper now - I can't love and I can't fuck, I suppose you've bet on the wrong horse - losing in game and losing in love. Fancy that."

God damn it, not the tears, not the tears, you feel your eyes glisten and your stomach tighten. Hair falls from behind your ear, shielding your face. A tear rolls down.

"There's nothing wrong with me, nothing that you could fix by blunt forcing it. I was so stupid, it's my fault. Really truly my fault. I thought...I thought for a moment it could be something it obviously never could...It was never your responsibility to try or to fix anything, and I was so incredibly naive to think you'd adjust pace to something you obviously have no interest in if you can't violate it in a matter of minutes."

Slug and salt. Fire and gasoline. Lungs and carbon monoxide. That's what you are, you think. You don't realise nor would you know, that the whole time, someone was watching you. Someone noticed the way you held your stomach the entire time you spoke, as if shielding and soothing something vulnerable and tender. The way your eyes shone when you stood your ground. The way your pupils seemed to beckon a new visitor with glimpses of a world beyond this one with its unimaginative hospital corridors and dull white waiting rooms. He watched your legs as you held yourself up, seeing the coffee machine did half the work. He watched them buckle a little bit and you adjust. Your tights reflected the light, just as you did. His eyes trailed up to your skirt, your hands, your waist. Your hands, he found those most beautiful. They spoke with you. They had the fingers of a piano player and the fervour of a boxer losing a match.

Now they rested on your stomach again, shielding. Your body closed off once more. Your voice became more monotone. He could gather from the hushed whispers that this wasn't your boyfriend nor husband, but in a place like this - perhaps an ex? Or soon to be, he smiled the most innocent of hidden smiles before resuming a neutral, dignified expression. A baby's father? You did rest your hand on your stomach quite a bit...but the conversation you had in front of him wasn't enough. Now he was intrigued.

The way your lips pursed and remained a tad open when you thought of what to say, the way your eyes narrowed and your mouth made a perfect tiny shape when you found your words. Things you'd never think about yourself, oh, he was intrigued.

Intrigued by the girl with the long fingers and the gentle touch. The girl with fire in her eyes that draws you into the depths of a frozen river in the middle of the night and never makes you wish to leave.

How convenient was it that some people have the power to pull a few strings and Waltz into the very same doctor's office you walked out of and Waltz straight out again with your full medical records.

..............................................................................................................................

You were walking home when your phone buzzed. You thought you blocked your ex-companion, you checked the messages and yes - his communication, circular and either blaming you or himself were still safely stored in the same blocked folder. No, this was an uknown number that you couldn't even see.

"Seriously?"

You sigh into the cold evening air and adjust your stance for a better look at the phone screen. An odd, jittery, almost chilly feeling envelops you and you shiver - that sensation of being watched washes around you and touches your skin. Going up and down your arms and calves. Stopping at your chest. You look around, but there is only dusk, cold, melted snow. A few lights from other houses. A streetlamp here and there. Nobody. You lean your head into the phone again, stepping away from the road you were walking on.

"How are you feeling, Y/N?"

The chill shot through your calves straight into your stomach and through your ribs to your head. It's him again, just a different number, of course. Oldest trick in the book. You wonder if you should reply, but think better of giving him further attention. Just as you put your phone away, it buzzes again.

"You seem cold."

You turn your head and scan every single shape around you, chills shaking your body as you do. This wasn't funny. This was so far from funny you are actively wondering where you left your pepperspray and whether or not setting a match to your deodorant would do the trick, should it come to it.

"I'm fine, leave me alone, stop texting me from other numbers, I know it's you." You quickly type trying to watch the surroundings more than the screen. It buzzes almost immediately back at you.

"I'm not him. And you seem cold. Tights and a skirt in your condition, walking alone in the dark and the snow. It isn't very wise, is it?"

Although text messages don't convey tone, you can feel the patronising air and boundary tear emanating from your screen. You hurry your legs to get out and back home as fast as you can.

"Please don't run in your condition. I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."

"Fuck off." You whisper and break into a sprint. You don't hear steps or running behind you, you don't hear cars or anything but the sounds of the night. But a calm shrill sound does break the silence the moment you stop to catch your breath. Almost at home, almost--

"And please, if you may be so kind, don't dissobey me."

..............................................................................................................................

In-ho wasn't omnipotent nor could he predict your movements, listen in on your thoughts, or stalk you without issue. He knew he'd lose you if he gave himself away. He knew he'd scare you if he revealed all he knew and he was enough of a gentleman to understand the basics of what constitutes harrassment and stalking. In-ho was also in control. Always in control. Of people, of power, of his surroundings, of the entire games. And of course. Of himself. And if he wasn't, and he started to slip, he would relinquish that control by any means neccessary. As he told himself now, it's nothing. Just a game. Just a bit of back-and-forth and fun. He's not enamoured, he's simply interested. It's not attraction, it's a need to study. It's not need, want, feeling - no, it is cold, simple fascination and control. Cat and mouse. Nothing more. And he's comfortable in this role, of course. Watching a player from up top, sipping his drink of choice. This is exactly the same. But why does it feel so very different? His heart. Racing. His hands. Typing. Erasing. Typing. Oh, he wants to show you he knows everything. He wants to show you the plans he has for you. He wants to take you from the cold street and hold you so tight your breath and heart belong to him, even as you struggle. He wants to make you yearn for his gloved touch more than the cold air outside and beg for a touch of his skin, his caress, his own body against yours. He wants you to instinctively shield yourself again, just so he can catch your wrist and hold it down, exposing you to him, defenseless and his.

He wants you to yearn for it. Shiver. Fear. Need. Beg.

He wants those beautiful, deep eyes to gaze up into his and drown.

[redsrooftopprincess]

Hey so how do you think raphael would deal with a s/o who goes all out for holidays. And also they tend to throw flirty seasonal comments at him. Trying to fluster him every single time. Valentine: “I think cupid might of struck me hard years ago when I laid mine eyes on you”. Halloween they’re a vampire “the only one I want to turn into a vampire is you ;)” and xmas they’re like “All I want for xmas is you”? Or mistletoe is on the ceiling above them suddenly and s/o is like “How’d that get there?” Nearly convincingly. 😂?

Hi there!!! I'm really hoping this turned out okay. 😅

Valentine

RaphaelxFem!reader

Warnings: none, pure fluff

He arrives to an empty apartment. It's only 7, so you're probably still on your way home from work. He heads to the kitchen and grabs a beer from the fridge, before moving toward the couch to waste time with video games while he waits for you.

As he crosses to the living room, he hears keys in the lock and moves casually out of sight of the door. It explodes open with almost pressurized force, pushed by the enormous collection of plastic shopping bags barely contained by the arms in your fluffy red sweater. You kick the door closed behind you and he's taking the bags from you almost instantly.

"Okay!" you grin, striking a pose as he sets the mountain of bags onto the kitchen table, "I'm here! Now what were your other two wishes?" He rolls his eyes and sighs, but he can't help the quirk of a smile. You're adorable. And he has to admit, you look damn good in his color.

You have a... thing for holidays. You honestly love any excuse to dress up and be silly. It doesn't hurt that it usually earns you a laugh from a certain red-banded bara who is so very pretty when he laughed. You only met a few months ago, but so far, over Samhain, Thanksgiving, and Solstice, he's thankfully gotten used to you going a *little* over the top.

Somehow (surely not all the decorations at your desk and themed outfits over the last year), your co-workers have also figured out how much you love holidays, and when they approached you about taking charge of their "Valentine's Day Luncheon," you were more than happy to oblige.

Now you survey the collection of red and white and pink in plastic before you, your mind whirring with potential. You'd asked Raph to come over on his night off because you had an excuse you needed help, and he was pretty hot handy with a glue gun.

After giving him a run down of everything in the bags, along with your "vision" as he liked to call it (complete with sarcastic hand gesture), you each grab an armful of craft supplies, and move into the living room to get to work. He clears off the coffee table while you order dinner, and soon the two of you are elbow deep in pink glitter and construction paper.

Everything starts out well enough. The drinks and creativity flow and your favorite romantic comedy plays unobtrusively in the background as you eat and laugh between cutting and pasting. You feel good. Valentine's Day may be tomorrow, but tomorrow is in about three hours and you're going to get to spend your first Valentine's Day (at least part of it anyway) with a guy you actually may be falling for and-

Your stream of consciousness comes to a screeching halt, the needle in your hand stilling halfway through the felt plush heart you had been sewing. You look over at him, telling some story about Mikey and Don when they were kids, and you definitely feel... something. But love, that kind of love, is big. Important. Especially for the Hamatos. Seeming so far out of reach for them they may as well be alone on the planet. This isn't the kind of thing you should even joke about until you're absolutely sure.

But it's Valentine's Day.

And wine is happening.

And as the night goes on, your heart and your tongue form an alliance against your brain.

Over the course of the evening you develop a habit of calling him anything *but* his name, and the way words like "Hot Stuff" "Romeo," and "Heartbreaker," roll off your tongue affects him in ways that are not allowed. He's fine. A deep breath and he's back to being cool. But the spark of trouble in your eyes when you call him, "Bruiser," leaves him needing a minute.

You see it. You can't help it. He's hot, and you're single, and it's Valentine's Day, and it seems like he can't get enough of you, and you are about half a bottle in. You start shooting the occasional cheesy pick up line his way, just to see what'll happen. And you are not disappointed.

Mike had subjected him to months worth of shitty pick up lines when he discovered them as kids, but you're so damn cute that they just come out silly and endearing.

"Hey," you call over to him across the living room, "do you like raisins?"

He looks confused, "I guess?"

"How 'bout a date?" You grin.

He rolls his eyes, but the adorable smile and slight color shift in his scales as he looks away is just addicting. With that kind of reaction, the wine in your bloodstream reasons, how the hell are you supposed to stop?

So, between the beer, and the constant back and forth between him thinking you're adorable, and him trying really really hard not to think about what those pet names coming out of that pretty mouth are doing to him physically, halfway through the night he was almost regretting agreeing to help you.

But then, it does stop.

He doesn't know when, through the haze of mild inebriation, and physical and emotional turmoil it's difficult for him to track, but at some point he notices the stupid pick up lines become less frequent, and the pet names become more and more tame until they almost stop completely.

He looks over at you, jaw tight, glaring at the felt plush heart in your hands. You had to make 120, this was your second one, Raph was already sixteen in, and the tangled mess of twisted pink thread was beyond unraveling.

You sigh, frustrated, "Raph, can you toss me the scissors?"

Sewing isn't exactly your forte. It's not that you don't get the mechanics of it: needle + thread + fabric = thing. As long as you can move in a straight line and you don't stab the shit out of yourself it should be easy right? But your hands are uncoordinated and sewing machines can smell fear. You've tried. You just can't sew. Why you decided that *this* was what is needed for the party tomorrow, you will never understand. You thought it'd be easy. It was supposed to be easy.

He stares at you for a few moments, brow knitted in thought as he takes in what's happening. "Having trouble, princess?" He asks. He smirks, but not unkindly.

"Huh? Oh yeah, I guess..." You respond, taking the scissors from him and attempting to carefully cut through the tangled mass to remove it... which results in you cutting a quarter inch whole through both layers of felt. Your jaw tightens, and you sigh heavily. "I can't sew," you admit, almost shamefully.

He makes a face, "What do you mean you 'can't sew?'"

You sigh, tossing the ruined decoration into the plastic bag the two of you have been using for trash, "I mean I can't sew."

"Anyone can sew," He states, as if it's an objective fact.

You attempt not to snort derisively. You fail.

"You really don't think you can sew?"

You look pointedly at the ruined heart, before looking back at him and wordlessly raising an eyebrow.

Disengaging, you snatch another couple of felt pieces and some pink thread off the coffee table and settle back into your spot in the papasan. He watches as you try and fail to thread the needle. Three times.

You're embarrassed. And frustrated. This is supposed to be your favorite holiday and you're spending it fighting with a stupid needle and looking like an idiot in front of the guy you... something-like-love-...-maybe, and you're so stuck in your own head, you don't notice that he's moved until he's kneeling in front of you and stilling your hands.

He holds up a small metal disk. It looks slightly like a custom made swiss army knife, that has Donnie written all over it. He pushes a lever and a wire... loop? I guess? Pops out of it. You look at him quizzically.

"May I?" He asks, holding his hands out. He takes the needle and thread upon your acceptance. He flicks a small lever and a small pair of scissor pops out of the other side, which he uses to snip off the frayed two inches of embroidery thread. He dexterously replaces the scissors, and, holding the needle, you watch him push the wire through the hole, feed the thread through, and then pull it back out, the needle now neatly threaded.

You blink up at him. He smiles, holding up the disk, "Needle threader," he tosses it in your lap, "your new best friend."

You give him a stunned half smile and start working on your second heart for the second time.

Your not sure how, but somewhere between the first and the fifth stitch, your thread twists and knots itself, resulting in a smaller version of your previous tangle. He cringes.

"Y'know... I could teach you," he ventures hesitantly, "if you want, I mean."

You pick up the disc in your lap and examine it. A specialized tool that Red just happened to have on him, despite him having no idea what fresh insanity you had planned for tonight. Needles, thread bobbins, and several other things you don't recognize, all easily accessible and deployable. The kind of tool you don't have unless you do something very specific. Your frustrated gaze becomes more thoughtful.

"Do you make all your clothes?" You ask, softly, the ghost of a smile hiding in the corner of your mouth as you look back up at him.

The shift in tone catches him off-guard, and when your gaze finds his, it feels like all the breath has left his body. "Well, yeah..." He says, almost transfixed, before clearing his throat and recovering with a smirk, "you really think they make clothes in our size?"

"No," you say, your smile slightly resurrected, "no, I suppose they don't." You look down at the felt in your hands, and it dies again, "I'm afraid you may have your work cut out for you. A lot of people have failed to teach me to sew. I'm pretty sure I'm a lost cause."

"Bullshit," he says, pushing the coffee table back far enough that he can sit in front of you.

After twenty minutes of neat and simple failure, you drop the heart in your lap and cover your face with your hands. "This is hopeless. I can't make the needle do," you gesture vaguely, "whatever it is that you're doing to make this work. We need to pivot," you start looking around at what craft supplies are left, your mind trying to find something you could make as a replacement.

"No."

"What?" Your eyes return to his.

"Excuse me," he clears his throat, "Hell no."

You look confused.

"I said I was gonna teach you to sew, and that's exactly what I'm gonna do if it takes all damn night."

"Raph, it's 11:30, we are out of time for that. We need something easier."

"Please, I can knock these out by myself in an hour, this is more important." He gently places a hand on your knee, and you try to ignore the way it covers nearly half your thigh, "If you want to learn, I want to teach you," he says softly. "But only if you want." He adds, backing off slightly, afraid he might be pushing too hard.

"Look," he continues, "after D, you're probably one of the smartest people I know. So, while it's really cute watching you struggle this hard at something for once," he smirks when you glare at him, "it seems like this really bothers you, and if I can, I want to help."

Okay, this is not helping your little something-like-love situation *at all*.

"Though, I'll admit, there might be a tiny part of me that would, selfishly, really like to show off teach you something that I'm really good at I really enjoy." He gives you what he hopes is his most convincing smile. He doesn't often get to flex outside of the weight room.

You're hesitant. You really *really* don't want to look like any more of an idiot in front of Raphael, and you have zero confidence that this will do anything more than frustrate the both of you, but you can see the poorly concealed hopeful excitement in his eyes, and, Fuck, how is he so damn cute?

"Okay, fine," you relent with a sigh.

"Cool," he says, standing and trying not to grin. He grabs a stack of felt hearts and some thread from the table. "Would you be cool with me sitting behind you? It'll easier to see what you're doing from there."

It's a move he almost immediately regrets when you nod and he settles himself behind you on the papasan. You're close, very close, and he's been drinking. He tries desperately to focus as you command the attention of all his senses. Your warmth radiates through his plastron, and the shape of the chair traps your scent around him. He wills his hands to stay right where they are, as you settle against him.

It's... difficult. He tries talking you through everything, but somehow it isn't translating to your stupid hands. He can feel it, your body almost as curved and rigid as his own carapace with tension. He puts a hand on your arm. "You're pulling too tight. Here," he rumbles into your ear, his rough hands gentle as they move down your arms to your own, "like this." You hope he doesn't notice the gooseflesh that has scattered over your skin.

Over the next half-hour, he guides you through the motions, your small hands moving within his own, and it isn't long before the two of you fall into a comfortable rhythm. It starts to feel less like your fighting with the damn thing and more like you're actually capable of handling this, your smile even claws it's way out of it's grave a little.

About fifteen minutes in you start to notice something. A sound or a feeling, you can't quite figure out which, seeming to envelope you. It takes a good few minutes before you realize... It's him.

Donatello told you about this. You heard it once in the lab when Don had been tinkering, contentedly, with a new graphics card for a good while. He seemed embarrassed when you asked, but he explained, very clinically, what it was and why it was happenings.

He called it a "churr," and explained that it's something involuntary that happens when they're content, or happy, or excited, or pissed. Similar to a growl or a purr. (The squeal you had to contain when you found out they purr luckily only came out as a quiet squeak. Don gave you a look.)

And now it's surrounding you. Vibrating against your spine and down your arms. He seems to not even realize it's happening. You suppress a smile. You consider saying something, but your worried he'll get embarrassed and stop. He's pretty sensitive about the non-human parts of his life, so you instead choose to just shut up and enjoy the fact that he's evidently enjoying his time with you.

And he is. It's the first time the thought of Valentine's Day doesn't entirely leave a bitter taste in his mouth. Normally, he wouldn't even leave the lair today, but you'd asked him to come over and help with decorations, and he stupidly agreed. It was you. Of course he was going to say yes. And, honestly, it isn't as painful as he thought it was going to be. You're hot, and fun, and if his terminally single ass is going to do anything other than sulk on Valentine's Day. This ain't half bad.

Once you seem to have the hang of things, you both start working as individuals, though neither of you move far from your positions. That's when he notices it, too, in a lull in conversation, a deep rumble from within his chest. He shifts in the chair, uncomfortably, and clears his throat in hopes that it'll stop, or at least interrupt the involuntary process. But, no. He's not that lucky. Maybe if he just pretends it isn't happening. You don't seem to have noticed yet.

He continues on as if nothing is going on, and eventually settles back into a comfortable rhythm. The mild embarrassment remains, but overall if you don't mention it, maybe it doesn't bother you? You've never really flinched at his weird turtle shit, and maybe this is no different. By 3:30, all 120 hearts have been completed, and his churring has faded almost into white noise.

You steel yourself and sigh internally. You don't want to. You really don't want to. But you have to be at work in five hours, so you stand, yawning. "Okay," you grin, stretching, "thanks for the help, now get the fuck out."

He gets up and tosses the last heart onto the pile, grinning, "Well, shit, how's that for gratitude?" Tonight was a good night.

After a few minutes of both of you finding any reason to stall, you run out of them, and he makes his way out to the fire escape. Speaking, crouched, through the window, he's at eye level, and you kiss his cheek, softly, "Thank you," you say sincerely.

He tries to play it cool, but the hunter green stripes down the lines of his throat darken just a little, and his smirk shifts into something just a bit more bashful.

Gods damn it, this boyish fucking asshole.

"Hey," you say before he can run off, "so, um, it's Valentine's Day, and I'll be getting out of work after sundown tonight, so..." Play it cool, damn it. "You know, there's probably going to be a lot of creeps out, and-"

"I can walk you home," he interrupts a little too eagerly, his stripes darkening further, "uh, if you want, I mean. I'm not saying you couldn't handle some creeps on your own, I just, uh..." He laughs, nervously as he trails off, embarrassed.

You try not to grin, "I'd appreciate that," you say, blushing, and you swear he lights up like Christmas morning.

He gets back home at about sunrise, and doesn't sleep all day. At about 5:30 in the evening his phone buzzes, and he can't help the smile that blooms across his face when he sees your name. When he opens the message the smile fades and is replaced by something very different.

It's a photo of you, probably taken by one of your coworkers, posed coquettishly in front of a Valentine's Day themed step and repeat banner, in a vintage red dress that hugs your curves deliciously. Which you fully didn't pick out with a certain guy in mind, why would you think that?

If you'd been present, you would know that the dress has done it's job, and after a few minutes staring dumbly at the now saved photo on his phone, he starts prepping for a night of protecting the good people of New York City.

Okay, maybe just one, in particular.

.....

Tag list

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @zagreustomb @ramielll @silverwatergalaxy @gornackeaterofworlds @daedric-sorceress @sophiacloud28 @iridescentflamingo @milykins

[poisonsage808]

“Piss off you dirty, old man.”

“Who you callin’ old?”

john munch is a fucking freak

nsfw headcanons: 18+ only, minors dni, sexual themes, touch of voyeurism & other kinks, bedroom issues (mild angst)

~

• First thing’s first, yes, if you ask nicely, he’ll bring handcuffs into the bedroom. If you ask very nicely, he’ll let you use them on him.

• John’s not picky.. but he’s also an ass man. The upside of having transition glasses? He can check you out, toe to head— lingering quite obviously on your backside— and admire every bit of you. Feigning innocence when you catch him ogling, he grins like a wolf, “You look nice today.”

• Everyone’s got a filthy little secret they don’t want anyone knowing, even cops and detectives. And John’s? You gave him an obscenely sexy, borderline pornographic, polaroid and it lives in his wallet, right underneath the PG photo of you. Unless he’s apart from you for a long period of time (like when he went to Washington and you gave it to him) he doesn’t really look at it, he just likes knowing it’s there.

• A way less fun and way more embarrassing secret is that there’s times he just can’t finish.

• He’s enthusiastic to start then.. becomes lost. He feels himself slipping before he admits it and tries to bring himself back by kissing you, kneading your flesh, pushing himself so deep into you that you moan his name. You can’t imagine how badly he feels when he’s ruined the mood.

• Depending on the day, John can either last a few minutes or a while. However, just because he’s finished doesn’t mean he’s done with you. He’s got hands and a mouth; he’s yours to use until you’re satisfied.

• If it’s a time where he’s lasted too long then he checks in on you often with, “Poor thing, you look tired. Should we stop?” or “You need a break, Sweetheart?” They vary in sincerity but he will bring everything to a stop if you need it, or he thinks that you do.

• On that note, not even in bed will this mad shut up. He’s talking the whole time either teasing or praising you. He’s vocal, and he loves when you are too. “C’mon say my name baby, I wanna hear it again.”

• Praise, praise, praise. “You feel amazing, love,” and “you look so good riding me, sweet thing,” and “I need you so bad, baby.”

• Munch is the infamous joke that turned out to be very true, he probably likes spending time between your legs more than the average guy would. Any way you’ll let him, he wants to use his tongue to pleasure you ‘till you scream.

• He still likes receiving, too. John whines, such a pretty noise, his hand covering his eyes as you kneel before him with your lips wrapped around his cock. That’s how you found out he begs. “Shit—sweetheart— please, please don’t tease me.”

• Just because he’s a bit scrawny and older than the others, they all forget he can hold his own. Sometimes you forget too, then John holds your legs apart while he’s going down on you, nipping your thigh and warning you not to close them ‘till he’s done. Try being cheeky, see where that gets you.

• He doesn’t like to chase, he wants to feel wanted. He doesn’t mind pinning you down every once in a while but he prefers when your fingers lace with his and you don’t let him get away. In fact, he’s putty in your hands when you simply tell him how badly you desire him, need him, crave him. Blushing, he’s automatically pulling you in for kiss after breathless kiss. That’s all he ever wanted, he’ll be damned before he lets you down.

• The only time that he allows someone to mess with his clothes is when it’s you. He’s especially fond of when you’re needily pulling his coat off and tugging at his shirt. “Honey,” he laughs lightly but it’s strained and his resolve is slipping with each plea that leaves your lips, “I’ll give you anything you want, all you have to do is ask.”

• Aftercare is his middle name, did you expect anything less? A shower, a hug, a snack, water, praise; he knows exactly what you need when you don’t. It’s his second nature to take care of you inside and out of the bedroom, and why wouldn’t it be? He loves you, he wants you to feel as good as you make him feel.

[fr33time]

Can i pretty please have Haku x Subaru's little sister! Reader?

Whereas it was very obvious Reader has a huge crush on Haku no matter how many times she non-chalantly deny it (like always tried to look good in front of him, secretly admiring him, fixing her posture whenever he was arouns

It would be kinda funny if she was from another house and always visit Hotarubi to "see her brother" when Subaru knows damn well why she's here

A/N: This one is so funny oh my god, I love this idea 🤭 I played around with the formatting a bit and added a couple scenarios that I thought of. I wanted to try something new and have fun with it, so I hope you enjoy anon! I think Haku would be a bit cautious when with Subaru’s little sister because he knows how Subaru doesn’t tell people how he feels until it’s the worst time. On the other hand he loves teasing her and hanging out when they’re alone hehe. This came out a little later than expected but I had my lovely friend read it over for me before making some final touches. See you next post 🫶

✎ (❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) ༉‧ ♡*.✧

✧༺☆Haku x !reader that’s Subaru’s little sister ☆༻∞

Divider credits: @only-ranpo

Genre: Fluff, headcanons (with scenarios mixed in ♥︎)

Requesting rules here! (Read before requesting) ╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

♥︎You try to play it up so much that you don’t have a crush on Haku, but everyone that knows you can tell… especially Subaru, and Haku himself. They won’t call you out on it, but Subaru is quietly rooting for you while Haku just loves to tease you and seeing you fix yourself in the corner of his eye.

♥︎Subaru is not one to snitch on you, he’s the type to silently push you two together. You’ll never know it either because he’s good at concealing his intentions.

♥︎ “Oh um… while you’re here, do you mind grabbing me the tea packs in the kitchen?” He needs the tea packs, but he knows that Haku is still in Hotarubi. He doesn’t want to pry too much, but he wants to see you happy and hopefully you’ll make a move someday.

You make your way to grab the tea packs and after grabbing a small box of them you accidentally crash into someone when turning the corner. You weren’t sure who you just crashed into, but you panic and step back with speed “I’m so sorry!” You trip on your legs, but you get quickly caught by a dashing and handsome Haku. “Woah! Watch yourself, you almost fell. I wouldn’t want Subaru’s precious sister to get hurt.” He gives a worried smile and you feel yourself burning up. He pulls you upwards so that you’re steady on the ground, you realize that you two are really close.

You quickly regain yourself and back up to pick up the tea packets that you dropped, trying to hide your flushed face. “Well thank you for catching me, I was just on my way to deliver these to Subaru.” He kneels down to help you pick them up, once he collects a handful he hands them back to you and smirks. “I’ll walk you there, I need to give him papers anyways.” You look in his eyes and curse him for his flirty personality.

♥︎When you and Subaru went to have lunch together, you could see Haku walking in the door. You immediately turned towards Subaru and panicked ‘he didn’t tell me Haku was coming!’ You stood up hurriedly and excused yourself “Sorry! I need to use the washroom” and grabbed your bag to touch up in the bathroom. You weren’t particularly ready to see people since you thought it was only going to be you two…

♥︎Haku tends to forget that you’re not just Subaru’s little sister that “visits” him all the time. He knows that you’re your own person, and once he hangs out with you more he slowly realizes the fluttering feeling in his stomach when he talks to you. He finds you adorable when you try and look good in front of him, he knows how you feel about him and one day he’ll ask you on a real date. He needs to talk to Subaru first before he does anything with you, as much as he likes you he also respects your brother.

♥︎Oftentimes Haku will walk you home when it gets late, he tells you that it’s important to keep his captains little sister safe, but it’s really just to have alone time with you. At some point, it stops becoming a “walk home” and turns into having your own little adventures together. Haku is busy helping Subaru, so hanging out with you after nightfall is rewarding to him after a long day. He likes to buy food with you at the general shop and sit outside to look at the stars with you and talk. He can’t be gone too long though, because Subaru gets worried. Plus, last time he was too long Subaru was waiting by the front door and asked “so how was walking my little sister home.” With a smile that did not match the look in his eyes. Whoopsies.

♥︎Subaru 100% wants you to be happy, and will encourage you two to be together, but he will absolutely be a big brother when he needs to be. You’re still the same little kid that he grew up with, and he has to remind himself that you’re grown up. So when Haku comes to him to ask permission to ask you on a date, he’s a little hesitant.

♥︎Subaru needed your help to deliver important papers from the administration after classes. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, everyone else in Hotarubi is busy. I’ll buy you lunch sometime this week (^_^;)” you read his message back while heading over and couldn’t help but wanting to check on Haku while you were visiting. He’s been busy recently and you haven’t had the chance to hang out with him this week. Usually he’d message you, but it’s been radio silent for days now and you’re starting to get worried that you did something.

You stepped inside Hotarubi and dropped off Subaru’s papers, afterwards you looked around the place for signs of Haru. You didn’t want to ask anyone where he was because then it would be obvious that you like him! (Even though practically everyone already knows). You packed your stuff with a defeated sigh, ready to head back to your own house until someone picked up your umbrella and held it up for you.

“I wouldn’t let you walk home alone when it’s dark like this.” You look up beside you and see his sly smile. You were caught by surprise and tried to fix how you look for a moment. “Haku! I didn’t think you’d be here, Subaru said everyone was busy today.” As if you didn’t look around for him for half an hour.

“Well… I need a break so I might as well, you’re gonna need to get close if you don’t want to get soaked by the rain.” He pointed out the distance you put between yourselves. “Oh.. right” you inched closer to him to the point where you two were touching shoulders which felt intimate in the atmosphere of the Hotarubi house. Both of you stepped outside and began to walk home, being hit with the smell of lavender and clouds of mist.

“By the way, sorry for not messaging you recently. I’ll make up for it if you want me to, maybe taking you wherever you want to next Monday? It’s a bit hectic in the house recently.” Your heart skipped a beat at his proposition, and you slowly turned your head towards him with your jaw dropped. He meant hanging out right? With extreme caution, you replied back “I don’t mind, that sounds nice”

It seems like your walk was too short for your liking, because you two stopped at your front door and he handed your umbrella back to you. Before he said anything, he kissed your cheek sweetly and declared “Let’s make it a date.” You were left on the staircase of Clementia wondering what just happened. You were holding your cheek with a deep flush washing over you and stared at his back while he walked away. Did he really just ask you out on a date?

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

[simblorbo-bracket]

Round 1 - Simblr's Saddest, Wettest Meow Meow - Mainline

Saxen (@herecirmsims) VS. Nancy Landgraab (@fallstaticexit)

(polls are presented left -> right unless stated otherwise)

Who's sadder? Who's wetter? Read on for more information, and vote with your heart!

What is a ‘Meow Meow’?

(taken from tumblr user @/torturelabyrinth) “The thing about a true poor little meow meow is they have to be 1) downtrodden 2) morally questionable at best 3) deeply and pathetically miserable”

Saxen

Things Sax does extremely well: fainting and bleeding (separately), fainting and bleeding (combination), rotting in bed, crying or being completely stoic (no in between), causing more problems while trying to fix his previous problems, omitting certain truths (aka lying).

Now, I don't know if he really counts as an SWMM because he's not a classic villain... but in his pursuit of Doing The Right Thing he has made some awful choices. Good intentions, poor outcomes.

I present the evidence beneath the cut:

Some of his crimes:

In an attempt to save his sister, he left his post and facilitated the escape of a world-devouring entity which he was supposed to help contain.

After his sister died he made another attempt to save her, via necromancy, and instead doomed her to an endless cycle of death and rebirth. Until recently, none of her reincarnations were healthy enough to survive infancy.

He befriended the parents of this latest incarnation without filling them in on the backstory, or his motives. After they were killed by his enemy, he took the baby and kept her hidden for 11 years (did she have grandparents, uncles, aunts? Yes, probably. He claims they couldn't have cared for her like he did and technicallyyyy he's right, since her survival required magic, but...)

He broke the arm of one of his 'adopted' adult kids (he has an enchanted cottage which has been a refuge for a lot of people) when said adult tried to prevent him from killing someone else. Yes, technically he did only push Thom and didn't intend for Thom to hit the wall so hard, but...

Long story short but his home world didn't end, it was just knocked out of its timeline for a while. Unfortunately, due to his actions on the day the Grim escaped (attacking portal guards and forcing his way through the rift, just as an unrelated-to-him group stormed the castle), he was a) assumed dead and b) immediately arrested on his return for treason and attempted regicide.

He's a constant menace and cause of stress to his man, the kindest and sweetest soul to ever live. He doesn't mean to be, it's just that his attempts to keep Fen safe often seem to involve risking himself in increasingly creative and fatal ways.

Why should you vote for Sax? Well, I think his endless complex trauma and the fact that almost all his misfortunes happened because he was trying to fix things/help people makes him pretty damn tragic and definitely very damp. He could do with a win. Plus... look at him. 🥲

Nancy Landgraab

What makes Nancy a Sad, Wet Meow Meow? Our famously known townie turned OC is the Queen of Melancholy. She's closeted, she's religiously repressed, she's h*rny, she's rich, she carries the burden of her deceased elder brother, she's the bane of her mother's existence. When she's not internalizing her self loathing, she's gazing longingly into the distance thinking about a life free of her mother's judgement and status that she never wanted in favor of running free through a sunflower field kissing beautiful women. And when she manages to actually show up for her two sons, she's still so emotionally detached that this will very much come up in a therapy session later. Her husband is almost on his knees begging for her to smile but she's still pining after her first love while being married to said husband (who's a second runner up for SWMM tbh).

She's a cheater, she's a liar, she's about to get into some risky, sketchy business, she disappoints her children, she's morally grey, she's a top, she's catholic, she's a cougar, she likes to splurge on dr*gs and strippers, the list goes on. ahhh.

[cleolinda]

JANUARY 7: Absolutely flawless second try at the combat tutorial. Maybe I can handle Silent Hill 2 after all!

JANUARY 11: It's a rare snow day in Alabama and I am trying to have a nice relaxing session of whacking monsters with a stick. The struggle sets in immediately.

(Comments directed at my player character are in parentheses.) {Comments directed at the enemy/monster are in brackets and bold.}

I wasn't gonna record again... but this is so bad. I'm stuck. [Laughing:] Not... I can make him walk, it's not that. I'm on a street and I'm like, breaking the windows of my first car, right? And the [monster-detecting] radio's going off—I can hear that thing—slithering? I can hear it. I can hear it—on the ground, just [imitates slithering sound], I—I can hear it. And I've got the stick out—Nails on Stick, right? But it's slithering around behind me. And I can't turn him around fast enough. 

I think—I think maybe the mouse is still too sensitive—it's not too sensitive when I use the touchpad. It's too sensitive when I use the external mouse, and I need to get used to that. 

[Muttering to self at settings panel:] Customize—no, that's not what I want...

Oh my God, so I've—I had to pause the game, like—he's like mid-swing, and this thing is already kind of—I don't know, bit him in the foot? I can't tell. 

[Laughing throughout:] I'm like, panicking! I have to fix this situation! I have to pause and fix this... this whole issue or he's gonna get—he's gonna get killed! What am I gonna do? Oh, I'm panicking, I'm panicking. [Browsing settings panels:] “Display and Graphics.” What's—what am I looking for? Oh, where is it? I don't need “Raytracing”! 

Okay, we're calming down, we're calming down—“Graphic Mode”? Okay. Okay, we're gonna calm down? We're gonna calm down. 

Okay, I actually paused that time, the audio, rather than make you ride along with my panicking. It— “Look Sensitivity,” it's under “Controls,” not “Display.” Okay. [Laughing throughout:] A fight is like the worst time to have to adjust this, but I'm not gonna be able to do it. Okay, okay. 

Um... see, and now I don't know if it's too sensitive, and the only way to know is to un-pause the game, while this thing is slithering around my ankles, and just—just see, just see. Okay.

I already have such a headache. There's like 3 inches of snow on the ground and it's Alabama. This is supposed to be a nice relaxing day of gaming. Oh my God. [Cackling.] That's why I turned on voice memo, because it's just so hysterically awful. [More cackling.] Okay. Okay. All right. All right, so the moment I hit un-pause, shit’s about to pop off. So, um... let's see. Let's go.

[While successfully fighting off a lying figure:] (James, I'm gonna get you out of this. I'm gonna get you out of this. Oh—oh, that was—I'm sorry. Honey, I'm sorry, that was me. Hit it some more. You deserve that. You earned that. Yeah, hit it. Stomp it, you earned that. You absolutely earned that.)

We are now learning the Quick Turn command? He doesn't move; the camera moves [a full 180 degrees], and that's still pretty good.

Okay, so I picked up [recording this] from the barbershop where I ended my last recording? I'm just gonna—we're just gonna live. [I used to walk James into door hinges a lot:] That was the doorknob, I did so good—

Oh. Oh, no. Oh, no. I know this place. There's something in here. Oh no, do I want to be here? I don't—I don't know that I want to be here. This is like—oh, there's something in the back room, I remember this. (Oh, honey, I'm so sorry. Real bad shit’s about to happen to you. I don't know that we're ready for this. Okay. All right, get ready. It’s bad shit.)

We gotta get the Neely’s Bar coin out of the thing. [I struggle to interact with a cash register.] “E” [to interact]. “E”? Hey, what’ve we gotta do? [Sigh.] Okay, gotta get this—come on now. Gimme the coin. Gimme the damn coin. Thank you. 

[Sharp inhale.] What was that sound, what was that sound? Turn around, turn around. What are we doing? I hear the thing. [To approaching lying figure:] {C’mere. C’mere, you little asshole, come here.} (Yeah, stomp it. Good man. All right.) 

I forget this exact location but it’s where you get the [jukebox] coin out of the cash register. [We’re at one of multiple diners, I forget which one.] And I didn't get caught in here, all right! All right, the jacket's a little bloody? [James’ jacket magically becomes bloody or clean based on his health levels.] That's not terrible. All right. (We're gonna go out this door? Yeah, just swing at it. That's—that's fair.)

I’m so tired. I don't have a mousepad— 

(I'm not gonna bump you into that chair. We're gonna do so good. Can we not... why can't we break through that window? That's not you, that's not even me. That's—that's the game being mean.) 

—yeah, I'm using a dining room table. [Knocking sounds of mouse on table. Laughing. (I have since acquired a mousepad.) ]

(That was the door frame, honey. I’m—we're all—we're all tired, I'm so sorry.)

Okay, we're gonna go fuck up a car. Here we go.


[trentcrimmlover]

✨ wip wednesday ✨

i have this doc that's just the missing scene in this fic where they actually have Totally Platonic Academic Sex For Anti-Rupert Reasons Of Course and idk if i'll ever finish it but there are some really funny parts so while the next chapter of lend you my lips continues to not be finished + i continue to work on The Balls Prompts, have this:

Okay, so, Ted is straight, but—

(Yeah, he hears it, okay, he knows any sentence that starts with those words is probably about to get gay as hell, but—just—hear him out.)

Ted is straight, but fucking Trent Crimm? Actually pretty damn fun.

It’s not that weird—friends have sex all the times, including male friends, including male straight friends—it’s just that Trent’s a special one. He’s excellent.

For one, he’s responsive—and Ted’s used to him bein’ a little twitchy, all skittish and jumpier than a hare, but apparently that translates in bed to him bein’ noisy as hell, and reactive, and just—sensitive. And Ted? Ted is into it. It means he knows exactly what Trent likes, what makes him feel good, what Ted’s doing well; and it also means he gets to hear those beautiful little noises Trent’s making, seeing the beautiful expressions that twist and flicker over his handsome features. There’s the satisfaction—he’s making Trent sound like that, he’s making Trent Crimm scream—and then there’s just the fondness, the affection, the familiarity of getting to know Trent, his friend, so intimately.

And for another thing, he’s handsy, affectionate, touching Ted back and breathless praise falls from his lips like water and he grasps at Ted’s sides, his back, pulls him in, pulls him closer, pulls himself closer. He wants Ted, that much is obvious, he’s just—plainly desperate to be touched, held, taken care of; to do the same in turn. He’s so earnest in his desire, and it makes something burn low in Ted’s belly, simmering and smooth and coiling—Trent wants him, Trent thinks he’s attractive and—Trent trusts him, Trent’s under him and loving it; Trent’s leaning up to kiss him eagerly, mouth open and breath shaky with need. Ted can give this to him, and Ted’s wanted here, wanted—

[redcloaklynx]

right so this prompt led to me writing two (unrelated) scenes

—

Blindfolded, naked, sitting on one of his masters' lap, a knee that lightly nudges between his legs whenever he makes to close them. A breath down his neck, the tickle of curls against his ear. Astarion. It has to be Astarion he leans against, if there is breathing.

"Who's hand is on your cock, pet?" Astarion whispers, near his ear. "Surely you can distinguish between your betters, right?"

Cazador bites his tongue to hold back a moan. It's a good touch, that's what it is. It has him barely able to think, stimulated by the experienced hand pumping him. He's damned himself with all the training he's put the boy through, if this is indeed Astarion's hand. It could be. With difficulty, he tries to distinguish the pressure made by the fingers. There's an arm that wraps around his torso to keep him upright, and that ends in the slender hand he used to command to touch his body. Are the fingers on his cock the same, or thicker? Surely the angle of the wrist wasn't one Astarion could easily reach, but he might be imagining the wrong direction completely. It is too much of a rush of pleasure that courses through him, after how long the masters have neglected him.

"Well?" Vellioth asks, the voice coming from somewhere in front of him.

That decides it.

"Yours, ah, yours, Master Vellioth."

He hears the whistling, has the time for half a flinch between the whip strikes his thighs, blinding pain that wrenches a cry out of him. His cock is now left alone, and he has to refrain from whining or buckling. He wasn't wrong, he's certain of it. He had the right answer. They had just planned to do this regardless.

“I can’t believe you’ve got it wrong,” Vellioth says, sickly sweet. “You know us so poorly, you need a refresher of your lessons.”

—

They bring in a large rabbit, its white fluff so voluminous that it is hard to tell how plump it is, how much blood is hidden under the fur. Astarion cracks its neck, and the movement tears a nick behind its ears. The rabbit is hung upside down at eye level to Cazador, from his place kneeling on the floor, and a dog bowl is placed under it. Astarion works his nail in the small wound until it just begins to trickle, one slow drop of blood at a time. Down the head, down the red eyes, like the pure creature is crying blood, and dripping into the bowl. Cazador hates how his mouth waters at the sight of it. They wouldn't be using that bowl if they did not intend him to drink from it, so enamoured the two are with treating him like their abused mutt.

"We've made a bet, Vellioth and I," Astarion begins.

He stares at Cazador from high above, his skin glowing with life, graced by his Ascendance. Next to him, Vellioth looks exactly like how he used to. It's a pit of bottomless dread in Cazador’s stomach at the sight of him. He knows there is no avenue he can escape to where he emerges unharmed every time he sees that face.

"Between the two of us," Vellioth says, "who can make you scream first?"

He knows how useless it is to plead for anything, any way he could reduce the torture he will be put through. He knows how useless it is, and yet he stares in Vellioth’s eyes with naked terror and the urge to beg nearly overtakes him.

"As an incentive to last," Astarion adds, "you can have what has spilled out of the rabbit up until a pretty sound makes it out of that mouth of yours. Now, Vellioth, I believe you wanted the first turn?"

"It would be my pleasure," Vellioth replies, bowing his head at Astarion.

Cazador cannot help but shake as Vellioth comes closer. The rattle of the chains binding his ankles to the ground betray—amplify—his break in composure. Vellioth rests his claws at the back of Cazador's neck.

"Oh, and Cazador?" Vellioth murmurs near his ear.

"Yes- yes, master?"

"Don't you dare end the game too quickly," he says, and sinks his fangs in Cazador’s yielding flesh.

It is at most a rabbit's worth of blood to be earned, but he clamps his jaws shut and wills himself to do nothing at all as he stares helplessly in the lifeless prey's eye, as the blood mats and stains its fur.

(anyway astarion's gameplan on "make cazador scream" is to have sex and he probably wins because vellioth puts cazador through so much pain he just passes out for short intervals)

Vellioth and Astarion making torturing Cazador a foreplay activity though, can we talk about that

[thedeafprophet]

At long last, I have finished my pixel art attempt of the six seven fanarts challenge~

This was a really fun practice of converting various designs into pixel format, it was a good challenge especially that hat

Individual drawings and tagging who suggested who under the cut!

Furnace suggested by @yoshicolonoscopyfootageofficial

Tatterdemalion suggested by @the-golliest-gee-williker

Hephaesta suggest by @the-dye-stained-socialite

The Youthful Naturalist suggested by the-golliest-gee-williker [again lol]

January suggested by @house-of-mirrors

[and ill be honest i did TRY to do the mask but it was not. working. so i gave up lmao]

The Bohemian Sculptress suggested by @press-f-to-rat

Mr Stones suggested by @bizarrebazaar13

Also if anyone wants the sprite images at their original size for whatever reasons, feel free to ask~