#recycled fic

[bonniepop]

the second kuroo bursts into the kitchen with your son of fourteen months in his arms, you know you’ve won.

"you cheated!" he accuses with a pointed finger, cradling your baby in his other arm.

your smile threatens to spread across your face as you place the last of your katsu in your airfryer, but you manage to school your impression into something blank. "i don’t know what you’re talking about."

“cheater!” he cries, following you to the sink as you wash your hands and place your cutlery away. your baby gurgles as he does.

“still no clue,” you say, playing dumb as you shake your hands and walk into the living room.

"you know what you did!" kuroo trails you all this while, and you can imagine all 189 cm of him irately bobbing around your house.

you try not to laugh, and wrangle your expression into a blank stare as you sit down on your couch, looking up at him. "i do not."

"you taught him to say mama."

it's the look on his face: the squinting eyes, the exaggerated scowl, and the mussed up hair that makes him look ridiculous. you can’t help it—the corner of your mouth twitches.

"you’re smiling!" he explodes, shifting your son into his other arm. "i knew it!"

your son blinks at the noise, looking from his father to you, and he smiles. extending his arms, he reaches for you. “mama!”

“see?!” your husband wails, and you stand up briefly to take your son before sitting back down. “that’s against the rules!”

“what rules?” you say with a roll of your eyes, unable to help your smile any longer, allowing your son to play with your hair. "mama is a perfectly normal thing for a child to say."

"he couldn't even form a single syllable a week ago!" kuroo snaps, "you coached him!"

you giggle, partly because he was right, but also he looked cute stomping to the armchair and sitting down, crossing his arms and pouting. 

you suppress a laugh at his touchiness, but nudge your son. "baby, where’s papa?"

his eyes blink up at you, then he points at your husband. tetsuro glares at the chubby little hand of his traitorous son.

"go give papa a hug," you say, setting him down. he takes wide steps and bends back and forth on his hips before giving up and speed crawling to his father. 

despite kuroo’s pout, he bends over to pick up his son. 

"you can always try again with baby number two," you remind him.

"yeah, yeah," he grumbles, leaning back so your son can settle on his chest. "you’re lucky you're the love of my life and i can set aside my competitiveness for you."

you chuckle. "hey, baby," you call to your son, and the boy looks back at you, his hands on the collar of your husband’s shirt. you see the affection that opens up on tetsuro's face when he looks at his child, and it makes your heart twinge. "say papa."

your son doesn’t falter, offering you a smile. "mama!"

[rollercoasterwords]

honestly i personally could not care less if someone copies/“plagiarizes” my fic ideas/plots/etc. like ok we can write the same story i’ll just do it better. & if their version is better? well that’s on me….i cannot begrudge a beautiful flower for blooming

[hinamie]

hhmmmmm uh im dusting the cobwebs off my brain trying 2 come up w something interestinf uhh.......anything non spoiler-y you can discuss w regards to geto in the atla au perchance?

hi rin !!!!! tysm fr sending i hope u r doing well <3

atla geto lore fr u courtesy of sam:

he's a waterbender from the northern water tribe. he can bloodbend but finds it distasteful

he gave gojo the betrothal necklace/proposed to him when they were 20 (all of the adult characters are aged up in the fic vs jjk canon ages)

all of his decisions are driven by a desire to lighten the burden placed on gojo's shoulders

aaaaand atla geto draws fr u courtesy of Me :3

jjk atla!au with @philosophiums

[meirimerens]

la gueule des loups

[heavenbloom]

🇵🇸 BEFORE YOU READ: DONATE, BOYCOTT TLOU, DAILY CLICK, STREAM THIS SONG TO DONATE

⚰︎ — 𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆!𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

song: valse sentimentale, op. 51, no. 6 - tchaikovsky

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut and slight angst, oral (r!receiving), sexual tension, afab reader, extensive descriptions of blood, blood drinking, bloody kisses, minor descriptions of pain, set in the unspecified past, omission of abby’s true identity until near the end, eventual breakdown then comfort, loosely dracula-esque, not proofread

a/n: wanted this to be a fully fleshed out oneshot but i didn’t have time😔 happy halloween from me nonetheless <3

vampire!abby, who shares an uncanny resemblance to the portraits that line her opulent walls. they gaze down at you with the same set jaw and stern brow, the same shock of golden waves. her family tree, she says, but it seems off… you have yet to lay eyes on any family. it’s as if she were a phantom that tore herself away from the constraints of oil and varnish and who is now playing the part of flesh and bone.

vampire!abby whose hospitality knows no bounds. even if her eyes glow a little too azure in the flickering flame of the hearth. even if her body is too still, her chest frozen with the lack of the in-out-in-out animal rhythm of breath. it matters not, because she has opened her home, and her heart, to you in a time of need. these little oddities don’t outweigh her charms.

and oh, how charming she is. vampire!abby has a way with words, a honeyed tongue that drags heat from within to the apples of your cheeks. the things she finds to compliment you on are never ending, all with a charismatic smile to top it off. she doesn’t dangle her affections and beckon, she lays it out flat on her palm for the taking.

vampire!abby, who you only see when the sun sets. it would have been strange, if not for the way she thrummed with a liveliness, a natural gift for conversation and entertainment that instantaneously vanished all growing doubts. she tells you stories of her adventures, spoken with the fondness of a distant memory. she shows you rare books that lay thick and dusty in your palms. the smell of worn leather and aged paper and her infiltrates your senses as she leans over your shoulder. frankincense, lavender and something unplaceable that crackles in the air. she looks at you as she flips the brittle pages gently, as if she’s read it, memorised it, a hundred times over…

vampire!abby, who keeps her restraint under control by the skin of her teeth. the sound of your pace racing rapidly beneath the thin sheet of your skin each time she comes near and the way your eyes dilate. not to mention the heady smell of your blood that fills the air night and day… she could eat you alive. oh, how she wants to, but she’s found herself growing fonder of your presence each day. she’s forgotten how lonely she has become, in this manor-shaped grave. burial site no longer, your mortal warmth makes it almost feel like a home again.

vampire!abby, who, finding herself unable to prey on you, decides to lavish you with affection instead. waltzes in the strong, soothing frame of her arms, in a ballroom so desolate the marble floor blurs as she spins and swivels you around. custom-made attire of the finest silks and velvets, all for you. then the gentler moments; the slow drag of fingertips as she buttons up your blouse, a gloved thumb trailing its way down the slope of your neck. fabric, the only thing separating the much wanted feel of skin-on-skin.

vampire!abby, who is the one to cut the suspended rope of tension between the two of you. she admits her feelings for you so sweetly, a choral my love, my love, mine. she asks you if these feelings also plague you, though she knows the answer before your lips part, with the telltale gallop of your heartbeat beneath your ribs. yes.

vampire!abby, whose lovemaking feels eternal because she knows that these moments with you are fleeting, your little mortal life a single dot in the long-drawn pages of her immortality. her lips ghost over every searing inch of skin, pressing openmouthed kisses wherever she can. she spends hours between your sprawled thighs, licking strokes between the puffy, silky lips of your cunt, nose pressed to your soaked warmth as she savours your saccharine taste slowly until your legs tremble around her head. all the while, she ignores the boiling fingers of hunger that dig into her guts. skin, sweat, essence. she swears these are the only parts of you that she will ever taste. she could never, she would never…

but vampire!abby cannot fight the nocturnal nature that calls to her like a siren song. the closer you get, the more time she spends revering your body, the less she has a grasp on her beastly temperament. she wants you, all of you. all that plagues her mind are the shivering veins that entangle through your body, the richness that lingers just beneath the surface. she thinks and thinks and thinks until the chord within her snaps.

vampire!abby, who confesses her true nature to you keeled over on the floor through heaving breaths. her fingers claw at the fabric covering your knees, not out of malice but out of desperation. her too-bright eyes are wide moons that hang over the ocean, and her brows are drawn together in pleading. this is the defiling, monstrous truth, she whispers through quivering lips. please love me as i am. i cannot bear another loss, but if you desire to leave… no harm will come to you. but i beg you, stay.

vampire!abby, who is stunned when you gather the heap of her broad, icy body into your arms. tears slip down the curve of her cheeks as you whisper soothing promises into the silken pile of her hair. you were a fool for staying, for pitying this hellish creature, but she was still the same person who had captured your heart, who clung to you now with the ferocity of somebody begging for proximity, for compassion, for companionship. you realised, just as shocked, that you would give her all these things and more.

vampire!abby, who doesn’t ask for your blood, but you offer it to her anyway, tugging down your collar and baring your craned neck to her. there is silence before you feel the velvet of her tongue gliding down the smooth expanse of skin, her fingers rubbing circles along your waist to calm any lingering nerves. her mouth travels upwards until it stops abruptly, pausing on the steadiness of your pulse beneath. she presses a feather-light kiss to the spot before you hear her the click of her expanding jaw, then the piercing, bright-burning feeling of her canines sinking deep.

vampire!abby, whose bite feels tender when the searing pain gives way to a weakening, otherworldly bliss. you melt like chocolate in sunlight when liquid ecstasy encompasses you at the feeling of fangs reaching the innermost parts of you. and she is enraptured with the taste of you, sticky ambrosia dripping thickly down her throat and seeping out the corners of her lips when greed overwhelms her. droplets spill onto her snowy collar and the silky blue cravat laced around her throat. warbling moans tickle against your skin as she savours each note, each shifting depth that reveals itself with each gulp.

vampire!abby, who licks the remnants clean. the puncture at your neck, her lips, her fingers, the valley between your breasts where stray droplets lay. not before peppering you with bloody, breathy kisses though, the tang of copper sharp on your tongue.

vampire!abby, who then bites you rarely. she could never get sick of it, but she wants this to remain a delicacy to her, something done in the intimate hours entwined together. each time, you offer a different part of your body, and she can hear the anticipatory quickening of your heartbeat. you’ve both acquired new tastes, palates that harmonise with one another and have forged a bond like no other. she can only hope that, one day, it will be forevermore.

[powerfultenderness]

okokokok I know I've been writing a lot of nasty no good Soap lately. So here's a cute little snippet of Soap trying to be sly and get a kiss out of Pretend Girlfriend!Reader (and the fake dating was her idea/request).

Honestly, this whole time Johnny has been nothing but a gentleman. You're sure sleeping with him-beside him!- will be fine, nothing to be uncomfortable about, you're both adults and things have been very clear. Convinced of that, you drop your phone on the nightstand to your side and reach over to turn off the lamp.

Johnny does the same, but hesitates before turning off the light.

"I think there's one thing we forgot, doll."

You pause mid shuffle and look at him, "hm? What?"

"Well, weddin's are romantic."

"Yea..?" you blink at him and sit back up.

"And when couples are feelin' romantic, they kiss."

Even as your face heats up, you let out a scoffed laugh as grins at you. His eyes are practically glowing as he wiggles his brows. "Ye don' wan the first time we kiss to be in front of yer family. We should definitely practice."

You laugh again, this time clearly nervous, but tap your chin in thought. "You do have a point..." You draw out as you think. You'd be lying if you said a spontaneous kiss from him wouldn't leave you flustered, not at all what the reaction from someone who has supposedly been dating for six months should be.

"Alright," you say and motion for him to fully face you.

His grin loses some of it's smugness as he leans in, one hand moving to gently cradle the side of your face as the distance between you shrinks. "Don' worry, I'll be-"

He doesn't get the chance to finish his sentence as you move faster than him. You quickly press your lips to the side of his face and with extra emphasis make a loud "MUAH!" sound.

Johnny stills, hand stuck in the air with a confused, stupefied, look on his face as you giggle at him.

"Is THAT how ya kiss yer man?!"

Now your giggles are a full blown laugh. "I have never once made out with a partner in front of my family! They'd instantly catch on if I started tomorrow!"

"Really?" He doesn't push for another kiss and even he is chuckling at the way you turned it on him. "Never even snuck out to be alone in some back room or somethin'?"

"Nope." You shuffle back under the blankets. "Now get some sleep, Johnny. I need you to charm some aunties into leaving me alone tomorrow."

He lets out one more chuckle before he turns off his bedside lamp, "alrigh'. Goodnigh, hen."

[ew-selfish-art]

Here’s the thing about the Twin AU that people aren’t considering: the Drs Fenton are resourceful! They can make amazing inventions out of household objects and machines!

So when they were accepting a contract from Ra’s to look at the Lazarus Pits in conjunction to their research (ie the best dissertation material ever) they looked at the spare twin that was being sacrificed and said “a perfectly good baby like that would probably be nice to have around!”

Sure, the Spare Heir was ecto contaminated because of the pits and that’s why Ra’s was getting rid of him, but seriously, not everything needed to be brand new these days! Upcycle! Science can fix all the ectoplasm and possession! He’ll be just like new in no time! Take that baby out of the pit and wash em up and take that baby to the Midwest! Teach that baby about stars and Ghosts!

The Drs Fenton take baby danny on their last day, knowing that the league thinks that he’s dead- already sacrificed, Ra’s felt the power shift of the Infinite Realms- and proceed forward like nothing was ever a big deal! They published their findings on the pits, they got another contract/grant and then began the journey to start moving towards their other projects!

Why tell Jazz, she’s only a toddler when they bring him home?

Why tell Danny, he’s just their little man, their Dann-o?

Things will probably be fine, because just like their up cycled machines and portals- an upcycled baby wouldn’t have any problems! Their inventions always worked perfectly! Their son would be just as perfect!

Cue the shenanigans of Damian and Danny meeting, the normal amount of “you’re the clone” finger pointing (which Danny wins because he has actual baby/childhood photos) and then some ghosts of assassins past trying to cause issues for Phantom.

[rimatsu]

you know what is missing in the bucktommy mpreg craze? how it adds such a new layer to the sexiness for the pregnant person, specifically when the main focus is not the baby. yes, we all know the doctor visits and sonograms and belly rubs and baby clothes shopping and horny sex marathons. but what about buying clothes that are supposed to accomodate the bigger belly but the real goal is to look sexy af for a fancy date night and maybe to get a few appreciative looks from strangers? what about going to the gym as usual but showing off the belly with a crop top and the booty with some short pants because hubby enjoys the view? what about going out to dance and to drink mocktails with friends while hubby stays at home, but still putting on something more revealing to tease hubby? pregnancy is not just about the horniness but also the sexiness of whoever is pregnant! love to see characters feeling 10 times more confident and sexy in their own bodies actually and enjoying flaunting that while also feeling so so so secure in their relationship with their partner and their love for the baby and their changing body ❤️ i love when the emotional security feeds the positive body image!!

this is like poetry to me.. yes to all of this we're in dire need of that particular flavor of mpreg bucktommy. to you anon, i gift this peripherally topical snippet languishing in my drafts. next time i'll stick to the theme more faithfully i promise

Tommy is brushing his teeth when Evan turns off the water stream, stepping out of the shower on careful legs — balance unsteady, the extra weight he’s hauling around shifting his center of gravity and arching his lower spine. Tommy stands by the sink and stares at his husband, enamored with the sight of him.

Six months in, Evan’s belly used to be perfectly round: curved like a ball, orbed like the moon. Clothed, he looked like a model for a pregnancy fashion brand in anything he wore, tall and broad-shouldered and carrying his growing bump like an accessory. But now that Evan is so far along the process he experiences Braxton-Hicks most nights, his abdomen isn’t quite the perfect sphere anymore. The bump sits heavy and large on the cradle of his pelvis, dropping lower with each day that drips into the next. Naked, he looks like he’s two seconds away from bursting at the seams. He's swollen all over from his pecs to his ankles, skin pulled so tight over his belly silvery-pink stretchmarks cover his sides, streaky indentations Tommy loves to trace with his fingertips. 

Like this, Evan is a vision: Tommy could probably wax poetics about the hyperpigmentation line running down his middle, his cute popped-out navel, and even the enlarged veins criss-crossing down his legs from the oversupply of blood pumping in his system. Evan has always been spellbindingly attractive, but there's novelty in watching the chiseled lines of his muscles soften, the familiar shapes of his body morphing into something new and achingly temporary — the extra padding of his thighs and arms and his meatier hips acting as tangible indications that their lives is about to change. But as much as Tommy looks forward to meeting their daughter, to finally hold her in his arms and not just see her in grainy sonograms, and as objectively selfish as the thought is, he wouldn’t mind Evan staying like this forever: heavy with his child, fecund and dewy and full of literal life. 

"What's with the staring?" Evan asks when their eyes meet. Mirth seeps into his voice as he shakes his hips and adds, "You want some of this?"

[bumblingbabooshka]

What if Janeway (as a lieutenant commander) habitually went to the mess hall late at night because she's a cook so terrible it extends to replicated food and she can usually find something to snack on there but one day she finds that among the usual things left out for people to grab, there's something homemade and she takes a chance on it to find it's DELICIOUS!

From that point on she sometimes finds homemade things with a note in the same handwriting, declaring that anyone's free to take a portion. (Janeway sometimes takes more than one, oops) and she becomes increasingly curious about who it is leaving these dishes and though other people have also taken portions no one seems to know who's leaving them.

Then one night she comes into the mess hall to find Tuvok there. She tenses up, ready for a confrontation. To say they don't get along well would be an understatement, but she can't just turn around and walk right back out after locking eyes with him. They both give each other a terse, obligatory greeting. Then as Tuvok moves away Janeway notices that he left a tray of something...with a note. With THE Note!! It's his handwriting! Janeway stops Tuvok to talk about how she's been eating the food he leaves sometimes and how good it is and Tuvok seems to be responding woodenly, as if he wants to end the interaction as soon as possible which irritates Janeway and so (along with genuine curiosity) she decides to extend the conversation by asking why he sometimes leaves food. Tuvok hesitates then admits he at times makes too much unconsciously because he's used to cooking for a large family. Before [re-]joining Starfleet he was never really away from them. He asks that Janeway not reveal his identity because he doesn't want others to perceive it as an attempt to curry favor (he's remembering the sulu incident). Janeway softens a bit. She didn't know Tuvok had a family or could admit to making mistakes. It makes her like him more. They say goodnight to one another and Tuvok leaves. The next day when they happen to see each other, Janeway tells Tuvok (in a conspiratorially low voice) that she found the dish he made last night exquisite as always. Tuvok says a brief thank you, then hurries off, almost as if embarrassed. Janeway smiles. It's one of the first breaks in the ice between them.

[sibillascribbles08]

It's only been a little over a month since the invasion, and Cassandra Jones has a lot on her plate. As if it weren't tricky enough to take up the city protection role while all of the turtles were out of commission, both due to their own injuries and their comatose sibling. Then she had to get captured by the Foot Clan while trying to gather information about their latest big scheme. They even try to use her to accomplish it, by placing a powerful mask on her face. Only for the spirit inhabiting it to gleefully offer Cassandra a deal. If she helps get him and his friends to their alter to free their spirits, he'll do anything he can to help her along the way. The only downside is, he'd have to hitch a ride inside her brain. Cassandra, not one to back down from a challenge, agrees anyway and attempts to get this all over with as fast as possible. Unfortunately she ends up with a lot of people following in her trail, including someone she's certain is working for the enemy, and all the while she has to deal with this mildly annoying spirit cracking jokes in the back of her mind.

LINK !

Cassandra fic is here yippee

ID in alt text

[lizardkingeliot]

I have an au brewing in my head and I don't wanna give too much away rn but it's mostly going to be an excuse to explore Louis and Lestat continuing to hook up in a modern setting after The Little Drink happens because I need to get all the way in Louis' head about this...

Like what are you thinking what are you FEELING after you hook up with this person you like so much and he drinks your blood... and you get off about it. And it makes you feel closer than you've ever felt to anyone. And you don't know he's a vampire yet... until suddenly you do.

I'm also mildly obsessed with the idea of human Louis having an extended affair with Lestat knowing he's a vampire. There is just… so much to explore there. And I'm gonna give too much away if I keep going so I am SHUTTING UP. 😎

[bazpango]

Anon I'm so sorry I saved your ask as a draft and it literally disappeared?????

But here's Ch7 for you <3 I'm so glad you liked L's tracksuit. Enjoy more shenanigans.

[theinternetisfulloftrash]

Hey!!

Can I request “are you wearing my shirt?” with Dylan? Please and thank you!

Love you xx

You've waited a long time for this...

SO YES, I most certainly can! This sounds like fun :) MUCH LOVE!

Authors Note: Cliche? Maybe. But some lines are classic. Sue me. But like, don't? Litigation is expensive ;) p.s. smut... p.p.s. x female reader.

Prompt list HERE, but currently closed. This prompt is like a year old :/

Better on the Floor

Exhausted would be putting it mildly. You'd had a long week and the fact that it was only Wednesday wasn't helping. When you got home, you kicked out of your shoes, stretching out your aching toes as you stripped out of your stiflingly uncomfortable clothes, wandering your way slowly down the hall toward the bedroom. You peeled off your underwear and tossed them in the hamper before you padded into the bathroom to turn on the faucet of the bathtub. You watched the water pool in the palm of your hand, running out between the gaps of your fingers until it was just this side of scalding before you plugged the tub.

You stretched out like a cat in a sunbeam and then pulled open the drawer of the vanity to grab a bath bomb. You watched impatiently as the bath slowly filled before tossing the little ball of Epsom salt into the water, watching it fizz for a few moments before you followed after and slid into the water.

You could almost feel the muscles of your back sigh in relief as the warmth washed over them, drawing out at least some of the tension that had been locking them in place for days. You relaxed against the slope of the bath, letting your neck roll against the soft bath cushion for a few minutes. Enjoying the silence long enough to feel human again before you flicked the water from your hands and reached down to grab your phone from the bathmat.

Your discover playlist on Spotify was something you liked to try to fit in during the week because you always liked finding something new, and you hadn't had a chance yet this week. Now seemed as good a time as any. You tapped to play and then set your phone down on the edge of the bath. You weren't sure exactly how much time had passed before the music faded out to an incoming notification, but when you swiped to view the text, your fingers were wrinkled and pale from the soak.

Dylan: So... I'm outside... and I'm an idiot

You smiled and shook your head before your smile turned to more of a smirk. You sat up a bit in the bath, shaking the water off your other hand so you could reply.

You: Alright. I'm intrigued.

Dyan: I might have...maybe...possibly left my keys in my trailer

You: How'd you get home?

Dylan: Fob wasn't on my key ring after I had it detailed

Dylan: Come let me in? I feel like a creep lurking out here

You: One sec

This was exactly like him, and it only made you love him more. You smiled as you stepped out of the bath and quickly toweled dry with one that was a bit smaller than you'd like if you were going to the door, so you snatched his bundled t-shirt off the counter and pulled it on before you rushed to the front door and unlocked it.

"Hey," he said with a smile when you opened the door.

"Hey," you replied, reaching out your hand to take his. You pulled him inside and into a tight hug, standing up on the tips of your toes and locking your arms together around his neck.

He gently kicked the door closed behind him and locked the deadbolt before he fully hugged you back, squeezing you tight around the waist and sighing into the damp hair at the nape of your neck.

"Oh no... you were in the bath, weren't you?" He pulled back and cupped your cheek in his palm. "Sorry, baby."

"'S'okay..." you hummed, nuzzling into his touch, enjoying the warmth of his palm on your cheek.

"You must have been so cozy in there..." He admired you for a moment, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before his gaze roamed down over your body.

You smiled, blushing at his attention.

"You look pretty comfy now though..." he said softly, pausing for a moment before he continued. "Is that...are you wearing my shirt?"

"Mhm..." you hummed, swaying slightly in his arms.

His eyes continued roaming, his hands following the trail they blazed until they were toying with the hem of it that was skirting across your upper thighs.

The skimming touch of his fingertips on your skin lit it with goosebumps. "It looks better on me..." you lied.

"Maybe..." he chuckled softly, pulling his lower lip between his teeth for a moment before his eyes met yours again, "but it'd look even better on the floor."

Did it matter that it was a line if ever you'd heard one? Not even slightly. It still sent a filthy little shiver down your spine. It didn't help that he'd leaned in and was peppering the side of your throat with wet little kisses as he walked you backward until you were pressed to the wall of the entryway.

He kissed you hard, his hands pinning your shoulders to the wall before they slid down your body and pulled his shirt up over it. He tossed it on the floor and then leaned in again, his nose brushing against yours before he whispered in your ear.

"See?" he breathed, his lips wet on your skin. His fingertips ghosted along your skin until one palm settled on your chest, the other on your ass.

You didn't see a damn thing except for little stars, but he'd more than made his point. You punched out an abrupt panted breath at the feeling of his fingers pinching your nipple before he sealed his lips to yours and swallowed down the little moan he pulled from you.

He kissed you until you were breathless, and in the brief reprieve he offered—mouthing along your jawline and driving you wild with the little grazes of his teeth—you managed to draw in a ragged enough lung full of air to keep from passing out.

You were pretty sure you'd collapse if he wasn't holding you in place. His touch, his admiration of your body, it had you forgetting just how awful you'd been feeling just an hour ago. Turns out? A hot bath and a fine-ass man putting his hands all over you are the curealls for just about everything. Who knew.

"Missed you..." he hummed against the thin skin that covered your collarbone.

Your head fell back against the wall.

"Couldn't stop thinking about you..." he said before he kissed his way to the dip at the base of your throat. "Took a shower on my break..."

You looked down at him, at his hand that was clasped to your upper arm, those beautiful veins painting across the tendons that flexed at his grip. His dark hair smelled of his shampoo.

"Had me so riled up I had hide in there and beat off just so I could be seen in fucking public."

It made you immeasurably happy that he was still infatuated enough with you that he was capable of expressing the laughably pathetic self-control of a hormone-addled teen. Your cheeks flushed and a little chuckle shook your chest.

"I deserve that..." He smiled against your skin, before he pulled back from you, his eyes locking with yours. "But I mean..." his gaze flicked down your body before his hand that had been nestled into the dip of your waist slipped down between the two of you until he was cupping the warmth of your core in his hand. "Can you blame me?"

"Fuck."

Now he was the one chuckling, but it quickly faded, his expression shifting from sly to sultry when his fingers slipped inside of you.

You groaned, your head falling forward to his clothed shoulder. You gripped the fabric of his shirt, stretching out the neck enough to expose some skin for you to latch onto with a nipping little bite.

He winced, sucking in a quick breath before he distracted you from your mission to mark your territory with a curl of his fingers inside you.

"Oh— Shit!" you gasped, panting into the cotton of his shirt until it was damp with your desperate breaths.

"That feel good?" he asked, even though the way you were squeezing his fingers had to be answer enough.

You nodded against his chest before he used the curled index finger on his free hand to lift your chin.

"Good," he said before he leaned in and kissed you.

His soft lips felt incredible, the flavour mint on his breath mixed with the faintest hint of tobacco, the combination had become something uniquely 'him' to you. It made your head spin. So, when his tongue begged to be let in to play with yours, you were happy to oblige.

You let him work you over until you could feel that little buzz building up inside you, that tingling hint that—with just a little more effort, one more precise little motion—he'd have you cumming before he was even out of his shoes, and that hardly seemed acceptable.

Breaking your kiss, you pulled away from his chasing lips, knowing you must look absolutely wrecked, and then you gripped him through his pants.

He tossed his head back and practically growled at your touch, his fingers stilling for only a moment before his eyes met yours once more with a fierce, fiery need. He shoved your hand aside and ripped open the zipper of his jeans and shoved your hand into his boxers.

"That's what you do to me..." he said, rutting into your palm, matching his pace with his fingers inside you as he kicked out of his sneakers.

You grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it off him, tossing it against the wall behind him. "Take those off..." you said, flicking your gaze down his body at his pants, flexing your wrist inside his boxers.

He stepped out of his jeans and socks and then pressed you against the wall once more, rubbing his thigh against the back of his arm to apply a bit more pressure to the hand that was driving you insane.

"You close?" he asked, nosing your jawline and breathing against your skin.

You nodded, pressing a kiss to the side of his throat before you spoke. "Yes..."

He pressed his thumb against your clit and you gasped his name into his hair when his lips fell to your chest.

Just when you thought he was going to shove you off the edge, you felt his fingers slip free from you before he slid down onto his knees in front of you. His warm brown eyes looking up at you, his soft lips parted just inches from your skin. This was criminal. This was attempted murder in the first degree.

When his tongue teased over you, the flutter of his eyelashes was almost enough to get you off. It looked like he was taking a hit of a designer drug...getting high off you.

He moaned against your skin and his hands pinned your hips to the wall, gripping the soft skin under them tight enough that it stung. That tiny hint of pain only made all of it better.

Your hands tangled into his hair, drawing him closer to you. You sighed out his name and half-formed expletives as his tongue teased you back to that precipice he'd had you teetering over minutes earlier.

He sealed his lips around the singing little bundle of nerves and flicked his tongue, his beard teasing the sensitive skin, before he let his lips fall open and he lapped along the slick of you he'd made slicker with his skilled mouth.

You were trembling now, your fingernails scraping along the back of his neck now, your legs weak with the effort of holding yourself up when all you wanted to do was fall apart.

"Come for me..." he breathed before he sealed his lips again.

Demand? Request? It hardly fucking mattered, because before you could classify it as either you were doing it. You were calling out, grasping his shoulders and trembling against his hold on your hips.

He pulled back from you, wiping his mouth into the palm of his hand before he stood in front of you once more. "Mmm...." he hummed before you watched him stroke his length with his wet hand. "Love the way you sound when you're cussing my name..."

Fuck. He'd only just made you come and you felt a new little ember spark to life inside you just waiting to be stoked. Insatiable was putting it lightly. When he kissed you this time, you could taste what he'd done to you—how he'd just driven you wild—and you needed to make him feel just as good.

You stepped apart enough to make more space for him between your legs and pulled him toward you. "Need you..." you whispered against his lips.

"Need me to what?" he replied, kissing along your jawline to your ear before he lapped against your throat and sealed his lips to suck a little mark into your skin.

You bucked your hips against him, feeling his length slide through the mess he'd made of you. "To fuck me..."

The way he responded to those words never got old. You held them in reserve, generally choosing to be a touch more subtle. He practically growled, his head snapping back, his dark eyes trained on yours when his grip on you tightened.

You gasped when he hefted you up in front of him, lining himself up with you, locking your thighs around his hips before he pinned you to the wall so he could free one of his hands enough to lock one of your wrists up in it just above your head. Then he drove into you in a slow, firm thrust.

"Dylan!" you cried out before he kissed you again, grinding you back against the wall before he began a more predictable, yet tantalizing rhythm.

A perfectly good couch in the living room just steps away really, a bed down the hall that was plush and waiting, and yet here you were fucking against the wall a step inside the front door like a couple of rabid animals.

When he fucked you like this he never retreated, in this position he just rocked his body into yours. The pressure it provided just where you wanted it most was unmatched. It was incredible and intense. It quickly reminded you why the couch and the bed should be neglected from time to time. Variety is the spice of life, right? And this particular variety was delicious.

"Fuck, baby..." he moaned, his hand slipping from yours, his fingers gliding through your hair until they were tangled into it and he tugged it just enough to make you wince. "So good... so fucking tight..."

"Shit!" He was driving you fucking wild. Sometimes you wish you could take just a tiny day trip into his mind to see if you made him feel as unhinged as he did you. Hardly seemed possible, but the way he looked buried inside you? You could be tempted to believe there was a chance his infatuation could rival your own.

Your body was trembling again and you felt that familiar tug inside you, that welcomed warmth building. Desire and need beginning to fold to bliss and euphoria. Was he with you? Was he ready?

The stutter of his hips, the faltering of that perfect rhythm, they were signs that he was on the edge of his own release. His breath grew ragged, and his jaw clenched with the effort it was clearly taking him to hold it back.

You didn't want him to wait, he was ready and so were you. You leaned forward and kissed him, clenching around him as the final roll of his hips had you coming undone around him.

The soft rumble of the groan he let out into your mouth when you felt him spill inside you made every sensation feel all the more intoxicating. Moments like this were almost unfathomable. How did you end up here? Lucky enough to have this man panting against your chest? It was absurd really. Absolutely batshit.

After a few moments of shared giggles and coming back to reality, he picked the shirt you'd been wearing off the floor and handed it to you to slip back on.

He appraised you as you tugged the hem down over your body.

"What?" you asked, smoothing the new tangles in your hair.

"Nothin'..." he said with a shrug, pulling on his boxers. "Just nice being right."

You narrowed your eyes. "About?"

"Definitely better on the floor."

[clearwillow]

Shared this teaser with patrons last month and I wasn't originally planning to post it elsewhere but decided that yeah...I guess I probably should to prove I'm trying to write? It's finished, but I'm still working on editing with my beta. It also still doesn't have a name cause every title I think of has been used or doesn't really fit it.

Anyway here's a look at it.

Inuyasha would give her looks, and she was positive that he knew she was silently going off the rails, but he never brought attention to it. Kagome appreciated how he’d changed in this regard; back when they were teenagers he wouldn’t have hesitated to make a deal out of her prolonged silence. It had usually led to a fight, and she’d used the beads unnecessarily. Luckily that thought shifted her focus. “Do you still have the beads of subjugation?”

“Yup.” Inuyasha reached under the collar of his shirt and pulled out the string of dark colored beads. “What brought this on? Do you want to see if they still work?”

There was no suspicion in his voice, no sign of anger that she’d even mentioned the accessory he’d been forced to wear since the day they’d met. Only curiosity. Kagome still shook her head furiously. “N-no, of course not!”

He got up from the table and came to sit on the floor next to Kagome’s chair. “Well, I’m curious. Go ahead,” he urged.

“S… s-sit?” Kagome winced, expecting to feel the floor vibrate from the impact of Inuyasha hitting it…but there was nothing. Inuyasha continued to sit there, and there was a glimmer of disappointment in his eyes. ��Inuyasha? Did…did you…want to be –”

“Keh! Hell no,” he chuckled humorlessly. “But I thought there might have still been a chance that they had their power after all this time. I had a feeling that when Kaede went to join Kikyo that the spell would break, but I couldn’t bring myself to test it. I don’t know if I could have handled it if I knew for sure.”

Kagome reached out and nudged him to lay his head on her leg. Slowly, she brushed her fingers through his hair. “You wore them all this time and never once tried? Why?”

“It was all I had left of you,” he whispered. “If I found out I could take them off…it would have been like I was throwing away the last connection I had to you.”

How many times could a heart break? Kagome wasn’t sure she wanted to know, but it felt like hers had again. “I took advantage of their spell too often. I wouldn’t think you’d want to remember that.”

“You saved me with these on a few occasions, don’t forget. The other times I was being stupid, and believe me when I look back on those memories, I want to kick my own ass. We were both wrong, but we were too stubborn to admit it.”

“Do you want to take them off?” she asked. Inuyasha looked up at her with a hint of panic and she quickly added, “We could display them? I won’t make you get rid of them, Inuyasha. I just thought that you might want to keep them where they can be seen and you could put them on whenever you’d like.”

Inuyasha visibly relaxed, resting his cheek on her thigh once again. “Yeah…yeah, we could do that.”

“No rush, of course.”

“Of course.”

They sat in silence after that, and Kagome continued to run her fingers through his hair. She hadn’t expected Inuyasha to change his view of the beads, but then it had been a long time since he’d been made to wear them. The way he’d looked at her moments before made her dinner turn over in her stomach. She hadn’t meant to upset him, and she certainly didn’t want to make him throw away something he’d come to cherish. Seeing his reaction must have been what he was seeing in her eyes earlier.

[c-rowland]

day 1: mirrors

for @dbdpromptober i am doing one headcanon a day!!!

mirrors: i like to think that in the start, edwin wasnt so savvy at mirror travel and often got it wrong in very comical ways such as getting himself squeezed through MUCH too small mirrors like rearview mirrors, those tiny magnifying mirrors some people have in their bathrooms, and compact mirrors. one notable day he gets himself stuck in a mirror maze for three hours and has an hour stress cry about it when he's finally back where he's meant to be.

also shoutout this one fanart today that illustrates this perfectly

[arkhammaid]

lol have memes for girl!oscar fic i'm currently writing 🤭 (i'm so back)

spoilers beneath the cut and remember to click on the pics for full text!!