#short sweet? and to the point!

[virescent-v]

Can you do a "on your knees" smut prompt?

Like a Prayer

A/N: I don't know what this is, but I'm happy with it I think? But mostly, I hope this is what you wanted! It's super short, but that feels right? Idk dude, it's all about the vibes today and I'm just rolling with it.

Word Count: 663 Warnings: it's smut lol but it's not as...detailed as some of my other stuff hehehe

Panting breaths, clashing teeth, pushing, pulling. 

Stumbling over each other and the trail of clothes you were leaving, you and Emily bumped into the wall outside of her bedroom. Her hands tangled in your hair, pulling your head back to give her room to attach her lips to your neck. 

Each breath you took felt like a fire in your lungs, like your chest was going to collapse in on itself. 

Leaving dark marks on your neck, Emily’s lips traveled back up, catching yours in a heated embrace. Breaking apart for air, Emily took your hand and led you into the bedroom. 

At the edge of her bed, her eyes caught yours, while her hands wrapped around your hips, her thumbs rubbing the skin exposed between your shirt and pants. You could feel the intensity of her gaze burning into you, a precursor for the mood of the night, a culmination of the heat that’s built up all evening. 

“On your knees for me,” she commanded.

You held her gaze as you slowly slunk to the floor, trailing your hands down her torso and legs, rubbing circles on her toned thighs. The soft click of the zipper as each part of the chain came loose echoed in your ears, heightening each ebb of arousal that coursed through you. 

The brush of fabric down Emily’s legs caused her to sigh, the kisses to her thighs caused her to whimper. The skim of your nose against her coarse curls as you breathed in her smell, her arousal for you, made her tilt her head back and shudder. 

“Eyes on me, Em.” 

Tilting her head back down, her eyes a shade darker, her hand tangled in your hair at the top of your head. 

With held eye contact, Emily guided your face toward her pussy. 

Emily’s eyelids fluttered at the first contact of your tongue on her clit, the soft, slow swirls causing her hips to jerk towards you. With each pass of your tongue, her eyes became seemingly darker, more hooded, a challenge to continue watching you. 

As you got into a rhythm, Emily’s hips started rolling into you, matching the pace you were setting. The movement of your mouth against Emily was making her let out the most delicious noises; groans, sighs, and guttural whimpers that had you moaning against her, the vibrations pushing her closer and closer to the edge. 

Switching it up to extend her pleasure, you started licking broad strokes against her, gathering as much of her essence as you could, the heady flavor driving you crazy. Getting your fill of her, you tossed one of her legs over your shoulder, opening her up further to you. Bringing up your fingers, you entered her, causing her to bend forward in bliss. 

Using your two fingers, you thrusted in and out, making sure to hit the spongy spot inside of Emily that always made her cry out. You loved feeling how wet she got for you, how tight her cunt would clamp down on your fingers as she started to reach her peak. Each thrust that brought her closer made Emily’s fingers tighten in your hair, pulling it to an almost uncomfortable pain. 

Her hips continued to grind against your face, as if she was starting to use you for her pleasure. It would’ve felt greedy, but you wanted her to use you, to take from you as much as you wanted to give.

As Emily came, her legs shaking against the side of your head, you held onto her to stop her from falling, but to drag out her orgasm until she started to push you away before becoming too sensitive.  

Miraculous, all consuming, addictive. The only words that encapsulated how you felt each time you made her cum. 

Getting on your knees for Emily felt powerful, almost religious, like a prayer to a god you didn’t believe in. 

It almost made you a believer, devout at the altar of her.

[sukunasteeth]

Stitches

Sukuna has never made you wait for him.

He was always on time, always there before you, and if circumstances arose where-in he couldn't be, you always knew an hour before. You were never left to wonder or worry.

If Sukuna says he'll be there, he's there.

So when you wake up to his cold and empty bed, after hours of waiting for him to return home from work, you want to assume the best case scenario.

He's just working late, you assure yourself when your eyes find the clock on the nightstand and it tells you that it's two o'clock in the morning. Maybe he was so entranced in whatever he was tending to that he had forgotten to call you and tell you he'd be late. It had never happened before, but there was a first time for everything.

You try not to trip over your own two feet on your way to the bathroom, ignoring the dread that immediately darkens your thoughts upon checking your phone for the hundredth time that night.  

No call. No text... Did he tell you in person earlier in the day and you had simply forgotten?

What if he's hurt?

You round the corner of the hallway.

What if he's in trouble?

You're so lost in your thoughts that you don't even register seeing the bathroom light peeking out from under the door.

You push it open.

What if he's-

Standing over the sink, dripping in blood, and using a fishing line to sew up an enormous gash splitting into his side?

You're frozen in the doorway. 

Faced with the unfortunate answer to the questions that had been progressively plaguing you the entirety of the night. Shock grips your throat and has a cold sweat breaking out over your skin.

You haven't seen him so roughed up since the two of you were in high school. Sukuna, always hungry for a test of strength, had often walked you home with a bloody nose or a ripped open pair of knuckles, but this would be the first time you've seen him look like he just rolled out of a fight club ring. 

He's taken off his suit jacket and his usually pristine white button down has been torn to shreds. The pieces that are left of it have adhered to the deepest of his wounds, soaked in crimson. He's holding up the hem of his shirt with his teeth, glaring down at a particularly large slice in his torso as he feeds a needle into the skin and puts himself back together again. One of his eyes is swollen and there's a small cut to the side of it. You can tell that he'll have a black eye come morning. Sukuna must see you in the corner of it, because he suddenly turns to look at you. The edge of his shirt falls out of his mouth, but Sukuna doesn't seem to notice, too surprised by your presence.

The two of you take each other in. Silently appraising the situation.

Before you can react, his surprise is already morphing into a resigned, disappointed sigh.

"Aw shit."

"What the HELL?!" You don't recognize the voice that escapes you in your panic. Raspy from the sleep still coating your throat, disjointed as your tonsils remember themselves and yet forget how to operate in your shock. You're across the room in a flash, nearly tripping headfirst into him in your haste. "What happened?! Y-You're hurt. Why are you hurt? Jesus, that looks so bad- oh my god. 'Kuna-"

"Shhh," He's hushing you. You're close enough for him to reach out with his free hand and pull you even closer, he doesn't seem to notice the streak of fresh blood he leaves behind on your wrist. "It's not as bad as it looks."

"You're covered in blood!" You whisper in horror, you search his eyes for even an ounce of alarm, and find only his usual nonchalance lounging there. As though this was nothing out of the ordinary.

He even looks down at himself like he wants to refute you, but when he picks up the collar of his shirt, finding the shredded pieces of what remained of it, he seems to think better. 

"Little bastards didn't do half bad, actually." He mutters to himself. He almost sounds... impressed. "Any deeper and it could have really been a pain in my ass."

"What happened?" You ask again, desperate.

"Just some kids waiting outside of the office." He rubs at the back of his head, and you notice another small cut there over a raised bump that seems to be swelling at the base of his skull. It must be tender, because he grimaces when he grazes it. You do too, just from watching him. "Trying to make some pocket money off of me and Uraume. They should have at least waited until we were both alone." When he pulls his hand away from his head, there's fresh blood glistening on his fingertips. He sucks his teeth. "Amateurs."

You take a deep, steadying breath- willing your heartbeat to slow.

You were the one who decided to fall for a man constantly looking for a good fight. At this point, you had only yourself to be disappointed with.

Without another word you turn your back to him and head straight for the shower. You needed him to wash off. You wouldn't be able to tell which parts of him needed attention in the mess that was currently coating his skin and you were already preparing mentally to tend to him. You spin the dial to ‘hot’ and turn back to him, trying your best to glare. You didn't think it was working very well. Especially because he's smiling softly at you.

"Get in." You command, pointing to the tub.

Sukuna scoffs softly, turning back to his needle and fishing line.

"It's fine.” He brushes you off. “I'm just going to rinse the cuts as I go-"

"Sukuna." You don't mean for it to come out as demanding as it does. Sukuna was hurt. You wanted to be gentle with him, but you can't help how overwhelmed you are at the sight of him battered to such a degree.

He slowly lifts his head like he was giving you time to think about the way you had just spoken to him before he meets your eyes again. You're too roused to take it back. "Get. In."

You can tell in his momentary silence that he doesn't recognize this shade of frustration on you. He's watching you like he's trying to take in every detail of it. Engrave it into his brain. Part of you is reminded in that moment that it wasn't Sukuna's anger you were in risk of pushing, but rather his excitement.

He folds up the fishing line and loops it around the sewing needle, placing it onto the counter without turning to look at it.

Your unrelenting stance falters a bit as he crosses the room after you, unbuttoning his dress shirt as he goes. His eyes never leave yours, testing your will.

When he makes it to you, he's brimming with pride. His belt clinks when he unloops the first notch. 

"Yes ma'am." He purrs.

...

An hour later, he's as clean as he can be and sitting on the closed lid of the toilet seat. You're perched in his lap, having already finished stitching shut the larger wounds that needed it. Now you're down to the last small cut left, which is on his cheek. It didn't require much attention, it was a tiny graze compared to the rest of the gashes you had tended to.

You can feel Sukuna watching you with a smitten little smile, like you had just spent the past hour silently telling him how much you adored him with your gentle but stern touches.

It ticks you off.

"Stop looking at me like that." You mutter, pressing the last of the steri-strips against his skin.

He doesn't even pretend to stop. You refuse to meet his gaze as you do a final examination of your handiwork. Finally, with him properly patched up and without a single drop of fresh blood in sight, the pain in your heart eases. He was okay. 

"...Why didn't you have Uraume help you with this before you came home?" You pretend to reassess one of the gauze strips on his bicep, but it's really just an excuse to nervously pick at the cotton while you're underneath his gaze.

There were plenty of people at the office who knew how to deal with wounds to this severity, professional medics that could have sewed him up twice as fast and sent him home just as clean as when he had arrived. So why did he wait so long for help?

Sukuna hums and his bandaged knuckles glide up and down the outsides of your thighs. "Maybe I like watching you play nurse."

"Kuna~" You groan hopelessly, letting your head thunk against his shoulder. "Quit teasing. I'm mad at you." You announce.

It only serves to widen his grin, which you can feel pressed against your hair as he kisses your forehead.

"But you're so cute when you want to be mad at me." He mocks your tone of voice and chuckles when you press your thumb into the bandage on his bicep in an attempt to punish him-just a bit.

Quickly, he snatches your hand, locking the both of your fingers together and gently nudging your head with his own. Silently asking you to look up again.

You're trying your best to pout at him, but you're surprised to see softness where you expected to find mischief in his expression. There's a warm fondness to his gaze. One you usually only see him wear when he's watching you talk about something you're particularly passionate about.

"I'm sorry I made you worry." The genuineness of the statement softens the hard lines of your face. And just like that, you completely forget that you’re supposed to be mad at him. His fingers trace the space between your brows where he had just made an angry knot disappear. "I do hate it when I do that."

Maybe it was a tactic to get off the hook. But it was a good one. It even has you feeling guilty for being hard on him. 

"I don't like seeing you covered in blood." You whisper, finally meeting his eyes. The glimmer there is triumphant.

"I'll hose off out front next time, how's that?"

You bite back a laugh at the image, trying to keep your stern disposition. You lean in, so as to impart the severity of your tone. "No next time."

Sukuna leans in closer, "And I'll have to get you a nurse's outfit."

"No next time!"

You were in love with the epitome of mischief. There was always going to be a next time.

[solarmorrigan]

Silly idea I talked about ages ago with @azure7539arts, inspired by a similar event my workplace hosts every year. Would minors be allowed to participate in such an event? Probably not! But then again, it was the 80s, who can say for sure. Anyway, it's my birthday and I'll post nonsense if I want to <3

-

“I need you to buy me.”

Eddie looks up from his notebook, effectively jarred from his campaign-plotting fugue state by Steve’s declaration.

Steve is standing at the other end of the dining table, staring at him expectantly.

“Y’know, this is the part where someone usually follows up their completely bonkers demand with an explanation,” Eddie says slowly.

“At the charity auction,” Steve clarifies. “I need you to bid on me, and I need you to win.”

Ah, yes, that weird Rent-an-Athlete charity auction the school runs every year; anyone on any Hawkins High sports team could volunteer to be “auctioned” off in order to raise money for said sports team, to spend a day at the beck and call of the highest bidder (within reason, supposedly). It’s generally restricted to students, but occasionally, prominent alumni are invited to participate – and Steve certainly fits the bill, especially after the story the government spun about his heroism in the face of “serial killer” Henry Creel last spring.

“And what, deny all those pretty girls a chance to get at you?” Eddie asks drily (he’d never turned up at previous auctions himself, but you could hardly avoid gossip in a school their size; it had usually been some cheerleader bidding with daddy’s money who won a date– that is, a day with Steve Harrington).

“It wasn’t always a girl who won,” Steve says, crossing his arms over his chest. “One time it was Mrs. Dalton – you know, the lady on the school board who lives on my block? I just spent the day doing yard work for her. She gave me lemonade. That was pretty cool.”

“Right,” Eddie drawls. “And I’m sure she definitely didn’t sit outside and stare at your ass while you were working.”

“She did not– she– I mean she was on the porch, but, like– she wouldn’t have– she’s, like, seventy, Eddie,” Steve splutters, and it’s all Eddie can do not to laugh.

“Older gals have needs, too, Steve,” Eddie says, giving in to a smirk. “So she was checking you out from the porch, huh?”

Steve goes red. “Shut up, that isn’t the point. I’m trying to ask for your help.”

“Right, right, your absolutely reasonable request for me to buy you at market. Why, again?” Eddie asks.

“The kids are planning to bid on me,” Steve says gravely.

Eddie blinks at him. “Okay?” he says, when no further explanation is forthcoming. “You basically do most of what they ask, anyway, so…?”

“Okay, believe it or not, I actually say no to at least half of what they ask me to do. I would literally never get anything done if I gave in to all their demands.” Steve jabs a finger at Eddie, who holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Anyway, this is all Henderson’s fault.”

“It usually is,” Eddie agrees, nodding sagely.

“He decided that he was going to bid on me and then use that day to finally make me play your nerd game with you–” Eddie snorts, and Steve shoots him a look, “but Wheeler doesn’t want me to play, so he said he was going to bid against Dustin and make me do anything but sit in on a session with you guys.”

“So let Wheeler win.” Eddie shrugs.

“No! I can’t let fuckin’ Mike win, he’ll probably make me do something even more ridiculous!” Steve exclaims. "He’ll make me play chauffeur for him and El on a date, or something, and he’ll probably include the stupid hat.”

“Wait, I thought El broke up with him,” Eddie breaks in.

“No, they’re on again,” Steve says absently, shaking his head. “Which is why Max has been in a bad mood lately.”

Eddie bites back the reflexive need to ask “How can you tell?”, going instead with, “I thought she and Sinclair were on again.”

“No, they are. That’s why no one’s been actively murdered,” Steve says.

“How do you keep track of all of this?” Eddie asks, squinting at Steve.

“It’s a natural skill. And we’re getting off track,” Steve says quickly. “Normally, I wouldn’t be that worried, because Dustin regularly blows his savings on weird science gadgets or whatever, but then Lucas and Will started taking sides.”

“This is getting very involved,” Eddie says.

“So you see why I’m stressed!” Steve insists, smacking a hand to his forehead (personally, Eddie thinks Steve is stressed for many other reasons, but he figures pointing that out just now won’t be appreciated). “Lucas is on Dustin’s side, and that kid does odd jobs like nobody’s goddamn business; he actually has shit saved up. And usually I’d have faith in him being more, like, sensible than to spend it all on this, but the little shit is really fucking competitive.”

“Wonder who he got that from?” Eddie mutters.

“Okay, we do remember that I’m not actually biologically related to any of these idiots, right?” Steve snaps.

“Well now we’re just getting into nature versus nurture–”

“Eddie.”

“Right, sorry, continue.”

“Well, Will took Mike’s side–”

“Shocking.”

“Right? But anyway, I don’t know if the kid has much saved up, but between him and Wheeler, they might be able to win.” Steve sighs, looking far more world-weary than Eddie feels the situation really warrants.

“You know you don’t actually have to do what they ask you to, right?” Eddie points out.

Steve rolls his eyes. “If an auction winner complains to the school that the person they bid on didn’t fulfill their end of the bargain, they can get their money back. It’s a whole…” he waves his hand vaguely, “thing. Happened once when I was a sophomore; Deacon McNab. Lost a good chunk of change for the football team, and they vandalized the shit out of his car.”

“Ah, right. Forgot we went to school with literal psychopaths,” Eddie hums.

“So, I just need you to bid on me and win, so I’m not stuck wasting a Saturday on whatever the hell the kids are going to try to make me do. Or not do. Or– whatever,” Steve says.

“Okay, not that I don’t understand your predicament here, but I think you’re forgetting something kind of important, Steve,” Eddie drawls.

Steve’s brows draw together in question. “What?”

“I’m fucking poor.”

“Oh.” Steve shakes his head. “I didn’t mean– no, I will give you the money, you don’t have to spend a dime, man, I just need you to get me out of this.”

“Why not have Buckley do it?” Eddie asks.

“That was Plan A, but she actually has a date that night, and it’s kind of a big deal, so I don’t want her to cancel,” Steve says. “But I assumed you wouldn’t be busy.”

“Wow, rude,” Eddie scoffs, and Steve sighs.

“Fine, sorry, I just really hoped you wouldn’t be busy.” Steve gives him the most lethal set of puppy dog eyes Eddie has ever seen, as if there had been any chance from the beginning that he’d be able to say no. “Please?”

Just for show, Eddie lets out a long sigh, falling against his chair and letting his head flop over the backrest like he’s deflating.

“Fine.”

“Thank you,” Steve groans, sounding so genuinely relieved that Eddie almost feels bad about how quickly his thoughts dip into the realms of the inappropriate. “Oh my god, I owe you.”

Eddie glances back up at Steve, tongue darting out to wet his lips almost unconsciously. “You know I’m not as easy to appease as a couple of fifteen-year-olds, right?”

Steve’s eyes drop for just a second—maybe down to Eddie’s lips, maybe not; who can say?—before he looks back up, cocking an eyebrow at Eddie. “I think I can handle it.”

Slowly, Eddie grins. “We’ll see.”

[almondpiglet]

needed to draw something this year for tomes bday...really wanted to draw her highschool friends

[luimagines]

*Your requests are open, its 2:30am and I'm craving First content.*

You know that scene in HTTYD2 with Stoick and Valka

"Go on! Shout! Scream! Say something!"

"You're as beautiful as the day I lost you"

Either First as Stoick or as Valka would be interesting (or if First refuses to cooperate, Warriors or Twilight or Time would be fun)

*not me saying to myself I hope I'm bulletproof cause this is about to hurt*

Insanity, I'm going to run wild with this, thank you.

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

First wasn't about to let anyone get close to him. Not again.

He knew that he was still young enough to find someone to settle down with, but ever since you left, he couldn't find it in his heart to seek another.

There's a hole in his heart in your shape that was never to be filled again.

Then he was arrested. For a crime he didn't commit.

That was enough for him to give up. If he was to spend the rest of his days here, then so be it. The people have made their choice. He was a hollow man anyway.

The days crept by slowly. There was very little he could do the past the time except for daydream about a time where he was younger nd more carefree. A time when you were still by his side.

He had hoped to have a family. To be a father and raise children.

Dashed to pieces and scattered by the wind, his dreams failed to bring up happy memories and left him with dreamless and futile sleep.

Years go by and eventually he's set free at last. He's not as strong as he used to be but the people need him to fight. He's not sure how he's going to do that at this point, but if he is to die; then he would rather go down a hero.

It's not like you'll be there to patch him up at the end of the day anyway.

Instead, as he opens his eyes after the fight, there's another bandaging his wounds. He's vaguely aware that he won the fight and that he's lost a lot of blood but that's about it.

The rest of his life is lived in a haze.

He's sent to go find a special item for the people now that he's proven himself again but there's little that'll prove to Link that it exists.

Instead he finds a cave that he's been explored before and enters it with little thought. He's not expecting much. If there's monsters in here then he can dispose of them and call it a day before he goes back to town and tells the people that there was no such item.

"S-stay back!"

He freezes and raises his lantern. Link's greeted by massive crystals covering the walls of the rock, mirroring the light from his lantern and lighting up the small space as it is.

There's a cloth on the floor and a few supplies.

But that's not what has his attention.

"....It's you..." You breathe and panic seems to fill your system.

Link can only stare. It's as if you're here to haunt him, only you don't seem happy to see him. He can't find it in himself to complain though. He's wanted to see you at least one last time all these years. He wonders if he's actually dying a second time and this was a gift bestowed on him for doing his duty.

"I... I know what you're going to say, Link." You wince and try to stand. You're hurt... Or rather, you have been hurt. It must be difficult to move. "I know that you'd ask why I left. Why I stayed away all these years... and why I didn't come back to you..."

Link takes a step forward and you scramble the best you can to your feet despite the obvious pain. His heart clenches. The questions you throw at him are already answered for him. It would have been difficult to come back to him even if you wanted to.

You being to tear up. "I'm sure you'd want to know everything. A-and I know that I was wrong. I knew from the start. But I couldn't-"

He steps closer, gently putting his lantern on the floor so that it still lights up the place.

Your voice only seem to grow higher and more frantic. "I couldn't! Link, please. Not like this. I couldn't. Please believe me!"

He does and steps closer.

"Link! Answer me. Shout! Scream! I don't care if you start throwing things! Just say something!"

He stops in front of you, trapping you against the wall of the cave. He reaches out and hesitates before tucking a piece of your overgrown hair behind your ear.

"You're just as beautiful as the day I lost you."

Your tears fall as he leans to kiss you, to solidify this dream, to prove to himself that he's not hallucinating.

You don't kiss him back, but that's ok. You're real and you're here and you're alive.

This is far better than any item he was sent to find.

[mysecretwindowuniverse]

Nygmobblepot Text Meme

[vaggieslefteye]

NIFFTY & ALASTOR in 1x08 - The Show Must Go On

↳ "I dub thee, King Roach!" "Oh, to understand your twisted little mind."

[papaziggy-devblog]

So this should go without saying but I guess I have to say it anyway

I do NOT condone any of the actual behaviors seen in mine or any other yan-based media RL... this includes gaslighted, emotional manipulation, coercion, baby trapping, or ANYTHING like that

And I FULLY believe if these are things that you desire RL either in giving or receiving ends then you need to seek some sort of mental help immediately

[buwheal]

I'm sorry, Spamton. I know you won't believe me, but I'm sorry we hurt you.

[findmeinthefallair]

"It's been a year, I feel so heavy... Mama, will this feeling ever stop?"

“Mijo. It hurts. But you have so many people who love you. We can help you carry that feeling and one day it might not feel as heavy.”

(Dialogue by @childlikegoblinqueen, with some smol additions by me)

[phoenixtakaramono]

The Premise of this Threadfic: Homelander suckles on Billy Butcher’s d!ck until the stress and white noise in his evil blond head is gone. That’s it. That’s the plot.

CW: ⚠️🔞, some surface level Homelander whump because I think he deserves a lil pampering after the new episode. Vaguely inspired by The Boys 04x04 and Butcher’s gorgeous manly tatas

(You can read the rest of it here!)

If you don’t have a Twitter account, screenshots are provided below the line break so you can read this update on Tumblr as well:

A/N - I can't believe this threadfic has its own behind-the-scenes backstory, but the first 25 tweets of how this threadfic initially started had been very different from what you see in this version. It was full of poignant lore and future S4 speculation, a dive into HL's psyche regarding his traumatic upbringing, and commentary about Compound V causing madness and tragedy to tie into what'll happen to Hugh Sr, ect.… It’d been saved in my Drafts; I’d been ready to click “Post All” after I found the perfect GIFs for the starter tweet. But then I'd accidentally pressed "DELETE" instead of "Save”—and all that work, vanished. Banished to the ether. RIP to what could've been. 🥲 I wasn't about to retype all that in my second attempt so I ended up simplifying it. And that's how we arrived here. :) Hope y'all enjoyed regardless! <3

[ayyy-imma-ninja]

Dear Eclipse, haa there ever been a time you and a human we're friends but something happened to them?

“No.”

[bri-cheeses]

| @gilded-love this is for you <3 | Word count: 308 | A follow up to this microfic |

“You never did show me what was in your notebook,” Barty said absentmindedly as he brushed a hand through Evan’s hair.

They were laying in Barty’s bed together, hopelessly tangled in one big pile of limbs, soft smiles, and loving kisses.

“Huh?” Evan asked.

“Your notebook,” Barty insisted, “the one that I made you give me a kiss for.”

Evan smiled. “Oh, yeah. I guess I owe a lot to that notebook.”

“But what’s in it? You were so desperate for me to not look through it, and I’m curious.”

Evan groaned. “It’s so embarrassing, though. Besides, I’d have to get up and walk all the way to my own bed to get it.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” Barty teased, and Evan groaned again before standing to retrieve the notebook.

Padding back to Barty’s bed, he warned, “You can’t make fun of me. You’re my boyfriend now, I’m pretty sure it’s illegal.”

The corner of Barty’s mouth quirked up and he reached for the book, opening it as Evan got settled next to him.

Evan would be worried about what Barty’s reaction might be, but Barty was just as obsessed with him and he was with Barty. So he simply crossed his fingers and hoped for the best.

“Evs,” Barty breathed, flipping reverently through the pages, “these are lovely.”

“Well,” Evan coughed. “They’re drawings of you, so…”

Barty shook his head insistently. “No, I— they’re beautiful.”

“Oh,” Evan said, and felt a blush spread over his cheeks.

Then Barty was turning towards him, fisting a hand in his shirt and pulling him in for a hungry kiss.

When they pulled apart, Barty was looking at him with an adoring expression.

“I love you,” he said, and Evan’s world stopped, just for a bit.

Then he came back to himself, and smiling wide, he confessed, “I love you, too.”

[flavored-soda]

takeout and makeout

Rating: Mature

Warnings: small makeout scene, and implied sexual content

Word Count: 1.5k (short and sweet)

Pairing: BuckTommy/Tevan/Kinley

Summary: Buck panics while making dinner for date night. Tommy is there is calm him down. It leads to a confession and leftovers/takeout.

read on ao3 | heed the tags and warnings | posted for @bucktommyweek

The smell of freshly baked chicken was permeating the house, almost mocking Buck as he fretted around the kitchen. The sound of the water starting to boil was setting him on edge. He felt like he didn’t have enough hands, enough focus. He kept going between chopping vegetables and forgetting to put the pasta in the pot. The occasional peak in the oven was not doing anything to calm his nerves. Realistically, he knew that the chicken was nowhere near done yet but his fried nerves were telling him it was already burned.

He turned back to the counter, finishing chopping up the last carrot. He went to reach for the bag of potatoes and his hand met the cold marble of the countertop. 

Oh no. 

No, no, no.

He forgot the potatoes.

His mind flashed him back to the store run he did a little over two hours earlier. He went specifically because he knew he forgot something. He chalked it up to butter or chives or toilet paper. But no, it had to be the potatoes.

He sent down the knife he was holding, placing both his hands on the counter. The rolling boil of the water was starting to drive him a little bit more mad and the smell of the chicken was starting to give him a headache. His apron was starting to feel too tight and the wine bottle on the counter was starting to call to him.

To top it all off this wasn’t even his kitchen. The unfamiliarity of the space was making his head spin faster.

“By the sink, baby.” A voice came from the kitchen entrance. The familiarity of it shook Buck out of his panic.

He looked up from the counter, letting the words sink in as he turned around. Tommy’s sink was in the middle of his kitchen island. When he turned to face it, sure enough, he saw a small bag of potatoes resting not too far from the sinking. He moved from his sulking position from the counter and grabbed the bag. He gave himself a minute to calm down from the initial alarm of missing ingredients. He turned back around to his chopped carrots and cutting board.

He gave himself one more moment before going to open the bag of potatoes and pull one out. He rinsed it off, placed it on the board, and went to make the first cut. Something must have happened in the moments between when he placed the potato on the cutting board and pressed the knife into it. The hand that was holding the knife slipped and the next thing he knew he let out a hiss and the knife clattered to the counter. 

His hand shot up to assess the damage. It didn’t look deep, he could get by with cleaning it and a band-aid. He went to turn around, to maybe head towards Tommy’s bathroom and search the medicine cabinet, or rummage through a junk drawer in the kitchen in hopes that he would find one. But when he turned around he nearly ran into his boyfriend who looked more than a little concerned.

Before Buck could pull his hand away, say anything remotely close to “where do you keep your first aid kit,” Tommy had grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand towards him. He gave Buck a similar inspection to the one he gave himself before pulling the younger towards the sink. He kept a firm but gentle grip on Buck’s hand while he turned on the water and tested the temperature. 

Buck couldn’t help but stare at the older man as he pulled his hand under the water. He winced as the water hit the cut and watched as Tommy’s expression softened. He turned the water off, holding Buck’s hand over the sink while he grabbed him a paper towel and held it against the wound. The soft touch continued even when Tommy turned slightly to reach into a drawer. He pulled out a small first aid kit, opening it with one hand before pulling out a band-aid.

He watched closely as Tommy wrapped the bandage around his injured finger, holding his hand for a second longer before pulling it up to his lips, and placing a soft kiss to the covering.

“There. All better.” Tommy said as he brought his gaze back up to meet Buck’s.

God, he was so in love with this man.

Tommy froze.

Oh.

Oh no.

He said that out loud didn’t he?

“T-Tommy…I-uh…” He didn’t know what exactly he was playing on saying. 

What were you supposed to say after accidentally admitting you’re in love with your boyfriend that you’ve only been with for a few months? Was he even supposed to say anything? Or was he just supposed to stand here opening and closing his mouth and blubbering like a damn fish?

Tommy still had Buck’s hand in his, a gentle touch and an unreadable expression on his face. Buck was starting to feel that panic set in again, the one he started to feel when he first thought he forgot about the potatoes. His senses were starting to pick up on the littlest things, like the water bubbling and boiling over the pot and splashing onto the stove top with a hiss. The smell of the chicken was starting to become sickening. The feeling of Tommy’s hand holding his, how his hands were starting to feel clammy, was starting to make him itch. His eyes were darting around Tommy’s face, trying to catch any change in his expression, anything to give him peace of mind. 

He was so focused on every other little thing around him that he didn’t even realize that Tommy was starting to move. He didn’t even realize it until he was leaning into soft and familiar lips that were pressing against his. 

His body moved on its own. His lips pressing back into his boyfriend’s. Tommy used the hold he had on Buck’s hand to pull him into his body. Buck went willing, moving his hands to his boyfriend’s hips. Tommy placed his own hands on Buck’s waist, pulling him in closer and closer until they were tripping over each other and moving to stabilize themselves up against the counter.

Buck let out a surprised gasp and Tommy swallowed it down. The older man let out his own little “hmph,” as he did. They pushed into each other, using their tongues to explore each other’s mouths like they had done a thousand times before. Buck ran his hands up to Tommy’s sides and back down to his hips, pulling at his shirt to try to pull him in closer. He wanted to be one with the older, wanted to melt into him and stay there forever.

Tommy pulled back to catch his breath, resting his forehead against Buck’s. Both their eyes were closed, just living in the moment. Buck could feel himself smiling.

“I love you too, Evan.” 

Buck somehow smiled even wider. He opened his eyes, pulling back to search Tommy’s face for something. Sincerity? Doubt? He wasn’t sure. He just needed to know that this wasn't a dream and Tommy meant it. He was more than relieved when he found nothing but love in Tommy’s eyes. So full of it they were sparkling. He went to lean again, ready to get lost in his boyfriend for the hundredth time.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

He was stopped by the oven timer going off. 

He looked to Tommy and found the older man smiling almost as wide as he was. They both broke out into laughter. Leaning into each other as they calmed down. 

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“I should–uh–probably get that.” Buck said, making no move to actually break away from his boyfriend and pull their dinner from the oven.

“Yeah. You probably should.” Tommy replied, also making no effort to move away. 

The oven went off again and Buck had decided that he wasn’t going to be the reason that a fire started in Tommy’s kitchen. He moved back slowly, Tommy sticking close by with a hand on his hip. 

Buck pulled the kitchen from the oven, it was only a little bit charred. He set the dish down on a hot pad. He looked towards the forgotten carrots and potatoes, and the boiling pot on the stove and sighed. Tommy turned off the stove before he could even say anything. He came up behind Buck, wrapping his arms around the younger man’s middle and resting his chin on Buck’s shoulder.

“You know, we could just order takeout?” 

Buck smiled before looking at the mess in the kitchen.

“What about the chicken?” 

“Food’s always better the second day.” Tommy angled his head to start pressing kisses to Buck’s neck.

“What about the mess?” Buck whispered, tilting his head to give Tommy move access.

“Clean up the important stuff now, leave the rest for tomorrow.”

He turned in Tommy’s hold to face him. Tommy changed his position, putting his hands on the countertop next to his lover, caging him in. Buck smirked, his gaze flicking between his boyfriend’s lips and eyes.

“The food is going to take awhile to get here.”

Tommy returned the look that Buck was giving him. They stood there drinking in each other’s expressions.

“I can think of a few ways to kill time.” Tommy said before leaning in again and catching Buck’s lips in a kiss again. 

They never did get around to placing a take out order.

[jethrowest]

the taste is just a memory you hold…

Prompts for @cozycornerkinktober: overstimulation/double penetration. briefly mentioned since this is a drabble, but i wanted to contribute!

Warnings: incubus homelander- need i say more? fun, freaky tendril shit. slight dubcon. happy reading! 18+

—

The days blur together now.

He doesn’t limit his visits anymore. You used to only see him at night.

He’d start off slow, simply studying you while he sat in the chair in the corner of your room. Then he would move to the edge of your bed.

He had quickly grown tired of that, however, and after a few evenings of nothing beyond having his piercing gaze all over and through you, he would trace your skin. Your neck had been first, observing how you reacted to his touch. Once he seemed satisfied, he would slink across your body and envelop you.

Sometimes, if your focus isn’t immediately robbed, you catch sight of fingers bleeding into the darkness. He is mostly concealed, offering glimpses of handsome, ethereal features that glint beneath the moonlight. His eyes shimmer and glow a faint red. You can’t tell what clothes he wears, if any at all.

When he drapes himself over you, attaches himself to you, you feel the weight of a man, but don’t see it.

Inky tendrils disappear inside your stretched center; your open, silently screaming mouth. They make you quiver and shake. Make you clench and cry out.

Your orgasms overtake and consume you, leaving you sore and wrecked. Those very coils disperse and permeate within, leaking from you like your pooling arousal, sliding down your thighs and soaking your sheets.

It becomes so frequent, so haphazard, that you begin to wonder if you leave the house. If you wake up. If you’re currently in a dream.

Hours, minutes, seconds later, you stand in front of your full-length bathroom mirror, staring hard at your reflection. Hoping answers will seep past your pallid complexion.

Instead, something black starts to collect on the floor, spilling from between your legs.

Your knees buckle. You almost fall forward; nearly come from the way it eases inside out, thorough and swollen.

The sensation of something indistinguishable expanding within your most vulnerable, sacred areas and slipping through your cervix until it breaks free is indescribable. It’s unlike anything you’ve experienced, and it is equally petrifying as it is delicious.

It’s fucking biblical.

And it doesn’t stop until something you haven’t witnessed in its entirety takes shape.

He flows from you. Stands behind you. Grabs you and pulls you flush to him, pale hand unwavering at your throat.

When you regain balance, you notice that he is now whole to you. Blond hair adorns his crown, irises sparkle blue with a hint of crimson, and rows of teeth are a brilliant, perfect white. Sharp.

Beautiful, elegant robes cascade to the ground, fanning into a velvety scarlet. He smells sweet and warm, like fields of strawberries drenched in sunlight. He smells of the earth and what lies below it.

His slender nose drags along your pulse point. His tongue follows. He inhales greedily.

“How long have you been here?” you ask. Outside. In. It doesn’t matter what you’re referring to. You’re delirious when you question him, as if you’ve already been fucked an unfathomable amount of times, only being held upright by his presence. Your mind is coated with a thick fog.

You notice a small, strange grin lift the corners of your lips. The action feels foreign to you, almost like he’s controlling your mouth.

Your heart dilates, breaks apart and produces two separate beats, thudding in unison. Your cunt flutters, adding a third.

Will time come back to you? Greet you with welcoming arms that tell you it’s always been yours?

He laughs, a low, penetrating sound. “Oh my precious little lamb…” That voice lives in your bones, dense and deep.

“What gave you the silly idea I ever left?”

[positively-bi]

hello friends today's thought is bisexuality good <3