#thank you for the prompt! 🥰

[beefcakekinard]

💖💖// bucktommy - ohithankyou/zahraa <333

💖 rough kiss / hot and heavy / making out (hi zahraa!! i'll tag you so you get the notification: @ohithankyou 🥰)

Buck is about ready to crawl out of his own skin if Tommy doesn't touch him in the next five minutes.

They're on Tommy's couch - this is already one of Buck's favourite places to be, it being (a) in Tommy's house, which smells warm like cinnamon and warm like Tommy all around him; (b) unfairly comfortable; and (c) a conveniently flat surface he can leverage against to climb his boyfriend. Case in point: he's straddled across Tommy's lap, pressed as close as he can get from chest to crotch, rolling his hips in unconscious, twitching little bursts, as unfulfilling now as they were half an hour ago when Buck first dropped himself into Tommy's lap.

"How are you doing?" Tommy asks more or less directly into Buck's mouth. Buck groans in frustration and bites Tommy's lower lip.

"About to crawl out of my own skin if you don't-"

"Copy that," Tommy chuckles. He presses a kiss to the corner of Buck's mouth. His hands slide up Buck's thighs to his belt, and as they work on it, Buck kisses a path from Tommy's lips, to his cleft, down his jaw to the spot on his neck where he's most sensitive.

The only sound in the room is both of their panting for breath - it's joined for a moment by the metal clicking of Buck's zipper. Tommy lifts his hand to Buck's face, and Buck licks up his palm with a wet noise. The sound Buck makes after that, when Tommy wastes no time in getting his hand around him in a firm, warm grip, is nothing short of wanton.

The skin of Tommy's neck is hot and damp from Buck's open-mouthed breathing. He drags his teeth across it and Tommy gasps just as he slips his thumb across the head of Buck's dick, pulling a whine from Buck's throat. The pass of Tommy's hand up and down Buck's cock, the silky, unrelenting drag of his grip, grows slicker.

"C'mere." Tommy's voice rumbles in his throat, against Buck's teeth, his lips. Tommy threads his free hand into Buck's hair and pulls him up by it, up and into a clumsy kiss.

Buck clutches Tommy's shoulders and rides the back-and-forth teetering pleasure between rutting into Tommy's hand and being held fast in a kiss. He sweeps his tongue up the roof of Tommy's mouth and swallows his groan; he fucks into Tommy's fist and loses his breath at the perfect in-and-out slide. Caught between the two, Buck feels scraped raw and primal, instinctive, following what Tommy and his body are telling him feels good. When he comes, he's pulled in two directions, caught between the competing sensations. Tommy pecks sweet little kisses over Buck's lips and wipes his hand on Buck's already-stained jeans. Buck loosens his white-knuckle grip on Tommy's shoulders, knocks their noses together, and grins.

He's just getting started.

[benevolenterrancy]

@hereticcryptid I appear to be slowly but surely developing an entire series about how Hensheng and Baxia apparently get fed up with their owners' inability to express their feelings and take matters into their own hands...

[topsyturvy-turtely]

Love at First Pride 💜

Johnlock fic for the may prompts hosted by @calaisreno <3 (31st may)

summary:

John just recently discovered he is bi. So this is his first Pride Parade. And then this tall, attractive man catches his eye and he promptly falls in love.

[based on a true experience by the author]

Teen And Up Audience, 892 Words, Fluff. Alternative First Meeting, Pride Parades, Bisexual John Watson, Mike Stamford the proudest straight ally, Gay Sherlock Holmes, Genderqueer Sherlock Holmes, Love at First Sight, POV John Watson, POV Third Person, Meet-Cute, they are in their 20s, Brief Mention of Alcohol and Weed

tags under the cut!

tag list! (tell me if you wanna be added or removed please 💚) @justanobsessedpan @helloliriels @catlock-holmes @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @so-youre-unattached-like-me @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @musingsofmyown @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee @baker-street-blog @macgyvershe @myladylyssa @battledress @a-victorian-girl @dreamerofthemeadow @oetkb12 @ohnoesnotagain @mutedsilence @jawnscoffee @raenchaosandcozyadashofmurder @lisbeth-kk @quickslvxrr @compact-and-beautiful @kabubsmagga

[justghoulythingz]

i want you in all the ways you’ll let me have you…

a drabble for anonymous taken from this prompt list.

pairing : ghoul/lucy maclean

word count : 846

warnings : some good old fashioned self-loathing, rope to restrain, mentions of sex. 18+, mdni

divider credit

It’s been centuries since Cooper Howard has gotten this involved with anyone.

He’s a bit like a stunted foal: clumsy yet reluctant to admit it; so used to being somewhere dark and grisly and detached that when the sun hitched to Lucy MacLean shines, it burns his irreversibly damaged skin. Gives it a kind of glow that he has to kill every time it threatens to bloom.

Self-inflicted wounds are easier to nurse. What’s the point of watering the dead garden his innards are overgrown with?

He winces when she touches him. That’s why her wrists need to be kept bound when he explores her. So she can’t feel how much she affects him. So she doesn’t get the wrong idea.

This ain’t love. Not that she has much experience with the romantic variety. He’s got plenty to keep close to the chest.

He gave himself to his Barb and she trampled him so far into the dirt that he might has well have been buried that fateful day.

The consequential marks don’t seem to bother Lucy. She’s a curious sort. One of the things Cooper admires about her. In the same breath, however, he doesn’t mind if for once she’d give it a proper fucking rest.

She moves too fast for him. He’s not entirely certain he wanted to budge in the first place.

Here she is with his face entombed in her neck, kissing and licking and nibbling as she opens herself to him. Thinking about how he would drag his nose along the slopes and valleys that comprise her if he could. How she deserves a man who’s whole and not whatever husk was violently spat out.

He can plainly see she yearns to reciprocate. Restless energy makes her grit her teeth and clench her thighs, squirming about as he gets to roam free. A low, long-winded hiss manages to escape between the soft, swollen lips he’s already branded.

“Tell me what y’want, angel wings. Use your big girl words. Y’had no trouble up t’this point.” He smiles against her throat, keeping her body caged. His voice cuts through like a saw hacking down a tree. Chop chop chop. Devastation as it crashes to the ground.

She sighs heavily and attempts to fix her posture. He’s very skilled at distracting. It’s not lost on her that he does so on purpose.

“Can you look at me first, Cooper?” she asks, chest heaving. He wonders how their hearts would feel galloping together. He doesn’t take his clothes off for her.

Some days, he wants to.

“Alright,” he begins, angling himself backward and resting one palm on the wall above her head. He can humor her. “I’m lookin’.”

And boy does he look. How can one not, with those doe eyes, large and all-encompassing like a lush forest of green and brown and gold?

His expression takes on that of a predator’s honing in on its prey. Except she’s taken hold of his hide and shredded it until it’s all mangled and indistinguishable. He feigns he has the upper hand. He feigns many things.

Lucy utilizes a few more moments to compose herself. Logic has been replaced with emotion. That requires a different type of effort to navigate.

Normally he would hurry her along, he don’t got all day. But really, he does. Why not spend it admiring a work of unabashed art that spawned from, according to him, the depths of hell?

“As much as I enjoy you getting your excess of me, I feel…” She exhales, shaky. “I feel like that excess has snatched away my enjoyment of you. I, I feel incomplete. It’s not as satisfactory as I know it could be.”

The old, tattered cowboy doesn’t answer. It’s difficult to swallow. She is expectant, but she’s also learned to lower said expectations when it comes to him. So she carries on of her own accord.

“What I want, Cooper, is you. All of you. I’m not satisfied with this half-baked sex we’ve been having. I want to pleasure you. Have you gasping for air and unable to think clearly.”

If she only knew.

“I want you to orgasm in my vagina and mouth and hand and, and wherever else, I don’t care! Except that’s really not true. I do care. I want you in all the ways you’ll let me have you. And I want you in all the ways you haven’t let me have you. That’s what I want.”

She’s so technical sometimes that it usually makes him roll his eyes or laugh. Now, he doesn’t do either.

Instead, he grasps her chin and tilts it upward. He shoots her one last isolated once-over and seals their fate with a fervent kiss. The hand once above her travels below and deftly releases her from her binds. The rope falls to the dusty floor with a resounding thud.

“Best get t’work then,” Cooper murmurs against her cushioned mouth. Like a warm, forgiving blanket waiting to surround him, even after being away from home for months, years.

“‘Fore I change my mind.”

[magnusbae]

"Quit struggling, you will only make it worse."

Obikin, pretty please /ᐠ - ⩊ -マ Ⳋ

Thank you 🥰 Now imagine if Anakin fell a few years earlier than in canon, still has his limbs and pretty hair, and is currently serving Darth Sidious while fighting on the Separatist side. Something like that 😊 1,137w - vaderwan

▾▾▾

“Quit struggling, you will only make it worse.”

Vader bares his teeth and snarls. He snarls like an animal, like he’s a Tusken Raider and it’s the only way he knows how to communicate in. The thought fills him with an even deeper rage, makes his stomach turn in fury and sickness. He is better than that, he is better than them. He is Lord Vader, not some animal to growl and bark— he does not give a kark. 

He spits at Kenobi’s feet and glares up with as much hatred as his eyes would permit without burning white blind from it. 

“Kriff yourself.” Vader grits out when all he receives for his efforts is an infuriatingly smug smirk. (it’s sad, it’s sad, it’s sad)(he ignores it).

“I think I shall pass.” Kenobi says in that sarcastic manner of his that he reserves for Darksiders only. It should not sting Vader as it does, to be spoken to as if he was one of many.

He should be more than that, he is more than that. He’d make him, he’d—

“Please do stop thinking so loudly, you are ruining an otherwise lovely force weather.” Kenobi cuts this line of thought with some sort of Bantha Poodoo that wouldn’t make sense even on the best of days, least of all when he is busy tying Vader up like he was a Life Day’s gift. 

“Force Weather? Have you lost it entirely old m— argh-” Vader sucks in a breath when he feels the durasteel wire cut deep within his skin, so tight he can feel the instant numbing, indicating that the blood had effectively stopped flowing into that limb.

Concern spikes within Vader, he already has one prosthetic, and he is not very fond of the idea of more, Obi-Wan wouldn’t…. Would he….? 

There is a moment in which he thinks that he would. Thinks that Kenobi had lost any sentiment toward his old apprentice, even the guilt that had kept him from killing him in all the previous times he had managed to get the upper hand. (Through luck)(It’s luck, nothing else.)

Losing a limb due to Kenobi’s poor tying techniques would not be technically Kenobi deciding on killing him but— “Ngh.” He hisses out, teeth scraping together as Kenobi lessens the punishing grip of the wire.

Relief  flood Vader, scorching in its intensity.

“A little too tight there.” Obi-Wan chirps, all amusement and good nature. (He sounds old.)(He sounds broken.) “Apologies, Sweet.” he says with his characteristic charm, his typical ease. (He sounds as if he’d like to retch.)(he sounds sick.)

Vader hates it. Hates. Hates. Hates. He wants the anger, the hurt, the words of disappointment and fury and passion. (Love, love, of love.) He wants Kenobi to be honest, to be direct, to be him. The him that only he knows, that only he saw. He wants Kenobi to, (his chest fills and hurts, his lungs collapse with an inhale he doesn’t manage to keep, his eyes close and he cannot, he cannot lie—) care. Care, he wants him to karkin care. Even a little, even sometimes. Care enough to hurt, care enough to scream, care enough to hurt him. 

“Up and about now.” Obi-Wan says and hauls Vader to his feet. Even in this Kenobi is careful to not hurt him unnecessarily. Do not hurt prisoners, a Jedi would say. The Codes. It’s all he sees in him. The Codes he must follow in order to fulfill his duties. No, no. No, no and no. Anakin— Vader is more, he is more, he was, he is more. 

Twisting about to face Kenobi without being stopped is hard enough, his balance off with the way his arms are bound painfully behind his back. He manages it. He’s quick enough, skilled enough— determined enough.

Without a single thought, without a moment of consideration, Vader’s eyes lock onto his target. The neck.

It’s exposed just enough, with the layers of robes covering the curve of it an the beard reaching just the top of it, there’s just enough space.

Vader strikes as he always does, without warning, without hesitation. One moment he is standing there, wide eyes alight with orange-yellow, the next his lips are closing around soft flesh, teeth sinking.

It’s all over in but moments, and yet the way Obi-Wan groans, the way his throat tenses and he swallows, the way he shudders when he pushes Vader off hard enough to make him stumble and fall back onto the ground— the way there’s blood on that neck, on Vader’s tongue— it’s all worth it.

Vader will do it again, no matter the consequences, no matter how it might look to someone who didn’t understand. 

He will make absolute sure that Kenobi never forgets, never.

Vader makes a point of licking at his lips as he smirks at Kenobi, tilting his head from side to side in a way he saw his Master do while in a good mood and flirting. On him it looks mocking and he knows it.

He takes pleasure in Kenobi having no smart retort to it, no easygoing banter to masquerade with. Vader got him, he had won. 

He is almost angry when the sound of engines breaks through, hundreds of them, all belonging to Sidious. Or the Separatists, as the Republic still foolishly believes. He will never know what words had died on Kenobi’s tongue as he looked up and then down at Vader, calculating his chances of outrunning a fleet of battle ships while carrying an unwilling Sith on his back. 

“Not in your favor, huh?” Vader asks, laughing, not even bothering to get up, instead he just flops to lie on his back. It pains his arms terribly, but he does not care. He looks at the sky as if it was a starry sky you’d gaze upon, wish upon.

“Run now, Kenobi. You’re so good at it, after all.” He does not look at him, does not want to see that back turned on him. (Again. Again. Again that.)

The silence from Kenobi’s side is a heavy one, a painful one. Then he forces out amusedly (Chokes on it.) “We’ll have to rain check our little date, my Dear.” (He does actually choke on it.) (Vader hears, he always does.)

“So long.” The man who raised him cheers, all good spirits and not a care in the world. Then there’s the sound of Obi-Wan’s light feet as he force-runs towards his own ship. Leaves him. 

Anakin closes his eyes and all the world falls down. 

There’s only the sound of shooting and the flavor of Obi-Wan’s life on his tongue. For now, it’ll do. For now, it’s enough. (It is not.)(It never is.)

[jaggededges123]

a little bit of tridentariicest for @dmsr-art 🥰

“I can still eat you, like this, look—as many times as you want, baby.”

“Ianthe, not funny,” Corona wails, piteously, but she doesn’t even try to stop you as your bloodstained hands tug at her white trousers with the golden trim—you leave the royal purple jacket, for now. “You have his eyes, and you could have had mine!”

“Who cares about Babs,” you soothe, taking in the buttery-golden curls that appear as you pull her trousers and underwear off one leg over her boot, leaving it hanging as you settle between her thick, gorgeous thighs. “Don’t mention him, dear—you need to stay with me, and not as a myriad-long battery.”

You reach out with your fingers, which feel like they are buzzing with the energy of a thousand thanergic stars, and you touch her, sliding your fingers gently down her slit. She spreads her legs wider for you, obliging and sweet even as she cries. She’s wet.

Of course she’s wet, she’s her and you’re you. Even in her upset, there was really no other outcome.

“Sister,” she cries, and again your heart half-breaks because if only she was capable of understanding. You usually understand each other, when she is capable of it, but her brain is not on the same level as yours. This would be easier if it were. “I can’t believe you. We could have been—forever—”

“Shhhh,” you hush. “I need you, darling Corona. Don’t mention it again.”

And you dive in as she gives a pathetic “Is that even true?” that gets cut through with a moan, because she really cannot help it.

You know every inch of her juicy pussy, each out-of-the-way sensitive spot, and the motions she likes a partner to take with their tongue. You knew it first before anyone else, and you still know it best. No one can ever take that away from you—you will always know your older twin sister better than anyone else, love her more than anyone else, do what it takes to keep her more than anyone else.

As you lap at with her with your tongue, making circles around that flushed, pretty clit and pressing your nose into her pubic hair, you take two fingers soaked in his blood and press them inside her. She hiccups loudly, and her hand comes to grip at your limp pale strands of hair, which is more than encouraging. It’s working.

You crook your fingers and worry them along the front wall of her channel, and you take her clit to task with the point of your tongue. You consider, for a moment, adjusting the shape of that fleshy protrusion of your mouth moment by moment to show her how focused you are on her pleasure and how skillful a genius you are. It used to be a little hard, doing that—it wouldn’t be hard for you now, the marvel you are.

“Ianthe! Oh, I need you!” she shrieks, her hand gripping in your hair so hard that you can feel some of the follicles letting go—and immediately repairing themselves.

She comes too fast in the end, to make changing the shape of your tongue worth it—a slut for your mouth or your fingers or whatever else you use on her, that’s what she is. You know the moment she falls apart because you can thanergically sense her heartbeat stutter and then race, the cry of her every muscle. It makes you throb deep in your core, hotter than you’ve ever felt in your life.

Her purple-clothed chest starts heaving as she squeezes down on your fingers and trembles on your tongue, and you’re confident for a second that you’ve successfully distracted her from whatever silly romantic fantasies she’s concocted that mask the grim reality and terrible awesomeness of the Lyctoral process. Perhaps she understands now, in that dim, pretty head of hers, that if you were to take her then you wouldn’t have her anymore.

But then an even more hysterical sob breaks on her lips, not quite the sexy kind, and you know that she may never understand it.

You sigh.

[saphstories]

Writing prompt idea #2: Shadora date that's super silly but Rory's having the best time so Shadow is too (I've been playing too much Love and Deepspace and the claw machine dates are so cute they make me SICK)

Shut Up and Drive

“Where are we going?”

“I already told you, Light. It’s a surprise.”

“You hate surprises.”

“Not when they’re for you.”

“Hypocrite.”

“You love me.”

Aurora snorted. “I’d love you more if I weren’t blindfolded right now.”

“How else would I make sure you wouldn’t peek?” 

“You don’t trust me?”

“Normally? With my life. Right now? Not as far as I can throw you.”

“Spoilsport.” She pouted. “Wait…what’s that noise?”

“Just another minute.” There was laughter in Shadow’s tone, and Aurora grinned despite herself, allowing him to position her just as he wanted. Her ears twitched and wiggled, trying to place the odd roaring sounds, when warm lips suddenly pressed against hers, a hand on her cheek. Her tail wagged; she leaned into the kiss eagerly.

“Wa-Was that my surprise?” Aurora breathlessly asked.

“No. That was a bonus.” She could hear the smirk in Shadow’s tone and rolled her eyes behind the blindfold, hands on her hips.

“You know, for the Ultimate Lifeform, you’re awfully slow with your reveals.” She drawled.

 “So impatient.” Shadow tsked.

Aurora’s retort was cut off by blinding light chasing away the darkness, and she blinked repeatedly, then gasped, stars in her emerald eyes at the karts roaring by, bordered to the asphalt track by tires and multicolored flags. “Go-karts?” She squealed, bouncing on her heels, and didn’t give Shadow a chance to answer, instead yanked him by the wrist to the ticket window.

“You are going down, Spaceman.” Aurora crowed, revving the engine of her bright green kart and shooting a smug smirk towards Shadow.

Shadow flipped down his shades and pressed his foot to the gas pedal. It was no Dark Rider, of course, but it would do splendidly for his purposes.

Red.

Yellow.

Green.

Go!  

“GET BACK HERE, SPACEMAN!”

"SHUT UP AND DRIVE, LIGHT!"

“HAHAHAHAHAHA!”

[giggly-squiggily]

*bangs gravel* Dibs called! Sold to the lovely @duckymcdoorknob! :) You’ll receive your sentence starter soon! 🥰 (and by soon I mean with the other sentence starters whxbnwndndn)

Heyo! So I never got a response for what sentence starter the anon who sent this in wanted, so now it's a bit of a first come first serve prompt: if anyone would like this prompt, send it in with a sentence starter of your choice from the Candy Heart List; I'll let y'all know when it's taken!

[espithewarlock]

A few days ago I posted a Kittierre fic on AO3! HUGE thanks to @chaesonghwas, @your-littlesecret, @boxboxbrioche, and @lydia-petze for leaving me GORGEOUS comments on AO3 and for continuing to go insane about it in the CC Server! 😘

Enjoy this little continuation! (Which will not make sense if you have not read the fic linked above!)

☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆

Beep

…

Beep

….

Beep

…

Pierre was woken up by a faint beeping noise coming from further down the bed. The sunlight filtering through the window of Charles’ apartment window was just starting to hit his face and he buried his head in the pillow in annoyance.

He was doubly annoyed to find that his boyfriend was no longer lying next to him so Pierre couldn’t cuddle up and doze for a few more minutes of blissful sleep. Instead, there was a weight next to his left leg and he could feel the combination of the lack of a bedsheet and the air conditioning making the hairs on his leg stand on end.

…

Beep

…

Beep

….

Beep

…

“What are you doing, Cha?” Pierre grumbled into the pillow as the beeping noise continued.

Strangely, he felt the bed violently shake and the man sitting by his leg quickly move off the bed.

“Nothing,” Charles professed, his voice way too nervous to be telling the truth.

That made Pierre crack an eye open and glance over to where Charles was definitely trying to put something away in his bedside drawer without Pierre noticing. It was small, handheld, and Pierre definitely did not recognize it at first glance.

“Cha,” he said in a warning tone. Pierre knew that he didn’t have to elaborate on the demand. He lifted himself up enough to grab Charles’ arm and tug him back into bed.

Thankfully, Charles didn’t fight him and got back into the bed so the two of them could lay on their sides and look at each other. Pierre used the hand he had pinned to prop up his head and his free arm to rest on Charles’ hip. He looked at his boyfriend expectantly while rubbing small circles with his thumb in encouragement.

Charles sighed and blushed a faint, light pink. “It’s stupid,” he muttered.

“Cha,” Pierre said in exasperation. After months of actually dating, now that he was no longer a cat, he didn’t need more than a single exhalation of Charles’ nickname to convey that he never thought that Charles was being stupid.

“I was checking to see if you still had a chip,” Charles mumbled and ducked his head.

That made Pierre pause and furrow his eyebrows. “Huh?” he asked, prompting Charles to elaborate.

“You know,” Charles waved his hand around vaguely, “when I took you to the vet. You got vaccines…and you also got a microchip.”

Pierre’s eyes widened as he remembered what Charles was talking about. When he was stuck as a cat, Charles had taken him to the vet for a series of vaccinations that would allow him to travel with Charles, and the vet had also put a microchip in his leg with Charles’ contact information.

“And you got a scanner to check?” Pierre asked rhetorically. It was actually rather sweet and it piqued his curiosity too.

Charles’ blush turned a darker shade as he nodded his head. Pierre laughed and shuffled closer to his boyfriend to give him a sweet, soft kiss.

“Go get it,” Pierre requested, “I want to know if I still have it too.”

His statement made Charles look at him in surprise, then he twisted around to grab it from his bedside drawer. Pierre obligingly held still as Charles moved it slowly over both of his legs. Once they reached the meat of his upper right thigh, the beep became more of a be-boop and Charles lifted it away from his leg in interest.

When he read what was on the screen, his face turned so red that the tips of his ears changed the same color. 

Pierre tried to grab it, but Charles lifted it out of his reach. He smirked, tackled Charles to the bed, and proceeded to pepper him with a mixture of kisses and tickles until Charles was laughing too hard to remember that he was trying to keep something out of Pierre’s hands. He was able to snag the scanning device out of Charles’ grasp and held it up victoriously.

It didn’t look particularly complicated since there was only one button and a fairly small screen no larger than his watch. Pierre held it up to his right thigh, clicked the button, heard the be-boop, and brought it up to his face. (All while kneeling on top of Charles to keep him pinned to the bed.)

“Property of Charles Marc Leclerc,” Pierre read out loud with a smirk, “if found, return to Monaco Veterinary Center. Why, Cha! I never knew you cared so much!”

“I hate you,” Charles mumbled.

“No, you don’t,” Pierre retorted. He threw the device further down the bed and leaned down so he was hovering directly over Charles and could see the embarrassment and amusement in his eyes. Charles was clearly fighting back a smile and Pierre returned it in kind. 

“I like it,” Pierre murmured, then proceeded to show his boyfriend exactly what the Property of Charles Marc Leclerc liked to do with his tongue.

— — — — — — — — — —

It became something of a game. More than once, Charles asked if Pierre wanted to get it removed. Every time, Pierre told him absolutely not. He liked the feeling of being, well, not owned but claimed by Charles. The reminder that he belonged to Charles in a private way that nobody else would be able to tell.

So, Pierre did the very logical thing and downloaded an app to his phone that would allow him to change the message that appeared when it was scanned. It was idiot-proof enough to figure out on the first try and he tested his success with the scanning device.

Pierre was almost disappointed that it took Charles a couple of days to notice. Of course, he didn’t have a reason to check the chip, but he hadn’t gotten rid of the device either. That was why Pierre put a sticky note on the back of the device and simply waited for Charles to find it.

He did when they were both getting dressed to head over to Charles’ maman’s place for dinner. They were doing their typical scramble-because-they-are-about-to-be-late dance and Charles pulled the scanner out while he was checking for something in his bedside drawer.

When he lifted the scanner, Pierre tried to hide the smug look that threatened to cross his face when Charles looked befuddled and felt the crinkle of paper under his fingers. Pierre watched him flip the scanner over to read the short message on the sticky note.

Use Me ;)

Charles caught his eye in the mirror and held it up with a questioning look. Pierre shrugged in a casual, innocent way that would definitively tell Charles that he was up to no good.

His boyfriend sighed, rolled his eyes, and walked over to Pierre. “What are you up to, you menace?” Charles asked as he waved the scanner over Pierre’s right thigh until he got the be-boop.

As soon as it made the noise, Pierre grinned. He didn’t need to respond to the rhetorical question.

When you read this, I’m giving you a blowjob. Immediately.

Charles very clearly read the message, his breath caught in his throat, and he whipped his head up to once again meet Pierre’s eyes in the mirror. His face had the strangest mixture of excitement and despair as he noticed Pierre’s killer smile.

“We’re already going to be late,” Charles protested, even as Pierre spun around and pushed Charles to the bed.

“Better come fast then, Cha,” Pierre warned him, sank to his knees, and started working open the button of Charles’ jeans.

He didn’t hear much of a complaint after that.

— — — — — — — — — —

After that, Charles started checking the chip more regularly. Sometimes, he did it when Pierre was asleep, but most of the time he waited until Pierre was awake.

Pierre didn’t change the message every day. Whenever Charles did find the message, Pierre always changed it back to Property of Charles Marc Leclerc just to see the slightly embarrassed yet pleased smile on his face whenever that was the message on the chip.

Other times, Pierre liked to change it up. Sometimes it would be filthy promises which Pierre would gladly fulfill whenever he promised within the message. Sometimes it was just sweet messages like I love you so much mon amour that made Charles melt into his arms with affection. Sometimes, in the mornings before a race, he would put well-wishes. Good luck today Mr. Pole Position!

Regardless, it was fun. It added a little bit of levity to their developing and growing relationship. Pierre didn’t even have to allude to Charles using the scanner since he would fairly reliably check it every single day that they were together.

Almost a year to the day after Pierre returned to his human body, he knew that he was fully committed to the relationship. There were still some days that he questioned what his sexuality was, but his commitment to Charles was never in doubt. Nobody else would be able to fill Pierre’s life like Charles did and he needed to make their connection permanent.

So, he changed the message, stole the scanner so that his surprise wouldn’t be ruined, and brought it with him when they went out on Charles’ yacht. They spent the day in the sun and the water, just the two of them, and had a simple dinner that they fed to each other while they watched the sunset off of the coast of Monaco.

“I’ll be right back, mon amour,” Pierre promised with a quick kiss to Charles’ cheek. He waved him off with a laugh and settled back in his seat.

Pierre quickly retrieved the scanner and slid a small box into the pocket of his swim trunks. He swiftly made his way back to Charles’ left side, pressed their thighs together, and eased the scanner into Charles’ hands.

When Charles looked down, he sighed. “Should I be worried?” Charles asked in resignation, but with his eyes sparkling in amusement.

“It depends,” Pierre said coyly, “do you trust me?”

That made Charles give a show of rolling his eyes, then gamely pressed the button on the scanner next to Pierre’s thigh until he got the be-boop noise.

He looked at Pierre pointedly, then dropped his gaze down to the screen. As soon as he did, Pierre thought he actually stopped breathing for a moment.

I love you, mon amour. Marry me?

Charles’ eyes flashed over to Pierre and he eased his way onto one knee as he pulled out the small box. He opened it carefully to reveal the simple, silver band that would easily blend in with the other rings that Charles liked to wear. The only difference was that this one had an engraving – 10 ♡ 16 – on the inside. 

“Well,” Pierre said after a moment, “what do you say, Cha?”

“Yes,” Charles professed and surged forward to kiss him deeply and thoroughly, “yes, of course, yes, yes, yes! I love you, Pierre. So much. Yes, always yes.”

Pierre couldn’t help the delighted laughter that escaped his lips and made sure to not fumble the box or the ring in between all of the kisses that Charles was putting on his lips.

Eventually, he managed to slide the ring onto Charles’ finger and his fiancé looked mesmerized at the simple band. “I love you, mon amour,” Pierre repeated the message from the chip and it was the simple, honest truth.

— — — — — — — — — —

Their wedding day was nothing short of magical. Pierre woke up tangled in Charles’ arms in a hotel suite that was way too far from home with all their families and friends ready to watch the two of them make a lifetime commitment to each other.

The day passed in a blur – getting groomed and ready, making sure someone else had all the last minute details covered, and trying his best to actually show up to the ceremony on time.

All day, Charles was giving him little glances of anticipation (since they didn’t bother with staying separated ahead of the ceremony) and Pierre knew that there was more to the look than eagerness to say their vows to each other.

Pierre had, of course, changed the message on the chip and Charles was waiting on him to give him the scanner to reveal it. But he didn’t.

Seeing Charles across from him at the altar was a vision from his dreams. Charles was dressed in an impeccable tuxedo and looked devastatingly handsome. He had to hold himself back through all the declarations and vows and exchanging much fancier rings with each other, and then he was allowed to kiss his husband.

It was an incredible feeling and Pierre was going to savor it for the rest of his life. 

They made it through cocktail hour, dinner, and speeches, then they danced and drank and laughed late into the night. (And, if Pierre pulled Charles into a private bathroom to give him a blowjob, well, nobody commented on how messed up his hair was when they returned.)

When they finally collapsed into bed together at an absurdly early hour of the morning, Charles had a small, red bow wrapped around the scanner waiting for him on the bedside table. Pierre saw him grin, grab the scanner, and hold it up to Pierre’s thigh expectantly.

Pierre waited for the familiar be-boop of the small device and watched as Charles eagerly brought it up to his face, then completely melted into a smile that was pure, unreserved happiness.

He tossed the device to the side and climbed on top of Pierre. All former tiredness was completely gone as Charles leaned down to devour him.

Property of Charles Marc Gasly-Leclerc.

[peaceoutofthepieces]

5 and jerejean for the kiss thing? 🥺🥺🥺

you chose a different kind of violence and i respect it (thank you thank you thank you)

5. Romantic (Tender) Kiss

Jean Moreau was not soft, but Jeremy had not expected him to be. Of all the rumours he'd heard, he'd always thought this one most likely to be true. You could not play a sport like exy, with a team like the Ravens, under the lead of someone like Riko Moriyama, and remain soft.

It was hardly surprising. Jeremy was often assumed to be soft, because it was something kindness was often mistaken for, but even for him it was not entirely true. There were parts of him that were hardened into a protective shell, and parts of him that were splintered and rough, same as anyone else. But he could not deny his softness in the sense of being gentle, because even at his worst he would try to be that—especially for someone like Jean.

Jean was not gentle, either. He did not try for softness in any sense. His insides were brittle and bitter; his outside was scarred and tough; his manner was sharp and blunt. Jeremy was in parts soft, and in hopes gentle, but Jean had been scourged of such customs.

What remained, though, was tenderness.

Jeremy had been surprised the first time Jean kissed him, for how tender it was. He'd been waiting for the aggression Jean often showed on the court, or for the violence that tended to drip from his tongue when he spoke, but the way Jean had cradled Jeremy's face and pressed them together could not be described as anything other than tender.

Now, Jeremy understood how to return it when Jean needed it.

Catching when Jean needed it was upsettingly easy. The storm cloud that had accompanied him all day, for instance, was one way of knowing.

It made it easy to follow Jean to his room—their room, really, now, considering the two narrow beds they'd crammed in and how much more frequently Jeremy stayed here, rather than his parents' house, because he could, because he was allowed, because Jean wanted him there and that made it more of a home than anywhere Jeremy had ever lived before—and pull him in.

Jean came without resistance. His towering frame tucked itself in to reach more of Jeremy's touch as Jeremy slid a hand over the back of his neck. Jean's hands, large and calloused, fit themselves around the dips of Jeremy's waist, smooth and easy in contrast to the stuttery breath that fell out of him. Not a careful touch, but a caring one, not light or gentle but tender, always tender.

Jeremy drew him down, slid his other hand over Jean's cheek, and stretched until they were pressed together. Even toe-to-toe, chest-to-chest, Jean pushed closer. He rested his forehead against Jeremy's and shuddered, his eyes drifting shut.

"Alright, Jean?" Jeremy asked, the French vowels falling from his tongue with more ease after months of practice.

Jean's lips quirked. "Alright, Jeremy."

Jean's accent curled around Jeremy's name, and Jeremy's chest tightened predictably. He stroked his thumb over Jean's cheekbone, pressed it to the stark black outline of a flower petal, and drew him into a kiss.

Jeremy corrected himself; Jean's lips may have been the one part of him that was soft. And though he was tough, he was malleable, molding to the shaping of Jeremy's hands with little pressure. Jeremy kept his touch firm, still, because Jean liked to feel it, but tender, always tender.

Jean nudged his nose against Jeremy's, the quirk of his lips curling almost into a smile, and Jeremy ached. Because this, whatever they had and whatever they were, might have been soft, but if it was not, it was only so they would feel it all the better.

send me a number + ship

[elliesgaymachete]

Vexleth - number 22 (in a rush of adrenaline)

Vex noticed the ambush a split second before it happened. The crunch of dirt underfoot and the twang of drawn bows gave it away. She wasn’t sure how many, but she knew they were outnumbered.

“Keyleth, get down!” was all she could shout before the hail of arrows began.

She shoved Keyleth prone, so most of the arrows missed her, but a few grazed Vex in the process. She drew her own bow.

“What do you think, darling?” Vex muttered. “Should we show them not to underestimate us?”

Keyleth nodded. “Definitely.”

Her form began to shift as she lunged for the nearest archer. Vex smirked, satisfied that Kiki could take care of herself.

Vex sent arrows toward everyone she could see. Most of them went down in one hit, easy. They have must been petty thieves, looking to cut the purses of some unsuspecting looking women. They had know idea what they were getting into.

Vex didn’t bother killing them. She hoped, at least, that this would teach them a lesson.

After she downed four masked figures, she turned to see how Keyleth was faring, only to find a spellcaster towering over her, magic sparkling at their fingertips. She gulped.

Just then, a roar pierced the air as the caster was tackled by a large, predator cat, paws the size of their head, claws out. The figure crumpled to the ground, and as the beast stood, it shifted back into the familiar visage of her friend. Keyleth tripped over the legs of the person she had just knocked prone and stumbled into Vex’s arms.

She looked up, panting heavily, and gave Vex a shy smile.

Gods, she was beautiful.

Vex’s heart pounded in her chest from the rush of battle, but also from the way the sunlight hit Keyleth’s eyes, setting the green irises aflame. Her grip tightened around Keyleth’s waist, her gaze dropped to soft lips.

Keyleth’s eyes grew wide and a blush colored her cheeks. “Vex…” she started. “What are you—?”

Vex cut her off with a swift, lingering kiss. She could hear her own heart thrumming in her ears, she could feel Keyleth’s pulse thrumming under her fingertips, she could taste the sweat on her lips.

When they broke apart, Keyleth was still panting, but it wasn’t from the fight this time.

“Vex’ahlia,” she whispered, as she anxiously fiddled with a strap of armor on Vex’s chest. “What was that for?”

Vex shrugged. “I wanted to,” she admitted.

Keyleth’s eyes were still wide and her mouth hung open in shock. She didn’t say anything for a moment, and Vex hastily began to pull up her own walls again.

“Is that a problem?” she added, with just a bit too much defensive contempt. Vex felt a little guilty for lashing out, but this seemed to snap Keyleth out of her daze. She blinked.

“No,” Keyleth said quickly. She wrapped a hand around the back of Vex’s neck, brushed a thumb across the line of her jaw, and smiled. “No. No problem at all. I liked—er—you can do it again. If you want.”

Vex couldn’t help but chuckle at Keyleth’s nervous mannerisms. She brushed a red lock out of her face and tucked it behind her ear. She let her hand linger and gently cupped her cheek.

“As you wish.”

This time, as Vex leaned in, Keyleth stood on her tip toes and met her lips in the middle.

[justfriendsbestthings]

Simon‘s Month Day 21: Red Light

@youngroyals-events

[campingwiththecharmings]

Honeyboo, I know you said you don't do HC's and stuff, but can you imagine Driver!Jake as he is driving RichGirl!Reader around on a shopping day and he has to carry all of her bags after her as she is going from store to store cause her daddy said so 💀

(it's not that i don't do them, per se, i just don't think about them until someone asks me lol 😆)

ooo i can see this taking place both before they're together and after. 👀

if it's before, jake would probably be kind of annoyed (and perhaps even a little insulted) to be reduced to a literal bag boy--though, he can't lie, the bonus her daddy gave him is more than generous enough for him to swallow his pride for one afternoon. she's polite enough to him initially, thanking him for holding doors for her and apologizing to him when she just wants to try on just a few more dresses.

but then she meets up with some friends.

he can see them from where he stands at the front of the store, his arms laden with shopping bags. she and her friends are looking at him, not at all trying to hide that fact as they're whispering and giggling about him like school girls. jake is torn between being annoyed and amused (but mostly he just wishes he could have a cigarette). her friends spend the rest of the day shamelessly flirting with him (one even tries to get his phone number) and he thinks he must've imagined the spark of jealousy in your eyes.

if they're already together? well...she'd obviously spend the day torturing him. instead of making him wait at the front for her, she tells him she needs him in the dressing rooms. she makes him sit in the waiting area and models every single outfit for him. there's one particular dress, one with a slit that goes up your thigh that leaves little to the imagination, that he almost begs you to buy, if only so he can peel it off of you at some point in the near future.

the smirk on her face as she buys it tells him how obvious his desire was.

he's about to take her home (maybe practice getting her out of that dress) when she asks him to make just one more stop. he does as asked, of course, and he drives to the store. he doesn't think anything of it until he walks in with her and sees it....all the lingerie.

he practically swallows his tongue when she asks him to accompany her to the dressing rooms.

it's the end of the day and the store is (blessedly) empty so they have the dressing room to themselves. just as jake is giving himself a pep talk, telling himself he can do this, that he can control himself, that he will not fuck her in the middle of this high-end boutique, she walks out of the dressing room in the most beautiful set of lace and silk scraps he's ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on.

he wants to rip them off her with his teeth.

in the end, he does end up fucking her in the middle of this high-end boutique, his hand over her mouth muffling her cries of pleasure as he pounds into her over and over.

as she comes around him, her pleasure dragging him over the edge too, jake has the thought that maybe being a bag boy isn't actually as bad as he'd thought it'd be. 😇🤭

[anawrites3]

Ana seeing as Ive just finished reading the Captive Prince trilogy, Im iching for a sladick AU with a similar premise.

In the books they mention that slaves/pets are trained to take cock well before they lose their virginity.

If Dick was given to Slade (not a Prince, maybe a member of nobility? A slave trainer? Whatever role you like)...

Ahh that's great! I havent read it yet because I just cant put my hands on it, it's so expensive here :( and I dont think any libraries nearby have it haha

But I'm always all in for some slave/master dynamics 😏💕 so have a little story, I hope it's what you were thinking about!

Dick breathed out slowly in an attempt to calm down even just slightly, and his breath shook almost as badly as his hands did when he was shading his robe. Lord Slade Wilson, the man that was his master now, was sitting comfortably on the settee in front of him, watching Dick like a predator watches its prey. He was sprawled on the soft cushions with his legs spread comfortably, his pants untied and lowered just enough to uncover his erected cock.

The thin material of Dick's robe pooled around his feet and for a moment he allowed himself to just stand there, letting Slade's hungry gaze wander around his body. It's not like it was covering much in the first place but without it Dick suddenly felt much more vulnerable.

"Do you know what to do, boy?" Slade drawled in a low voice.

With those few words, he interrupted the silence that wasn't exactly comforting but still made the whole situation feel more surreal. As if it was just a distant dream or, more precisely, a nightmare. A few words, that's all it took Slade to made everything feel so much more real for Dick.

Dick shouldn't even be there. He was a prince, even after being betrayed and sold, even after being bought by men that "trained" pleasure slaves and... and after being forced to go through said training himself- he still was a prince of Gotham, the first son of king Bruce Wayne. He shouldn't be there, gifted to lord Wilson to be his slave and do everything the man wanted.

Still, what left his mouth was, "Yes, master."

Slade kept watching him. Dick looked back, his heart pounding against his ribcage, painfully aware of every inch of his naked body, still bruised from the last time his trainers punished him.

The man patted wordlessly at his thighs and Dick stepped closer, close enough to put his hands on Slade's shoulders and take a seat on his lap. Slade's hands seemed to be scorching hot when they found their place on Dick's waist and for a moment Dick was sure that they would leave marks on his skin with barely any touch. But no - it was just Dick who was cold, still not used to this realm's weather.

Slade traced his hipbone with his thumb.

"They told me no one touched you before." He mused. "Is that true?"

Dick lowered his gaze. He wet his lips with his tongue, hating how nervous he still got while talking about it after everything he already went through.

"Yes, master. I'm fully yours."

Slade's fingers dug into his skin as Dick got pulled closer to the man, so close that their chests were pressed together, Slade's cock rubbing against his stomach.

"But you still know what to do." Slade said, more a statement than a question.

Dick swallowed, "I've been trained well."

The settee whispered when Slade leaned back against it more comfortably. He continued watching Dick's every reaction, his every move. It wasn't how Dick imagined a lover would ever look at him.

But that was before. Now he was just a pleasure slave, property of his master.

"Show me then, little bird." Slade purred out, the corner of his lips twitching up in a smirk. "Let's see how good you are."

[alpineshift]

[ 13 ] a tidy apothecary shop crowded with labeled jars and bowls of supplies!!

here we go!! (this is also a number that's frequenting my inbox - nico's influence perhaps?? - so you guys are getting ✨fic variety✨)

[13] a tidy apothecary shop crowded with labeled jars and bowls of supplies

The bell above the doorframe chimes with the arrival of a new patron, and Jack only has a second to panic internally. Oh, shit, Nina isn't back yet and I'm holding an armful of terraturong goo and I am so not prepared for customers--

But then he spots the man that's just walked in, and a whole other panic takes over him entirely.

He's handsome. He's gorgeous. He's so beautiful Jack nearly says you cannot be a real person out loud.

"Neens!" the new arrival calls, nudging the door shut with his foot and peering around the corner. "Nina?"

He follows up with a fast-paced phrase that Jack simply can't decipher, which is when the man turns and finally spots Jack staring at him in front of the shelves.

"Oh!" Big, pretty brown eyes blink at him. "Sorry," he says, in blessed English. "I didn't see you--is my sister--?"

Sister? "Uh, Nina?" Jack stammers. "She's stepped out to pick up more bottles from storage. Um, I can try and help--?"

"Oh, no, don't worry. Here, do you want some help?"

And the man is immediately hurrying forward, easily taking one of the buckets out of Jack's hands, uncaring that it smells strongly of bog rot and sloshes unpleasantly about. His biceps flex under the sleeve of his t-shirt, where a tattoo sits on the inside of his arm. It's genuinely the hottest thing Jack has ever seen.

"Where do you want these?" the man asks, and Jack scrambles to abandon his daydreams.

"Just behind the counter is fine," he says hastily. "We have to bottle them in a moment anyway."

They both navigate their way around the packed shelves; everything bursting with Nina's carefully crafted tonics, potions, and elixirs, but in the most organized chaos Jack has ever encountered.

The man hefts the two buckets he's got over the workstation, leaning over the table top. His shirt rides up at his waist and Jack has to bite back a groan at the flash of abdomen.

"Terraturong goo," the man chuckles. "I don't envy you. This used to be my job whenever Nina could get away with making me do it, so I guess I should thank you for taking over. You're her new shop apprentice, right? The one from Michigan?"

"Y-Yeah," Jack stammers. Awkward, he holds his hand out, and is gratified when the man goes for a firm shake. "I'm Jack. I'm apprenticing here until the end of next spring."

"Nico," Nico says, dimples showing on his cheeks. He's got the perfect amount of stubble, and the softest hair and the most glowing expression. "Nina's younger brother. I'm visiting for the summer too, at least until football season starts again. I guess I'll be seeing you around a lot?"

Dear god I sure fucking hope so, Jack thinks. Out loud, he manages a smile and replies, "Yeah, man, you probably will."

"Awesome," Nico enthuses, and Jack very nearly misses the way Nico's gaze shifts over him from head to toe, drinking him in. (Jack is suddenly very self-conscious of the thin white t-shirt and boring jeans ensemble he's got on. Also--he hasn't done laundry in a week, so these jeans are just a little too tight on him, fuck.)

"If you want..." Nico begins, before he reaches over and pulls Nina's notepad off from the shelf. He scrawls a few digits on the paper, then passes it over to Jack, eyes sparkling. "Hit me up for a drink sometime. I've love to show you around Valais when you're free."

it’s almost hockey season again! send me a jacknico prompt?

[seanchaidh7]

My piece for the @theartguard “Draw This in Your Style Event” I love this woman.