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fumifooms · 2 months

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i know you aren't really into marcille/laios any longer, but since you went looking online for dungeon meshi doujins, did you happen to find any other marcille/laios ones? (funnily enough at the convention i was at a couple weeks back they had like five, but they were extremely over-exaggerated and personally i prefer my fan content relatively in character...)

Ok first of all: Yeah listen laimar doesn’t have a grip on me anymore but I still quite enjoy it! Just more passively… Altho I do have an analysis that focuses a lot on the importance they hold to each other in my early stage wips drafts, and listen in canon I do think they’re queerplatonic flavored, call me an ot3 qpr truther because Laios Marcille and Falin have a something going on and it transcends being put into a box. But hey hey I reblog laimar artworks I bought that recent doujin I put laimar fics in my -checks- 106 pages long to-read list… Also I have like 5 pages of fanfic prompts for them I may or may not get to writing. Though yeah I do feel bad whenever I notice people following after liking all my laimar posts haha

Sadly to get to the meat of the topic, not really… I don’t go to cons for lack of opportunity so whatever I find is through online. The one I got is The Fourth Basement Floor, it has an english ver and seems so so very in character I can’t wait to get it! Otherwise I’ve looked on Otakurepublic & Doujinrepublic since I use their services for merch from Japan, warning if you click on the link, there are 18+ ones and covers can be pretty explicit. I don’t remember any other laimar one except the one nsfw one I think, but on the plus side there are a lot of gen no ships doujins. I’m bothered because looking back I feel like the catalogue of doujins was wider when I looked all those months ago and it feels like I’m forgetting something hmm… I wish I could help more, but yeah 😔 Pixiv has many laimar comics up (in japanese) if that sates the hunger any

As consolation since I’m already here, why not show some of my laimar things laying around gathering dust I’m fond of. Don’t look if you don’t want to be spoiled for fics I may or may not write I guess? All down below is just laimar prompts

I spoke about some various ones and esp my timeline where she gets him into Daltian Clan here. "Laios… I was wondering, because you enjoy fantasy stories right? I was wondering if you’d like to give my favorite book series a go… It has monsters!" I love love love post-canon laimar where he gets the habit of chewing on her hair because he’s stimming and hungry. Like a goat.

Laios goes to Marcille for love advice. "You like someone?! Do I know them?" She eagerly asked. "Erm… Yes…?" // Post-canon. He’s so nervous and puts his foot in his mouth n lets things slip out that he thought would give him away. (Comic) "You like someone??! What are they like? Who are they?" And he’s like "Well… She’s a half-elf." He’s like shit she’ll probably know right away. And she goes still. "I’ve never met another half-elf!! We’re so rare! You’re saying you met one and didn’t tell me???!" She’s shaking him. And then she goes still again, contempt drawing on her face. "Wait… Are you asking me for advice because I’m a half-elf?" Laios runs with it "Yes!! And because you’re so savvy with romance and what people like…? If, uh, if you were a half-elf, what would you like to get as a gift? What sort of confession would you want?" "… You saved it there. Okay so since I’m so knowledgeable on romance, tell me what is she like?" "-describes Marcille-" She nods, smug yet oblivious. "Aah I can already tell we’d be great friends. Good taste." (then Thinking bubble with him giving her flowers at a restaurant "Did you know roses are edible and used in recipes", candlelit dinner, or wait maybe the most romantic is cooking together alone at home, chocolate! It’s expensive though… Wait I’m king now!)

Lil comic, Laios wakes up snuggled against Marcille’s back then promptly falls off the bed. The noise makes Marcille wake up and she’s like omg are u ok?? Laios is so sweaty and panicked and in denial about her being special to him. She explains, disgruntled at the memory "Izutsumi is bunking in with Chilchuck again, they’re taking the whole bedrolls." Pause. "Sorry, I should have told you, but you like sleeping with Izutsumi too so I figured…" She looked sheepish. "Between you and Senshi, I much prefer sleeping with you. It feels sort of nostalgic, like a sleepover, no?" He relaxes and gets in the bed again, smiling. "But… We’ve never had a sleepover?" She chuckles "I guess not. I must be getting that impression because of Falin…" And the air between them is warm yet bittersweet now, as she smiles like that and his eyes and smile cloud over. The earlier instinctive reluctance to touch is gone now. She snuggles into his arms and is like "Hug me?" "Okay." And he does, wraps his arms around her and tucks his chin over her head.

Post canon, marcille takes him to a squid restaurant. Cute lighthearted hehe. He sulks "If there are any parasites in this I will ban squid from this kingdom or so help me…"

Short post canon fluff marcille pov about laios gaining weight n becoming chubby. She used to dream of chiseled abs and angular elves, laios in every way, shape and form is so far from the beauty standards she idealized so. And yet… She loves how soft sleeping against him is, how much there’s more of him for her to hug and nuzzle her face in. She loves seeing him and seeing someone strong, who isn’t malnourished or underweight, someone healthy with color in their skin. An healthy appetite. He used to look more like a rectangle, severe and strict, but now he looked rounder, and seeing him smile at her always made her feel like that roundness suited him. She smiled back, and melted thinking about how her boyfriend was the sweetest in the world. ^I still wanna do this one really bad. Sometimes a fic premise comes from nowhere and puts you in a chokehold and you must finish it to obtain catharsis

Short oneshot about laios musing about Marcille’s smile, how important it is to him in subtle ways etc: Ends with Laios being like wait there’s something off (succubus). Then he grabbed her throat. Or smth

Laios seeing her dungeon like "this is so wrong Marcille you can’t run a dungeon for shit" and also "WHAT ARE THESE HORRORS OF MONSTERS NOO THEY CAN’T BE EFFECTIVE LIKE THAT"

Dinner for two: Very warm. Marcille and Laios are meeting up and cooking a dinner just for them both, no one else is there. They’re being so domestic and it’s light. Laios pauses at some point, doing the dishes, saying… I’ve always worried, thinking doing things like these would remind me of my parents.

Laios doesn’t know what to do when he realizes he actually *likes* likes Marcille, so he avoids her. Everyone notices and is disapproving of him.

Her mana acts up and she shares her dream with someone, kinda like with Izutsumi. Listen the premise could be smutty but I think it’d be more fun if they just hanged out n were silly, like the nightmares chapter without the nightmare

Laimar pining but from the view of Chilchuck, his love hatred sensing a storm brewing. The giggling, the looks. Ugh! It reminded him of himself and his wife when they were young and newly dating.

I love Laios and Izu being worsties so. Laios sees izutsumi rubbing her scent on marcille’s clothes and gets possessive. Maybe Golden Kingdom maybe something else I have no clue but Laios being ridiculous and cheek rubbing or something <3

I might want to do an AU where Laios gets into werebeast ring fighting, before canon and the split happens after he deserts the military. So he’s alone, has nothing going for him and stumbles into that sphere and gets werebeast tattoos done. It doesn’t make him happier at all and fighting sucks actually, but it brings money and he likes being a beast and being cheered by a crowd aka illusion of being liked, and money brings food and eating is the privilege of the living etc etc. So then when he goes to check on Falin at the academy it’s a big AU where he has a whole other reputation and look to him, and when he meets izutsumi their relationship is different and aaaaaa… He’s freeer in this au, lets himself be animalistic and weird, even though ofc the arc is him letting himself be more human as well and connecting with humans, through talking and infodumping n shit. Oh I went off but the laimar is because it’s inspired by cool laimar art here (warning tho it’s an art dump with toudencest also 😔) but werewolf Laios laimar AUs… A lotta fun stuff there idk idk

#Laimar #ask #Ppl can send me laimar asks tbh idk when i’d get to them but i do still love them #Not all that much left i wanna explore analysis or post wise with them though #Laios touden #marcille donato #Fanfic wips #Dungeon meshi #Spoilers #dungeon meshi manga spoilers

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sweaterkittensahoy · 2 months

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Mota prompt, ot3 - Bucky/Buck/Curt. Just something about being the one black cat coded boyfriend between two orange cats coded boyfriends. I suppose the interesting thing here is that sometimes the black cat isn't who you think it is.

Curt can tell what people think of him and Bucky and Buck. They look at the three of them when they're introduced as a trio, and they immediately try to pinpoint which one is the most trouble.

Most of the time, they end up choosing Bucky. Which Curt doesn't consider a bad guess for strangers. Bucky's charming and loud and borderline annoying in his cockiness (all things that Curt liked right away). He's always got a joke and a grin, and he makes no bones about causing trouble if it gets a laugh.

When they decide it's Curt, he always responds with a slow, shit-eating grin and an easy roll of his shoulders. He never asks what sort of trouble they think he causes, but he knows what he looks like and what he sounds like, and when you're a stocky fucker from the Bronx with scars on your knuckles (he fell off his bike a lot as a kid), people figure you're the muscle for Bucky's mouth.

They're not entirely wrong about that, either.

What's amazing about watching people size up the three of them and choose who to watch out for, they never clock Buck. Not once. They eye him up and decide he must be a nice young man. Which is ridiculous because neither Curt nor Bucky come close to meeting that list of requirements, so why would Buck spend time with them if he's so polite and quiet and reserved.

It's a question Curt hears a lot. One Bucky even brings up in bed now and again to goad Buck into shoving him on the mattress and showing him exactly how "impolite" he can be. Those nights are extra-fun because Buck lets out the wilder part of himself. They all wrestle and leave marks on each other, and in the morning, Curt gets to watch with half-closed eyes as Buck examines where they've bitten him and left bruises and smile knowing he and Bucky have claimed him yet again.

The truth is, no one thinks Buck is any sort of trouble at all. The truth also is he's the biggest trouble of the three of them. It comes down to the fact that he's a fucking sneak and a half with the ability to keep a straight face while lying through his goddamn teeth. He pretends he doesn't know what he looks like, but Curt's seen that fucking smile get used to get out of trouble or steer attention away from whatever problem Curt and Bucky are causing.

"He's gonna be the goddamn death of us," Bucky mutters to Curt as they watch Buck go wide-eyed and faux-dumb to distract an angry soldier about paying out a poker loss to Curt, who he swears cheated.

Curt flips his spare ace back up his sleeve and ducks under Bucky's raised arm. "Only if he gets caught."

Bucky snorts in amusement and gives Curt a shake. Buck comes back over and drops on the other side of Bucky. "Come to an accord?" Bucky asks, pulling Buck close with his other arm.

"Nope. He won't pay." Buck watches the guy get led away by his friends, then reaches into his pocket and tosses a wallet in front of Curt. "So, I stole his wallet."

Bucky cackles and kisses Buck loudly on the cheek as Curt tucks the wallet under the table and takes the cash he's owed plus two dollars as annoyance tax. He passes the wallet back to Buck, who stands to leave the wallet someplace they can't be incriminated.

"Next time, tuck your fucking wrist," Buck says to Curt. Curt blows him a kiss. Buck leans across Buck and taps his forehead against Curt's. Curt doesn't feel Buck touch his wrist, but he laughs when Buck holds up the ace, then flicks it at him.

"Hey, what about me?" Bucky asks, and beams when Buck taps their foreheads together as he straightens.

Curt snugs up against Bucky again as they watch Buck walk halfway across the room and lean on a table to talk to the men there. It's only because he's taught him the trick that they see him push the wallet to the very tip of his fingers and drop it to the floor under the table.

"I am pretty sure he could murder us in broad daylight while being recorded by a newsreel camera, and no one would believe it," Curt says.

"Yeah, but what a way to go," Bucky replies, and Curt can only nod in agreement.

#fic #fic prompt #masters of the air #buckbuckycurt #curtbucks #curtis biddick #buckdicks #bucky egan #buck cleven #hi i'm curt #and this is my buck and my other buck #buck cleven is the feral one #the others are just having a good time

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yuriko-mukami · 5 months

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Diabolik OTP Challenge

for 2024

Masterlist for the works

Feel free to jump in with any kind of content.

You can make art, fics, headcanons, moodboards, or whatever you find personally suitable. It doesn't matter if your ship is canon x canon, OC x canon, or SI x canon.

OTP can also be OT3, etc.

You can use all prompts or just some of them. And you can interpret them freely as you wish.

Prompts can be posted anytime during the year 2024. Numbers are there just for easier reading.

Tag me (@yuriko-mukami) if you want me to reblog your work.

If you make content not suitable for minors, remember to tag it properly.

You can use the tag #diabolik otp challenge for your posts.

Prompts as text under the cut

Prompt 1: Meet Cute or Meet Ugly

Prompt 2: Prey or Predator

Prompt 3: Kabedon

Prompt 4: Misunderstanding

Prompt 5: First Date

Prompt 6: Kiss

Prompt 7: Hurt/Comfort or Hurt/No-Comfort

Prompt 8: Realizing Love

Prompt 9: Gift Giving

Prompt 10: Sharing

Prompt 11: Cold Day

Prompt 12: Jealousy

Prompt 13: Confession

Prompt 14: Tears

Prompt 15: The Morning After

Prompt 16: Vampire Juice

Prompt 17: Meeting Parent(s)

Prompt 18: Beach or Bath or Hot Spring

Prompt 19: Bloody Yearnings

Prompt 20: Style Swap

Prompt 21: Dark Moment

Prompt 22: Breathless

Prompt 23: Family

Prompt 24: Carnival

Prompt 25: Sleeping Together

Prompt 26: Possessiveness

Prompt 27: Eden

Prompt 28: Lovebites

Prompt 29: Cuddling

Prompt 30: Sweet Moment

Bonus: Future

#diabolik otp challenge #diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers fandom

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investingestincest · 6 months

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OT3 dialogue prompts 3

A: *Chilling on the couch and scrolling through their phone*

C: *Walks in the room and kisses A out of nowhere*

A, flustered: What are you...?

C: B told me.

A: What ?

C, showing A their phone: They told me to give you lots of kisses in their message.

#proship #proshipper safe #otp prompts #dialogue prompt #imagine your ot3 #ot3 prompts

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youcouldmakealife · 1 year

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SOTM: Various, online chatter; that’s enough internet for today

For the prompt: How hot is Jared? Twitter's best explainers

Forgive me any formatting sins -- I aimed for clarity over authenticity, but who knows if tumblr will oblige on that front.

“How’s the internet doing?” Dave asks.

“Well,” Andreas says. “It’s — technically good news, but in a way you probably don’t want to hear the details of?”

“That sounds ominous,” Dave says.

“Do you know what shipping means?” Andreas asks. “Not the—“

“You know, you’re right,” Dave says, literally backing into his office. “I don’t want to know.”

“I didn’t think so,” Andreas says, saluting Dave with his coffee, then goes to check out what’s happening on twitter. He thinks he’s had more than enough of AO3 for the foreseeable future.

On Twitter:

I’ve decided to block everyone who says something shitty about Bryce Marcus or Jared Matheson in the next while and I think my hockey twitter experience is going to greatly improve as a result

This is absolute genius I’m doing it

WAIT JARED MATHESON IS CANUCKS DILF’S SON?

HOLY SHIT JARED MATHESON IS CANUCKS DILF’S SON

OH MY GOD THIS CHANGES EVERYTHING.

Damn now we know he’s going to stay beautiful.

So does Bryce clearly. Lock that upppp.

HOW COME THERE ISN’T A WHOLE JARED MATHESON FANDOM.

Nevermind fam just found out there is in fact a fandom and they are losing their dang MINDS right now.

A selection of tweets liked by Bryce Marcus’ lurking account:

Look if I landed Jared Matheson I too would tattoo his signature on my chest.

I would tattoo his PICTURE.

How is it that Bryce Marcus is a multi-millionaire who routinely is in the top twenty in scoring and clearly takes care of his appearance and dresses better than 95% of hockey players, and yet I’m still like ‘nice work landing that husband, bro’.

You know that if Marcus and Matheson could reproduce they would have the most beautiful children

Sweet mitts too

Every single picture or video I’ve managed to find of Bryce Marcus and Jared Matheson in the same place Jared is like 😐 and Bryce is like 😍 how did we just figure this out now

I THOUGHT HE WAS JUST REALLY HAPPY TO BE IN VANCOUVER 😭

“Babe,” Jared says. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Bryce says. “I’m not doing anything. Go back to sleep.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” Jared groans, slinging an arm over Bryce’s hip as he buries his face in Bryce’s good shoulder. Bryce’s hand comes up to absently pet his hair, and Jared falls back asleep that way, Bryce’s fingers carding through his hair as he scrolls through god knows what with his other hand.

On AO3:

Tags: Bryce Marcus Matheson/Jared Marcus Matheson/Julius Halla, I was really tempted to put Julius Halla Matheson but I think that’s enough chaos for right now, this is how I’m coping as a Hallason shipper, with OT3s, and threesomes, au just in that erin matheson doesn’t exist, sry erin it’s not personal

Tags: Bryce Marcus/Jared Matheson, no plot just vibes, soft shit, I literally just got here but, Bryce Marcus is a bottom you cowards,

Archive Warnings: Underage

Tags: Bryce Marcus/Jared Matheson, Rafael Sanchez, Just like the regular level of underage jared was when he met bryce nothing sketchy, or sketchier than reality lol, meet cute, my hc of how they met,

“If this is about Jared I’m hanging up on you,” Stephen says as he picks up his phone.

“You knew, didn’t you!” Beth says.

Stephen hangs up the phone, and puts it back on the table, face down.

It, of course, immediately vibrates. Gabe looks at it, then at Stephen.

“Don’t give me that look,” Stephen says.

Gabe continues to blink mildly as it goes to voicemail, then starts to vibrate again.

“You talk to her then,” Stephen says.

“Hi Beth,” Gabe says. “How are you? Yes, I did know who my linemate was married to. No, I didn’t think to tell you. Well, because I’m not sure how it’s relevant to you, Elisabeth.”

Stephen smirks at Gabe as his face grows continually wearier. His fault for not just hanging up — it may be mercenary, but it means Stephen doesn’t have to listen to whatever Beth’s telling Gabe.

“Let me give you Stephen,” Gabe says.

Sometimes Stephen forgets that Gabe has spent a little too much time around him for his own good.

‘Fuck you’, Stephen mouths, but Gabe just smiles and continues to hold his phone out.

On tumblr:

The Bryce Marcus/Jared Matheson tag has doubled in the last 36 hours. You guys okay?

Can’t sleep gotta write fic.

I think I speak for all of us when I say, from the bottom of my heart: no.

But like in a good way!

Where my Julius/Jared shippers at? How y’all doing?

Well we found out Jared Matheson is actually gay and married to a man literally from the lips of Julius Halla…in the context of telling us he’s married to a completely different dude and also now I’m legitimately worried about their friendship since he just outed his bestie so idk you tell me.

This.

Do we change it to ‘Jared Marcus Matheson/Bryce Marcus Matheson’ or Jared Matheson/Bryce Marcus’ or is it chaos or —

The AO3 tag wranglers have been by and they’ll all redirect to ‘Jared Matheson’ and ‘Bryce Marcus’ so don’t worry.

But why isn’t it redirecting to ‘Marcus Matheson’?

Show us the papers and we’ll do it. Legal name change documentation please.

You have all been shoving these definition of Average Dude hockey players in my face all ‘look at this beautiful man’ and none of you showed me Jared Matheson, Actually Beautiful Man? What is the MATTER with you people.

You have been in the wrong corner of hockey fandom trust me. his beauty was Known

east coast bias even in hockey rpf smh

Want some fic recs? OBVIOUSLY.

Hey remember a few years back when we all made fun of Bryce Marcus for not knowing his own initials judging by that JBM necklace? Wikipedia says Jared’s middle name is Bradley

JARED’S MIDDLE NAME IS BRADLEY!!!!!!!

I would like to submit a formal apology to Bryce Marcus who a) can spell b) is the most romantic man alive and c) has clearly been TRYING to get caught this whole time.

#fic snippet #SOTM #jared matheson #bryce marcus #Andreas Krause #dave summers #stephen petersen #gabe markson #beth petersen #julius halla

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cod-dump · 11 months

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HEY!!! So, I just want to you are an inspiration to writing everywhere and I love your stuff? And if it isn't too much I would like to know, can you rank all the best 141 Ships in one massive list? Personally SoapGhost at top, but I want to see what you think

Ranking the ships? Oh boy--

This is a good opportunity for me to show how I feel about some ships.

Keep in mind I ranked them by how I feel about them personally (also I put down as many as I could think of and if I missed one then I'll happily add on)

Has been edited, ships added

___

Soap/Ghost: Good ship, absolutely love it. Height diverse, canon banter that I can go over all day and not get bored, angst potential-- Have written so much for this ship and I'm not tired of it yet. Good ship, 10/10.

Alejandro/Rudy: Fucking LOVE this. They give off 'married for ten plus years and happily in love'. I want to write more for them because I fucking love them so much. 10/10, good ass ship.

Konig/Horangi: I admit I don't look into this ship as much but I do like what I see people write for them. I like them, good potential for fics, would like to write for at some point. 8/10.

Price/Nik: Yes, married for several years, knows each other better than themselves. I want/need to write more for them because I do like this ship. 10/10.

Price/Graves: Yes, fucking love it. So much potential of what you can do with it. I have written somethings for it and definitely plan on writing so much more. 10/10, fuck yes.

Price/Ghost: Not my favorite. 4/10

Price/Gaz: Not my favorite but I don’t have any problems with it. 5/10

Price/Soap: Not bad but I don’t have any ideas for it. 5/10.

Soap/Konig: Oh yes, I like this. 'Enemies to lovers'. I have so many ideas for this ship but I haven't written any fics on them yet. Definitely on my to do list. 10/10.

Ghost/Konig: Yes, big boy on big boy violence affection. 'Enemies to lovers'. Have a lot of ideas for them but I haven't written anything down yet. 8/10.

Farah/Alex: I like them, I think they're cute. I also think Alex is whipped and does whatever Farah wants to make her happy. Awesome malewife/girlboss relationship. 10/10.

Valeria/Graves: You know she tops. God, I can imagine them being the bitchiest couple on the face of the planet. They're so toxic yet it works for them. Would write for, have some ideas for them. 6/10.

Valeria/Alejandro: I mean, I love scornful ex-lovers just like anybody else. Maybe they were once pretty healthy in the past but they're definitely pretty toxic, too. Would write for if given a prompt (or if I get inspired all the sudden). 7/10.

Valeria/Rudy: GOD-- so many ideas involving past lovers, Valeria aiming to use Rudy to hurt Alejandro, just plan toxic ideas. Would write if requested or if I get randomly inspired. 8/10

Ghost/Rudy: Have written this before, I think it's cute. I haven't seen much for them, sadly. Might write this again (on my own or prompted). 8/10

Soap/Alejandro: Like the ship above, I think it's cute. I would write stuff for it. Bromance turned romance. 8/10

Price/Graves/Nik: FUCK YES. God, the brainrot is strong with this one. Love them so much, have so many ideas for them. Probably will never tire of them, OT3. 10/10.

Nik/Graves: God I have ideas for this one. Fuck yea new ideas to plague me in the middle of the night. 10/10.

Soap/Gaz: Yes, gimme. 'Friends to Lovers', good shit. Lots of fluff, silly shenanigans, all the good stuff. 10/10.

Gaz/Alex: Yes, love this. Cute as fuck. I can see a adorable slow burn romance, bromance to romance, didn't know they were dating-- I got ideas for it. Would love to write for it. 10/10.

Ghost/Gaz: Yes, I actually really like this one. Again, I see no content for it and it makes me sad. Love to write for it and put this ship out there. Some good, angsty slow burn. 10/10.

Farah/Gaz/Alex: I find adorable. I love this so much. Would write for happily. I haven't seen much content for them sadly (maybe it's because I don't look hard enough). Good ship, 10/10.

Alejandro/Valeria/Rudy: Got some pretty good ship ideas for this. Good ass angst with some fluff. The good stuff right here. Definitely could see this being a past relationship that ended badly, leaving two of them (or maybe all three) heartbroken. 8/10

Soap/Gaz/Ghost: Absol-fucking-lutely. Love this shit right here so much. I need to write more for it because it's a shame there's not more content for it. 10/10.

Price/Gaz/Soap/Ghost: I do like this oddly enough. I like them all together for some reason. 7/10

Ghost/Roach: Yes, I love this shit. Good angst potential, good past lovers potential. 'Lovers to friends to lovers' shit right here. 10/10

Soap/Roach: The chaos, the trouble they could get into-- Yes, absolutely. Good shit right there. Love to see it and would definitely write for it. 10/10.

Soap/Roach/Ghost: Yes, god yes. So many ways do make this happen. Angst, fluff, smut-- all that you possibly need in a ship. Fucking beautiful, love to see it, definitely would love to write it at some point. 10/10,

Soap/Gaz/Roach: Yes, yes, and yes. Good shit right here, cute and fluffy (though I could make it angsty if I tried). Silly shenanigans, chaos, all the good stuff. 10/10.

Soap/Gaz/Roach/Ghost: I haven't seen anything for this but I think it's cute and works. 8/10.

Soap/Graves: Good angst potential here, 'friends to lovers to enemies'. Would write for, been thinking of writing for it. 7/10.

Ghost/Graves: Much like the one above, very good. Angst is perfect, many ideas for this ship. Would love to write more for it. 7/10.

Soap/Ghost/Konig: Yes, I like this. Have several spicy ideas for it, a lot of drama. Haven't written anything for it yet but I would like to. 9/10.

Farah/Valeria: Toxic lesbian enemy to lovers? Mhmm yes. 7/10

Makarov/Yuri: Toxic ex lovers. Bad, manipulative situation that Yuri could fall back into because Makarov can read him like an open book. 6/10

Shepherd/Death: 10/10, OTP.

___

Used 10/10 rating because I couldn't even think of how I would rank them. If I missed any you would like to see tell me and I'll rate them.

(no particular order because I rated them as I thought of them)

#call of duty #cod mwii #modern warfare ii #ships #ship ratings #ask #thanks for the ask <3

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cynical-sprite · 1 year

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OTP Prompts Ideas

Imagine person A walking out of the bathroom after a shower, half-naked and wreathed in steam, and B immediately dropping whatever they were holding. Bonus if it’s an animal which gives them the stink eye before slinking away.

Person A has given up on love. Nope. Love is not for them. Forget that…. And then they meet person B and think; “Annnd this is the asshole who will ruin everything.”

Imagine person A of your OTP relentlessly flirting with B in public, just to see B blush.

Imagine Person A of your OTP seeing Person B with bed hair for the first time, and being totally blown away by how cute/hot/etc. they look with their hair being a huge mess. Bonus: if Person A gets flustered when Person B pokes fun at them for liking it.

Imagine your OTP intertwining their fingers together while they’re in bed.

Person A leaving thigh hickeys on person B.

Imagine your OTP getting in a fight and one of them yelling that they love the other one and then it gets really quiet.

Imagine your OTP stuck in an elevator after they’ve had a fight.

Imagine your OTP cuddling under a blanket on a cold winter night. Person A gently wrapping their arms around Person B and lightly kissing down their neck making Person B shiver from something other than the cold outside.

Imagine person A of your OTP wearing person B’s clothes.

Imagine your OTP running into each other under the mistletoe. Person A blushes and goes to suggest that they don’t have to kiss but Person B cuts them off with a kiss.

Imagine person A of your OTP wearing person B’s clothes.Imagine person A of your OTP coming home from the gym all sweaty. Person B sees this and gets instantly turned on.

Imagine your OTP moving in together. They’re unpacking each other’s boxes when they find, ah,interesting things they didn’t know the other person owned.

Imagine your OTP not having enough blankets for both of them and sharing. It takes some doing, but they settle comfortably into each other’s arms and fall asleep listening to each other’s heartbeat, smelling their hair, feeling the rise and fall of their breath. The next morning, they’re still in the same position.

Imagine your OTP waking up at the same time for a midnight snack and Person B scares Person A on accident.

Imagine your OTP living together. The air conditioner breaks during the hottest week of summer and your OTP has to figure out how to stay cool. Alternately, the heating breaks during the coldest week of winter and your OTP has to figure out how to stay warm.

“I sent a selfie of myself in the tub to the wrong number and you responded back with another selfie. Holy shit you’re really attractive.” au.

Imagine person B of your otp uses person A as a pillow.

Being on the brink of admitting their feelings for each other but then getting interrupted.

Both of them being the best friends that everyone just assumes is a couple and no one is even surprised when they announce they’re official because ‘wtf do you mean you weren’t before?’

i fell asleep on your shoulder and you were too polite to move or wake me up au

Imagine your OTP having sex, and one of them gets the hiccups during the session.

Imagine person A somehow loses or breaks their glasses in some sort of city, and after running into a few walls and poles, person B convinces person A to hold their hand to guide them around.

Imagine your otp playing Twister and getting kind of touchy-feely.

Imagine your OTP being walked in on every single time they try to get it on.

Imagine your OTP (or two people from your OT3) having really great sex. Person A keeps loudly moaning “Oh god!” And eventually person B (or person C, upon entering the room) says “What do you want? I’m right here.” Bonus if B (or C) actually is a god of some sort.

Imagine your OTP fucking on a kitchen counter. Extra: Person C walks in on them and just says they better sanitize everything later.

Imagine your OTP having shower sex. When it gets too tense person A ends up slipping and hitting their head off the soap tray. Shower cuddles ensues.

Whenever person A tries to get intimate with person B person C interrupts.

Imagine person A (the tougher one) getting shy about being naked in front of person B for the first time.

Imagine Person A of your OTP eating Doritos and Person B licking their fingers for them when they’re done.

#writing ideas

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themurderrose · 2 months

Text

20 domestic omegaverse polyship prompts

building a nest together [bonus points if its their first non-heat nest]

going clothes shopping and trying on outfits for an event they’ll be attending together [bonus points if there’s some element of the outfit that’s subgender specific and perhaps one partner puts it on the other / scents it for them / go wild]

running them a bath with their favourite products [bonus points if it’s for preheat cramps]

getting the giggles together over something that isn’t that funny

giving the other a spoonful of the meal they’re cooking to test it out, holding their hand under their chin so nothing falls.

“i hope you don’t mind that i took that painting down, but i thought that picture of us looked a little better…”

“move your scarf, I wanna scent”

"did you just wash these sheets?" "i did." "they smell nice. and they're still warm." [bonus points if one partner compliments the others’ nest building skills]

taking innocent peeks at their partner's phone every once in a while as they're scrolling [bonus points if there’s some juicy friend group goss that two of them get caught up in while the third rolls their eyes and sips coffee, reading the paper/book instead]

partner A has had a horrible week and partner B just brought them home their favourite treat

one of us has to get out of bed to make pancakes and it’s not going to be me ok just go and bring me nourishment [bonus points if this is either during heat or preheat or early on a Saturday morning]

partner B brings home flowers just for the hell of it, no it doesn’t matter that we’ve been together for x years, and they’ve never done this before, the flowers are pretty (and B got nostalgic for when A brought them flowers when they started together, and B had to pick some up)

keeping a calendar for all their appointments in the kitchen (Some flavour of : A buys a calendar and writes all the important dates they know for everyone with a note for the others to add in anything they missed. B writes in all the wacky holidays from the web. C just goes in & starts doodling over all the marked dates!)

holding hands in a museum to pull them to the next exhibition

remembering little details when shopping for them (certain brands of tissues that don't irritate their nose, flavours of cough drops/lozenges they prefer, etc.) [bonus points if this is heat centric]

one reading aloud as the other is lying on their shoulder, dozing off to the sound of their voice

imagine your polyship picking out each others’ outfits for the day [bonus points if this is super coordinated for some event / wedding]

imagine your ot3 sharing a space where there’s plenty of room for them all to spread out, yet they still end up cuddling each other anyway

printing a photobook of all the photos they’ve sent in the group chat for their anniversary/xmas/big gift giving celebration

nest being filled with knitted/crocheted animals, none of them owning up to making them, all of them a little misshapen

#omegaverse #prompts #polyship #writing prompts #domestic prompts #domestic writing prompts #omega #alpha #beta #created this for a fic im writing lol thought id share!!#scavenged most of these off a heap of pinterest lists so apologies but most are altered at least a lil bit

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vampire-exgirlfriend · 6 months

Note

wyllaemond smut prompt: the fox of karhold and the rogue prince (ot3 verse)

well, this absolutely ran away with me. so much for being 1k words.

fall on me like night

pairing: aemond targaryen x oc wylla karstark

rating: e

words: 4.5k

this is a future outtake from the ot3verse, no more than i was or than i am, which you can find here

Lovely did not do justice to his sister's newest lady in waiting.

No, the Fox of Karhold was not lovely.

Haunting, perhaps. Or maybe devastating was a better word.

Her face was an amalgamation of features that may have been plain on anyone else: soft cheeks, rounded jaw, rosebud mouth. But her skin was pale as the moon, her eyes as gray as a storm that built off the coast. Narrowed in distrust as they were now, that storm built until he could swear he heard lightning in the distance.

“You want to dance?” she asked. “With me?”

The pointed question poked at the tender bruise of Aemond's ego. “That's what I said, isn't it?” he snapped, all snarling teeth but little heat.

He did want to dance with her. He'd watched her flit around all evening, draped in black velvet, diamond starbursts in her hair - hair that fell loose and curling to mid thigh. ‘Was it heavy,’ he wondered, ‘all that pretty midnight hair?’

“Fine,” she answered, her voice matching his bite even through her thick northern accent, and slid her small hand into his.

His uncle had goaded him into asking her, watching him as he watched her. “Go on then,” Daemon had said. “It's depressing to witness.” He had softened, pushing lightly at Aemond's shoulder when his face tightened at the implication. “She won't deny you. The pretty little creature has been casting furtive glances all evening.” He turned away then, back to Rhaenyra and Alicent beside her, both smiling at whatever inane thing they spoke of, his mother in a tiara of silver and emeralds, his sister in their father's crown. Rhaenyra turned toward him, as if she felt his stare, and gave him an encouraging smile, giving away that they had been talking about him.

Wylla Karstark’s hand was cool in his, as if the northern winds coursed through her veins instead of blood. It eased the heat that licked at his skin, ever present, perhaps more so since he had claimed his dragon.

“You're a better dancer than your brother,” the fox said primly, her eye on some faraway point over his shoulder as he guided her in the steps of the dance. His hands found her waist, pressing tighter than was altogether appropriate. But the way she inhaled sharply at his touch was worth the impropriety.

Aemond looked to where Aegon danced with his wife, Abrogail Strong. The red head was dainty, graceful even, and Aegon could not tear his eyes from her.

He cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

“I think this is the nicest you've been to me since I've arrived.” There was distrust in her voice.

Aemond bristled. “You say that as if I've been cruel.”

She laughed and the sound pulled at something low in his gut. It was a large laugh, boisterous, too big for her small frame. He wondered where she hid it. “Not cruel. Only disdainful. Distant.”

“You are my sister's lady,” was all he said in answer.

Helaena had taken to Wylla immediately upon her arrival from the frozen wastes she called home, wrapping her in dragon’s claws and claiming she would like to keep her. It made him happy to see she had finally found another friend. And Wylla did make her smile, letting his sister set her beetles to crawl over her skirts or placing moths in her hair like jewels.

He glanced down and found her staring up at him, head cocked, and suddenly he felt like prey, stalked through the Kingswood. But Aemond was not prey.

He was a dragon.

Leaning forward, he placed his cheek to her temple, feeling the little shiver that ran through her. “You have lovely eyes,” he murmured, and prayed the line would not leave him embarrassed.

Wylla cleared her throat. “Thank you, my prince.” He spun her then, the long bell sleeves of her gown fluttering around them. “Yours is lovely as well.”

He believed she meant it and smiled down at her, noticing for the first time a small scar that cut through her top lip.

The song ended and his fox was pulled away, though she kept her gaze on him until the crowd swallowed her up.

—

A week had passed since the queen's birthday feast and Rhaenyra had been in a happy mood. Her second-born, Prince Lucerys, had arrived back in King's Landing after a time spent warding with their aunt, Princess Rhaenys, and the Sea Snake. He was tan skinned from all the time spent aboard a ship, the tawny making his hair shine more gold than silver, all smiles and tales of life at sea.

Devoid of her attention, and subsequently his mother and uncle's, Aemond wandered until he found himself in his favorite spot in the gardens. A statue of Visenya the Conqueror rose up from a stone dais, her hand on the hilt of Dark Sister, her eyes cast to the distance. A fountain bubbled around her feet, and blooms he knew to be poisonous crawled up her legs like armor, blood red and a purple so dark and deep as to be nearly black.

There was a rustle of fabric from behind the statue and he leaned over to find Wylla Karstark looking over him, gray eyes wide.

Her raven hair gleamed in the torchlight, lit by servants as the sun set. Though they were alone now.

The thought curled deliciously in his gut.

“You could ask for her hand,” Daemon had said after the feast. “You know you want her. And her brute of a father would never turn you down.”

“Apologies, my prince,” she said, rising to her feet, blue skirts the color of the night sky tumbling around her legs. It was the same shade of blue as the sapphire he wore in place of his eye, lost six years ago in a sparring accident when he and Lucerys had been foolish enough to attempt live steel, both boys feeling as if they had something to prove.

“Aemond,” he choked out after a long moment.

“Excuse me?”

“My name.”

She raised a thin brow, finely arched. “Yes, I know your name.”

“You may call me Aemond.” He felt the blood creep into his cheeks.

“Och, is that right?” She was teasing him and he wasn't sure if he loved or hated it. “Well then, Aemond,” she purred, “I must be on my way.”

She passed, and as if his hand had a mind of its own, he reached for her, his fingers closing around her wrist. “Must you?” he asked.

The fox did not pull away. Instead she looked up at him from beneath sooty lashes, so long they graced the round of her cheek when she blinked away her surprise.

“Stay,” he commanded, though his voice nearly trembled with the word.

“I -.”

Aemond kissed her then to silence her. It was clumsy, foolish, but she didn't not push him away. Her fingers curled in the fabric of his doublet as if to hold him closer and his own hands found her waist to draw her against him. He had the feeling neither of them knew what they were doing, not truly. At least he did not, having only shared a few kisses with Helaena when they had snuck too much wine two years ago. But Helaena was to wed their nephew now, and Jacaerys made her happy.

He could not let her take Wylla to Dragonstone, not when he had only just found her.

They broke apart for a gasping breath and a flush crept over Wylla's snowfall skin.

“Do you often kiss women in secret gardens?” she asked, taking the measure of him.

He shook his head, though he could not help throwing back his own barb. “Do you often allow strange men to kiss you in secret gardens?”

“Not until tonight.”

He hummed and kissed her again, one hand finding its way to tangle in the hair at the back of her neck. A weak moan fought its way from between her lips, now swollen and pouting, and the sound of it nearly tore him apart.

Aemond backed her up in shuffling steps until they came to rest against the stone wall, the ivy framing her body and for a moment he wished it would entangle them, keep them hidden in this moment forever.

“Do you still find me disdainful?” His voice was a low rasp, stuck somewhere in his throat. He kissed across her jaw, down the column of her neck, his lips seeking purchase against any inch of bare flesh as his hand rose to brush a thumb over the little scar that marred her top lip. Visions of sinking his teeth into her danced across his mind and he wondered if she would enjoy the sting of pain as he did, a pleasure he had discovered when handling himself too roughly one evening, visions of her in that black dress painted behind his eyelids.

The girl blinked up at him, as if his words had only barely registered, and he felt a warm bloom of pride beneath his ribs. “Not terribly so,” she admitted, though her face was a strange mix of irritation and arousal, her eyes falling back to his mouth. He kissed her again, licking at her mouth, hoping for a taste. But her hands found his chest and she pushed gently. “I meant it when I said I must leave. The princess will require her bath soon and I must -.”

“And what of your prince?” He was pouting now, a familiar stinging petulance rising up in him. Aemond gathered her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over her jaw, tightening a fraction too much. But she did not wince; she simply glared and pushed harder, ducking to slip beneath his arm.

“I’m sure the prince can find a multitude of ways to entertain himself in my absence.” The words were snappish, a cold wind, and he saw how she had earned her nickname, with her narrowed eyes and the feral cut of her mouth.

She gave him no time to reply, stomping through the arch and back toward the keep.

—

“You are pouting.” The soft voice curled around the shelf that he currently hid behind.

“I am not pouting.”

An indelicate snort of laughter, followed by the rustling of fabric, and suddenly his eldest sister sat beside him.

Rhaenyra did not wear her crown today. Instead her starlight hair was twisted into a series of braids that gathered at the back of her head before falling down her back in gentle waves. Her violet eyes, nearly the same shade of his, hid a glimmer of mischief, as if being queen held not a candle to the mental torture of her younger brother.

“Fearsome little Aemond, pouting over a girl.”

He glared. “And to think, the queen of the Seven Kingdoms sits on the floor in a library to tease her brother. Not particularly regal of you.”

“It’s a fair use of my personal time.” She nudged her shoulder against his, but he did not look at her, his eye still focused on the tome in his hands - the tome he had reread the same section of over and over. “The northern girl?” She asked.

Was he so hopelessly transparent? Had he become so pathetic?

“Not entirely pathetic, no.”

Aemond groaned when he realized he’d spoken the words aloud, dropping his head back against the shelf, the dull thud of it making his sister laugh.

“Aemond -.”

“Please don’t.”

She laid a hand on his knee. “I may have overstated your patheticness for my own amusement. But truly, you’re doing nothing wrong. Not nearly as ridiculous as your brother for the Strong girl or even Jace for Helaena. Of all my siblings, of all my children, you are the most stoic. But you aren’t doing anything wrong or shameful or embarrassing.”

“I hate this feeling. I hate the way it eats at me, the way it feels lodged in my chest.” He resented it, wanted to punish the girl for the sin of making him want her. At the same time though, he longed to see her smile directed at him, even if it was accompanied by her nearly constant ire.

Her answering smile was soft and for the first time in a long time, Aemond remembered how young she truly was, less than two decades his senior. Rhaenyra shifted, the black silk of her gown shimmering in the light that came in through the high windows. “If you’re lucky, that feeling never fades.” She waved her hand. “Take the girl flying.”

He made a face. “I heard her tell Helaena she does not care for the dragons.”

“To be fair, the largest animal she’s seen, other than a horse, is those wolves of the north. Dragons are fearsome, they are magic made flesh. You, my favorite brother, are a dragon.”

Aemond rolled his eye. “Aegon is your favorite.”

“No, he is simply the most like me. Which probably makes him your mother’s favorite.”

“Hateful,” he teased, the knot of worry in his chest loosening slightly. “Daemon says I should simply ask her father for her hand.”

“Please only listen to your uncle in small increments,” she sighed, dropping her own head back beside his. “Just…just go to her. Learn her. Know her. See what you find.”

The idea of knowing Wylla, of learning her, made some dark thing, hot and a little wild, curl up in his belly - a feeling that was altogether uncomfortable as he sat beside his sister, his queen, on the library floor. Aemond shifted and then stood, reaching down for Rhaenyra, who took his hand and rose to her feet. She did not reach for him, did not comfort him in the way she might Aegon, who basked under physical contact like a satisfied cat. Instead she looked at him, truly looked, and the corners of her mouth curled into a smile. “You are a dragon,” was all she said before turning and walking out of the room, leaving him alone with his desires.

—

The low torchlight was Aemond’s only companion as he traversed the tunnels, counting his steps and praying that he wasn’t about to open the wrong door. From Helaena’s rooms, Wylla’s should only be a handful of paces away, close enough that Helaena could call on her at any time should she need her.

He stood before the seam that should open into her room, directed beside the fireplace, if his rememberings were correct, and wondered if he was altogether insane for even considering this. Rhaenyra had told him to dismiss her husband’s advice, but he could think of nothing else since Daemon’s sly reminder that the little fox was prime for the taking in her own rooms, with no one around to distract them. “How could she deny you?” he’d asked. “You are far too like me to say no to.”

Aemond was not sure that was the compliment his uncle believed it to be, yet here he stood, torch in hand, his fingertips pressed to the rough stone as he imagined the girl lounging across her bed. ‘Did she sleep beneath northern furs?’ he wondered. ‘Would she taste like wine she had snuck before bed?’

Forgetting his misgivings and focusing on that dangerous tendril that snaked through him, Aemond pushed open the door, setting the torch in the iron holder beside it. He blinked when he entered the room.

Candles burned low on nearly every surface and the air smelled of cinnamon, thick and spicy, but not cloying. The bed was empty, as was the chaise at the end of it.

Water splashed to his left and his head snapped in that direction, eye widening at the sight of her in the tub.

Wylla’s gray eyes were wide, a small paring knife in her hand, clutched between her slender fingers. He saw the tray of fruit on the small table beside the metal tub.

“What in the hells are you doing?” she hissed.

He noticed that she did not shout, did not raise her voice to alert the guards, and a new sort of confidence built in him.

Aemond stalked closer to the tub, his eye darting between her face and the knife she clutched. Lower still, he found the soft round of her breasts only just covered by the still steaming water. Her hair was plaited and piled loosely at the back of her head to keep from getting wet, tendrils curling around her jaw and he wanted to lick the water droplets that raced down her neck.

“Put down the knife,” he murmured, his eye darkening at the idea of just what she might do to him with it. It was not an altogether unpleasant imagining.

But Wylla did not put down the knife. Instead, she stood, baring herself to him, teeth showing in a snarl that went straight to his cock. Her breasts were small, no more than a handful each, and her waist tapered before blooming into hips that were wider than he had expected. He could imagine exactly how her plump rear would feel in his hands. “Why exactly would I do that?” she asked. “You sneak into my room from some hole in the wall and expect what? A warm welcome?”

His gaze traveled over her body, cataloging each freckle and blemish that marked her pale skin. Surrounded by steam and wet as she was, he wondered if this is what those old gods of hers looked like: silent, though wild, beautiful and yet terrifying.

He wanted to taste her, to sink his teeth into her soft flesh, and found that he was at a loss for words. Stepping closer, never taking his eyes from her, he approached the tub. The heat was delicious as it rolled off of her, and he desired nothing more than to strip from his doublet and press close against her, close enough to imprint himself upon her. Gently, more gently than he realized he could, he reached forward, his fingers twining around her wrist. When she did not release the blade, he squeezed, reveling in the way her delicate bones felt against his palm.

The knife clattered to the ground and Wylla opened her mouth, likely to attack him with her teeth, but Aemond pulled her forward with a sharp jerk and pressed his lips to hers. Before she could shove at him, fight him off, he pulled her from the tub, pressing her wet body to his, molding her to him.

She surprised him then, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him deeply, and with a little jump, her legs wrapped around his waist. Aemond moaned and she licked into his mouth, her tongue curling behind his teeth, her fingers gripping hard at his unbound hair.

In a clumsy rush, he walked them to the bed, doing his best to avoid tripping over unfamiliar furniture. He did not dump her against the furs, instead curling his body around hers, his hands finding her waist, her ribs, her breasts. She made eager little noises beneath him, finding the ties at the front of his doublet and ripping at them impatiently. He shed the damned thing and could not help but moan when she found his bare skin.

“My father will demand your head for this,” she murmured as he licked a trail over the column of her throat.

“He can’t.” His reply was breathless as he shifted, kissing the top of her breast before wrapping his lips around her peaked nipple. Wylla whined at that, arching her back.

“No?” It was a silly pointless question.

Aemond clutched at her other breast, molding it against his palm, delighted at the way his hand engulfed her flesh. “Not if you are my wife.” He abandoned his groping to undo the ties at his waist, lowering his breeches and small clothes until finally his cock was free, so hard it bobbed, throbbing against her thigh.

Wylla stilled beneath him. “Are you…asking me to marry you?”

The insanity of the moment, of the words he’d actually uttered, slammed into him. But such had been his uncle's advice and he owned the ludicrousness of it. “I don’t believe I asked.”

“You are telling me to marry you?”

‘Please, please, please,’ his heart thrummed, though his pride would not allow the begging question to cross his lips.

He kissed her soundly and pulled her bottom lip between his teeth, biting down sharply, as if asserting his desired ownership. “Yes,” he mumbled against her wet flesh.

A fearful look chased away the ire and desire he had seen just a second ago. “I cannot. I…I am promised to Lord Bolton’s son.” She gently gathered his hair in her hand, tugging sweetly at the ends of it in a gesture that had him wanting to rub against her like a cat.

Aemond expected rage. He expected that violent creature that lived in him to raise up, to swallow him and her both. He realized that she had allowed things to go as far as they had in a bid at claiming a bit of independence, a fantasy to cling to when she was back in the cold north, wife to a savage that burnished a flayed man on his banners. But it did not. Instead, something more solid, more demanding took its place. “No,” he said simply.

“No?”

“You are mine.”

He slid a hand between them then and found the place she wanted him most, and thanked the gods that his brother had beaten him over the head with bawdy retellings of his own escapades with his wife.

Wylla’s head fell back as he teased at her entrance, a finger dipping in only to retreat a second later. He found that little shock of nerves, working at it gently until she moaned for him, the sound surprisingly husky. She bucked against his hand and he surmised that she wanted more. So he finally took mercy and pierced her with a single finger.

There was something shocking about the tightness of her, and it kept him locked in his body, unable to tear his eyes from her as she writhed. Another finger added, and this time he curled them forward, tearing a groan from her chest. Fumbling hands found his cock and she stroked at him, no real finesse to her touch, but he was so desperate for her that it mattered not at all. All he longed for was to help her find his end, for he knew he would not last once he was inside of her.

His mouth found her breast again and she was so responsive to his touch, wanton even, when he sank his teeth into her, that it spurred him on. Aemond ground the heel of his hand against that spot that made her cry out, two fingers pumping in and out of her at a speed he slowly increased. The flutters around his hand were surprising, grasping at him as if to keep him there, and Wylla lifted her hips, riding him as best she could until she fell apart, panting his name, pulling him up and demanding a kiss as she whimpered.

She glowed beneath him and he could swear that her skin shined with the light of the moon. Had she hidden it beneath her skin, like some myth of old?

The question died in his mind as he pressed inside of her, and the world narrowed to only the places where she touched him. She was hot, scaldingly so, and so tight that he could not stop his eye from rolling back. A pained whimper caught his attention and when he looked down at her, her face was pinched in discomfort. He kissed the line between her brows, stilling until she relaxed. He wanted desperately to be gentle for her, but now that he was inside of her, his ability to cling to that softness was rapidly disappearing.

“I’ll be yours,” she whispered, her fingertips finding the scar that split his face, and he wondered if she felt beautiful in the reflection she saw shining back at her in his sapphire eye.

Those three words rended away his self control and he could not help but pull back, thrusting forward, and he moaned at the delicious friction. Wylla clung to him, her nails raking over his back, and he was surprised at how she matched each roll of his hips, as if even an inch between their bodies was too much.

It was only moments, but time stretched out strange and foreign before him as he fucked her, his face buried in her neck, his teeth catching purchase against her throat.

“Please, please, please.”

It was Wylla murmuring the words and they echoed in his mind, bouncing between the walls of his skull. He knew his end was near, that hot sensation gathering at the base of his spine. Aemond moved to pull back, to spill across her belly, not wanting to assume or risk getting a child on her before he had a chance to plead his case for her hand. But something instinctual in Wylla rose up, and she hooked her leg over his hip, holding him inside of her until he could hold back no longer and came with a groan of her name.

For a long moment, they simply lay there, him sprawled over her, his face against her chest. Wylla’s fingers found his hair, and she combed at the snarls she had tangled therein, the gesture shockingly comfortable for all of its intimacy.

“I warn you, my father is not the most agreeable man.” There was something hard in her voice, something full of resentment.

He looked up at her, resting his chin against his hand where it lay on her belly. “Good then, that I boast the largest and most ancient dragon in the realm.”

Wylla rolled her eyes. “Good then, that you also boast the largest ego in the realm.”

He crawled up her body and kissed her, just a soft press of his lips to hers. “Have I not earned it?”

The girl flushed crimson, a delicious sight. “I suppose,” was all she said, but he took it as confirmation and gathered her into his arms, dropping back against the pillows. A minute twisted in a few and he felt his eyes grow heavy, the fox a warm weight against his chest. Her fingers traced idle patterns over the skin of his stomach as she settled.

There was a sigh, a small shift that pressed her closer.

“Fine,” she huffed, pressing her face against him. “I’ll marry you.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x oc #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fic #aemond x wylla #aemond targaryen x original character #fyeahhotdocs #fyeahgotocs

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lesharl-eclair · 8 months

Text

lewis ot3 fic recs

for @f1ot3fest !! i promised myself i wouldn't ramble but this turned out ridiculously long so ... i actually need to learn to shut up

all fics below the cut; if you enjoyed these fics, please show the authors comment and kudo love; should you be the author of a fic that's here, and don't want to be here, please reach out to me and your wish is my command :)

NO this is so funny bcs half of this is fics by the creator/recced by the creator BUT ITS OK. THESE LITERALLY ARE SO DEAR TO ME *clutches to chest* please go read please go read

***

heist AU by @sionisjaune (sebcedes)

on golden sands (T, 6.2k)

Mark rolls his eyes. “Skip the crap, Jense. Who’s the mark.” Jenson lifts his whiskey and swallows the dregs. “One Baron Nico Rosberg. Currently installed in Greece, inherited the title from his mother. His father—” “Keke Rosberg. 1982 Formula One World Drivers Champion,” says Seb. The others look at him like he’s just materialized out of thin air. Lewis cocks his head thoughtfully, and the bizarre sleeves of his jacket rustle with the movement.

the ships that go sailing (E, 11.7k)

As it turns out, threesomes are not especially logistically challenging when two of the participants are experienced organizers of high-profile heists, and the third is determinedly horny.

err okay i think this was something i read before i had the concept of sebcedes or like ot3s. so it was a pure yOU CAN DO THAT??? visceral reaction the first time i read on golden sands. i was quaking in my seat. anyway upon sufficient rereads i have apparently collected my thoughts enough to say that the first part of the series is nothing like the second in terms of content (i read all the way to the middle of the ships that go sailing and suddenly realised that it was a sequel and uh. had a very violent reaction.)

the premise is wonderful, oceans 11 is great to begin with and the way every detail is taken care of in the au!! the characterisation of it all... the tangled mess of interpersonal relationship... it feels like every character has their space to shine, and this on top of a quasi-convoluted plot is quite incredible. aND THE SEBCEDES OH MY GOD THE SEBCEDES. the denouement. the start of something that seb can;t even begin to imagine. lewis and nico both being batshit crazy. sex retirement fic. somehow you managed to capture all the nuances (brocedes + seb + the emotional push pull + the competition?? a bit of quiet almost fragile sico? the boat scene hello??? brocedes being so chaotic it gives me whiplash?????) i actually cannot get enough of the way you write them

i can probably write so much more about this but i will stop here :0 maybe one day i will rereview this and end up with a five page essay or something. who knows.

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Circle Endless by @antimonyandthyme (E, 2k) (brocedes + seb)

“It’s a two-for-one deal,” Nico said, very salesman like, as if he sensed Sebastian just needed an extra push.

the vibes here are so horrifically good. lowkey unhealthy. probably one of THE defining brocedes + seb fics - it's set up and played out as a 2v1 (in 2016!!), and the toxicity of it all is so asasasandsjfadjsfasdfs . there's so much conflict everywhere: within seb, the way brocedes also fight for dominance on the bed (bc of course they do), seb needing more despite whatever it's doing to him... that scene with kimi is pure poetry. so much to unpack in so little, and excellent excellent sex

***

made a hundred good stories by @red-flagging (E, 24.6k) (for a kinkmeme prompt) (alex + sewis)

“That problem you were telling me about,” Seb says, giving Alex a meaningful look. “I wanted to know if you wanted us to help you take care of it. Lewis and I.” This isn’t happening. Alex is having the most stressful, least erotic wet dream of all time. Helmut has gotten bored of subtle nudges and has graduated to full-on psychological warfare to get Alex to quit on his own and save the team from having to buy out his contract. Lewis actually did give him a concussion in Austria, and the long-term brain damage is only now starting to set in. "...You can't be serious," Alex says weakly. Seb shrugs. “You don’t have to say yes,” he says. “But if you’re just looking to have some fun–it might as well be with people who know what they’re doing.”

ok claire. coherence.

I CANNOT BE NORMAL ABOUT THIS FIC LIKE AT ALL??? i have tried so many times

the alex characterisation. the hellhole that is redbull. the exhaustion. so much DETAIL that it's painful to look at

the galex? the galex. oh my god the way it meanders in all the little spaces between alex's frankly ridiculously busy life, the LAYERS. the so much unsaid & the way they dance around each other even in texts. the way alex holds himself back but still wants.

alex/seb. seb being an all round menace to society (Quite honestly, he sort of forgets the conversation with Lewis even happened up until Bahrain, when Seb sidles up to him on some balcony on Thursday and says, casually, “So, gay cruising, eh?”) ?????? ? ? ? ? the perfect timing of seb's proposition. so much else but the deviousness of it all..

that little bit with alex and lewis. the painful awkwardness of that conversation (but also how much lewis eventually got out of it). seb's retirement & lewis' instant protectiveness!! ^^

the racing metaphors are so apt somehow (and even more fitting because alex has basically been consumed by the redbull grind........) this is a detail i personally really really enjoyed

THE SEX bro i cannot even?????? ???? i cannot do it justice here but um. the sewis is clearly there and framed so strikingly against a hesitant tired alex. the games sewis play. LEWIS GUIDING ALEX.SFSHHGSHGHHHHGG the car's still spinning and the walls that don't exist...... how at the end of it all it's still only glimpses of sewis that alex gets but how it's enough for him to maybe start figuring things out with georgie.... the post sex clarity....

oh this was so damn incoherent wasn't it. this fic made me, to quote @kritischetheologie, reconsider everything i thought i knew about alex albon.

***

a bedroom where your heart is by @hungerpunch (M, 1.5k) (vasewis)

“Someone will have to go for ingredients,” Valtteri says. He does not happen to keep vegan cheese stocked. “I vote the youngest,” Sebastian says, grin sly. Valtteri blinks. “Wait—” “Sorry,” Sebastian says, affecting a suspiciously convincing faux innocence, as if he’s truly apologetic but his hands are simply tied. “Seniority rules.”

closing this with some good achingly wholesome content. FOOD AS LOVE and i am so so so here for it oh my goddddd ... val taking care of sewis and finding the greatest satisfaction from it/it not being always about the sex (though the sex IS good!) and finding contentment in those small domestic-bliss moments/the scene-setting, the food described as lovingly as it's prepared, the quiet early-hour moments and seb in a way the middleground between val's discipline and lewis' indulgence when it comes to mornings... there's so much to just revel in and enjoy here!! a comfort fic in the truest senst of the word. :)

***

that was long. and probably extremely incoherent. oh well. thanks for reading till the end and remember to show the authors some love!!

as always, if you enjoyed this, or if i missed any fic, please let me know :) drop me an ask mayhaps if you would like more fic recs, and i will try my best to give timely unqualified opinions <3

#f1 #formula 1 #claire's fic recs #ot3+ fest #sebastian vettel #lewis hamilton #alex albon #valtteri bottas #nico rosberg #brocedes #sebcedes #valewis #galex #f1 fanfic

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greentealycheejelly · 5 months

Text

So I got this lovely bingo card from @seasonaldelightsbingo like.. over a month ago. And have so far completed none of the squares. 😅

Does anyone want to help me fill it out? If you send me some characters and one of the (available) prompts, I will draw a simple doodle in response!

Some rules/details under the cut:

Any fandom is ok, but if you suspect it's not something I'm familiar with, please point me to some visual references/give me the main physical characteristics of the character(s).

Any character (or pairing or ot3) ok, romantic or platonic. But no more than three, and please specify the type of relationship (/ or &).

Feel free to be more specific than the bingo card prompt. Feel free to ask for one of the alternate prompts (on that bottom strip).

I'll keep updating the bingo card, so people know which squares are already done. I'll close this out once I have the bingo card filled out.

#bingo card

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theladyragnell · 1 year

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Oh for the prompts!!!!! If you feel like it! Leverage OT3 with Parker and Eliot welcoming Hardison back from some time away?

(A quiet established relationship moment.)

Hardison always comes home the long way.

Eliot never had to teach him that, whatever he thinks of the ways Hardison does and doesn’t keep himself safe. Hardison skips from airport to airport for days at a time, sometimes, never less than three hops even if it could be a quick domestic flight. And when he’s coming home to them, wherever home is, he takes it even more seriously, so he always comes to them tired, jet-lagged, smelling like canned air and hopped up on whatever food he thinks to buy on his endless flights.

Tonight, Eliot picks him up at the New Orleans airport at two in the morning and doesn’t bitch about it. Hardison left Armenia two days ago, and Eliot doesn’t know how many flights he’s been on since then, though he’s pretty sure from one of the tags on Hardison’s suitcase that he broke up his flight path with a train trip somewhere in Europe.

“I think if I uploaded my brain to the cloud,” Hardison says as they pull away, slurring his words a little with exhaustion, “I would probably go evil, but in the time before I did, I could exist in all time zones at once and never have to deal with this again.”

“I don’t want to have to fight the evil robot version of you, man. There’s tea in the cupholder. Drink it.”

“I’m not taking your devil drinks.”

“Just drink it, Hardison.”

Hardison snorts, but he drinks, and even takes a second sip after making sure Eliot sees the elaborate series of disgusted faces that he makes over the nicest small-company chamomile tea he could find in the city. Even Sophie likes it, and she thinks herbal tea is heresy against the Queen or whatever. “Everything fine?” he asks as Eliot gets into another lane.

“Harry and Breanna are playing some nerd game together. Sophie’s out of town. Parker’s fine, waiting for you at home.”

Hardison lets out a long breath. “Good to know. Anything going on with you?”

“Tried a new gumbo place the other day. It’s pretty good, but not as good as the place we tried last time you were around.”

“Tell me all about it,” says Hardison, and Eliot does, in between navigating the city traffic that persists even at night, especially around the airport. It took them a long time to get to this point, where they can talk on their way home from the airport without a job on their minds and not needle each other. Eliot likes the peace, much as he hates to admit it.

Home this time is a place Hardison hasn’t been yet. They all switch apartments often, and this one has Parker’s alias on the lease, but Eliot stays at it most often, because it’s upstairs from a place that does good chili and has some actual cupboard space. He and Parker have been staying there together since Hardison took off on his flight home and as they park and Eliot takes Hardison’s bag for the last few steps as he stumbles his way around, Eliot can see the light on upstairs that says she’s there, or maybe on the roof watching them come, though Eliot doesn’t see the flash of movement that would give that away.

The second they’re upstairs, the apartment door opens and Parker flings her arms around Hardison’s neck, and Eliot moves on past them to put the bag down and give them a minute of privacy. The food he left is still keeping warm in the oven, and Parker must have gone out at some point, because there’s a six-pack of orange soda on the counter. Hopefully Hardison doesn’t see that before he sleeps.

The two of them come in together, Parker draped over Hardison’s shoulder. She beckons Eliot in, and he rolls his eyes but he goes, lets her give him a quick kiss and loop them into their hug, where Hardison leans in far enough to rest their foreheads together, weird as the angle has to be. They’ve figured out ways to fit three bodies together, over the years, but they’re all too tired to care about that right now.

“You should get some sleep,” says Eliot, because it’s true. “Need to eat first?”

“You should eat and then sleep,” says Parker. “Otherwise you’ll be cranky when you wake up.”

Hardison groans, but he doesn’t argue. Eliot breaks away from the hug to put things together, shoving the soda into an inhospitable corner of the counter while he goes and taking Hardison’s food out to plate and shove at him. This late, he’ll just eat standing over the kitchen island, and normally Eliot would complain that his food isn’t being appreciated, but Hardison could use a break. Tomorrow is soon enough to demand appreciation for being the only one of them who knows how to make a balanced meal.

“You’ll tell us all about how the job went tomorrow, right?” says Parker when he puts his fork down, a sign for Eliot to get back in action and put whatever is left away for them to eat the next day. “It sounded like you were having fun.”

“Only you could call sneaking through government buildings hiding from security fun,” says Hardison, but he’s smiling, so probably the calls weren’t too close. Eliot will make sure they talk about security evasion before he leaves again, that’s all. “But fun or not, it’s good to be back.”

“Welcome home,” says Eliot, and when Hardison gives him a dangerously misty smile, he rolls his eyes. “Now get to bed before you fall down, you know you’re going to wake up a million times tonight so you may as well get started.”

“Yeah, yeah, Eliot, love you too,” says Hardison, always so much easier with those words than Parker or Eliot ever can be, but he lets the two of them push him into the bedroom and into some sweatpants before climbing in beside him, taking the time together while they have it.

#answered asks #booksnchocolate #sometimes i write stories #ot3: i don't have to search anymore

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disasterbijamietartt · 1 year

Text

Since I won't "have to" get up at 3am to watch the finale (I'm probably the only person in the world happy about them pushing the release back by three hours lol), I now have time to humour you with two Roy x Jamie scenarios, that won't happen since the writer's ignore what's best for Keeley's character development (= staying single) and give us OT3, but that I'd love for someone to use for fanfic purposes.

After getting Ted's truth bomb Rebecca heads over to Keeley to discuss it and we get a similar scene to 3x10. After unloading her thoughts about Ted, Rebecca asks if there have been new developments with Roy since the last time they talked. Cue for Roy: He descends the stairs in the background and makes two coffees in the kitchen. Then he heads towards Rebecca and Keeley right in time to overhear Keeley telling Rebecca that she made up her mind and that she doesn't want to get back with Roy, since she needs time for herself to grow into her own person, the same way Rebecca did. Rebecca then notices Roy, which prompts Keeley to notice him as well. Awkward pause, a "I'm sorry, that wasn't how you were supposed to find out." and Roy being "It's okay, you don't always get what you want", Rebecca chiming in with a "But maybe you'll get what you need." Roy nods along and heads back upstairs. Back in the bedroom he puts one cup on the bedside table and then says "Made you coffee", camera pans to Jamie in bed, sitting up and taking the other cup. Jamie notices that Roy looks a bit wistful and asks him what's going on. Roy tells him that Keeley and him won't be getting back together. Something that hurts but not was much as he had expected. Still, Roy gets a bit upsets when Jamie dons this small hopeful smile. He tells Jamie, that Keeley doesn't want any relationship right now and Jamie shouldn't get his hopes up if he is not willing to wait. Then Jamie looks at him, with a shy smile, biting his lip. "You know, I can be patient. I've been waiting for months." Makes big puppy eyes. "Just not for Keeley." Roy looks at him a couple seconds, his face makes a journey from utter confusion to realisation, then he goes "Fuck. This really isn't what I wanted." Jamie's smile falters. "But it may just be what I need." Then he grabs Jamie and kisses him and the scene fades out …

After visiting Rebecca Keeley seeks out Roy at training and they finish the "I want to be more than friends"-conversation. Keeley explains to him, that she needs to figure herself out and wants to stay single for the next couple months, maybe a year or two. Roy offers he would wait for her, but she looks at Jamie and whispers "I don't think you should." Perspective switches to Jamie who notices that Keeley and Roy have a—apparently heated—conversation, with them repeatedly looking in his direction. Jan pats his shoulder and wishes him luck for the upcoming boot room talk. And as expected Roy yells at Jamie to come with him to the boot room and explicitly tells Will to stay in the locker room. Worried looks are exchanged—that can't be a good sign. Jamie expects Roy to have a jealous fit or to yell at him, but on the contrary Roy seems nervous, almost anxious, only looking at him without getting a word out. "What happened when you talked with Keeley?", Jamie finally asks. "Well, we broke up for good. And she said, I should go for … get what I need and … Ah, forget it." "What?" "Nothing." "It is not nothing. If you need comfort, I'm here for you. Or if it makes you feel better you can yell at me or headbutt me or …" Roy grimaces, murmurs a "Fuck me it", grabs Jamie by the neck, pulls him closer and kisses him. After being surprised for a moment Jamie kisses back. And since they conveniently stand right in front of the window to the gym (? I'm still so bad at the layout of all rooms, but there is a window lol), Isaac and Colin see them and when they head back to the locker room Isaac blurts out "Roy and Jamie are making out in the boot room", Will shouts "NO! I've been waiting for this for months. MONTHS! And now I've missed it!", Colin murmurs "I've been really lucky Isaac didn't out me within five minutes of finding out …" and Trent just nods along knowingly, an unspoken "Finally" plastered onto his face. And Nate wonders, what else he had missed the last couple months.

#roy x jamie #jamie x roy #roy kent x jamie tartt #royjamie #jamie tartt #roy kent #fanfic ideas

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qqueenofhades · 5 months

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Ask and ye shall receive - how about a prompt around spiced winter drinks? Dealers choice on the fandom, maybe Dreamling or the Ren/Grey/Vargo ot3?

It’s one of the bitterest nights of the dwindling year, the canals glazed with ice and the pale stone warrens of Nadežra filled with eerie curls of mist, and even the altans and altas most dedicated to nocturnal misbehavior are generally inside, bundled up by warm fires or tucked in warm beds, and while Vargo certainly doesn’t have a philosophical objection to either activity (indeed, far from it) it unfortunately happens that he has to fucking work. It seems impossible that the piles of paper on his desk should have sprung to twice their original height in the last three days since he looked at them, but that’s the thing about political independence; it’s decidedly a double-edged sword. On the one hand, you get to arrange your own affairs. On the other, you… have to arrange your own affairs, and since Seterin has sat up and taken sharp notice of all these Vraszenians suddenly running around and exulting in their freedom, it heralds other possible conflicts down the line. That, Vargo supposes, is where sleeping with not just one but two legendary outlaws is likely to come in useful. If nothing else, they do have practice at this sort of thing.

A reluctant smile twitches his lip as he dips his pen and reaches unhappily for the first stack of correspondence. He misses Alsius – well, he always misses Alsius, but more than usual, who would absolutely love the boring nuts and bolts of this stuff, whereas it makes Vargo want to put his own eyes out with a hot stick. He scribbles and mutters and adds up figures, makes note of new requisitions and trade tariffs, ordinances of the freshly expanded Septerat; he doesn’t like it, but of course he didn’t rise to his original position by accident. The candles gutter low into waxy gremlins, and he thinks about drawing a numismata to keep them up, but that would suggest he will in fact be stuck here all night, and that’s a little too depressing to think about. Somebody’s got to do the ordinary grunt work while his dearly beloveds are running around the city in their silly costumes, but by the Lumen, why does it have to be him?

Just then, as he’s massaging the ache in his hand and thinking of some really good curses, Vargo smells a wisp of cinnamon, hears the faint creak of the floor, and turns halfway around, just as Ren leans down and presses a kiss into the side of his head. Voice rich and low with promise, she remarks, “Grey and I both perhaps feel we are being neglected.”

“This is your fault, you know,” Vargo grumbles, without heat. “Making me be the respectable one. And can’t you two entertain each other?”

Ren gives him another slightly wicked smile. “It’s more fun with you.”

Yes, Vargo agrees, it is at that. He vainly attempts to pretend that he will be doing paperwork for a few more moments – then, at Ren’s insistent tug, gets to his feet and lets her lead him down the hall, toward his private quarters at the back of the villa. Halfway there, a terrible thought occurs to him, and he stops short. “Is Arkady here?”

Ren bites a smirk. “She’s asleep. Upstairs. Even formidable knot bosses have to get their beauty sleep.”

“I very much doubt that,” Vargo mutters, since it seems unlikely that the newly-minted Alta Arkady Bones Vargonis has ever thought about beauty sleep in any capacity. But he’s glad to hear that she’s out of the way, after one too many moments when she nearly caught the three of them in flagrante delicto, and if Arkady knows a juicy secret like that, there’s no chance she’ll keep her trap shut instead of gleefully spilling it, if nothing else to see him squirm. It turns out, Vargo reflects sourly, that even without blood relation, his adopted daughter is very much like him in the hellraising department. In fact, far too much so. After all for the Nadežrans, blood is incidental, and secondary to whether an individual is inscribed in the family register. Arkady is, and that makes her as much his own, heir to his means and methods and moods, as if he did sire her in the ordinary fashion. Ažerais help them all.

He feels a sudden warmth on his face as they step into the lowlit sitting room, and gratefully spots the fire – which Grey Serrado is presently stoking, on his knees before the grate like a common scullion, which is possibly one of the less glamorous tasks ever asked of the great Rook. Still, it gives Vargo a certain glow, an inner warmth not just from the fire, and he strides inside. “Well, you two degenerates got my attention. What is it?”

Grey gets to his feet, brushing the soot off, and gives Vargo a ferocious stare that silently remarks he has the hells of a lot of nerve calling anyone else a degenerate. Still, he shrugs, crosses the carpet, and brushes the ghost of a kiss against Vargo’s cheek, while Ren cheerily shoves him onto the settee. Vargo is opening his mouth to ask what exactly they are intending to do to him, now that they’ve lured him here by bribes and trickery, but Grey forces a cup of hot spiced wine into his hand, and Vargo blinks at it. “Ah. What’s this?”

“Drink it,” Grey orders him, with the steely tones of the former Vigil captain, and Vargo fights a traitorous urge to salute. “You’ve been working too hard.”

“I thought you two were going to – ”

“Maybe later.” Ren perches on his other side and gives him another smile – still tinged with dark and wicked promise, the Rose’s thorns, but wistful as well, softer, and just wanting the three of them to have this quiet moment together in the cold winter night. “Drink.”

Far be it from him to refuse an order from Alta Renata and Grey Serrado at once, Vargo thinks, even without their alter egos. And is that not the reason for all the trouble he’s gotten himself into, either in past, present, or future? But there is nothing else he would rather do, and no one else he would rather be with, in all this city of Faces and Masks. He lifts the cup, grins into the brim with a tenderness that seems impossible for his heart to bear, and drinks.

#anonymous #ask #rook and rose #ren x grey x vargo #winter prompts #THANK YOU FOR THIS OPPORTUNITY ANON #blessings on your house and cow etc

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