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#i always double check if i'm not sure because that is not the most ridiculous
doobea · 7 months
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WE ARE THE LOVESICK (GIRLS) - SAE ITOSHI
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synopsis: Sae learns what the term 'whipped' means and comes to terms with it.
content: a sick!fic, fluff, sfw, early established relationship, itoshi siblings have a good(?) relationship, feels more like a brother bonding fic, soft!sae, sae centric pov, fem!reader word count: 1.6K a/n: yuh the title is based off of my fave blackpink song hehe and my bf is sick rn and instead of taking care of him im writing instead whoops - also posting this on rins birthday is NOT a crime
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There are two things that Sae takes from this impromptu trip back home. One is that he should've done his passport renewal online because now he has to wait up to a whole month. He's not mentally prepared to explain that to his manager who's currently over six thousand miles away. And two, he's recently learned that you get sick really easily when you travel. Like ridiculously sick.
"Sae, I'm dying."
There's a sniffle. A cough. And then silence.
You definitely sound like you’re dying, Sae thinks. From the kitchen, he carefully watches your movements on the couch. Which is almost minimum to none. When you don’t respond to your name, Sae rushes over and takes a look. Your cheeks are flushed, hair sticking to your forehead in a way that didn’t look comfortable, a bit of drool hangs from the sides of your mouth from your lack of ability to breathe, and worst of all —
"My head hurts, Sae…" Another cough. "Do you have any aspirin?"
In the most loving way, he wishes you would’ve just stayed back in Spain.
He takes hold of your palms and places his forehead against yours. It's hot and wet to the touch. It makes him physically recoil back and Sae looks almost annoyed with himself. Maybe he should've tried harder to convince you to not come.
Sae hasn't been back home in maybe a year or two, he thinks, but surely there must be some aspirin or any form of medicine in the house, right? A quick rush through the drawers and every nook and cranny in the house proves him otherwise.
Sae jogs back to your curled-up figure on the couch and throws on his windbreaker. "I'll go out to the store and get some."
"No," You sit up too fast and wince, hands settling on the sides of your temples to support the weight of your head. "I'll get over it soon. Maybe it's just the humid weather?" You lamely suggest.
You always double down whenever it comes to your health. Trying to convince yourself that it'll get better soon because you hate being an inconvenience to others — others being Sae. You're doing this even when you look like an absolute (beautiful) wreck in Sae's eyes right now. But maybe he shouldn't exactly leave you alone when you're in a feverish state, especially in a space you're unfamiliar with.
He takes off his windbreaker and gently places it over your shoulders as he thinks on his feet. "Then I'll get someone else to do it."
You wrap yourself in his jacket and repress back a coughing fit. "Huh, like who?"
Only one person pops up in his mind and Sae isn't sure if he can count on him. But, even after everything that they've gone through, he can probably trust him. Well, maybe not trust but more like he's his only option.
"When did you even get back?"
"Last night," Sae answers and rushes to the point. "I need you to make an errand run."
"What?" Rin’s voice fills with annoyance over the line. "Why would I do that?"
"Because," Sae looks over his shoulder at the sight of your body in a fetal position on the couch. You’re visibly shaking a bit too much for his liking. Sae takes a deep breath and exhales loud enough for his brother to hear. "My girlfriend is sick. I've checked the cabinets and we don't have any medicine. I don't want to leave her alone at our house."
There's a pause and Sae is wondering if his brother has hung up. Then, Rin clears his throat on the line.
"You want me to drop what I’m doing to get medicine for your sick girlfriend? Am I hearing that right?"
Sae snaps his head at the sound of you coughing once more. You look disheveled and your eyes are unfocused on what's in front of you. He sharply inhales once more. "That's exactly what I want. Do you need me to repeat it?"
Another pause and then it's Rin's turn to sigh.
"Whatever. Be there in fifteen."
And Rin keeps his word, showing up precisely in fifteen minutes, in his tracksuit to be exact, begrudgingly holding a plastic bag in his hands. The big yellow smiley face contrasts sharply with Rin's visibly irritated expression. In the bag, there’s a bottle of aspirin, cough syrup, vitamin gummies, and three ice cream bars.
Rin takes one of the ice cream bars before shoving the bag into Sae's hands. "You owe me." He hisses out.
Sae ignores his brother's glare and only nods, mumbling a lazy "thanks" before making his way back into the living room. Rin quietly follows behind. Sae figures it's because he's semi-curious about how he's been, though Rin will never admit it.
You stir from the couch at the sound of plastic and wake up when Sae pours out the contents onto the coffee table, immediately ripping the cough syrup packaging open and pouring the recommended amount into the little plastic cup.
"Here, take this." And Sae watches as Rin grimaces at how softly he speaks to you.
You weakly nod and tilt your head enough for Sae to bring it to your lips. A quick swallow followed by an equally quick shudder from the bitterness and you manage to crack a small grin. "Thank you, babe."
Rin suppresses a gagging noise when Sae plants a chaste kiss on your forehead. You take this moment to finally register two and two together. Sae hasn't outright introduced you to his family members, but he has shown you pictures of them from time to time.
"Sorry for the intrusion—you must be Rin, right?" You sit up straight, still wrapped around Sae's windbreaker, and extend out a hand. "He's told me a lot about you."
Yeah, maybe Sae should've locked you back home.
His younger brother throws him a look, not annoyed but slightly amused. "He has?"
You seem to miss the panicked scowl that Sae flashes at you and continue on. "Plenty! He talks about you almost every day and watches your games at the dinner table."
Sae tenses when he feels Rin's gaze hardening on him. "You do...?"
Sae awkwardly clears his throat, suddenly feeling heat rushing to his neck, and starts heading towards the kitchen. "I'm going to make a drink."
Fortunately, you didn't catch the thick tension and begin rambling to Rin. And seeing Rin attempting to start a conversation with you is physically painful. Sae sips on a cup of coffee as you talk about what you do for a living and how you and Sae met. Rin awkwardly nods, adding a small few comments here and there. He'll occasionally try his best to smile and sound remotely interested without coming off as a deadpan ass. Talking to Rin is like talking to a rock, Sae concludes. A giant, lanky, grumpy rock.
"It was nice meeting you, Rin." Your voice still sounds fried but better than what it was earlier.
"Yeah, you too." The taller male rubs the back of his neck sheepishly and stands. "Hey," Rin's voice directs over to Sae and he nudges his head towards the hallway. "Mind if we talk real quick?"
Sae exhales for what it feels like the tenth time today. "Sure."
Both brothers lean on opposite sides of the wall, seemingly also avoiding each other's gazes because wow the floor looks mildly entertaining right now. When was the last time that they even had a proper conversation without ripping each other's throats apart? Sae honestly can't remember but it didn't seem like that was on Rin's to-do list.
Rin breaks the heavy silence first with a loud unwrapping sound from his ice cream bar. He stares at it for a long moment and splits the bar down the middle, offering one stick to Sae. "How long are you staying for?"
Sae accepts it and takes a small bite. "A month."
"Showing your girlfriend around the country?"
"Maybe, but I'm just waiting on my passport."
"Should've done it online, dumbass."
Sae pretends the comment doesn't tick him off. "Why are you asking anyway?"
"Nothing." Rin drops the subject and finishes off his half of the dessert. "You've gotten softer. It's like you're whipped or something."
Sae rolls his eyes and bites off the remaining ice cream on his stick. "What does that mean?"
"It means that if she asked you to do a handstand and sing a song, you'd do it."
Sae finds himself pausing, thinks for a bit, and shrugs. "And that's a bad thing?"
Rin's eyes narrow before racking a hand through his hair. "Actually, forget I said anything."
For a brief second, Sae isn't sure if Rin is annoyed at the fact that he would do all those things for you or if he's annoyed that he didn't know what whipped means. Maybe both.
Rin pushes himself off the wall and starts heading towards the entrance, waving off to you as you lay on the couch, probably scrolling aimlessly on the phone. Before Rin steps out, he whips around and gives Sae a final hard stare.
"If you're ever free, let me know." And before Sae can even respond, he's out the door.
You giggle from the couch at the interaction. "He's cute."
The couch dips slightly as Sae plops down next to you, arms immediately wrapping around your waist and tugging you close to his embrace. "Sometimes weird." He adds.
"By the way," You start in a coy tone. "You're fine with doing all of that?"
Sae presses his lips against your shoulder and hums. "Doing all of what?"
"A handstand and singing me a song." Your grin is so infectious that it's making his heart swell.
"I can do it no problem," Sae replies easily.
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azilver · 5 months
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Johnny Cage mini stories/ideas/headcannons
I love Johnny, all his flirting and ridiculousness, so I have little headcannon stories. One is about how he sorta becomes a heart throb again but for just being his ridiculous self
like, generally the public don't really believe that Johnny Cage is a super skilled martial artist, its movie magic and stunt doubles for the most hectic stuff right? Then a story comes out from the filming of his Mortal Kombat movie, during an interview with one of the stunt guys, where the interviewer is clearly looking to slag Johnny off..
"Must have been something working with Johnny Cage! Some of those stunts he comes up with are insane, your stunt team must have had a real time on set with his imagination!"
"Yeah, no dude, Cage is the real deal. Like, all the way man."
*chuckles* "I'm sure he knows a few things about a fight after all his movies but you guys must have dealt with the brunt of the work?"
"Ah, no, like the dude actually knows his stuff. I mean, I also thought he was just another one of those actors that knew a bit but nothing else really. Then it's like early days into the shoot, we're all there with the stunt co-ordinators and they're explaining to the dude that there's no way we can do the fight like he wants, not with real people. I mean, we all agreed no actual human could *describes seeming inhuman stunt*.
"Right? But Cage keeps insisting its possible until Cooper just tells him to prove it. Well, he just looks at us over his glasses, shrugs and then proceeds to freaking do it! Like no lead-up, no prep, nothing, all in his damn dress shoes and chinos!"
other stories start coming out
the young starlet who tells all about her first big role, that yes, Johnny's a ridiculous flirt, but he flirted with everyone and it was actually great and helped her relax on set, but the moment one of the creepy producers got too friendly ... Johnny stepped in
the parents of young actors who were surprised at how great he was with their kids, checking in on them, making sure they got their breaks, sneaking snacks and entertaining them with his moves
his agent sets him up to chat with some dudebro podcasters/streamers because surely that's him demo right? except when the bros start on a sexist/phobic route Johnny kinda goes "Woah! hold up man" and totally guilelessly starts sex-edding them.
"If she's not soaking you're not doing your job, my man!"
"Like, who doesn't want enthusiastic consent? I mean, you should want them to want you."
"I totally take it as a complement! Johnny Cage is a sexy beast, all the boys and girls can appreciate it."
"It's not that hard, dude, just pay attention to what your partner is responding to! What makes them moan and shudder?"
the agent is floored and expects it to be a total shit show except the next thing Johnny's trending super hard on social media, the tiktoks and such swooning over Johnny, everyone just losing it for their new "cinnamon roll".
then the tabloids start printing articles and photos of Johnny and his handsome blind friend who's always hanging around, photos of them at restaurants together, Johnny helping the guy out of his car, leaving the mansion together....
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mystra-midnight · 6 months
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Haunted Hoedown - DAY FOUR
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summary: it felt like a thunderstorm was roaring in your head. Yyu heard him, but his words didn't register in your brain the way they should have. there was only building, mounting, and ruining pleasure that was spreading through your organs and seizing your limbs.
warnings: ghost!eddie x reader. mentions of an unsatisfying sex life/readers ex being a douche. masturbation. voyeurism. somnophilia. eddie being a tad mean/dom.
words: 5.7k
notes: day four of the haunted hoedown challenge being hosted by @inklore and @psychedelic-ink. a bit delayed because i was away seeing amy lee live and in person and fangirling. i tried a different style here with that i'm not 100% sure i love but i hope you enjoy reading.
prompt: american horror story Inspired + “i would burn the world for you.”
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May 7th. 2001.
"Tell me why this place is so cheap."
You looked wide-eyed around the apartment. It was utterly perfect—exactly what you'd been hoping for when moving to Hawkins, Indiana. The walls were painted off-white, there were brand new stainless steel appliances, and there were timber floors throughout. The ceilings were high, and there was a little reading nook, two large bedrooms, and a large clawed bathtub.
But the best part was that it was advertised at more than half the true market value. It was absolutely ridiculous, crazy, and completely illogical, and you couldn't understand why.
You saw the realtor flinch at the question, which immediately brought you down from the clouds. Shit. Of course, it was too good to be true. There had to be something wrong with the property for the owner to be selling it for practically next to nothing.
With a sigh, you faced him. His expression was grim.
"Well, you see, um, there was, uh," he stammered, tripping over his words as he searched for the right ones, the ones that wouldn't scare you away. "About fifteen years ago, before the urban development and technology boom came to Hawkins, a young man died in the trailer park that used to be on this lot."
Your heart dropped as the horror of his words sank in, but the feeling was fleeting. Someone who was a stranger to you died ten years ago. They hadn't even lived in the apartment, so that didn't explain the next-to-nothing price. You said as much to the realtor, pressing him for more information.
"The owners want to sell the property quickly, rather than for money. They've explained that there were some... how do I put this? Some strange events occurred while they were living here."
"Such as?"
"Things would move when no one was around. There were always problems with the central heating. The televisions and radios would change channels in the middle of programmes or turn on in the middle of the night. I assume most of this is because of defective wiring somewhere in the building, but none of the electricians were able to find the cause."
You watched him cringe, as though saying the words aloud was physically painful to him. It all sounded ridiculous. And none of it was enough to make you turn down such a fantastic property for such a stupidly low price.
"That's all?" You teased, flashing the man a smile. "Consider the place sold.
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June 11th. 2001.
Despite the realtor double-checking and then triple-checking, you crossed your T's and dotted your I's and bought the apartment that same day. You moved in the following month, piling boxes upon boxes, each one with a specific room written on it in your scribble: kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, guest room, reading. You bought new furniture and decorated the walls with pictures of your family and the knick-knacks you'd accumulated after college.
It had taken weeks to sort out all the rooms and empty all the boxes, but the apartment finally felt like a real home, and you'd completely forgotten what the realtor had said when showing you the property: strange events.
It started after three blissful and uneventful weeks. Things had started to go missing, just like he said. It wasn't anything overly important, just small things like your rings, your glasses, or sometimes even your panties. Things would go missing for days at a time before reappearing in locations that they had no business being in.
And then the cold started. Not just cold, but freezing cold.
It got so bad that some nights you would see your own breath misting in the air. It never seemed to matter how high you set the thermostat or how many blankets you piled on top of you—you couldn't stop shivering.
But while all these things were certainly strange, they weren't illogical. You could explain each of them: you misplaced things because you'd moved towns—hell, you'd moved states—and were getting used to living somewhere new. It was also cold because the central heating was faulty. The lights would flicker because the wiring was done wrong. All of that made perfect sense.
But what didn't make a lick of logical sense was when things started to move while you were staring right at them. Hallway doors would swing wide open, slamming into the walls as though they'd been ripped open violently in fits of rage. Shadows would creep along the walls when you weren't looking. You'd catch a glimpse from the corner of your eyes of these stalking shapes, only for them to be gone when you turned to look at them.
Then the photos started to fall from their hooks on the wall, sometimes thrown across the room, so that the frames broke and glass shards littered the floors. You make yourself a meal only for the plate to be thrown off the table and against the wall, leaving the paint stained with splotches. It frightened you, leaving you turning off the lights, running to bed, and hiding under the covers like you were suddenly twelve years old again.
The worst of it was when the dissonant whispering started. It would wake you in the middle of the night, leaving you clutching a baseball bat for dear life. Your co-workers all agreed that you were stressed and overworked, probably exhausted from uprooting your entire life and moving across the country. None of them believed in ghosts, horror stories, or haunted houses.
You thought you might be going insane until you saw him.
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July 4th. 2001.
Eddie Munson.
"Hey!" You called, startling the boy standing in front of your dresser. The top right drawer was opened, and your panties were on full display. Hidden beneath them was your vibrator, and you found yourself flustered, angry, embarrassed, and scared.
He looked at you with wide doe-eyes, swimming pools of brown that you could easily get lost in if he wasn't holding a pair of your panties to his nose like some god-damn pervert. You held a bat in your hand, ready to swing, when he turned and ran. You give chase, following him around the queen bed with fresh sheets and into the bathroom that joined the two bedrooms.
By the time you rounded the bed and made it through the doorway, he was gone, seemingly having vanished into thin air. Your panties were on the ground. You spent hours checking rooms, closets, and any nook and cranny a boy of his size could hide in. You even called the police and filed a report, but there was no evidence of forced entry.
In the days that followed, you took to sleeping with the bat besides the bed and a kitchen knife beneath your pillows. It was childish, but having them so close made you feel safer.
The next few weeks were surprisingly and uneventful, and soon you settled back into a familiar routine. Work five days a week, from eight in the morning until five in the afternoon, come home and eat, channel surf for a few hours, shower, and sleep. You were even able to have friends over without anything weird ruining the atmosphere.
It was as you were chancel surfing that you saw him again. You were looking through the music stations for something to listen to while you showered; you skimmed through the pop stations and skipped over the metal stations before setting on one that was playing When It's Over by Sugar Ray. The song was catchy and tended to get stuck in your head with how much it played on the radio, but it was a good one.
"Wait! Go back!"
You screamed.
With your heart pounding wildly in your chest and your stomach having fallen out of your arse, you stared at him. He seemed entirely unaware of your fright, instead gesturing frantically at the television. "Turn it back!"
This was the first time you'd gotten an up-close look at him. He was dressed in black jeans with rips in the knees and a shirt that said Hellfire Club. As he motioned between the remote in your hand and the television, it rode up, revealing a trail of hair that started at his navel and disappeared into his jeans. He had a leather jacket on and a denim Dio vest over it.
He looked like something straight out of the 80's.
"Back!" He yelled louder this time. He sounded panicked and frantic, and that was what snapped you from your stupor. You flicked backwards through the channels, finding the metal music one, when he ordered you to stop. He stared wide-eyed at the television, where Metallica was playing a live concert. You recognised the song; it was Fuel.
"That's James Hetfield," he said, his tone disbelieving. He flopped open-mouthed onto the couch as Kirk Hammett and Lars Ulrich began the opening rift. "This is Metallica."
"Yeah?"
"I don't know this song."
"It was released about four years ago; how can you not have heard it?"
You pressed yourself tightly into the arm of the couch, feeling it dig painfully into your back, when he whirled around to face you. His face was overcome with surprise, shock, and something else you'd yet to comprehend. Wild curls bounced around his face before settling into place.
"Four years?"
You shivered beneath the intensity of his stare and his emotions; even his presence in your apartment sent a chill down your spine. You nodded quickly, clutching the television to your chest like it was a weapon. Your grip was so tight that your knuckles ached.
"That's not possible," he whispered, turning back to the television as the lyrics started. "They look different. They sound different. This is crazy. They just released Master of Puppets?"
That caught your attention, and it was then your turn to be surprised.
"That was fifteen years ago."
"What?" He rounded on you a second time.
Over the next few weeks, you learned more about him. He’d lived in the trailer park with his uncle Wayne, and he’d passed in a tragic accident, an earthquake; his uncle had never found his body. You suspected there was more to it, but he was unwilling to give more details.
That accident had happened fifteen years ago, and the trailer park had been demolished about seven years later. A development block had been built to replace it, which eventually turned into an apartment complex as Hawkins expanded.
Eddie had only been twenty-one when he died. You learned that he liked music. Well, no, you learned that he loved Metallica and Dio. So you started to leave the television on when you went to work, letting it play from dusk to dawn to keep him entertained. Then you started buying magazines and comics to leave them open for him to read; you even bought home Metallica's latest CD.
And as the weeks dragged on, his presence in your apartment became less terrifying, except for the times he would seemingly materialise from nowhere. You even started asking him to hang out with you at night. The two of you would spend hours watching movies and music videos and just talking.
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September 19th. 2001.
"Come on, Eddie!" You whined. He was behaving like a child, and you were exasperated and fed up with his antics. He was standing in front of the door with his arms crossed over his chest, obscuring the words on the front of his shirt.
"Don't you 'Eddie' me," he cautioned, his brown eyes narrowing into a glare. He hated the idea that you were mocking him, though he was smart enough to realise that wasn't what you were doing right now. "He's an asshole. I don't understand why you can't see it."
"Because I know him! You've only ever seen him! Briefly, I might add!"
Eddie threw his hands up in frustration; the sound that left his mouth was all but a growl. He wanted to grab you by the shoulders and shake you until your brains leaked out of your ears. Then you might be smart enough to realise that Michael was a fucking douchebag. "And I see you too!" Eddie spat, the fieriness in his tone making you roll your eyes and shiver simultaneously.
"Every time you've seen him, you come home frustrated, like the man doesn't know how to fuck or something! You always come back bitchier than when you left!"
"Eddie!"
If you could have hit him, you would have. His words hit too close to home for comfort. Michael was nice enough, if not vain and at times arrogant. He came from money, and he often acted and thought that money would carry him through the world. But he treated you well enough, and you enjoyed his company most of the time.
Except Eddie's intuition hit the nail on the head—Michael didn't know how to fuck. At least, not well. Each time you felt the familiar warmth of orgasm approaching, the same thing happened. It didn't matter that you'd be crying out his name and clawing at his back, begging him not to stop; he'd move, change his angle, change his pace, change his position, and you would be left a frustrated mess.
On the rare occasions he cared, he was able to make you cum. He'd work you over until you tumbled into oblivion, his fingers buried in your pussy as it clenched and spasmed around them, your back arched off the mattress. But he cared for his own pleasure above all others, and nine times out of ten, you didn't finish.
"Eddie!" He mocked. "Is my name the only thing you can say, sweetheart?"
"I'm not taking dating advice from a dead man!"
You regretted the words the moment they left your mouth. Tears burned in the back of your throat from how you swallowed the urge to cry, your emotions reaching a fever pitch as you walked through him. And as you passed, the cold of his presence enveloped you in a frigid hug but didn't stop you.
Instead, you left.
You drank too much that night; said too much, and let Michael work you over for far longer than you normally would. After being compliant and patient all night, he draped your legs over his shoulders, grunting and groaning as he fucked you, only to cum on your stomach before kissing you goodnight and slipping away. That had been the boiling point.
The relationship ended with you slapping Michael so hard that your hand hurt.
When you made it back home, the apartment was dark, cold, and empty. The television had turned off automatically at some point in the evening, and none of the lights were on. You’d expected him to be waiting for you with a smug smirk and an I told you so attitude, but Eddie wasn’t there, and that hurt more than the disappointing sex.
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September 26th. 2001.
Six days later, you still hadn't seen him. Each night you tossed and turned, his absence from your life a gaping wound that often left you bleeding out and gasping for air. The apartment felt too large without him—too quiet and too empty. But you resigned yourself to the fact that you'd chased him away. He'd have found someone else to haunt, someone who appreciated him instead of insulting him. So you found something else to occupy your mind.
Except while you were settling into the mountain of pillows on your bed, the scent of clean linen and vanilla swirling around the room, he decided to make his grand reappearance. Well, no, not exactly.
The moment he chose to reappear was when you were sprawled on the bed, thighs spread wide, and heels dug into the mattress as you worked the tips of your fingers over your aching clit and into your leaking hole. You hadn't had sex since breaking up with Michael, but the ache had been in your belly long before that. The knot between your hips was pulled taut when you saw Eddie standing at the foot of the bed, panic bursting to life inside your chest. You snapped your thighs tight together, your hand flying to press into the sheets to hide the sticky evidence of your arousal.
"Don't stop," he said softly, his voice breathy and light. His wide-doe eyes meet yours. "Please."
"Eddie," you whispered as your face warmed with embarrassment. He didn't miss the way you rubbed your thighs together, desperate to stifle the ache between them. In that moment, you wanted him to be the one touching you. You wanted to feel the warmth and weight of his palms as he held you down and his breath on your neck as he kissed, bit, and sucked. You wanted him in the worst way, and it hurt you beyond words that you couldn't have him.
"Open them." His tone was harsh this time—forceful and demanding, enticing a soft whine from your parted lips. The smirk that found its way to his plump lips was sinful. "No wonder he couldn't get you off. Was he too soft, sweetheart? You need to be told what you want to do, fucked like a whore, to be able to cum?"
Eddie wanted to grab your ankles and drag you to him. Your little nub was so sensitive that he wanted to spread you open and rub the tip of his tongue against it until you were begging for him. He wanted to watch you cum on his cock, his fingers, his thigh, his tongue, and his cock again. He wanted to feel you with every fibre of his ghostly being. "Be a good girl and open your legs, yeah?"
You were slow to react. You parted your thighs slowly and shyly until you were exposed to his hungry gaze. The insides of your thighs were sticky and shiny with the evidence of your first orgasm; your puffy folds were still slick as you parted them with your fingers, moving to rub one on either side of your clit. Your breath hitched at the sensation and the way his eyes followed your movements.
"Eddie," you whined his name softly while your head tipped back, your throat exposed, and your chest heaving with each sharp intake of air. The crown of your head mashed against the pillows, leaving your hair a mess. You imagined the way his hands would feel—rough and calloused. He'd played guitar before his death; you knew he'd be good with his fingers. He'd be able to find that spot deep inside your gummy walls that made stars, no, galaxies, burst to life inside your veins.
"What a fucking prick." He spat the words through his teeth, each syllable filled with venom. "Didn't know how good of a thing he had until it was gone. Never even deserved to have such a pretty pussy if he couldn't get you off. I bet he couldn't even do it with his fingers buried in there or with his tongue, either. Bet he just rammed his dick in without getting you worked up first."
"He doesn’t.." You sighed, your breath airy and full of arousal. "He... he never tasted me."
If it were possible, Eddie would have cum in his pants like a fucking virgin. Not only had that asshole left you a worked-up and unsatisfied mess because he didn't know how to fuck you right, he'd never even tasted you, which was a crying shame. Right now, all Eddie wanted to do was have your sweet cunt beneath his mouth. You were a feast on display, and he was forbidden from tasting, touching, and fucking.
Eddie watched as you pushed your fingers into your clenching hole, chasing the orgasm that was starting to sear through your veins. You were so wet, your slick dripping down the crack of your ass, only to be lost in the bed sheets. "Forget about him," he followed up with a gentler tone, the cold of his presence enveloping the air around you until your nipples turned to hardened peaks that crowned your tits. "Forget about him. Just touch that hot cunt for me, sweetheart."
You answered him with a whimper, your lower lip quivering before being captured between your teeth as your fingers moved deeper, seeking and searching for that sweet stop. You heard his sharp intake of breath as you fingered yourself; the schlick sounds echoing around the room were obscene and pornographic. Your slick arousal coated your fingers, your hand, your palm, and your thighs, shining beneath the dull glow of moonlight that peaked through the windows.
"Harder," he barked, and you obeyed. The heel of your palm slapped against your clit with each thrust of your fingers. "Faster."
It felt like a thunderstorm was roaring in your head. You heard him, but his words didn't register in your brain the way they should have. There was only building, mounting, and ruining pleasure that was spreading through your organs and seizing your limbs. You come hard and long, crying a pretty symphony made up entirely of his name.
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October 31st. 2001.
It worked for a while.
In spite of the entire situation making your face burn, you couldn't say no to him, not when he looked at you with those pretty doe-eyes or when he called you his good little whore. Thus, Eddie watched as you masturbated for him every night. He would tell you when to cum and how to touch yourself. You'd be told how many fingers to use and watched as you fucked yourself open.
It worked—until it didn’t.
After days and weeks, it wasn't enough to just touch yourself. You wanted him to touch you, but that was entirely impossible. So you threw yourself into your work and your social life to distract your meloncholy heart. But each night, in the privacy of your apartment, you belonged entirely to him. You worked a double shift today in preparation for Halloween. Eddie hadn't said anything when you'd come home exhausted. All you wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep like the dead.
And that was exactly what you'd done.
You didn’t remember falling asleep, but you knew you weren’t awake yet—you were floating on clouds in that blissful in-between. It was 3:15 a.m. in the morning, and you vaguely recognised the blurry red outline of the didgital clock on the bedside table. The witching hour on All Hallows' Eve.
It was only the sudden, sharp zing of pleasure that woke you.
You cried out. Your voice was hoarse, and your vocal cords were thick with a myriad of emotions: sleep, confusion, panic, and sudden desperation. Reality finally dawned upon you as honey-sweet pleasure swept through your limbs, making them feel heavy and sluggish even as you grabbed a handful of the thick mop curls between your spread thighs.
You bucked your hips without intention, pushing his face deeper between your sticky folds until he grabbed your waist and pinned you to the mattress. When he pulled back and wrapped his wet lips around your throbbing clit, you could feel him smiling. A deep hum rumbled through his vocal cords and vibrated through your core until you were moaning outloud, your back in a perfect arch as red-hot lightening sizzled through your veins.
"E-Eddie?"
The panic in your voice finally encouraged him to lift his head. His doe-eyes were blown wide with lust, almost entirely black. You saw the way his chin dripped with a mixture of his saliva and your slick; he was a vision of exctasy that made your brain short circuit. This wasn't possible—it literally wasn't possible. But it was real. You felt the weight of his hands on your waist, the way his fingertips dug into your skin hard enough to leave bruises, and the way his weight dipped into the mattress.
"Was wondering when you'd wake up, sweets," he mumbled, his breath hot against your mound. Your thighs trembled and squeezed around his head when he dipped his head to lick from your quivering hole to your clit, lapping at the slick that practically leaked from you. There was a part of you screaming, wanting to rage and be angry at him for doing something like this while you were sleeping. There was also a part of you that wanted to be as distraught now as you had been the day you found him sniffing your panties.
Both parts were quiet, making room for the horny, touch-starved part of yourself to come to the surface. Your nails scratched his scalp when you tugged hard on his hair. Eddie tightened his hold on your waist to stop your impatient squirming as he kitten-licked your folds. You were already embarrassingly close, and he knew. It was obvious from the way you were squeezing your thights around his head until his hearing muffled and how you squirmed and wriggled as the pressure in your belly built.
You made this sound—a little gasp of pleasure—that sent arousal rocketing through his veins and straight to his cock when he pushed two fingers into your tight pussy. His fingers were thicker than yours, larger and longer, reaching deep and rubbing against all of your nerves. You came without warning, slick walls clamping rightly around his thrusting fingers as the world shattered around you into sweet oblivion. Eddie kept his lips wrapped around your little nub, sucking and flicking his tongue against it as crystal shards of pleasure shot through her entire being. It felt like a bolt of white-hot lightning had struck your soul and set her world ablaze.
When you sagged against the mattress, Eddie climbed the length of your body, his lips leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses from your clit and up your belly, through the valley of your tits, until you were tasing yourself on his tongue. You touched him for the first time with shaking hands, feeling his skin against your palms, tracing the outline of each tattoo, and feeling how his muscles shifted and tensed beneath his skin as he settled between your thighs.
He was real; he was here, and he was yours.
As Eddie rubbed his cock against your sticky folds to get himself slick and lubricated, he groaned into your mouth. The flushed tip nudged your clit, causing you to gasp and arch beneath him. "Eddie," you moaned softly, your entire body burning and your eyes pleading for more.
"Say it." He growled. His breath was hot on your neck as he smeared open-mouth kisses along the column of your throat. He already knew what you wanted, but he wanted you to say it. He had to hear you say it. When you bucked up against him, desperate to feel him fill you or for friction of any kind, he pinned your hips down, refusing to give into your demands.
"Eddie," you whined. "Eddie, please, please, fuck me—ah!"
The stretch as he pushed inside was intense and immediate, more so than anything you'd ever felt. But it wasn't painful. No, it was deliciously mind-numbing. Your nails dug deep into his shoulders as you threw your head back. Your lips parted in breathless cries when he bottomed out, filling you so completely. The two of you have never talked about this moment, his size, or what to expect when having sex. Mostly because neither of you had expected this to ever happen.
Now that he was between your legs, holding them open with heavy palms, you knew that he was big—bigger than Michael and your other ex's. Eddie watched the way your lips clung to him as he pulled back, leaving only the crown of his cock nestled in your tight walls, and he moaned as you sucked in each inch of him when he snapped his hips forward. It felt like he was carving his way into your guts, rearranging your organs, or hitting the back of your throat. Maybe that was over dramatic; you were cock-drunk and delusional already. Maybe it was just the intensity with which you wanted him to act that made you irrational.
All that you knew for certain was that he was here, and he was fucking you, and you never wanted him to stop. You were crying, the tears having finally fallen, and you couldn’t stop shaking as lava pooled in your stomach. Eddie grabbed you by the chin, his thumb and forefinger pressing into your cheeks, so that you were pouting when he kissed her again. "Look at me when I'm fucking you."
Your eyes snapped open. When did you close them? You didn't know.
"This is what you needed, huh? You just needed a cock inside you—someone to fuck the attitude out of you. You're just a cockwhore, aren't you, baby?" His voice was rough as he growled the words through his teeth. He was hovering over you, hands on the mattress either side of your head, trapping you in the shelter of his body. You cried out when he made a particularly deep thrust; his aim never faltered. He found that spot that made galaxies come to life and made your thighs tremble around his slim waist.
"Answer me!" He repeated it louder this time.
"Yes!" You wailed. You felt racked with pleasure when he put a hand on your tit, palming it roughly and pinching your nipple to bring your attention to him. "Yes, yes, I'm a whore, just a cockwhore—of god, right there, right there."
"Whose whore?"
"Eddie, Eddie, please, need to cum—"
"You wanna cum?"
"Yes, yes, please." He was holding you at the edge of the world, leaving you staring into the abyss. You were buzzing with excitement, entirely ready and willing to take a leap of faith with him. You needed to free-fall; you needed to float through the clouds, and he wasn't letting you. Not yet. Not until you gave him what he wanted.
"Then tell me whose whore you are."
"Yours! Your whore! Just yours!"
Now that you'd given him what he wanted, he fucked you harder, impossibly so. The sound of his pelvis hitting the backs of your thighs was a constant smack, smack, smack. The headboard hit the wall with a resounding thud, thud, thud. The neighbours would surely complain, but you don't care because he's going to break you, ruin you, and wreck you.
The knot in your stomach unrolled quickly and all at once. A fresh wave of rapture raced through you like lightening arching through your veins, leaving you staring at the roof with wide-open eyes that took in nothing that they saw. Your back bowed into a perfect arch as you came harder than you thought was ever possible—even harder than you had the first time he'd watched you touch yourself.
Eddie buried his face against your neck, his abdomen dipping in and out as he chased his own release, his breath superheated against your skin while he panted. He was lost in you—the smell of your shampoo, the taste of your chapstick—utterly and hopelessly lost. Eddie came only a moment later, long and hard, painting thick ivory ropes along your quivering walls.
"So fucking good, baby. Pussy was made for me." He rambled between kisses, licks, and bites along your neck. Your nails scratched down his back as you preened beneath his praise, your mind somewhere in the clouds, no higher, in the thermosphere. "You're squeezing me like a damn vice. Fuck, you're perfect. I would burn the world for you. You're mine, aren't you, baby? My desperate whore. All mine."
Eddie kept you pinned to the mattress, legs still thrown over his shoulders as he huddled over you, almost folding you in half. He grabbed you roughly by the chin, forcing you to look at him. Your eyes were unfocused, and your face was streaked with tears. He felt your pussy still fluttering around his softening cock as you rode the coattails of your orgasm, each aftershock making you twitch and shake. He kissed you hard until you were breathless. You mewled into his mouth and pawed at him.
And you knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that you were his.
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spntrunk · 2 months
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It would be cool to see your process, timelapses. I absolutely adore your works and your style (all variations of it)!!
!!! thank you!! That means a lot (because I'm always 90% sure people who start following me due to X piece will regret it like 3 days later when they realize I'm chaos™)!! I also love talking about this, so really, thank you. Note: everything I've uploaded so far is made in Photoshop CC. I've been using it for a looong time and I'm pretty comfortable with it, but one of it's faults is its lack of a native recording tool, which is why I don't have any timelapses ;; not a psd-only-and-forever apologist though, I like plenty other tools too!
Since I'm constantly experimenting with new stuff I don't have an entirely fixed process but I'll walk you in the approx four steps I follow.
TLDR: tons of research, then rough thumbnail+lineart, then filling in little by little, then finishing touches.
RESEARCH PHASE: honestly the longest of them all. I can spend HOURS on this, and when I'm doing longer pieces that can go into days. Luckily most of it is just browsing my phone while going to work or something. But this is very, very, very important for me. I mainly search for two things: "mood" (inspiration, palettes, styles I find eye-catching) and pose references (plural!!). I load it all in a canvas, make it ridiculously big (usually a minimum of 3000px x 4000px) and start going at it.
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^ lo and behold my sam folder....and this is one of the least chaotic ones
2. Lineart + rough thumbnail of the piece. That's 15-30 min and I double check and discard the idea or not. Most times I discard one or two ideas before settling!!! A thumbnail basically means "very very big brushstrokes and it's forbidden to zoom in". I can show you one of the discarded gabriel attempts (link to actual final result, which has nothing to do with this lol)
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as a side note, I always (well, the last two years) work with values first, so that's true here as well. Generally I have the palette in another layer and just add colors according to whether they're darker or lighter AND afterwards I correct everything that isn't working.
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Here I focus in composition + "modelling" the piece -- I keep the strokes clean and try to build using planes rather than textures, because these can be distracting. In this case I wasn't vibing with it (the colors just weren't doing it for me, even though the palette was very pretty in the piece i was inspired by ;;) so I just restarted the whole thing.
My linearts are usually terrible unless I put special effort on them (ex. here, Castiel & Bees, and even then it isn't great, it's just...decent). Sometimes I waive them off altogether, if I'm doing a "mood piece", ex. Sam&Castiel, where I just didn't do any lineart. But those are exceptions rather than the rule.
I don't keep WIPs if I'm working all in one sitting, which is why I can't show you the early process of this though :( I keep previous attempts in separate layers, that's why I could show you my little discarded Gabriel
This would be the cathedral piece at a similar phase, for the record (sorry about the awful photo at the screen ;;) :
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^ Yes that lineart is another exception™ I try and keep figures and background in separate layers, unless I'm doing a speedpainting and cannot be bothered.
3. I'm aware this is very like the draw an owl meme, but once the research phase + thumbnail are done, the rest is just having a lot of patience and knowing when to stop. You can get away with doing a very vibes-based, moody piece where there are almost no details, but there needs to be a certain coherence, aka "dean's flannel is in HD but nothing else exists" will probably feel a little weird.
4. Once I've reached said "level of coherence" with the details, I give some finishing touches:
If I've mainly used my good old friend the hard round pressure size brush then everything will feel a bit too clean, so some dirty brushes or a noise filter will do the trick.
If I've left the lineart in (I sometimes do, sometimes don't), I check if modifying its color will help the result any.
I check if I can do something to the color balance or the curves to improve it or if it's better to leave it alone.
Sometimes you can add a paper texture over it... some other times adding a vignette effect or a frame is what makes everything pop -- it depends.
Overdoing this phase is quite dangerous (link to what not to do), so I thread with caution. I had a lens flare phase in which EVERYTHING I did had the little photoshop lens flare effect, but I've mostly outgrown it.
PS: sometimes I don't follow this process at all, for example this one was made just as if I were doing a pencil drawing traditionally, and the white drawing itself is done all in one layer...but where's the fun if you follow the rules all the time?
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kindh3art3d · 1 year
Text
There’s only one bed… - Stephen Sanchez One Shot
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"Wait are you sure they don't have any other rooms available?" My voice shakes as a mixture of nervousness and anger fills my veins. I couldn't believe it. Of all the times for the manager to mess up our hotel reservations, it had to be on the night of a big concert.
Stephen and I had been best friends for a handful of years now and I occasionally toured with him as a backup singer and guitarist. And for some reason his manager's assistant who booked this whole trip decided that we could handle sharing the same room.
What I didn't know was that same manager assistant didn't book the hotel room correctly and instead of two beds there was, well... there was only one bed.
"Y/N I'm so sorry it looks like this was the only remaining room for this weekend. What with the festival happening and a business conference happening a few blocks away the hotel was prime location for pretty everyone this weekend." The assistant Bradley responded on the other side of the line, he wasn't the most helpful but I recall earlier after I told him the situation we faced and he said
"Oh dear I'm so sorry, just know I completely sympathize with you." His southern accent dripped with fake concern. He was completely fake and he probably knew that I saw through him which made his fake niceness intensify. I really didn't like him.
I bit my lip and let out a shaky breath
"Alright, I'm guess we'll have to figure something out." I hung up, frustrated and exhausted.
Stephen and I were stuck sharing a room with only one bed. This was going to be awkward.
We had made a pact a long time ago not to let our friendship turn into something more. Because undeniably, we both knew and understood each others feelings.
But we also understood the consequences and complications dating would mean for us.
I heard the shower turn off and I quickly sat up, checking my reflection in my phone screen. We agreed that I would call the label so he could clean up and relax a little after the show, it was a great show and he puts a lot of effort into creating a fun performance for his fans. So he was exhausted already enough as it was.
Moments later Stephen walks out of the bathroom- shirtless.
My eyes grow wide as they stare at his abdomen covered in various tattoos. I was unprepared for the amount of -nakedness. I feel my face burning and I quickly look away
"Stephen! I'm still here!" I hear a chuckle from him, of course he'd think this was funny. I was always more serious out of the two of us, and he always wanted me to "loosen up" and laugh more.
"So?" He plops down next to me at the edge of the bed, drying his dark hair with a towel. I keep my gaze forward as I feel his gaze.
"I talked with Bradley, and he said that it was highly unlikely that we'd be able to get another room, but he sympathizes with us, so that's great." I roll my eyes.
"Okay, well it's only for tonight." Stephen starts to muse
"It's fine with me, as long as you don't starfish the bed." With those words my face lights on fire.
"Haha, I don't think so." My nervous laughter is so ridiculously apparent.
"Why not?" He forces himself in my line of vision, I can feel his eyes wander over my face, and I pray that I don't have a double chin at the angle he's at.
"It'll be like a sleepover!" He's too precious for this world.
"Stephen, friends don't share a bed." I say exasperated.
He tosses the towel to a basket across the room
"Yeah they do, at a sleepover."
"Let me clarify, girls and guys who are 'friends' don't share a bed." I stand up and pick up the towel that missed the basket.
"Y/N, why are you so scared? Is it because of me?" I feel his presence behind me now, but I never heard footsteps.
I turn and I'm met with his dark beautiful eyes, I can't help but get lost in them in a moment that feels like forever.
"No, I just don't think it's appropriate, that's all." I look down and fidget with my hands.
Stephen places a gentle hand on my shoulder that sends bolts of lightening through me, I look up.
"It'll be fine, nothing will happen, all we're going to do is sleep on our respective sides and we'll wake up in the morning and everything will be the same." His words are comforting.
"I'll never do anything without your permission." Those words spike my nerves. But I was never scared about what he could do, I was scared about what I might do.
"Aw, stop it with those big cow eyes, you don't have to pout." He faux coos to me.
"I'm not pouting." But my voice doesn't sound convincing.
"Come here, bring it in" he opens his arms and I hesitate before walking into them. He folds them around me.
I feel his bare skin, and the beating of his heart. This is the man I love, but it doesn't feel weird, this doesn't feel weird.
He was right, our friendship withstood a lot of storms, and this little thing wasn't going to change it at all.
"Okay, but before we get in, you have to put a shirt on." I mumble, and he laughs
"Deal."
As we climbed into bed that night, I couldn't help but feel a spark between us. I tried to ignore it, but it was impossible to ignore Stephen's warm body pressed up against my back
The bed wasn't even a king sized bed, it could hardly be considered a queen. Which meant two full grown adults didn't have much room. It would have perfect for couples, just not two friends who want to stay platonic and more or less depended on the bed to be big enough to stay that way.
We lay back to back, he finally put a shirt on, but he decided to opt for boxers instead of pj pants, which may have been even worse. I wasn't sure if he was completely oblivious to how he made her feel, he was always stuck in his own daydreams and worlds. Or he was the most evil genius ever. Both two very likely scenarios.
We lay there in silence for a few minutes, both too nervous to say anything.
Stephen broke the silence first
"Do you have enough room?" I wasn't sure if he was teasing or if it was a serious question, I laughed anyways, but there was little to no humor in it.
Suddenly I felt the absence of his body from the mattress, and I rolled over to investigate.
He grabbed a pillow and a small blanket and tossed them on the ground.
"What are you doing?" I asked confused.
"I don't want you to be uncomfortable at all. So I'm sleeping on the floor." He lays down and tucks himself in with the hilariously small blanket.
"Stephen, I'm okay. Just get back in bed."
He looks up at me, his dreamy gaze catching me off guard
"It's okay, dear."
I roll my eyes and then have a horrific realization.
"Oh my god, Stephen get off the floor now." He gives me a confused expression
"Wha-" I quickly eject myself off the bed and run around to heave him off the floor.
"It's a hotel floor, do you realize what could be on it." A barrage of gross imagery fills my head and I feel sick.
"Oh" he lets me pull him up, and I throw the pillow back on the bed.
I laugh and get back in the bed, I turn to see Stephen still standing, staring down at me.
"What?" I suddenly felt subconscious.
He has a sad look about him, but it quickly fades away as he clears his throat
"I was just thinking."
He climbs in next to me and falls quiet again. I hesitate for a moment before asking
"What were you thinking about?" He's quiet and I wish we were facing each other so I could read his face.
Just when I think he's ignoring me he says softly
"I was just thinking about how one day someone lucky is going to get you to fall in love with them and you'll get married and have your happy ending. And I'll just watch."
A pang of guilt rings through my chest and I turn to face his back.
"What if I've already fallen in love with someone?" I reach my finger out and draw swirls on his upper shoulder.
The words sit between us, and for a moment I regret saying anything, but then Stephen rolls over to face me.
"Who is it?" He asks, and I recognize hope and fear over his features simultaneously.
My eyes are heavy as they wander over his face, landing on his lips and then his eyes.
"Do I know who they are?" He asks not relenting to my dodging of the subject.
I shrug, I suddenly felt like I held something over him, I had some power and I was making him nervous.
Just the idea of me making him nervous excited and terrified me.
I realize how close are faces are, inches apart, I feel his warm breath on me, and I falter.
His eyes search my face and I recognize the hungry look in his eyes, one I've seen and dreamt of seeing many times before.
But then Stephen tentatively reached out and took my hand. The electric shock that ran through my body made me realize that I felt the same way he did.
"Stephen" I whisper
and with that we both break.
The next thing I knew, Stephen's lips were on mine.
Oh god he was kissing me.
We kissed tentatively at first, his lips soft and supple.
It quickly became more feverish as we both realized what was happening, that we both wanted this. I felt his hands sliding over my body, first starting with my neck and then moving down towards my stomach. His hand is gentle and caring, I melt under the pressure.
We finally broke apart, gasping for breath. Stephen's eyes were dark with desire as my body trembled. "I've wanted to do that for so long," he admitted rolling over.
I smiled softly. "Me too."
I stare at him as he looks at the ceiling, it was moments like this where I couldn't help but notice his beautiful, the curvature of his features, the creases and freckles. It was all so beautiful, he was so beautiful.
"I guess I don't have to worry anymore" he chuckles. I smile a little and keep my gaze focused.
He turns over
"God Y/N, I've loved you for so long." hearing those words I felt like I could die from happiness.
I reach out and stroke the side of his face
"I was always so terrified to tell you how I felt. I thought you would hate me and never talk to me again." As a spoke the words a heavy weight was being removed off my chest.
"I didn't want to lose you." I felt my eyes water up as the confession leaves me relieved.
"I'm sorry you felt that way. I'll never leave you, no matter what happens." He whispers, eyes wandering down to my lips.
"I love you so much" Our lips reconnected and this time there is no rush and we enjoy the moment.
We cuddled up in each other's arms, basking in the new light of our relationship.
All the stress from earlier feels like it happened years ago, I feel like I'm floating on cloud nine here with him.
Retrospectively it all felt so silly, and maybe once we got back home I'd buy Bradley a cup of coffee or something. Or maybe not, it was still a stupid mistake and he still made me mad.
But I didn't want to think about anything else but my best friend and we lay together. It was the perfect moment, and we both knew that we would never go back to just being friends again. He was still my best friend, we always would be, but now we could be something more. And I knew we didn't want anything else now.
I didn't know where life would take us but I drifted off to sleep wrapped up in his arms, listening to the softness of his breathing and heartbeat as I pressed myself into his chest. I couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and anticipation about what the future held for us. 
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zorilleerrant · 8 months
Note
Hi, just saw the word prompt thing? I don't know if you're still doing them or taking them, but if you are, would you mind something with either 25: Hair or 27: Sick with Bruce and/or Jason? Thank you so much! Love your writing ❤️❤️❤️
(absolutely still taking them! see this is the problem with reblogging everything in a row instead of in a queue because that post is like three hours old or something)
"I'm not sick," Jason says, once the coughing fit is over, trying to shove himself away from Bruce without stumbling over. If he falls while Bruce is watching, Bruce will know he's lying, and then he's done for. The thought only occurs to him when he's already leaning against Bruce's shoulder.
"I know you're not, Champ," Bruce says, and it's ridiculous hearing that tone of voice when he's full on Batman mode, the cowl on with smudges of greasepaint all across his eyelids, wrapping the cape around him like when he was small. It doesn't work. The cape back then was soft, quilted one patch at a time by Alfred's careful hand, and warm enough to keep at least the chill of Gotham's winds howling over rooftops at bay. Now it's the thinnest nanofiber metamaterial Jason's ever seen, soft as silk but not half as warm.
It's a nice night. He's only cold because he has the flu, but Jason always wears a mask, so why is that his fucking problem? Nothing's supposed to be able to get through the filters. Not even whatever has Bruce so wary, using dad voice even through his gas mask. "I'm fine. There's just a problem with the filters." Is there a problem with the filters? He was coughing earlier, and something smelled deep maroon and ominous. The people shuffling around the building - no one left inside, but not so far removed yet - are coughing, too. Speaking in strange voices, like they don't know what they're saying themselves. Their faces screw up when they try to talk.
"Jaylad? Are you with me?" Bruce says, pulling Jason's full weight against his chest, as if they're not in front of a crowd right now, cameras pointed at them from all sides. Jason barely refrains from shoving him away, feeling like a little kid trying not to get hugged at school again, and aware that most of the reason he's not pushing is that he doesn't have the energy, and he needs something to balance his weight on anyhow. "How much of that stuff did you breathe in? Here, list off your siblings, will you? I don't know who's behind this new toxin, but we'll find them."
"No one's behind it," Jason says, completely ignoring Bruce's instruction, and fuck him for trying to give it, anyway, Jason is fine. "Look around at the fucking building, B, it was a science fair. It was an accident. No one was behind - okay, actually, that's a lie, Black Mask is behind it, but it's not exactly like you can throw him off a roof over it, so." Jason can throw him off a roof. Maybe. Once he gets a good night's sleep, at least. Oh, fuck, sleep sounds good, right about now. If only Bruce would hurry up and get him to the Batmobile. Of course, if he says that, Batman's going to worry. Like an asshole.
"Black Mask?" Bruce says, in horror, finally moving them in the direction of the car, finally moving Jason out of the way of paramedics that he's absolutely certain would demand to take his temperature and then the jig would be up. "What the hell does he have to do with any of it? How long has he been running this plot?" Oh, sure, once you bring Roman up, Bruce is all invested again. Couldn't have just listened when Jason said the sprinkler systems needed to be double checked. 'Oh we just checked them last week' last week before the last villain siphoned toxins through them again, yeah. Some detective.
"Well, it's not about to help to fight crime at him, B, I assure you, all of his horrifying chemicals are perfectly legal," Jason says, climbing into the chair and reclining it so he can lie down and never get up again. He almost can't hear himself over the roar of the Batmobile's engine. "Some idiot posts a video about how you can hack the blush, soak it in alcohol and precipitate out the metallic component. You know the new bronze and silver ones? Yeah. Well, if you're not careful, you know. I was checking to see if it's made of Nth metal. Some precocious teens beat me to it, I guess."
"That can't possibly be legal," Bruce says, taking a curve a little bit slower than Jason would've expected him to, even on the drive home, even while they're having a totally civil conversation and Jason hasn't yet resorted to trying to bite him. "There are all sorts of regulations on strange metals. We voted on a referendum last week! And you're telling me he's doing this through his company? To, what, entice kids to accidentally cobble together bombs?"
"He doesn't fucking care about the kids, Bruce. I don't even know if he knows - like the advertising isn't even aiming at them, it's aiming at, fuck, celebrities and influencers and shit, he probably doesn't even know it can do this or he'd be selling the shit to Wall," Jason says, tiredly, words that would be mumbled through his hands if his helmet weren't beaming them straight to Bruce's earpiece. "He just found a way to pawn off his trash to the rest of his company, and told them to come up with profits. And they did! Like you always say, crime doesn't fucking pay, eh?"
"Okay. I very much do not want Amanda Waller to get her hands on this. You really think that's his long term plan?" Jason shuts his eyes, not that Bruce can tell under the mask. Because, like, did he fucking say that? Bruce never listens when Jason tries to explain in completely straightforward English - or any other fucking thing - what is going on in Gotham. He missed the limited edition pretzels, too. Asshole. A warm gust of wind blows across his face and Jason realizes that, at some point while he wasn't responding, Bruce pulled his helmet off. Undoing all the latches silently and everything. He's saying something soothing.
Jason ignores him. Wiggles his mouth a little; it's always easier talking when you don't have to aim directly at the mic. He's used to it enough it's reflexive by this point, but it still makes his jaw sore. "Yo, you know the mayor's get kickbacks, even the new one - I mean, I didn't ask him personally, so his kickback may be, like, his own head - there's no such thing as a regulation with no loopholes in Gotham." And then the kids try to mix it up and test out cool new properties, two projects get too close to each other, someone's baking soda volcano sets of a chain reaction or whatever happened in there. The sprinklers took a beat too long to set themselves in motion, Jason knows that part for sure.
"Jay, kiddo, you sound like you swallowed an entire sheep worth of steel wool," Bruce says, in that grudging way where he's trying to show emotion the way Leslie taught him to, but he sucks at it, because Alfie's British and never made proper expressions when he was a kid. Only the thing is he's turned the car to whisper mode and Jason can barely feel the rumble of the engines now, and Bruce's hand is stroking through his hair, and he could probably fall asleep, moving car or no. "Let's get you some of Alfred's soup."
"Yeah," Jason says, even though Bruce is right for once in his life, and Jason's voice does sound a thousand times more like sandpaper now that his voice modulator is gone. "Alfred is the one that misses me, sure thing old man." Actually, who Jason really needs to talk to is Lucius. Maybe over the phone, so as not to get him sick. Because if one thing will piss Roman off it's a fucking hostile takeover. Plus then they can hoard the metal to, whatever, build a Batspaceship or who knows what, like that part matters.
Bruce's hand stills, fingertips still cool against Jason's skull, and they just breathe like that for a few moments, in sync and slow, their heart rates slowing to rest, just the way he used to after a panic attack, even though Jason's pretty sure neither of them are panicking, unless Bruce cares a lot more than he assumed about a flu he's pretty sure he's mostly over anyway. Bruce squeezes his neck a little too hard, and hesitates before he opens the door. "Alfred does miss you."
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sirowsky · 2 years
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A Little Menace 3
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Well, shit. I should've known I wouldn't be able to keep this from escalating. I'm still not thinking full-on series for this, but maybe a five-part miniseries? Maybe six... Anyway, things get a little steamy between you and Din in this part.
Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: ornithophobia (fear of birds), cursing, yearning, some light smut, implied bad maternal relationship, modern!din, din djarin x female reader, no use of y/n, no description of reader. Human boy Grogu. Word Count: 2240 Author’s Masterlist
Link to Part 1 Link to Part 2 Link to Part 4 Link to Part 5
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   The following morning is a Friday, and you’re up at the crack of dawn for no discernible reason, crawling out of bed almost the instant your eyes open, as if you’ve been restless even in your sleep.
   You’re a self-employed web-designer, creating sites and webpages for companies and private citizens alike, so you have some freedom over how much and when to work over the course of a day or week. But today, you get literally nothing done.
   The entire morning is spent repeatedly sitting down to work, only to bounce up again within two minutes, unable to keep your mind off Din for any length of time, constantly staring at the clock on the wall and being disappointed that it hasn’t moved further.    But then somehow, there’s suddenly only an hour left until they’re due to show up, and you fucking panic.
   You’re supposed to cook for them, but you’ve been so distracted by your own wildly inappropriate fantasies all day, that you haven’t even checked your fridge to see what you’re gonna make.    A quick glance has you settling on tacos. Lazy perhaps, but easy and quick to make and most kids love it. And he seems like the kind of guy who’s gonna be happy as long as his kid’s happy, so you’re sure he won’t be disappointed.
   It’s still not quite done when the doorbell rings, so you call for them to come in while you stay in the kitchen to do the last of the chopping and keep and eye on the minced meat-sauce.    Grogu comes running into the kitchen and hugs you around the waist, which you’re not at all prepared for, but you quickly drop the knife to wrap your arms around his shoulders.
   “Hey, buddy. How’d you know I needed a hug today?” you smile through the words and when he pulls away, he looks up and smiles back before letting go of you. “Thank you so much, Grogu.”
   He turns and goes to take a seat by the table, just as Din walks in.    For a moment, your pulse doubles and your vision blurs, showing only him in crisp detail, but then you register his expression, and the bubble of ridiculously distracting infatuation pops. Because while he meets your eyes and gives you a polite smile, he’s not happy.    He looks… low. Despondent.
   “What’s the matter?” you blurt out without thinking.
   His son is in the same room and you’re certain that he won’t wanna talk about whatever’s bothering him in front of a six-year-old. And more to the point, what exactly makes you think that he’d wanna talk to you about it at all?
   Unsurprisingly, he shrugs and makes a generic comment about work, designed to take all drama out of the situation. You know that response all too well, you’ve always been the one to keep people at arm’s length, but it still makes you sad.    Not because you’re disappointed that he won’t confide in you, he barely even knows you, but just because you want him to be happy.
   You let it go, and since you recognize all the little tells he’s giving off, signalling that he’s just not in the mood for making small talk, you keep your focus on his son for the rest of their stay.
   Grogu does great though. He comes out on the balcony without needing you to turn it into a game first, listening attentively as you tell him more about the birds. He even steals a few glances at the magpies that are sitting on the ground, but you refrain from talking about them just yet.    His natural curiosity is good, and you want to give him the opportunity to study them on his own terms first.
   Like yesterday, Din watches from the sofa, but when it’s time for the kid to have his reward, his father stands.
   “Is it alright if I leave you guys for a while? I’ve gotta take care of something, but it shouldn’t take very long.” he asks, and you turn to Grogu.
   “Sure, I think we can manage, right?”
   The kid nods, still fully immersed in the puzzle, and Din leaves shortly after.    You try not to be too concerned by his sudden shift in behaviour, reminding yourself that you know almost nothing about him, but you can’t help but wonder what’s going on, when he was so interested and flirty just yesterday.    And when he hasn’t come back after more than an hour, you can’t hold the burning questions in anymore.
   “Grogu, is your dad okay? It’s alright if he isn’t, we all struggle sometimes, I just wanna know if there’s anything I can do to help him.” you try, fully expecting him not to answer you.
   “It’s mom.” he says, without breaking his concentration, and you’re suddenly stunned into silence. “She’s not nice to him. It makes him sad.”
   You really hadn’t expected more than a nod or shake of his head, at the most, so this very revealing answer is entirely shocking. Both because of the nature of Din’s shift in behaviour, but also because of the fact that the child actually told you.
   “Oh, Grogu… I’m so sorry to hear that. Is she nice to you, though?” you ask, still prepared for him to not reply, but he continues to surprise you.
   “Not really. Just for show. …I don’t like her.” he says, pausing before the last part as if he thinks that it’s something he shouldn’t say.
   Well, fuck that. If his own mother is false enough to make him think that, then as far as you’re concerned, he’s right to speak up about it.
   “I don’t know her, obviously, but she sounds horrible. Do you ever have to stay with her or are you always with your dad?” you ask, hoping to ascertain if this is a shared custody situation, or if Din is the sole guardian.
   “Just dad.” he replies simply, and you breathe a sigh of relief that the kid isn’t being forced to spend time with someone that obviously isn’t a good person.
   “I’m glad to hear that, sweetheart.”
   You’re both quiet for a while after that, you assisting while he works on the LEGO, slowly making progress, before he once again manages to shock you.
   “I like you.” he suddenly whispers, as if he’s been sitting on it for a while and just wanted to get it out, probably afraid that you’ll reject him, a thought that utterly shatters your heart.
   “Thank you, Grogu. I really like you too.” you say, rounding the table to hug him, and he actually leaves the puzzle in favour of hugging you back.
   You stay there, right beside him when he returns to it, and there’s a lightness to him now, a kind of joy that comes from comfort and trust and it makes you both happy and proud to see it.    Secretly, you hope that you’ll get to be his introduction to what a good female role-model is, regardless of whether or not you get any closer to his father.
   Din returns about half an hour later, looking even worse when he first steps into your living room again. But his entire being seems to brighten when he sees his son, sitting in your lap now, smiling and laughing as you’re teasing him with tiny tickles behind his neck while he’s trying to concentrate.
   “Oh, no!” you giggle, “Your dad’s coming to save you from my tickles, what am I gonna do?”
   Din breaks into a joyous laugh as his son squeals when your fingers travel down his ribs, making him squirm involuntarily. Then he joins the game, coming to steal the kid away from you and you feign defeat, throwing yourself on the floor in mock surrender.
   “No! He’s too strong, I can’t stop him… oh, no!” you shout, as Din picks up Grogu and swoops him into the air.
   “Ha ha! I’ve got you, kid, let’s fly!” he announces, before holding the boy above his own head and moving him through the room as if he was an airplane.
   But the game ends too soon, when Din announces that it’s past Grogu’s bedtime and starts heading for the front hall, and the sadness from before soon finds its way into his features once more.    The kid protests with his usual sounds of disapproval, but he knows that he still has to listen, and obediently follows his father, but stops when they reach the door, turning back to come and hug you one more time.
   You hold him close, as you pick him up and carry him back to the door.
   “I had so much fun today, sweetie, thank you.” you coo while still holding him, turning your eyes on Din before asking, “Maybe you can come back tomorrow?”
   But before the man has a chance to answer you, the boy pulls back in your arms and twists his little body to look his father in the eye.
   “Can we, daddy? Please!”
   Din’s entire being seems to go into shock, and he just stands there, staring from his son to you and back again, over and over while he tries to recover.
   “O-of course, buddy.” he finally manages, and the kid whoops and hugs you one more time before you put him down and he hurries home to go to bed.
   But his father lingers in your hallway, pulling the door almost shut after he makes sure that Grogu gets their door open and goes inside.
   “I’ve never heard him sound like that in front of someone else.” he says, and there’s a tremor in his voice and a wetness in his eyes that speaks of strong emotions coursing through him. “What happened while I was gone?”
   “I was worried about you, so I asked him if he thought you were okay, and he told me about his mother.” you explain in a hushed voice, and his expression pales.
   “He-… he never talks about her. I’ve been trying for years to get him to feel okay about talking about her, but he never does.” he says incredulously, and you shrug.
   “I guess I make him feel safe. And if his experiences with women are that they lie and hurt people he cares about, then that’s a huge step forward.”
   He just stares at you for a moment, and then suddenly he’s everywhere as his broad frame envelops you in a tight hug.    His scent overpowers you, the feel of his body against yours amplifying that sensation until you’re unaware that the rest of the world even exists, struggling to keep hold of a single thought anymore.    But you have to. You need to remember that this isn’t him being romantic, just grateful, meaning that if you give in to your impulses right now, he probably won’t appreciate it.
   Even so, you’re trembling with the flood of heat and desire that’s pumping through your veins when he pulls back, so you quickly step away, braiding your fingers together behind your back and keeping your face as hidden as you can without being rude.
   “So, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.” you croak, your voice hoarse from the force of your own pulse.
   But then he says your name, and not in a normal conversational tone either. He says it deeply, hungrily, and you stop breathing, unable to keep your eyes from seeking his, and unable to cope with the look that meets you.    Again, your knees buckle, but in one long stride he’s right there once more, all around you, but this time it isn’t gratitude he wants to show you.
   Tiny explosions erupt in every inch of your skin when he kisses you.    And when your body responds, almost without your knowledge, and entirely beyond your understanding, the intensity of his desire flares and he suddenly has you up against a wall, lifting your legs to wrap around his hips while he licks into your mouth and invites your tongue to a wet dance.  
   All traces of the shy and bashful guy that’s been trading flirtations with you for the past two days, are all gone.    He knows exactly what he wants now, and he doesn’t care if he embarrasses himself trying to show you that, all of which is turning you on even more, until you desperately break away from his lips before you pass out.
   You can feel him through his jeans, hard against your sex as he’s pressing into you to hold you up against the wall, even as he starts to calm himself.    Taking deep, shuddering breaths, you both try to regain your senses, because this isn’t the time or place. Grogu’s all alone and waiting for his father.    It takes a few minutes, but eventually Din lets go of your legs and eases you down before he wills himself into stepping back.
   You both chuckle a bit nervously at your own childish lack of restraint, and you’re sure that you look just as ridiculous as he does, with dishevelled clothes, blown pupils and flushed skin, but neither of you really cares.    You can’t think of anything to say, and apparently neither can he. So instead, he slowly makes his way back to the door and you watch him leave, fighting the urge to tell him that you’re definitely gonna touch yourself to the memory of this before you fall asleep tonight.
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Thank you for reading, and feel free to criticize, I’m always looking to learn and grow as a writer.
@deadhumourist @idreamofboobear @tanzthompson @winter-fox-queen @tiffanyleen @shsoba05 @toomanystoriessolittletime @nolanell @myfavpedrothings @harriedandharassed @bruxasolta @tintinn16 @pedrostories @littlemisspascal @sj-draws00 @gallowsjoker @spishsstuff @little-mrs-morales @bilibiche
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rywritten · 2 years
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Mkay, Mkay
Ive got a prompt,
So reversed au where Dream is a demon! And Sapnap is…something I’m gonna say goat hybrid bc that’s what a lot of people characterize Dream as so…
Anyway! So, Sapnap summons Dream through Bad’s ancient texts because it confuses DreamXD for Dream since they are both agents of Chaos. So he summons him hoping for help in the servers conflict because let’s be honest these people would’ve found a way for conflict even without Dream.
So calling upon this ancient demon to help win the war, hoping for a bloodthirsty and unmerciful being but instead gets a cunning but very much minor inconvenience of a demon! Although they do end up winning Dream just wins most of his shit through the most ridiculous ways either through pranks or by the skin of his teeth. And romance ensues whenever Sapnap stops seeing Dream as an annoying inconvenience and instead become endeared with all of Dreams wackiness and unconventional ideas of doing things and it becomes a pining game of who can confess first! (Who does is up to you!)
Basically wacky hijinks of a demon who messes with their hybrid summoner!
(And writing this now, I’m very tempted to actually make an au outta this but besides the point enjoy my silly little prompt! ^^)
pip, my beloved /p
THIS AU IS FUCKING AMAZING!!! oh man i dont think a drabble would do this au any justice.. so ill tell you what, how about i write a sort of intro for the drabble for now and ill try to write an actual fic for this au later on! (ill post it on ao3 and everything once im done!!)
so yeah, here's pip's amazing dreamnap au, let's goooo
ps: i took some liberties in a few plot points, so i dont think it followed the entirety of the prompt (hope you don't mind and i hope you'll still like it regardless, pip!)
Demon!Dream + Summoner!Sapnap
The room was quiet and dark when Dream made his way forward, away from all the smoke and the smell of chalk and ashes. His red tail swayed with each step and his red wings folded neatly at his back as he finally regarded his light green eyes towards his new summoner.
His eyes widen a fracture at the deep, annoyed voice that spoke in the silence.
"Who the fuck are you?"
A pair of golden eyes are staring right back at him with a fearsome glare and Dream raises a single brow in question.
"You're the one who summoned me here, remember?"
"I didn't." His summoner denied vehemently. "I made sure to double check the pentagram and candles to summon Dreamon."
The man heaved a tired sigh before looking up at Dream again, his bright golden eyes squinting up at him in a quick assess. "I didn't ask for whatever the fuck you are."
"Okay, first of all, rude." Dream says in mock offense. "And second if all, my brother's a tad bit busy right now, so I'm here as a substitute."
He makes a show of spreading his hands wide to showcase himself off to the man, flashing his new summoner his most flirtatious smile which he quickly followed with a wink.
"So, you're telling me I'm stuck with you?" His summoner asked, unfazed.
"Yup." Dream answered, putting a lot of emphasis on the 'p' to make it pop.
"For how long?"
"Depends on how much blood you gave and whether or not brother dearest is willing to switch out with me later."
Dream heard the man curse under his breath and watched in blatant amusement as his summoner proceeded to wreck the small room in a fit of rage, overthrowing tables and scattering books and papers all over the floor all the while cursing at Dream with a glare every few moments.
After another minute, the fight seemed to finally leave the man and Dream watched as his summoner slumped on the wall. He rubs at his eyes with his palms, muttering quietly to himself before he throws Dream another sideways glance which Dream easily counters with a sultry smile, always aiming to please.
"Why are you really here?" The man asked with a defeated sigh.
"I already told you, my brother–"
"Bullshit." His summoner cuts him off, levelling Dream with another vicious glare. "You weren't under any obligation to come as a replacement for Dreamon and there's no fucking note in any of the books I've read that states a demon can switch places with another."
The man stands from his crouch and began to approach him without any hint of fear or trepidation.
"I'm not an idiot, so don't even try using that same bullshit explanation with me again." His summoner says, pulling Dream by the collar of his leather chocker so that they're eye to eye. "So, unless you tell me the truth, I'm going to send you back to hell myself."
Hot and smart. Dream's starting to like his new summoner already.
"Okay, you caught me." Dream says, holding both of his hands up in a placating manner. "There's another reason why I'm here instead of my brother."
His summoner didn't look impressed by his answer. He only lifted one pierced brow at him, implying that Dream continues his explanation.
But where's the fun in that?
"Tell you what, master." Dream purred the words right next to the other man's ear, throwing his arms over the man's shoulders to bring him even closer, happy to notice the slight shiver his summoner made at his action. "If you tell me your name, I'll tell you what's going on. I might even help you with your problem if you do."
"No deal." The man bit back, his golden eyes appearing like embers from the light of the candle. "Swear to tell me the truth from now on and help me win this war, or nothing."
"Wow, master. You sure drive a hard bargain." Dream says sly smirk.
"Do we have a deal or not?" The man asked, already loosing his patience.
Dream pretends to think about it, only so that their body could stay close a little longer.
"Why the hell not, you got yourself a deal."
"How much blood do I need to give to make a contract with you?" His summoner asked, easily breaking from Dream's hold to grab the knife laying on the wooden floor.
"Oh you don't need to give me that to form a contract with me." Dream said matter of factly.
"Then how am I supposed to form one with you?"
"That's easy." Dream says, facing the man with a knowing smirk. Dream takes the knife from him and tosses it to the floor with a clutter. Before the man could saying anything else, Dream bridges the distance between the two of them and connects their lips in an intense kiss.
Dream slips his tongue inside the man's mouth the moment he tried to gasp, hot and teasing. Dream was expecting him to pull away immediately, but his summoner surprises him again by taking hold of Dream's face to deepen the kiss even more. Something hot coils at the very pit of Dream's stomach from the action and he finally withdraws, gasping for air.
"The contract has been made." Dream says cheerily after a moment. "It's gonna be a pleasure working with you, master."
"Don't call me that." His summoner warns, still red in the face and unable to look at Dream for long. "It's Sapnap."
Dream tilts his head to the side, looking confused.
"You asked for my name in return for your help." Sapnap explained. "So stop it with the master crap."
"Sapnap it is." Dream says, testing out the name and enjoying the way each syllable rolled off of his tongue.
"Do I also get a name in return or do you like being called dipshit?" Sapnap asked, unable to hide the curiosity from his tone.
"Just call me Dream, but Darling and Sweetheart is also fine."
"Dipshit it is."
Before Dream could reply, his time was up and in a flash of smoke, he's transported back to the underworld.
Sapnap.
The name of his new summoner. Dream smiles then, something a little more genuine, surprised by his increasing fascination towards the strange man. It's been so long since anyone has ever gotten his attention and Sapnap had managed to do it in less than thirty minutes.
He'll definitely make the most out of this new contract, and if he manages to do this right, he might get something far more interesting than his freedom in return.
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littlesparklight · 2 years
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How about a prompt where Hector and Paris go on a vacation together?
A vacation? Like this? 😇
Hektor floated, comfortable in the familiar, rocking motion. Only slowly woke up, mostly because while Hektor shifted his body along with the horse moving under him as a matter of course, so familiar with it he probably could remain seated on horseback while fully asleep, he certainly hadn't fallen asleep on a horse. He'd been in bed, he knew. Frowning, Hektor opened his eyes, squinting into the sun.
He really was sitting on a horse.
"What---"
"Hey, careful! You might fall off!" Paris protested, tightening his arms about Hektor where he was reaching around him to hold the reins.
There was something deeply wrong with sitting on a horse with Paris behind him, his arms next to Hektor's waist instead of the other way around. What was even more wrong than that, though, was the fact that he was tied up.
"Paris," Hektor snapped, staring down at his hands without quite understanding what he was seeing - or rather, refusing to understand. "Why am I tied up?"
"So it'd be easier to control how you were sitting, of course. Slept well?" Paris said brightly, as if there was nothing wrong with this.
"Untie me." They could focus on everything else after he had his hands back.
"No."
What.
"What? Paris, untie me and tell me where we're going! And why we're going there," Hektor sputtered, surging up straight while reflexively clamping his knees tight about the horse's shoulders - not one of his - to keep his balance, but that didn't get him any less untied.
"To Mount Ida, Hektor. We're taking a break." Paris still sounded so stupidly cheerful about the whole thing, too.
"I'm needed in Troy," Hektor groaned, still angry but not quite able to hold onto it in the face of what was just very misplaced but earnest care. That Paris had gotten this far with it was what was the most baffling. They were reaching the foothills, and it was mid-afternoon. He had somehow slept through the whole day, which just wasn't possible, even more so sleeping while sitting on the back of a horse. "Paris."
Hektor turned his head to glare at his little brother, but not even his grimly stiff grimace and narrowed eyes seemed to have any effect on the wide-eyed, cheerful earnestness on Paris' face. He even looked briefly serious, as if it was Hektor who was being ridiculous and not Paris.
"Did you drug me to keep me asleep?"
There was no other way he could have slept through most of the day like this, for all that - Hektor could admit - he might have needed it. He could vaguely remember waking up at dawn, a voice - Paris' - asking if he was thirsty, and reflexively drinking the offered liquid.
"Deiphobos helped," Paris said with a shrug, "And Polydamas found what we needed."
"Deiphobos helped?" Hektor repeated, and for a moment the gentle swaying plod of the horse as it picked its way through the Dardanian foothills was more like the whole earth had swayed under his feet. Paris wouldn't lie about that, because it would be too easily double-checked. And if Paris wasn't lying about it, he was speaking the truth, which was even stranger than his brothers deciding to take to such drastic measures as to drug him to keep him complacent for long enough. And they must have thought it serious, for Hektor was well-aware what Paris and Deiphobos thought of each other. Polydamas was less of an issue, so small of one Hektor had already discarded it. Polydamas always thought he was right, and absolutely would go too far in getting Hektor to admit he needed to do something he didn't want to.
It was just that there had been much to catch up on, after returning from Thrace and helping Rhesus to his new kingdom, much to prepare for his intended bride's arrival soon, and Hektor had just plain not been able to sleep, never mind find time for it.
"Yes," Paris said, eyebrows arched and smiling. "He's staying to make sure Father has the help he needs."
That made sense. It also then made sense why it was Paris on the horse with him. Not that it pleased Hektor much to finally understand.
"Untie me, Paris. We're going back."
"No, Hektor." Paris' smile widened, brightly nonchalant and terrible. "We're staying up on Mount Ida for a couple days, at least. Do you not trust Deiphobos to take care of things for you?"
Hektor stared at his ridiculous, awful, smiling little brother, head now cocked and gently inquiring. He couldn't say no, because it wasn't true, but--- He just---
"You can't keep me tied up the whole time." How was that going to be the least bit restful, if so?
"We'll see," Paris said brightly, and the terrible thing was Hektor couldn't tell if he was joking or not.
"Paris!"
Paris only laughed, shifting forward to put his chin on Hektor's shoulder.
He should shake him off. He didn't.
"Paris, I feel ridiculous. If anyone would get tied up and taken off on a horse, it's you." Hektor grumbled, only reluctantly confessing to the other half of what was displeasing about this ridiculousness. As if anyone, even less someone like Paris would manage to take him captive.
There was a beat of silence behind him, and then Paris slumped against him, peals of laughter ringing about them. Hektor wouldn't admit to how sweet the sound was.
"Too bad. I defeated you while you were laid low, and will now take you were I wish," Paris proclaimed, cheerily amused as he patted Hektor's arm.
"I will take you back to Troy hanging over the horse's neck," Hektor threatened, and yet Paris only laughed again. Sighing, Hektor closed his eyes. Whether Paris thought he was serious or not - Hektor wasn't sure if he was, but it would serve his little brother right - if Deiphobos and their father were dealing with things, perhaps at least a day out here wouldn't be so bad.
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I saw you reblogged a post from a Jabitha shipper and you seem to generally like Tabitha and seem pretty level headed, and while it wasn't the main focus of the post it was mentioned so I'm going to use this to ask, do you honestly not see how problematic and racist some BH stans are when they talk about Tabitha. I honestly read some of their posts and cringe. No one says you can't have negative feelings or dislike a character, but the tone and wording of these posts are yikes. If you switched out Tabitha for Veronica most of these blogs would be up in arms about the racism encoded in them, but because it's Tabitha it's ok?? I've shipped BH since day one, and they can pry them from my cold dead hands, but the fandom is just a completely different vibe now, and it's not a good one
Hey, anon! 
I can most certainly believe fans have problematic reactions against Tabitha, as I have first-hand experience of fans having problematic reactions against Betty. In every fandom there’s bound to be all kinds of people. If there are bughead -or any other- fans who vent their post-4x17-frustrations by being pricks, my advice is to curate your experience to exclude their hot takes. 
The problem with Riverdale is that it talks the talk but never walks the walk. One of the reasons the writers are so vocal about their ‘wokeness’ is to hide the fact that their day-to-day narratives are very problematic and have been so since s1: Val disappearing once she broke up with Archie? Check! Melody speaking barely a line? Check! Villain bully Reggie and villain harasser Chuck? Double check! (I mean, sure, the ultimate s1 villain was Clifford but he wasn’t in the picture until the penultimate episode, was he?).
The writers love to advertise the fact that they populate Riverdale with actors of colour but usually forget to mention that they systematically deny them any kind of agency by making them secondary characters. 
Supporting characters are disposable, there is no way around this. More so, in a show like Riverdale, where canon is being rewritten on the regular.
Tabitha was created to be Jughead’s scene partner, when they decided to isolate his character from the rest of the group. Her role, from the very beginning, has been to prop the main character up. This would have been the case, no matter Tabitha’s skin colour. The fact, however, that this is the n-th time the writers have used a poc in this way, is undoubtfully infuriating. People have a right to be upset, because before Tabitha, there was Jessica (for Jughead). And before Jessica, there was Toni (also for Jughead). And before her, there was Josie (for Archie), and Val (for Archie), and Minerva (for Cheryl). Because Reggie was never portrayed as a threat to Archie, in the way that Chad was. Because Betty, the white female protagonist, was never given a male poc love interest (and I'd bet good riverdollars that she never will).
The Riverdale writers’ activism has always been performative. This is nothing new. Conversely, just because this has always been the case, it doesn’t mean that people shouldn’t complain about it.
Another problem is how shortsighted the writers’ choices are. When Tabitha says she’s travelled back in time 1384 times in order to save Jughead, it is not presented as a token of her love for him. On the contrary. In an episode where everyone and their mother had sex, Jabitha couldn’t even share a kiss. This is ridiculous! The 1348-times line was meant to create a sense of dread for Riverdale’s future in general and Jughead’s fate in particular. The reason why I shared that post is because, albeit a Bughead fan, I share the og poster’s indignation over this. Just because the 1384-times-line is serving a specific narrative purpose, this doesn’t preclude any other narrative implications. Objectively speaking, your girlfriend travelling back in time 1384 times in order to save you, should mean something. If Jabitha is not meant to have a future together, carelessly dropping these lines and prolonging their partnership, is not doing any characters any favours. 
I hope you enjoy the rest of the season, anon, and -most importantly- I wish you a great fandom experience. Curating said experience is an ongoing process. Be generous with that block button, if need be. We're here to have fun and enjoy ourselves! ❤️
Thank you for the ask!
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feyariel · 4 months
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Fey's Pokémon Rue-minations: Bottom 10 Gen 1 Moves
I warned you, didn't I?
I'm not going to include obvious ones, like Splash. These are a special flavor of Hell, not just ones that are glitchy or intentionally non-functional. These are moves which either fail to understand how the game is played or moves which force the game into directions it didn't need to go.
#10: Moves Which Require (Re-)Charging
Dig · Fly · Hyper Beam · Razor Wind · Skull Bash · Sky Attack · Solar Beam
These moves are all cool, but they run into a problem with the mechanics of the games: you can switch out a Pokémon instead of having it perform a move. Almost no NPC trainers do this, so these moves are fine to use. The so-called "semi-invulnerable" turn in this generation is closer to true invulnerability, as the only move that can hit a Pokémon during such turns is Swift. Thus, against NPCs, Dig and Fly have some tactical use. However, because switching out when faced with a bad matchup is how competitive play works, most of these moves are actually useless. In Gen I, Hyper Beam doesn't need a recharge if it KOs a target, so it also has tactical uses.
Razor Wind would get remade as Air Slash and a few similar moves later on. Skull Bash is a duplicate of Headbutt. Solar Beam loses its charging turn in harsh sunlight. There not really any replacements for the rest; Game Freak never stopped using this mechanic, even though it sucks.
#9: OHKO Moves
Fissure · Guillotine · Horn Drill
I'm not sure if these are banned in competitive play or not. They should be, as they take the fun out of the prediction and counter gameplay essential to the game. They also rely too heavily on luck, with their abysmal Accuracy. If you're using these moves, you are saying that you have nothing better to do.
#8: Low Accuracy Attacks
[insert ridiculously long list here]
In a game where accuracy is literally everything, to the point that raising evasion is banned, when there is always a move with a decent accuracy that you can use, the existence of these is infuriating.
It's one thing when the accuracy check is for a status move so that the game can give a poor equivalent of a saving throw (resisting an effect). That's annoying, but a worthwhile mechanic. This is just wasting your turn.
#7a: Moves that Raise Evasion
Double Team · Minimize
I like these moves, but they're banned. Accuracy and Evasion are annoying mechanics, ergo no one likes to play with them. As they are separate mechanics, there really isn't a way to lower Evasion in Gen I, so you render yourself nigh-invincible. (I'm unsure if the presence of such in Gens II onward changed the ban, sadly.)
#7b: Moves that Lower Accuracy
Flash · Kinesis · Sand Attack
For some reason, even though the logic is identical (there is no way to raise accuracy in Gen I through a move), these weren't banned. This probably has to do with the fact that 1.) you can switch out of it and 2.) since it impacts the opponent and not the user, the opponent is more likely to get lucky and hit than if the user had used Double Team. Even so, these are really fucking annoying.
#6: Moves that Deal a Fixed Amount of Damage
Dragon Rage · Night Shade · Seismic Toss · Sonic Boom
I'm honestly not sure why these moves exist. I have theorized that this was a means of giving Ghost a special and a physical move in the same generation, but that was the extent of my reasoning. It doesn't make sense with Dragon Rage, since it negates the fact that Dragon is weak to itself; it especially doesn't make sense with Seismic Toss, since Fighting has no good moves, or Sonic Boom, since Normal has too many moves as it is.
#5: Moves that Lock You into Repeating the Move for Multiple Rounds
Petal Dance · Rage · Thrash · etc.
If there's one thing that's more annoying than not being able to hit, it's being locked out of the UI. "Partial" trapping moves are one thing; they work for however long and aren't worse for it each turn they go on. However, because of opponent switching, these moves are terrible.
#4: Moves with Recoil/Crash Damage
Double-Edge · High Jump Kick · Jump Kick · Submission · Take Down
Why are we hurting ourselves just to land an attack? Also, notice how all of these are either Fighting or Normal. Fighting doesn't have a good high-power move, while Normal has a bunch of duplicates of Body Slam that don't need to exist. What was the point of making these?
#3: Crabhammer
Crabhammer could have been great. But it's not a Bug-type move.
There's really no reason why Krabby and Kingler -- for whom this move was signature until Gen III -- are not Bug-types; Game Freak has a mysterious habit of making crustaceans anything besides Bug (all while making non-arthropods like Shuckle Bug-types), but Anorith/Armaldo and Dwebble/Crustle are both crustaceous Bug-types. But they weren't; they were mono-Water. As such, they couldn't receive adequate STAB until Gen IV, by which point the game is almost fundamentally different.
Had Crabhammer been a Bug-type move -- or, even better, had it been a Bug-type move that could also be treated as a Water-type move (depending on circumstances) and was still physical -- then Psychics would largely get checked. Or maybe they wouldn't, since they usually carry Electric-type moves, but they'd have a theoretical counter at the very least, especially if Kingler found a means of not dying immediately.
#2: Lick
In Gen I, there were three Ghost-type moves: Confuse Ray, Lick, and Night Shade. One of these things is not like the other one.
In theory, all three of these should have been signature moves of the Gastly line, given that they were the only Ghost-types in the generation. Confuse Ray (thankfully) had much broader representation, so wasn't. Night Shade was. Was Lick? No.
...Jynx also learned it.
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You would think that Lick would be a Normal-type move and the signature move of Lickitung, the Licking Pokémon, whose entire, unwanted gimmick is licking things with its tongue (not even swallowing them, just licking them). Lickitung appears in Period 1 of the internal index; it's several spots ahead of Gengar and two rows (nearly three) before Gastly, neither of which were related to each other that early in development. If it's not solely based on a lizard of some sort, Lickitung is likely based on the akaname, a yokai with a gigantic tongue that licks grime out of bathhouses.
It doesn't learn Lick until Gen II.
The idea of ghosts licking things is a trope that spans East Asia and even appears occasionally in Western cinema and such, but the former is a relatively obscure trope and the latter is done for comic relief and grossness more than anything. Ghosts, both in other narratives and in Pokémon, first and foremost rely on scaring the shit out of their targets. But Astonish wouldn't be a Ghost-type move until Gen III.
Lick itself doesn't even make sense -- 30% paralysis chance? If anything, it should be a Normal-type move with very low or even no damage and a close to automatic chance to cause the target to flinch. It's a stupid move.
But beyond being stupid, it locked the Ghost type into being a physical type even though all Ghost-types were specially oriented (and so couldn't use physical moves that well) up until Gen III, when we got several new Ghosts with lackluster stats: Shedinja and Banette are both physical attackers with no other good stats, Dusclops is highly defensive with poor stats otherwise, and Sableye's stats are relatively well-rounded for something not fully evolved (when it doesn't evolve at all). The good Ghost-types were specially focused and, especially given move pools, may as well have been Psychic-types.
The thing is, Ghost could have been a physical type from the get-go anyway: Golbat (bat, vampire, vampire bat) and Marowak (spooky scary skeleton, warrior channeling ancestors) could have been Ghost-types, as could have been Leech Life (which should have had a higher power anyway or had an improved equivalent) and Bone Club/Bonemerang. If these were the case, Lick wouldn't matter.
But it does. Because it screwed over a type.
#1: Self-Destruct/Explosion
Self-Destruct and Explosion are moves which annoy the Hell out of me for several reasons.
First, they're not uncommon. Lots of Pokémon which have no logical explanation for blowing up do so. Explosion isn't limited to things which are or could easily become bombs -- Voltorb/Electrode, Exeggcute, and Koffing/Weezing. Rock-types have a habit of exploding despite being made out of rocks, which by and large do not. Lots of lines get the move when only one member (Exeggcute, Seedot) make sense as having it. Shellder can learn it. If we expand our search to include Self-Destruct, we get still more users -- like Snorlax or Mewtwo, neither of which should have a self-destruct mechanism. Vanilluxe can learn it; it's freaking ice-cream.
Second, they're absurdly powerful. They're so powerful that making sure you have a Pokémon that can handle explosions somehow becomes a major component in team building, at least early on. After all, some Pokémon exist solely to give the user the chance to have them explode. Others aren't especially great attackers, but hey, they can at least take down one opponent. This is something I really hate, as it forces me to pick from a subset of Pokémon I may or may not want to use just to avoid having the Pokémon that otherwise would have a good type matchup not die because my opponent went kamikaze on me.
Third, they're redundant. Pokémon is no stranger to creating upgraded versions of the same moves, but Self-Destruct didn't need an upgrade. Since both halve the targets' Defense stats, they both are guilty of having the effectively highest Powers in the game -- and they were already contenders for that without the Defense bypass.
Fourth, they'd make sense as Fire-type moves, but aren't. They deal Normal (neutral) damage. This means Ghosts are immune to them (fine), but Rocks resist. I mean, sure Rock would still resist it if if were a Fire-type move, but Game Freak is aware that we use explosions quite effectively to break apart rock, right?
I don't find the prospect of being very close to a KO only for my opponent to randomly become powerful enough to KO my Pokémon in addition to itself. Either you let your opponent kill you or you take them out first, not both.
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the-loaf-of-all · 4 months
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Entry #3 (it's the magic number)
"Yes it is, it's the magic number."
Ah, maybe. But! it sure is gonna be fun to add some more to this playlist we've been putting together!
Without further ado (ADIEU?):
Coolidge (Descendents): Ah, this one. One of my favorite ones to play along with, as it has that incredible Stewart-Copeland-Influenced-driving-8th-note-bass-drum beat over open hats with just the right amount of dorky misplaced snare. Thank you, Bill! You're one of my biggest influences. And the riff....absolutely powerful, driving, and perfectly caffeinated. It's got those beautiful Descendents touchess: Karl's roaming bass lines over the chorus, a perfect Stephan solo, the aforementioned genius percussion from Bill, and that hilarious "sorry" Milo moment after the solo. All in All (NO! ALL!), one of my faves - and I loved that the video we saw this week was just more reason to add it here. :) Aside: I've always wanted to play the intro in 6/8, and then launch into the song from there. Someday. :) .
Wonder (All): Another brilliant track from Percolator! My buddy Joel once said that this is the perfect song to describe existentialism. I don't know what that means, but its double-entendre name (and the rest of it) makes me love it. And, of course: Scott Reynolds (swoon).
Hey Bug (All): Worth it just because of the laugh at the end. :D
Pervert (Descendents): One of the most caffeinated, odd-time, disGUSting songs they every wrote. And I adore it. :)
I Like Food (Descendents): I'm sure you've heard me sing this to you. :)
Check One (All): This one just burns. Some of the greatest, most stream-of-consciousness lyrics ever. And I just adore "zip, zilch, zero, jack, squat, none, nil, nada, nope!" This might be the perfect All song. <3
Breathe (All): Or, maybe this one. :)
Shreen (All): As you can see, I lean Scott Reynolds. I can't stand Dave Smalley's voice most of the time, but I do like me some Chad Price - and gat DAYUM this song slaps. One of the simpler Karl bass lines, but Stephen's insanely chunky guitar just drives this monster. I still don't know how these guys didn't get more popular - that turnaround before it goes back to just bass and Chad is just heavenly.
Hurtin' Crue (Descendents): I love that they spelled it "Crue". I love that the main riff of the song is just neanderthal palm muted 16th notes with accents on beat 1. I love that one of the lyrics is "1420...I am better than you..you are a piece of poo." (allegedly what their friend from high school told them after scoring a 1420 on the SAT). I love it because it's so fucking ridiculous....just like them. :)
Cheer (Descendents): And, then, they write this. Definitely some conflicted lyrics in there, but "don't wanna spend the rest of my days dreaming yesterday's daydreams" is gorgeous.
Jean Is Dead (Descendents): A beautiful, aching song about losing a friend. One time, when asked to play this at an All show, Bill (who wrote it) allegedly said, "Some songs, we just don't teach the new guys." When I was younger, I thought the chorus was "Now you're running out of love", which is also powerful, but "Now you're gone and I'm alone" is just heartbreaking.
She Broke My Dick (All): #snort This has all the makings of an Anthrax joke song, except it's fucking technically perfect. :D :D :D
ENJOY MY GOOD FRIEND - ENJOY!!!!!
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just yesterday i told someone about how i assume anything could be a word because of all the ways people refer to series
today i looked at tfatws and thought please i'm only fluent in english
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cristinaecho · 2 years
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South Downs Cottage
"I'm leaving London" Said Crowley.
Aziraphale, about to eat a piece of angel cake, froze immediately. He looked at the demon, sitting in front of him, with puzzled expression.
"What?"
Crowley shrugged a bit.
"Yeah... I've been thinking about it for a while"
Aziraphale was in shock.
"But... but, you love London!"
"I do..."
"Then, why? Why do you want to leave?"
"I just think it’s time... I'd like to try something different."
Aziraphale suddenly felt a terrible sense of powerlessness. He kept looking at his friend with stunned expression.
"But... what about your flat?" What about me?
Crowley shrugged again.
"Well, I'll keep it. I might always want to come back for some reason and a flat in central London can come in handy."
Aziraphale slowly lowered his fork. He wasn't hungry anymore.
"And, uhm... where are you going to go?" He did his best not to sound betrayed, abandoned.
"I found a Cottage in South Downs. I just saw it and thought it was perfect. I bought it a couple of weeks ago..."
The angel felt his heart break in his chest.
"Oh..." he forced himself to smile, lowering his gaze a bit "it sounds lovely."
"It is..." said Crowley nonchalantly.
An uncomfortable silence descended upon them. Then, for the first time since he brought up the subject, Crowley looked nervous.  
He cleared his throat.
"It's pretty big, you know... for one person. I'm sure there would be enough space even for your books."
Aziraphale immediately looked up at him again.
"Not all of them, of course... it's not that big. But the most valuable ones, maybe..."
The angel just stared at him, for the second time, in complete shock.  
What was he trying to say?  
Was he...?  
No, he wasn't.  
He couldn't...  
Could he?
Crowley swallowed, stiffening under his gaze.
"I mean, I understand if you don't want to... It's not like we’ve ever had this conversation before. I just thought that maybe, uhm... it could be nice. Some peace and quiet. Just you and me..."
Aziraphale felt his heart begin to beat ridiculously fast in his chest.
Oh, Good Lord.
He was.  
He was definitely asking him to move in with him!
Although...
Better to double check.
The angel cleared his throat a bit, doing his best to look calm.
"Do you mean like, I don't know... a holiday? Would you, uhm... like me to come for a weekend, or for a few days?"
The demon looked at him with the same bewildered expression of someone who thought he had been quite obvious.  
"No, I mean you could come to live there. With me."
Aziraphale distinctly felt his self-control crumbling immediately and a wave of excitement and euphoria invade him.  
He managed to keep it together by the skin of his teeth.
He cleared his throat again and did his best to maintain his composure.
"Crowley, you... you bought a Cottage in South Downs, and now you are asking me to move there with you?"
Crowley shrugged again, trying to look casual and failing miserably.
"Yeah!" He just said, in a too high-pitched voice to sound convincingly calm.
Aziraphale stared at him for a moment and then gave him his most ridiculously happy smile.
"Oh, Crowley! This is definitely one of the most romantic things you've ever done!"
Crowley froze.  
"Shut up!"
"I can't believe how sweet you are!"
Crowley looked at him with all the annoyance he was capable of.
"That's it. Forget it, you are not coming."
Aziraphale's smile widened even more.
"Oh, Crowley! I've always said that-"
"I swear, shut up or I'm leaving right now!"
Aziraphale stared at him lovingly, beaming. He couldn’t stay silent for more than two seconds.
"Can I bring my gramophone too?"  
"You can't, because you are not coming. Offer is over."
"Oh, come on!" Chuckled the angel. "You can't play this game with me anymore! At this point I'm surprised you don't already have a copy of the keys for me."
Crowley stiffened and blushed immediately.
Aziraphale looked at him in pure amazement and his jaw dropped.
"Oh my God!” The angel shouted “You do!"
"Shut up and eat your stupid cake!"
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today I bring you headcanons about Martin stress-baking, tomorrow who knows 🍰🍪🍩
probably more Martin hcs because I'm obsessed with this man actually
- okay so, he picked baking up as a hobby as a teenager, because it was something easy to do in the evening or whenever he had time between odd jobs since how much effort/time you put in it depends on the recipe a lot
- he also found out pretty early on that offering people baked goods is also a very simple way to be liked by someone you don't know well/new people in general which is always a good thing if you move around a lot/don't have many friends
- of course his mother Did Not Like it for whatever reason, probably thought he ought to have some more useful/less expensive/*insert random critique* hobbies, so he tried limiting himself to baking something once a week or so, and then getting it out of the house as soon as possible because she does not sound like the type to enjoy cakes and with just him most of it would have gone to waste
- the first attempts were... actually not bad? he started with simple stuff and followed recipes to the letter, and not only it helped take his mind off things (because hey, if you're busy triple-checking the quantity of sugar you have to put in your muffins you don't have time for worrying about how you're going to deal with another hospital stay) but he genuinely enjoyed it
- he especially loves that moment when everything is already in the oven and the kitchen is still kind of a mess but there's this lovely vanilla-and-butter smell in the air and the warmth from the oven brings out all the sweetness of it so much you can already almost taste it
- he also would never admit it but he spends a truly ridiculous amount of time sitting in front of the oven watching as the dough rises/browns on top because it's really relaxing
- when he moved out he started baking more and more, because it's a GREAT stress-relief and honestly, he has a stressful life
- it might be too great of a stress-relief actually, because he ends up having way too much of everything all the time
- you can always tell when Martin's had a bad week because the break room will be fully stocked with chocolate cupcakes, vanilla biscuits, possibly cranberry scones and really, whatever he was in the mood to try making
- sometimes that involves more adventurous recipes and those don't always work as well
- like that time he tried to make pineapple crumble cake and it came out beautifully, actually, it just turned out he cannot stand pineapple in baked goods and he just never knew because really, he figures there is a reason why it's not that common
- that one ended up entirely on the break room table with a "please eat this" note
- very surprisingly, it was almost completely gone by the end of the day - not even the double chocolate muffins go away that fast and those are always a hit
- he figures maybe the others must really like pineapple? up until he bumps into Tim as he's bringing the last slice to his desk and he teases him about it, except Tim just groans and he's like
- "No really, this is the first one I have! I haven't even tasted it yet, was out half the day and when I came back it just kept disappearing??? Like magic???"
- which, huh, interesting - but well, then it must be Sasha
- Sasha who, upon returning to her own desk five minutes later, apologizes for not trying it but, you see, she has a terrible pineapple allergy
- which leaves only one possibility
- and like, ofc Jon, that won't even look at something if it has strawberry jam in it, would enjoy something like baked pineapple. he's just Weird like that
- unfortunately that also means Martin cannot possibly, in good conscience, give up making pineapple recipes. it's unthinkable, that's the most anyone has seen him eat in months, he just can't
- so once a month it's Pineapple Week now
- (he always makes sure to make some replacements for Sasha, usually something with lots of chocolate. he steals some of it as well because the more he tries the less he can stand baked pineapple)
- at first he just, makes the crumble again, because he isn't sure whether Jon just enjoys that specific cake or if it's a general thing he has for pineapple. then he experiments - tries a couple of swiss rolls recipes, makes two, one with oranges and one with the damn pineapple. sure enough, that one disappears in record time
- so he just starts making all kinds of recipes: pineapple cookies, upside down cake, pies, you name it, he tries everything once or twice depending on how successful it was. the crumble still seems to be Jon's favourite however
- Jon has no idea these are exclusively for his benefit up until the safehouse
- Martin picks up baking again after not doing much of it - or at all, really - while he was involved with the Lonely, and it works really well to keep him grounded in the moment
- (he also starts making bread, which works even better - it's very rewarding, and it involves a lot of hands-on rolling and kneading of the dough, and all the physical sensations help with feeling present)
- of course one of the first recipes he tries again is the damn pineapple crumble, because it's not hard and it's very reliable to come out well and when they get there Jon looks even more like he hasn't eaten in years than he used to + chocolate chip cookies for himself because he deserved them thank you very much
- Jon lights up like it's the holidays and his birthday and summer vacation all at once when he enters the kitchen as he's taking the cake out of the oven and how is Martin supposed to just not make this every day, really, if the price to get that smile out of him is just this abomination of butter, flour, custard and pineapple, of all things
- he realises Jon has no idea he despises it as he tucks in, and Martin just looks at him with what he's sure it's a completely BESOTTED expression on his face and also a ridiculously fond smile, making absolutely no move to get a slice for himself
- and Jon has the audacity to stop, and look up, wide-eyed and adorable, and ask him "oh, aren't you going to have some?"
- at which point Martin needs to take a really deep breath, and explain very calmly that there are few things he can tolerate less than baked pineapple
- this confession is followed by a really long silence, then a gasp when Jon understands the implications of it, and then by a very enthusiastic armful of happy archivist
- and kisses, of course
- Martin guesses he can forgive the pineapple, just a little
- (however it turns out Jon also likes to sit in front of the oven to watch the baking happen. Martin figures he likes it much better, too, when there's cuddles involved)
yes this is what happens when you write one (1) paragraph about Martin using baking as a coping mechanism, but now you can't stop thinking about it 🌺
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heyitsdoe · 2 years
Note
since youre accepting requests, if its okay, could i ask killer and zoro for double penetration w a fem s/o? i know thats something thats conditional for you, but ever since the fight w kaido/chapter 1001 started ive been like 😳what if 😳 they were to try to compete with each other in bed??
thank you regardless, i love reading your work!!!
This just so happens to be two men I don't mind seeing used together in this sort of situation, so the stars aligned for you, anon. And since it wasn't specified, I've also decided to try my hand at a scenario, which is harder than headcanons for me to write, because it's a good challenge and I like to tackle those for experience!
This is my first time writing double penetration, so I hope it turns out well and how it's supposed to be! Please let me know if you enjoyed it~! (And if it isn't obvious, I wasn't sure how to end it off lol)
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It was the middle of the big fight with Kaido, this was not the time nor place to be engaging petty arguments with each other. But argue they did! You couldn't believe them both. Absolute idiots, the both of them...
You weren't even sure what it was the two of them were quietly bickering about, too focused on not getting hit by stray dragon flames or arrows from the opposing crew to really listen intently to their conversation.
Whatever it was, they kept looking at you. It was difficult not to catch them glancing at you every once in awhile, your own misguided sense of worry forcing you to check on them since they obviously weren't the most aware combatants on the field.
"Hey! Could you two focus for one second, please!?" You shout at them as you notice them once again butting heads--this time literally--in the middle of fighting with the Yonko's many fighters. Zoro and Killer were two of the best fighters on the battlefield. You knew how much their presence meant to coming out victorious. "This is Kaido we're talking about! Get it together"
They look your way, clearly surprised to see that you'd noticed their disagreement. Then, after sharing a strangely long glance at one another, then a firm nod, they finally break away and resume their battles with the quickly closing-in number of enemies.
You shake your head, deciding to ask them about it later, when you weren't in the middle of fighting for your life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was done. The battle over. You're tired but content as you sit beside one of the many inns where celebrations all over the Flower Capital were raging deep into the night. Lanterns and house windows kept the city alive despite the late hour, and it was clear no one was eager to go to bed yet, too caught up in the miraculous outcome to the day's battle.
You close your eyes and sip from your tankard, letting the alcohol numb the nerves that still had yet to settle. It was always this way, after a particularly hectic battle. It would take some time before your body truly accepted that peace had been established, that there wasn't another fight to be fought at a moment's notice.
You open them again when the sound of footsteps approach, and lo and behold the two bladesmen themselves standing right before you. You frown, lowering the tankard.
"You're lucky you both didn't get killed with what you pulled out there."
"Are you sure?" Killer asked, but from the way he angled his mask, he clearly wasn't talking to you.
"I'm sure. She told me herself." Zoro replied passively.
Irked, your eyes narrow. "You two are ridiculous, did you know that? Arguing about stupid shit in the middle of the most important battle in this whole country." You say, unable to contain the irritation from earlier.
Killer's expression is hidden behind his mask, but Zoro simply raises a brow and crosses his arms. Neither say anything, until you glance between them.
"What?" The word comes out with a lot more bite than you intend.
"It was about you." Zoro finally admits, face ever impartial.
"Me?" It takes a few seconds to realize what he means by that. "Your arguing?"
"Yes. About which one of us would be in front and which one would be behind." He said with a growing smirk. "But in the end we decided just to ask you ourselves."
"In front and...what?"
"Don't tell me you don't remember." Zoro said with a grin. "It took everything for me to pull that secret out of you."
Sudden comprehension heats your face, and your spine straightens on your seat. You open your mouth, unable to get anything out from the sheer embarrassment of it all. Did he really mean-?
"You mean...both of you...?" You manage to squeak out, eyes shifting from one and then the other as they nod with firm dips of their head. As if they'd never been more sure of anything in their life. You swallow, reaching out to pull at the collar of your shirt. "...at the same time?"
"Only if you want." Killer finally spoke up, voice deep and smooth.
You'd be lying if you hadn't fantasized about being between both men, and now that Zoro knew of the one fantasy you never imagined being fulfilled in your lifetime, here he was offering it up to you on a silver platter.
Your heart beats a steady, thumping rhythm in your chest, and with one last large gulp of your alcohol, you set the tankard down and stand, glancing back at the inn nearby. "This was not how I expected my night to end but...ok."
Zoro hums, pleased, and takes your hand. Killer follows closely behind. You have no idea what you're in for...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"So tight, pretty girl..." Zoro groans with pleasure.
You're helpless. So fucking helpless with your legs held nearly behind your head as Zoro's arms hold them tightly, his strength as much a turn on as the way his cock slides so deeply into your tight asshole. You're stretched so wide, so openly, Killer only watches with his mask angled down at where you were being anally fucked so well, pumping his own cock at the show you're putting on for him thanks to Zoro's efforts.
Your voice is already ragged from your cries of pleasure.
"I'm half tempted to just watch the show." Killer says with an obvious husk to his voice. "But I did promise to participate. So maybe next time."
"Then quit standing there preparing." Zoro quips harshly.
Half gone from the delicious drag of Zoro's cock in your ass, you don't know what to expect from having Killer's in you as well. Could you even handle it? You weren't sure, but you'd be fine with dying to find out.
You can hear the way Zoro groans, breath puffing out in stutters from behind you against your ear, the occasional bite on your earlobe starting you when you least expect it. Zoro is fast, but mindful of your limits, never thrusting too fast or hard.
"Are you ready?" He asks with difficulty, laughing under his breath.
And then suddenly you're crowded, the tautness of Killer's naked chest shoved in your face as he comes closer. He grips the meat of your thighs, mask shifted down as he lines himself up with your entrance. And when he stops, you realize he's waiting on a response. You nod your head as best you can, given your lust-blown brain.
"Y-yes! Please!"
He waits for no further confirmation, his hard member pushing it's way into your cunt with relative ease. You were so wet already, he needed no lubrication. Zoro slows his thrusts, making it easier for you to take the second cock.
Fuck. Fuck! It was so goddamn tight! Killer's wasn't any bigger than Zoro's, per se, but with your ass spread apart too your eyes practically roll to the back of your head.
You feel him fill you inch by inch, until he's seated inside of you fully. He doesn't move, letting you adjust to the double penetration, but you hear the struggling breath he emits from within the mask.
You squirm between them, on the verge of tears. You're so full, so close. "Move! I-I wanna...please keep going~!" You beg without shame, too turned on to care how desperate it might sound.
As if on cue, they both pull out and then re-enter you in tandem, and you're left seeing stars as the pace begins anew, this time with double the thickness.
You've spent countless hours imagining what this sensation might feel like, but no matter how creative your imagination, it pales in comparison to the bulky men currently fucking you with such fervor from behind and in front of you.
"Fuck...look at her." Killer mumbles through his thrusts just loud enough for you both to hear. "So desperate for both of us."
"She's a slut for cock, and two makes her twice as horny." Zoro chuckles, panting in between words. His grip on you never lessens, keeping your legs up and spread wide so Killer has unhindered access to your entrance.
"Careful, we might ruin her for anything else."
You barely pay attention to the words, but find spikes of arousal shooting through you at the banter you do understand.
The tightness edges on pain, but the pleasure overshadows all else, forcing you to gasp for air in the space between you and Killer's chest. You moan yourself hoarse in moments, your body jerked grasped and pulled and pushed in both directions as they seek to use you to find orgasm. Nothing would please you more than feeling full of their cum.
"Why don't you tell us how much you're enjoying yourself, Y/N?" Zoro suggests. But you're too far gone to respond, and he only chuckles.
"Guess we're too much for her."
"She can take it. Can't you, pretty girl?"
You want to nod, say yes, do anything, but a high-pitched moan is all you can produce.
It's hot. It's sweaty. And the symphony of guttural groans and grunts from the beefy men taking you has you spinning. You're losing yourself, slowly, maddeningly, to the pleasure.
Your nails scramble for any flesh they can touch, and you're unsure who's skin they dig into. Your eyes close, the building pleasure too much for you to pay attention to any one thing. More. More.
"C-cum..." You gasp out, the only warning your fucked-out brain can issue. It's a miracle you're able to say anything at all. You feel your muscles clenching, spasming, as the world seems to crash around you. "G-gonna...mmmm-!"
They curse as your walls clamp down around them, making your tight holes even tighter. The edges of your vision darken, head leaning back to rest on what you believe is Zoro's shoulder.
Zoro bites into your skin as you drag him into his own orgasm, cum painting the inside of your ass a sticky white. Killer continues thrusting through the spasms, prolonging your high for as long as possible before even he can't hold out any longer.
His helmet thumps against your sweaty sternum as he too spills his load. The warm feeling remains even after your peak slowly ebbs, until the rushing of blood in your ears dissipates and the panting breaths of all three of you is all that could be heard.
Tag list: @victoria-punk, @m00nlight101, @sagethebootythrasher, @dirtydiavolo, @neferyuy, @undercoverweeeb
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