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#we die like men
almond-tofuuu · 1 month
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Do it for me...
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Zayne x fem! Reader smut
Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, porn without plot (this is pure smutty goodness), PiV sex, nipple play, cervix fucking, soft dom! Zayne, consensual sex (bc asking for consent is hot af), cunnilingus, tongue fucking, fingering, squirting, creampie, raw sex (wrap it up ppl), sex on a desk, Zayne's fat cock (bc that shi needs its own warning label)
Lmk if I missed anything
Word count: 2.9k (I am so sorry)
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Thinking about Zayne
His pupils blown wide with lust, chest heaving with every breath he takes, icy hand gently but firmly holding your chin in place, forcing you to maintain eye contact as his other hand explores your body. Cold fingers gliding so softly over your exposed collar bones, making your skin tingle and goose bumps forming in the wake of his fingertips. His eyes locked on yours as his hand travels lower, following the valley between your breasts, stopping just under the curve of your left breast, fingers toying with the lace of your bra.
"May I?" His voice is low and husky, breath fanning over your cheek as he leans closer, searching your face for any signs of discomfort.
You nod your head, desperate to feel his cold hands on your bare skin again, but he doesn't move, his eyes narrowing slightly as a deep chuckle rumbles from his chest.
"That's not how this works, darling, if you want something you're going to have to tell me" he leans in closer, lips ghosting over yours, teasing you but not giving you what you want "Go on, use your words, I'll give you whatever you want, just be a good girl and tell me what you need."
His words, so full of promise and dripping with desire spark a fire within you, a heat that radiates down to your core. Swallowing down the last of your anxiety, your eyes meet his own, voice barely above a whisper as you try not to stumble over your words.
"Please Zayne....I need you... need you to touch me...need to feel you, please-"
Your pleading is cut off by Zayne's mouth as he captures yours in a searing kiss, his hand that was previously holding your chin now tangling into the hair on the back of your head, pulling you closer as his lips devour yours. His tongue darts out to lick at your bottom lip, silently asking for entrance which you willingly grant, allowing him to explore your mouth. At the same time his other hand has made quick work of removing your bra, now kneading your left breast in his large hand, cold fingers pinching and rolling your nipple until it hardens before moving onto your right breast to give it the same attention. Reaching up you grab onto his broad shoulders, needing something to ground yourself, fingers burying themselves into the fabric of his doctors coat, tugging at it slightly. Zayne pulls away for a moment, chuckling at the adorable neediness of the gesture.
"What's the matter? Do you not like my coat anymore?" You know by the small smirk on his lips and mischievous glint in his eyes that he's teasing you, know that he wants you to tell him exactly what it is you want.
"Want you to take it off, 's not fair that I'm sat here shirtless and you're still fully clothed" you mumble with a small pout on your lips, looking up at him through your lashes.
"Hmm You're right, allow me to correct my error" Zayne's eyes remain focused on yours as he shrugs his doctors coat off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor of his office with a soft thump. However, you're still not satisfied, wanting to see more of him, so you grab onto his tie, pulling him closer to you so you can get to work on removing his shirt. Zayne is quick to stop you, large hands engulfing yours, halting their movement as he leans down to peer into your face.
"If your hands keep being mischievous, I can show you how surgeons tie knots" although his tone isn't harsh, there's a quiet dominance to his words, almost like he's challenging you to keep going. And you're not one to back down from a challenge, so you tug on his tie again, bringing his face closer to yours, trailing soft kisses along his jaw before you whisper seductively into his ear,
"Is that a promise, Doctor Zayne?"
Before you can even react Zayne has you laid on your back on his desk, one strong hand pinning your wrists above your head, the other loosening his tie further as his imposing form towers over you.
"It would seem that someone can't control their hands, perhaps I should teach you a lesson, maybe then you'll be more obedient" as he speaks Zayne takes his tie and uses it to restrain your hands, his movements quick and precise, being careful not to tie the knot too tight but enough to limit your movement.
"That's much better, now be a good girl for me and stay still" satisfied with his work Zayne leans in to capture your lips in a quick and passionate kiss before moving onto your neck, biting and sucking the sensitive skin there, spurred on by the soft moans spilling from you. He then moves lower, trailing open-mouthed kisses along your collar bones and between your breasts, pausing to swirl his tongue around one of your hardened nipples before taking it in his mouth, his free hand coming up to tease the other. He repeats his movements on your other breast, not wanting to neglect it and relishing the way you whine and how your back arches up into him. Once he's done toying with your nipples, Zayne resumes his path downwards, lips and tongue leaving behind a wet trail on your stomach as he stops at the waistband of your jeans.
"Can I remove these as well, love?" He looks up at you, waiting for your permission, needing to hear that you want this.
"Yes, please Zayne, need you" this time you're quick to respond, your body feeling hot as the tension builds in your core becomes nearly unbearable, needing to feel some kind of relief.
Zayne gives you an approving smile, obviously pleased with your response, his hands moving to the buttons of your jeans, undoing them and removing both your jeans and panties in one go. Seeing you completely bare beneath him, your soaked cunt on full display, Zayne let's out a deep groan, whispering a soft "fuck" under his breath as he takes in the sight of you. The feeling of his piercing eyes on your exposed pussy is too much for you and you close your legs subconsciously, trying to shy away from him. But Zayne simply grips onto your thighs, prying them apart and slotting his hips in-between them.
"Don't hide away from me, love, you're beautiful, each and every part of you is perfect." His voice is soft and full of adoration, letting you know he means every word, that he truly thinks you're the most beautiful woman he's ever met. And you do believe him, because the way he's looking at you, the way he's holding you makes you feel so special. His hands give a light squeeze on your thighs, holding them in place as he lowers his head to plant soft kisses along the sensitive skin on the inside of your right thigh, nibbling every so often, inching closer and closer to where you need him most before switching over to your other thigh, giving it the same treatment. You buck your hips up, a desperate whine leaving you as you plead with him, "please stop teasing...wanna feel you... Can't take it anymore"
Zayne let's out a breathy chuckle, his warm breath fanning over your weeping cunt, "very well, you've been a good girl so far, I suppose you do deserve a reward"
And with that Zayne dives into your glistening pussy, tongue licking a long stripe from your entrance to your clit, taking it in his mouth and sucking it, repeating the motion several times as you writhe in pleasure beneath him. One of his strong hands moves to firmly hold down your hips, the other begins to play with your clit as his tongue delves inside your dripping hole.
"You taste so sweet, I may have just found my new favourite desert" he lets out a low moan of satisfaction that vibrates against your pussy, his mouth latching onto you again as he drives his tongue further inside you, lapping up all the juices leaking out of you. The feeling of his fingers on your clit and his tongue inside you has your thighs quivering and locking around his head, back arching off his desk as moans fall freely from your lips. Your hands, still bound together by his tie, reach down and tangle themselves in his hair, tugging slightly causing Zayne to groan into your cunt. He eats you out like a man starved, drinking down every drop of the juices flowing from inside you, his nose bumping against your clit adding to the intense pleasure coursing through your body. Your orgasm is rapidly approaching when you feel Zayne's tongue leaving your pussy only to be replaced by two of his long, slender fingers, he slides them inside you easily, making a scissoring motion as his mouth latches onto your clit.
"Zayne... gon- ngh! Gonna cum!" You manage to stutter out between moans, your cunt clenching tighter around his fingers that continue to pump in and out of you, his pace increasing as he curls them to hit the spot deep inside your cunt that has you seeing stars.
"Go ahead, love, cum for me" he mumbles his encouragement into your cunt, the added vibrations sending you over the edge as your orgasm hits you full force, your pussy clenching tight around his fingers as you soak his hand and the lower part of his face. Zayne works you through your high, not stopping his movements until you push his head away, the over sensitivity becoming too much. You lie there catching your breath, looking down shyly you meet Zayne's gaze as he rises from between your legs, and he looks like pure sin. His eyes have darkened with lust, the bottom half of his face glistening with your juices, a smirk rests on his lips as he brings his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean. It's the most erotic sight you've ever witnessed, and it has your cunt throbbing in anticipation.
"Do you wish to continue, love? I need you to tell me now if you've had enough, because once I start I'm not going to stop until I've ruined you for every other man" his voice is steady but there's a hint of tension behind his words, as if he's fighting hard to maintain control of himself, trying to keep his ever stoic demeanor intact. In a sudden burst of courage, you reach down and palm his painfully hard cock as it strains against the front of his dress pants, causing a low moan to resonate from deep in his chest. His hips involuntarily buck into your hand, his eyes fluttering closed as he allows himself indulge in the feeling of your warm hands as they stroke his cock.
"I want this, Zayne, want you" your whisper to him sweetly, hands unbuttoning the front of his pants, pulling down his underwear and freeing his gorgeous cock, letting it slap against his toned abdomen. It's thick and lengthy, pale with a prominent vein running up the underside of his shaft, pearly beads of precum leak out from the tip that's a few shades darker then the rest of his cock. You've never thought of using the word 'beautiful' to describe a cock before, but his truly was a sight to behold, enough to make your mouth water and pussy clench around nothing. You shuffle forward in an attempt to get off his desk, ready to sink to your knees and worship him the same way he did you, but Zayne's firm grasp on your chin halts your movement. You blink up at him in confusion, worried that you may have done something wrong, but the lust clouding his eyes and desire dripping like honey from his voice tells you otherwise.
"As much as I'd like to indulge in feeling that pretty mouth of yours, I'm afraid I can't wait that long. I need to take you, now. So be a good girl and lay back down for me"
Licking your lips, you do as you're told, resuming your previous position, the cool surface of his desk pleasant against your flushed skin. Zayne stands between your open legs, one hand resting on your thigh, the other takes hold of his thick length, guiding it through your slick folds, coating his shaft in your wetness, the tip nudging your clit with every slow thrust. Once he's satisfied that his cock is lubed up enough with your juices, Zayne positions himself at the entrance to your cunt, the tip prodding at the tight hole causing a near pathetic whimper of need to fall from your lips.
"Apologies in advance, love, I'll try to be gentle" and with that Zayne slowly enters you, his thick shaft stretching out your tight pussy, the steady, shallow thrusts allowing you to feel every delicious inch as he works you open until he's buried to the hilt. A shaky exhalation leaves Zayne's lips followed by a quiet "fuck" whispered under his breath, his eyes closed briefly as he revels in the feeling of finally being inside you, feeling your drenched cunt throbbing and clenching so nicely around his cock. He wants to be gentle, wants to take his time with you and keep true to his words.
But Zayne is only a man, and like all men he has a breaking point, and the sight of you laid beneath him, half-lidded eyes locked onto his, mouth hung open as you moaned his name in ecstasy, soaked cunt throbbing so perfectly around his cock was just too much for him. His self control that was hanging by a thread finally snapped, he began pounding his cock into you like a man possessed, driving his length deeper and deeper inside of your sensitive hole, the fat tip hitting your cervix with every rough thrust. Broken moans flow from you, combining with the rhythmic slapping of skin and wet squelching of your pussy, it creates a sinful melody that's practically pornographic, it would be enough to make your cheeks burn if your brain could actually focus on anything other than the delicious drag of Zayne's cock as he ruts into you. Meanwhile, the man above you has lost all composure, fingers digging into the plush of your hips as he drives his length into you, his rough thrusts enough to cause the desk below you to scrape across the floor. Somewhere, deep in your fucked-out brain you register the tightening of the coil in your lower stomach, knowing your orgasm is near, you try to warn Zayne, although it's difficult to form any kind of coherent thought with how good he's drilling into you.
"Z-zayne.... Aghh! gonna....mmh...gonna cum!" You manage to whimper out between moans, your eyes closing as you throw your head back, body arching up off the desk as his cock hits the spongey spot deep inside your pussy, causing you to clench even harder around him. Zayne brings one hand up to tilt you face to look at him, his eyes held an almost predatory glint as they locked onto yours.
"Keep those pretty eyes on me, love, I want to watch as you fall apart" his words came out breathy and low, a deep groan rumbling up from the back of his throat, his hips never stopping their brutal pace, icy fingers coming up to play with your clit, rubbing figure eights into it as his heavy balls smacked against your ass with every thrust. It's all too much, all of your senses are overwhelmed by him. His cool fingers on your clit, his piercing eyes boring into yours, his musky scent surrounding you, deep groans and warm breath fanning over your face, and his hard cock moulding your pussy to his shape. Your orgasm is blinding, your body convulsing and cunt spasming erratically around his length, squirting your release all over his toned abdomen as your vision turns white. A high-pitched moan leaving you followed by the chanting of his name, whispered almost like a prayer as he consumed your thoughts. Zayne doesn't stop, his thrusts speeding up as his own is release fast approaching, but he doesn't even realise, too focused on you. Watching intensely as you come undone beneath him, wanting to remember every second, every moan, every facial expression. It only takes a few more thrusts before he's cumming, hips stuttering before burying himself deep inside you, a broken groan of your name falling from his lips, cock pulsing and twitching as he coats your pussy with his thick, creamy seed. He continues to shallowly rock into your spent pussy, feeling how your cunt milks his cock for every last drop of cum.
His strong arms rest on either side of your head, holding him up as he pants heavily, sweat-covered forehead resting against yours as you both bask in the afterglow of your release. Zayne Is the first to move, pulling back slightly he presses a tender kiss to your forehead as he takes in your fucked-out form below his. He can't help but be entranced by how beautiful you look, skin glistening with sweat, chest rising and falling heavily as you try to catch your breath, cheeks flushed as you come down from your high. To him, you look absolutely ethereal, and he can't stop the soft smile that spreads across his face, because finally, after so many years of wanting and waiting, you're his.
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tainted-liquor · 7 months
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Sea Grillz✧˖°
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'I wont hurt you, mama c'mere' - Miles G. Morales e42! Miles Morales x BlackFem!Mermaid!Reader TWs: I don't think there are any ! Ingredients: Sugar, Kisses, and smiles! A/N: Reader is slightly Caribbean-coded! Other than that enjoy luvs :P W/C: 1,410
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The moon illuminated the ominous night sky, painting gentle highlights on the surface of everything that can be seen by the naked eye. Miles was keeping watch of a cargo ship he had just taken over 20 minutes earlier, relying on his prowler mask to aid his eyes through the deep dark sky. He was cold, and even though everyone on the ship prior had been robbed of their life, he couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't really alone. The soft crash of the waves and the rock of the cargo ship touched the drum of his ear in a hypnotizing lullaby, allowing him to shake the fleeting sensation of a pair of eyes on him. He took a glance over the sea-line, and everything was clear. But just as he turned his head away from the eastern side of the Caribbean sea, he caught a sudden movement sandwiched in between the low tide.
As you swam through the tide, weaving through the seaweed and coral on your way back to your safe haven, you notice an unfamiliar silhouette standing perfectly still against the rock of the waves. You halted your movements, freezing in place as the end of your tail twitched in anticipation. Having spent all of your life out deep in the sea, you had never really seen anything like this strange shadow before and slowly approached the surface to take a look. It looked like the little sailboat you had in your glass bottle, which you had found whilst swimming slightly closer to the shore than you normally would. You quietly swam closer, before you caught an identified figure turn your way. Was that a human?
You quickly ducked down into the water, baby-teal tail perfectly hiding in the sea as you swam closer. If it truly was a human, he wouldn't follow you down. Especially if they knew just how deep the water was, and what could possibly reside. You saw the human stand up, straightening his posture as he clenched his...claw? You caught the shiny metal glimmering in the moonlight, common sense leaving your body as you began to swim closer toward the man.
Up close he was hella intimidating, a purple sort of...chunk of glow-y metal obscured your view of his face, small white slits stationed where his eyes would have been. You poke your head out of the water, remaining a comfortable distance away from the man, hesitantly leaning back as he turns to face you. The small white cuts on his mask squint, indicating to you that he's examining the little that he can see of you, your big beady brown eyes, slightly furrowed brows, and hair stuck to the top of your head like a smooth glove due to the weight of the water. He turned his head to the side as he walked closer to the edge, standing with both claws at his side, tightly clenched and ready to fly at the slightest mishap. He beckons you closer with his two fingers, nodding his head backward as if to say 'Come here.'
You stay still for a moment, narrowing your eyes before swimming closer, still making sure to keep your tail out of view just in case he felt like having a fish dinner. He chuckles lowly as he holds out a sharp claw, titanium twinkling in the moonlight as he extends it out to you. You swam closer, bringing yourself up out of the water a bit more so he could see your whole face and tensed shoulders. You put your smaller hand within the palm of his cold claw, watching as the faded-blue ombre of your skin faded to your original melanated shade as it came into contact with the crisp air. He gently pulled you forward, causing you to swim fully up out of the water, tail keeping you afloat as your body finds its resting harmony with the waves of the water.
the small slits on his mask widen for a moment, before quickly squinting as he mumbles a low "I won't hurt you, mama. C'mere." You reluctantly allow him to pull you closer, placing your top half on the freezing floor of the cargo ship as you inhale sharply at the sensation. He laughs before shaking his head and returning his confused gaze back on your tail. "Eres tan fascinate, chica bonita..." he mumbles as he walks around me, taking in most of my form as he studies the scales that create a smooth transition to my tail. I tilt my head to the side in confusion, eyebrow-raising as I attempt to decipher what it was he just said.
He gave another chuckle before crouching down, placing his wrists on his knees as he gives me one final scan. "What's your name?" he asks as I frown slightly. I point to the gills on my neck before making a talking motion with my hand and crossing my arms. Without exposure to water, my gills would make it virtually impossible for me to speak. He looks around quickly, ripping a piece of a dead man's shirt, dunking it in water, and tying it lightly around my neck. Admittedly, it probably looked odd but he was probably just really curious as to what I would sound like, but desperate times require desperate measures.
I take another sharp inhale, my voice recalibrating as I feel my vocal cords return to their lively harmony. My voice was smooth and laced with a thick Islander accent. "I am Y/N." I nod, any fear I had of the strange man dissipating almost immediately as I reach out to feel the strange material of his mask, the projected purple glitching and running away from my touch. He nods slowly before he gets his next question ready. "You live here? Like, always?" he asks. I nod again as I begin to toy with the pointed triangles on the back of his suit, attempting to bend the solid material under my fingertips.
"You a handsy lil' thing, huh?" He remarks as he gently removes my hands from his suit, mask disappearing before my eyes as I watch his smug smirk grow. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head as he murmurs a small "Don't touch. My tech is dangerous, and mad expensive" He grins as he watches me visually analyze everything he was wearing, confused at why a human would need such things in the first place. My first thought was that he was a pirate, stealing and taking things that weren't really his, but if pirate, why kind? I stare deeply into his eyes, face mere inches away from his as I internalize every feature of his. I knew I'd never see him again, so I committed every small detail of his to memory.
"Who are you?" I ask with a puzzled expression, trying to make sense of his whole get-up and why he was acting so sketchy. From the body sitting just mere inches away from him, him sitting on a boat that he clearly doesn't own, and me practically being in his lap as he makes no attempt to harm me whatsoever. He was absolutely gorgeous as his deep brown skin seemingly glowed under the night sky, a slight smile on his lips as a couple of his teeth peaked from under his grin, and strange jewelry was visible on his teeth. He chuckled as he placed a gentle claw to the side of my face, his pupils bullying their way through my soul as he tilts my face up slightly.
"I'm the Prowler, Mami. But I'll be back for you, Chiquita. Sometime when I'm off work" He winked as he rested his hands just above my hips, dangerously close to my shiny scales. He didn't seem to care about the unfamiliar texture under his skin as he watched my fins flap madly in the water, indicating my mix of surprise and joy. I nod as I feel him release my hips, allowing me to slip back into the water before his mask silently reforms, encasing his seemingly perfect face behind the purple hologram-like features. He walked backward as he got one last look at me before turning around and walking himself to the helm of the ship. I gave him a small wave, free hand resting on the piece of fabric wrapped thickly around my neck as I swam away, feeling slightly somber about having to say goodbye.
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dippy-sketch · 7 days
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anidala if you even care
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how RE characters would react to their s/o being sick
this is for my fellow immuno-compromised baddies that are always sick
includes: leon, weskie, jill, and chris
leon:
baby leon would 100% mother hen you to death.
asking if you need something every ten minutes, offers to walk you to the kitchen or bathroom to ensure you "get there okay". keeps your water full and has the entire medicine cabinet on standby.
would insist on you going to a doctor just to double-check check its the flu and not some rare virus.
does not give AF about getting sick. he wants to cuddle and if that gets him sick so be it.
he's doing it out of love. no matter how serious or not serious your illness is, he loves you and wants you to get better quickly.
older leon is different
he still loves you and wants you better, but the stress and trauma of his life have made him seriously devoted to his job
so when you are sick, you wont see him
he can not get sick, he has to be ready for anything that could happen
hell sleep on the couch and text you to ask if you want anything
he will leave anything outside the door, taking ten steps back before you open it
his deliveries always include handwritten notes, usually featuring corny jokes or puns
pls tell him you like his stupid little notes it will make him feel less guilty about not being able to be with you
once you are better, expect an adult male-sized teddy bear clinging to you
chris:
like leon, his job demands a lot, and he has to be on top of his game
but mama redfield ain't raise no bitch
he's going to be in full breaking bad style ppe
goggles, rubber gloves, mask, the whole nine yards
(he would've been fine without them but it made you laugh so that's a win for him)
will pull out some of his shirts or sweatshirts for you to wear so you don't feel lonely
comes in and checks on you. he doesnt stay long or get very close but you can feel the love pour off him when he helps situate the blankets or grabs you something so you don’t have to get out of bed
will be asking claire for home remedies for minor illnesses
you do have to rely on him making them right though which...
"my sister said this tea will help with the stomach thing. don't turn up your nose, just drink it"
also is clingy as hell when you feel better. even though he wasn't as distant as leon, he still wished he couldve been with you more often.
jill:
shes the only one here who knows how to help a sick person
shes forcing (yes, forcing) you to take care of yourself
water, rest, medication
no if ands or buts
if she notices something is keeping you from getting better, shes fixing it, sorry
want to stay up on your phone when you should be sleeping? nope phone is coming with her out of the room while you nap
don't want to drink water? she will sit there and stare your ass down while you take a few drinks
she doesn't rule with an iron fist though, she is sweet on you dgmw
she will sit with you and smooth down your hair while you lay in her lap
rub out any sore or achy spots
I firmly believe she would wash all your blankets and towels along with your comfort clothes so you have a nice smelling, clean space to relax
shes def a tough love kind of person
emphasis on the love though
she cares about you, and wants you to care about yourself
wesker:
i feel many forget that this man is a scientist, but specifically, he worked with the human body and medicine
umbrella was corrupt but the researchers did have legit degrees in their field, including wesker
that being said, intelligence does not equal emotional intelligence
and this man, no emotional intelligence
"what does you being sick have to do with me?"
not a caretaker
would kill for you but doesn't want to let you wear his stuff
he will tell you whats best to take and do to get better asap but he doesn't really understand why you want him around
(lowkey he doesn't want to be around)
he will bring you the best stuff he can get his hands on (just take it and pray there isn't anything that will turn you into a monster in it)
might sit with you while resting for a little but only if you really beg and plead
but he's not doing that mushy shit, stay on your side and sleep
he isn't cruel he legit just doesn't understand the need for comfort
he can think of many things he would much rather be doing than watching mindless tv while you sniffle on him
he does it though, with very little complaining after the initial bit
and maybe, maybe, he kind of likes feeling like he's helping you get better by being there
but only cause you asked for it
no other reason ;)
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darkmuffinstudios · 10 days
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Was bored and decided to create a silly little one-shot of Errormare for @inkywellcrow 🤭
Who knows, I might get more motivation to make more parts, I might not haha
Baking One-Shot (Errormare) (1.7k words)
Darkxsoulzyxcaliberx
Dream’s birthday (and by extension, Nightmare’s) was only a few days away, and the two most dastardly villains of the multiverse were in the middle of making something for it.
You see, after many decades of struggle, the two guardians grew weary of the constant back-and-forth and had since settled on a truce; No more bloodshed and no more overbearing war meetings. After so long, however, the two had long since forgotten times of peace. It was nothing more than echoes of what could have been, as well as what once was… So, as always in their relationship, Nightmare decided to be the first to extend one of many olive branches that will occur down the line.
To show a sign of good faith and to celebrate the occasion, Nightmare had his boys come up with gift ideas that they would give to his brother. The dark king had hoped that, whatever the gifts may be, that the action alone would show that he intended to support this truce and to keep friendly relations with his other half.
But asking a band of miscreants and murderers was a bad decision in hindsight, and so after many, MANY days of brainstorming, he eventually caved to Horror’s insistence on a birthday cake.
Which brings us to the present…
“Error, you’re whisking batter, not pummeling it into submission.” Nightmare scolded lightly. He wiped his hands on the apron he was wearing, trying not to get too irritated at how sloppy of a job his partner was doing.
“This is stupid.” Error grumbled.
“Error— slower, slower.”
“Don’t— !” His body locked up at Nightmare’s complaining, and he drastically slowed down his pace to a glaringly slow tempo. He gave Nightmare a frustrated look, to which the king easily brushed off. “Don’t tell me what to do. I read the recipe too.”
“Uh huh.” Nightmare deadpanned, setting a metal tray on the counter. “You're also as blind as a bat without your glasses, my dear.”
“They would have just got in the way.” Error huffed. After a few more mixes, he decided that surely was enough of that, and he dropped the bowl into the counter with a loud CLANK. “There. Done mixing.”
Nightmare rubbed his temples. What was that method of reducing stress? Counting back from five? Whatever it was, it surely wasn’t working as well as he had hoped. “Please don’t slam the bowl down.”
“Mmhm.” Error leaned against the counter, dismissive.
For his own mental (and Error’s physical) wellbeing, Nightmare opted to ignore him for a little while. Once he sprayed down the baking pan, he glanced over Error’s work. There was still some dry clumps of the batter mix floating around, but he wasn’t going to correct any of it since he knows how much his partner loves to throw his tantrums. Besides, Dream has been a pain in his ass for decades— the least he can do is crunch on some raw flour to save him from future headaches.
Carefully, he lifted the bowl and poured the mixture into the baking tin. Using a tentacle, he grabbed a spatula he set out beforehand to scrape any excess, and quietly put the bowl down. He gave Error a mild look.
Error met his gaze and paused, looking to either side of himself. “… What?”
“That’s how you put a bowl down. Silently.” Nightmare said, his voice dripping honey and tar.
“Oh, fuck you.” Error griped, rolling his eyes so over dramatically that his head went with it. Nightmare couldn’t help but smile at how stupid he could be.
After making his point, he walked over to the oven with the pan. After opening it with a tentacle (fashioned with a cute little baking mitten), he placed the pan inside and shut it with his hip. Making note of the time, he finally allowed himself to slump against the counter.
Nightmare looked up at the ceiling. How the hell does Horror do this every single day? Willingly?? He couldn’t even imagine how difficult it would be to order his men around such a small space, never mind how destructive all of them already are. Just the thought started to give him a headache…
“So,” Error started. “Why didn’t you ask your uh…” He thought for a moment, his body glitching a little from the effort.
“Horror?” Nightmare offered.
“Yeah— the big, freaky guy— to do this for you? Doesn’t he do this stuff already?”
Nightmare sighed. “… Well… Monster food is magic—”
“Uh. Yeah— I know.”
“I know that you know—“
“Then why say it—?”
Nightmare turned and glared at him. “Just let me talk!” Error held up his hands defensively, glaring right back at him for a moment, before Nightmare eventually continued.
“Well, because monster food is made of magic, then cooking monster food involves magic too. It incorporates the chef’s intent, and can communicate unspoken feelings through each bite.” Nightmare idly messed with one of the spoons on the counter, staring at the oven glass as he spoke. “To put it simply, it has to be made by me. I may not be the best at baking, but he will understand and appreciate the gesture anyways. He is that kind of guy, unfortunately.” He scoffed.
“So why drag me into this?” Error groused. “I couldn’t care less about making ‘Mr.Sunshine’ feel any better than he already feels.”
“Oh.” Nightmare turned to flash a smug look at Error. “Because I didn’t want to suffer alone.”
Error stared at Nightmare. For a long, long moment. A quiet, high-pitched sound began to come from Error’s body— the telltale sign that he was starting to crash. “You’re joking.”
Nightmare shrugged. “Am I?”
Error grabbed the whisk from the counter, chucking it with all his strength at Nightmare. “YOU ASS!! I COULD HAVE LEFT AT ANY TIME?!?”
The king chuckled, letting the whisk hit his shoulder. “Of course you could have. You weren’t obligated to do any of this.”
Error threw his arms around, already hellbent on destroying the kitchen. He ripped the toaster from its electrical socket, threatening to throw it on the ground when Nightmare continued. “But you stayed because you love me.”
That got Error to freeze in place. He stared at Nightmare, bewildered for a few seconds, before slowly lowering the toaster onto the counter. “… Whatever.” He mumbled, stewing.
Nightmare smiled at Error’s obvious admission of defeat, finding himself slowly walking over to him. He stopped a good few feet away, settling on leaning against the counter once more. “You love me, and wanted to help me because you loved me.” He teased lightly.
Error bristled. “I will leave!”
“But then I’d be so sad if you did.” Nightmare touched his own chest, right over where his apple soul would be. “All alone… abandoned…”
Error huffed, crossing his arms. “Good! Feel bad!! Feel bad for tormenting me for HOURS while I slaved away in this kitchen for you!!”
“It was only an hour, dear.” Nightmare chuckled.
“NUH UH!! You’re wrong!!” Error scowled, swinging an arm out to the side and ripping a portal open to a random, unsuspecting world. He gestured wildly to the setting sun. “See!! HOURS!! It’s already growing dark!!”
Nightmare rolled his eye. “Mmhm.” He knew he wasn’t winning this fight.
Error smiled triumphantly, leaning a little closer to Nightmare. The portal fizzled next to them, disappearing soon after. “Apologize.”
Nightmare raised a metaphorical eyebrow at Error. “For what?”
“For being mean and awful and terrible!” Error demanded, counting on his fingers as he went.
Nightmare rolled his eye for the second time. “Mmmmmmno. I don’t think I will.”
Error leaned back, pouting now. “Asshole.”
Nightmare sighed. A brief moment of silence grew between them as they waited for the cake to bake before Nightmare sighed again, shoulder sagging. He looked at the clock hanging on the far wall of the kitchen, then back at the oven glass. The cake wasn’t rising at all.
“… Do you think he will like it?”
Error didn’t look at Nightmare, arms still crossed. After another beat of silence, Error’s shoulders sagged a little and he quietly responded. “What do you mean.”
Another beat of silence. Error didn’t like it. He turned back to glance at Nightmare, only to see the other have his hands folded against his chest in a sort-of self hug. His tentacles were curled inward on themselves, and Nightmare hadn’t looked up once from the oven glass.
It bugged Error. He tried again, softer. “What... do you mean by that?” Nightmare sighed again, a third time, and it was starting to get to Error. He shook his head. “No one hates chocolate cake. If I find out he does, I’m throwing him.”
“Not the cake.” Nightmare answered quietly, though he did smile a little at Error’s threat. The spectacle of the destroyer of worlds tossing his brother like a football was amusing, to say the least. He gestured vaguely, trying to find the right words. “My… message.”
“Message?” Error echoed, clearly confused.
“My intent.” Nightmare tried instead. “It’s… I want this to go well. I want this to be our first steps in making up with one another, and I tried to put as much as I could into this cake… I tried to not fill it with…” he sighed, the fourth time. “… with my lingering feelings of the past.”
Nightmare raised a hand. “I’m certain I didn’t, and I know this won’t make up for everything that has happened between us… but…” He slowly brought his hand back towards himself, back to where it was wrapped around his chest. “I don’t know… I lack the proper words at the moment.”
Not that Error needed all of the words to understand. He thought a little bit before he spoke. “That’s why you asked me to help you with this.” The dots started connecting more in his head as he turned to Nightmare. “You didn’t want to do this alone.”
Nightmare considered Error’s words. “… I suppose I didn’t.”
Error stared at Nightmare, trying to get maybe just a little bit more out of him, before turning to look back at the oven. “… I think he’ll like it.”
“You think so?” Nightmare’s voice sounded uncertain.
“Yeah.” Error shrugged. “He is that kind of guy, like you said.”
Nightmare smiled a little. “I guess you’re right.”
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ace-of-dragons-art · 5 months
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my favourite bit to do on my DnD character sheet is to put exactly one (1) character trait in the personality traits box, and then put that same trait in the flaws box
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Inktober 2023
Day 11 - Wander
"No." Penny's firm. "I know Agatha. She'd rather kiss a troll than call and talk to me on the phone." "Then why do you ever call her, Bunce?" Baz is shaking out his suitcase. "Because I worry! Because she's like a lamb who's wandered away from the flock." "Is the flock England?" I ask. "The flock is magic!" she says.
Wayward Son, Chapter 32, Rainbow Rowell.
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11.7k words, and I’ve finally finished the second act! Now onto the third and final one 🥹
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hornystiel · 2 years
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for @justcastiel 's 2k celebration
prompts: smoke + yeehaw + light
1,6k. this one is explicit guys
Not to corrupt a falling angel even further, but somehow Dean finds himself in a dimly lit motel room alone with Castiel, offering him a cigarette.
It goes like this. They went to some cowboy-themed bar, some of the monsters there yeed their last haws, Dean’s got a shiner for his troubles and Cas keeps asking him how a cowgirl can be ‘reverse’. A typical evening.
Gradually losing his grace and wings must suck enormous balls, but at least Cas got some disappointment out of his system by beating up those poor bastards, and now they are both fuzzily relaxed back at their shitty room. Still, Cas offered to heal him, when Dean took the shirt off and plopped on the tiny squeaky bed, rummaging in his bag for a smoke, but the feeling of aching muscles, a few scratches and a cigarette in his teeth feels like home to Dean so, no, no healing.
Cas keeps looking at the cigarette with such undivided attention that Dean can’t help but ask “you wanna try one?”
And who’s Cas if not somebody who’s taking the apples from the Eden’s garden for Dean to make a pie.
There’s just one left in a pack and Dean chuckles a bit, thinking about some kind of fucked up destiny games there, because if not god then something even weirder should be looking after them. Or laughing at them. At this point it’s all the same.
Cas sits beside him, the lighter clicks and Dean shows how to inhale smoke, Cas diligently repeats after him and coughs. That makes Dean laugh maybe harder than necessary but, holy shit, they are sitting in this shitty room after a brawl in a cowboy bar and he’s teaching a billion-year-old creature how to smoke a cheap cig. And he fucking coughs. The laughter is a bit bitter, like smoke, because coughing is such a human thing, after all. 
Then it dies completely on his lips when Cas, being a good student as usual, does everything right the second time and exhales, looking up, his eyes glowing slightly. That looks unfairly hot and Dean moves closer without thinking, drawn. His brain is still rebooting because, after a few quiet moments of just watching Cas smoke and flick the ash into the ashtray, the first thing out of his mouth is “let me show you how to shotgun”.
Cas finishes his cigarette, puts it out and looks quizzically at Dean. Because of course he does, Dean’s being an idiot but it’s too late to back out, so he might as well add more depraved behavior to the mix. He moves closer again, and if Cas wasn’t that new to sarcasm and bitchy comebacks - he would’ve reminded Dean about his precious personal space now. But they are both too distracted, staring into each other’s eyes, the air around turning thick, and that has nothing to do with cigarette smoke.
Finally, Dean unfreezes and instructs Cas to close his eyes and open his mouth. Cas is about to argue but at the last moment huffs and does as told. Something’s telling Dean that this is a very rare occasion and he’s mentally puffing up with pride. Dean inhales the smoke of his smoldering cigarette, leans in and slowly exhales into Cas’ open mouth. Only, the thing is, the instructions lacked one crucial point. What to do next.
So this is how their first kiss happens.
Cas just inhales and closes the remaining distance, gently brushing his lips against Dean’s, sharing the smoke, and Dean’s been too hungry for too long to deny himself anymore. They start a bit awkward, uncertain maybe, learning each other’s touches, scratchy stubble, searching hands. Dean’s not sure how much experience with that kind of thing Cas has (he gets irrationally jealous every time he remembers the strip club, that’s why he still doesn’t know what exactly happened there besides the holy lecture), so he doesn’t rush, head still a touch foggy.
Then Cas lets out a quiet uncertain moan, as if he's not sure he's allowed to be affected this much, and that sound is the beginning of the end. He wants to hear it again, he wants to know all the sounds Cas can make when they are making out, he wants to undress him and touch skin, he wants to be touched in return. He knows he’s not allowed to want, let alone so much, but right now he doesn’t fucking care. The remaining cigarette bud burns his fingers, going out, but it has nothing on the burning inside him. 
He sucks on Cas’ tongue and the next moan is louder, Cas’ hands coming up to grip his waist tight, and the fog in his head swirls into a hurricane, and they both will be swept. Today is the day of great decisions for Dean, apparently, because his next move is to straddle Cas and shove himself into him as close as possible. Cas goes with it without a word, readjusting his grip on Dean and kissing him hard. It's still a bit sloppy, but Dean loves it even more because of it. 
Dean knows a few new things about Cas now. He knows that Cas is a biter, because he keeps nipping his lips, his jaw, neck, collarbone, carefully avoiding the bruises and scratches (he wants to punch him for it because the alternative is to cry). Dean also knows that Cas likes when Dean touches his hair, tugging a bit, because he makes soft growling sounds every time Dean does it. He knows that Cas is not shy (as if he ever was), because once he understands that Dean is in no way against being touched and groped (if he listened to his thoughts now all that’ll be here is pleasepleasplease), he slides his huge fucking hands to Dean’s ass and grinds against it, just taking. Oh and Dean also knows now what Cas’ dick feels like, pressed against him. They are not even bothering with the clothes, Dean thinks he might pass out if he spares even one moment away from being glued to Cas. Besides, it’s not like he’s not on the verge of coming already. It would’ve been embarrassing if Dean cared in the slightest. Fortunately, instead of caring he's moving sinuously on top of his personal demise, mouth opened slightly, panting and whining, because, fuck, it feels so good and he feels so alive and finally in his skin, he can't possibly stop. 
Cas is sweating and Dean thinks he hears a stray “fuck” from his lips, which throws him for a loop, but then Cas says “Dean” in his damn rough voice, breathless, and, yeah, Dean's done. He grips Cas' neck, groaning somewhere into his shoulder, hips snapping hard and fast, riding out the orgasm like a man on a mission. He hears Cas' sharp intake of breath and feels his hands petting his thighs gently, lips kissing his temple, and, jesus fucking christ, he's not done coming, he can't process these touches without a tiny heaving sob. 
They stay like this for a few more seconds, Dean coming down from the high and Cas just holding him. Ironically, this is too much for Dean to handle, so he changes lanes as quickly as possible and shoves his hand into Cas' pants. It's Cas' turn to grip him for dear life again, pushing his face into Dean's chest and moaning brokenly. Dean strokes him with ease because Cas is wet, wetter than he expected, and his own cock gives a twitch at that clear indication of how much Cas is enjoying it. It's been a while since he jerked someone else off, but it's not like Cas has a wide range of dudes who did it for him before to compare, so they are good. More than good really, because Cas is so responsive to everything Dean does that his hips occasionally lift off the bed a little and Dean's glad he's still gripping Cas' neck with one hand because otherwise he'd end up on the floor by now. Yee-haw or something. And then Cas slaps his hand on the handprint on Dean's shoulder, chokes on a moan and comes.
Dean feels on fire. The hurricane finally swallowed him and is tossing his insides around the walls of his body like it pleases. His shoulder burns, his chest burns, his eyes see nothing but a white light. Through the noise in his ears he hears a flutter and his hand blindly goes to Cas' back and, yes, something soft and electric meets his touch. It's shivering as Dean pets the feathers, some bits are missing, but Dean is sure Cas is still beautiful. Then the feeling is gone and the burn softens. It's like a warm midday sun, cradling him, soothing. His vision returns but there's no light around except for the glow of the neon sign far down the street and Cas' eyes, that are peering apologetically into Dean's very soul. 
Cas fucking blew all the lights out. And in the meantime healed all of Dean's injuries. Scratch that, Dean thinks he's healed some of his old injuries too, judging by the way his joints and ribs don't feel any discomfort anymore. Everything except the handprint. This fucking angel will be the death of him. 
Dean leans in and pecks Cas on the lips, letting him know that it's okay, he's not mad or anything. He may be falling in love even faster now, but eh. 
They don't let go of each other for a long time after it, just existing calmly in each other's arms. And when Dean finally gets up to go take a shower, Cas evidently not leaving his room tonight, he completes the day by saying - 
"So, do you wanna know more about the reverse cowgirl next time?" 
Cas chuckles and goes to join him in the shower. 
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stormflower8 · 6 months
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now, this MIGHT just be my self-indulgent ass projecting on ambrosius, but I feel like he's the type of person to get REALLY bad headaches
like, I feel like I can vividly imagine him waking up with a really bad headache but, since he obviously has absolutely no self-preservation, just deciding to ignore it and pretend it isn't happening
now, by my headcanons, ambrosius goldenloin could be on his literal deathbed and the words uttered with his dying breath would be "I'm fine.", so he almost certainly wouldn't mention it to anyone
but there are telltale signs of his headaches, like him rubbing his head with the heel of his hand, flinching at loud noises, not talking or laughing as much, looking pained in his expressions, etc
ballister has gotten used to this and will immediately notice these signs and will correspondingly lower his voice, deliver more gently, sit closer to ambrosius to offer comfort, etc
on particularly bad days, ambrosius will literally be unable to speak because the sound of his own voice is too loud, and ballister has grown to recognize and adapt to this
and this is something ambrosius really really appreciates (and makes sure ballister knows he appreciates when the headache fades)
it doesn't happen too often, but it's frequent enough for there to be an established, wordless, and thankfully silent routine and agreement between them for those days. they probably usually end with cuddling in a dark room because lights are also a problem with headaches
this is all, again, entirely self-indulgent, but I feel like it fits?
I also have a headache rn, can you tell?
-Storm
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nightmarevore · 4 months
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"How did you meet your girlfriend?"
"uh.... william aft,on vore?"
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snowberai · 1 year
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Haven’t done lineless in like, 3 years. So random hot pink palette, have at thee!
Extras under cut
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also made it red and slightly brighter.
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tainted-liquor · 7 months
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Grande Jeté⋆ ˚。⋆౨ৎ˚
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Hobie Brown x BlackFem!Ballerina!Reader Tws: BADDDD British, light swearing, Ingredients: Sugar, Kisses, and a lil bit of smiles! (fluff) W/C:950 A/N: Heyyy! pls forgive me bro I know 0 Londoners, n I have no idea how to write their accent lol. BEAARRR WITH ME😭
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Hobie never expected in his life that he would be in this predicament. Here he was, sitting alongside Gwen as she eagerly ranted to him about her 'older sister' being in this dance. She spent about two days convincing Hobie to go with her, saying that he would be supporting an aspiring artist. "It's about to start!" Gwen cheered silently, clapping her hands quickly before pointing to the red curtains ascending upwards. "There she is!" Gwen whispered as she pointed towards your flexed form, spine curving upward as your back leg extended out behind you as your arms create a sleek invisible line between the tips of your fingers and the bottom of your toes.
He was absolutely enchanted. He had never seen someone make ballet look so sacred in his eyes, brushing off the silly dance as a bunch of jumps and turns. He watched as you slowly began to break free from your frozen stance, moving with such calculated precision and absolute elegance. It was like he was watching the performance through a tunnel, eyes glued on you and you only as you pirouetted with such grace it put every princess in the world to absolute shame. He had heard from Gwen first-hand just how painful it was to do ballet, but watching you twist and turn on the very tips of your toes put everything into perspective. In his mind, you were a precious dove ghosting the surface of the water with your pretty pink pointe shoes.
"Gwendy, you said this's one of your mates, right?" He asked, eyes still absolutely glued to you. Gwen gave him an overjoyed nod, clearly biting back the loudest scream of approval she's ever given. "Introduce me later, yea?" He mumbled as he watched you shoot Gwen a rather smooth wave, disguising it within your movements to not stray from your routine...Man, you were good. You looked absolutely bewitching as your melanated skin shone under the spotlight, your movements remaining soft and delicate whilst carrying yourself with such poise. If Gwen would've told Hobie about you earlier he would've bought the damn tickets himself.
When up on that stage, you always felt free and liberated. You spent all of your life in a studio, accepting every drop of boiling-hot criticism with cupped palms, watching as it burned and seared your skin and leave its metaphorical mark that manifested in the form of experience. You incorporated the elegant style of dance into your everyday life, weaving the very threads of its history into your personality and wearing it like a proud necklace. For you, dancing was your very being. You spent countless nights banging shoes on your walls, patching up your battered and bruised legs countless times until only a ghost of feeling remained in the tips of your toes. You've learned to crawl, then stumble, then walk, run, and finally jump all in the span of over 10+ years.
You followed the inaudible signals in the ever-so-soothing piano, utilizing the cues that you had ingrained into the back of your mind as you assumed each and every position and pose. You were in a fuck ton of pain, and you were out of breath, but what's a little bit of hurt compared to a dream 10 years in the making? When the curtains finally closed after everyone took their final bow, the roaring applause made everything worth every single twinge of pain. You eagerly ran off the stage, enveloping Gwen in a tight hug as she introduced you to the incredibly tall and lanky man next to her. The clash between the two of you was starkly obvious, with you being dressed in shades of pink, ivory, and soft beiges that complimented every aspect of your outfit.
"'Ey there, I'm 'Obie" he stated as he gave me a small smile, extending his hand towards me gently, to which I gladly accept. Truth be told, I didn't understand half of a fuck of what he just said. I pulled a smile and nod and used context clues to fill in the gaps. "That's a nice accent...where you from?" you asked with a warm smile. He gives a light chuckle before answering with a small "East London. You were really great out there, by the way. Kick n' prance queen!"
"Thank you! You should drop by my studio sometime, you can watch me and Gwen practice for future shows or just for funsies!" I exclaim with a light giggle. I scanned over Hobie, making a mental note of his rough and sharp look that contrasted with my very being. He reminded me of a black swan, gorgeous and elegant in his own way, but almost twice as intimidating. I wouldn't be lying if I said I truly loved the difference in our aesthetics.
"I tried, but he says that he doesn't-" Gwen begins, with Hobie quickly silencing her by just straight up grabbing her mouth. "Yea, I'd like that. I'll see you la'er then!" He grins as he slowly drags Gwen away, giving you a small wave and a goofy grin as I disappear backstage to change into some normal clothes and deconstruct my makeup.
"You didn't tell me that was the gyaldem you ran wif" Hobie chuckled as he shot Gwen a playful glare. "Well, I TRIED. But you started going on about how you," She dropped her voice an octave, linking a synthetic British accent to her every word. "Don't believe in paying to watch performances!" She teased. Hobie only rolled his eyes, pretending to brush off the matter. But in reality, he couldn't wait to see you again and watch you dance in all your glory.
"So...when's she dancing again?"
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cynicaltirade · 7 months
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Plushophiliac Ted Nivison (aka How to Sleep 101)
:33 < Received a request of this from an anonymous discord friend (love you kitty <3). Not really into it myself but it was interesting to write about!!! Gonna drop the line starters for my actual writing since they can get annoying!
:33 < DISCLAIMER: I only condone the "usuage" of STUFFED animals (not taxidermy mind you). Otherwise, if you don't like, don't read - plushophilia doesn't hurt the plush lover nor anyone else so it's fine (enough) in my books.
:33 &lt; part 2
NSFW UNDER THE CUT. MINORS DNI
Contains: slight self-degradation, Plushophilia (attraction to plushies), edging (self orgasm denial), gooning themes though not out right stated, homemade sex tape, mild begging to cum, corruption kink if you squint.
Word count: 1,761
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:33 < Btw this is the "muse" of the story :3
It had been a long quiet night, but that's to be expected when you are a chronic insomniac. Ted had already considered reaching out to you or any of his friends, but seeing as it was nearly 4am, no one was awake. Short of waking someone up to chat with (which he didn't exactly want to do), he had exhausted most of his usual means to entertain himself; Youtube was getting boring, Netflix had nothing very interesting, his twitter feed was dead, and he was far too tired to make a cohesive video script right now. Truly, this was the most mind numbingly dull situation to be in.
Sure, he could jack off, but at the same he really was not in the mood to just use his hand again right now. Well... Maybe he didn't have to fuck his hand. It was a surprise to even him that while he was scanning his room for something to jerk himself off with, he caught his eyes lingering on a large plush rabbit maybe a foot long. You had gotten it for him as a get-well-soon gift when he was sick just a few weeks ago, telling him that you hoped it would make him feel at least a little bit better. Maybe this wasn't exactly the type of "feeling better" you had intended the plush to help Ted with, but then again, sleeping would make him feel much better and the most surefire way to make him sleepy would be jacking off.
The walk from his computer desk to his bookshelf where he kept the plush rabbit felt like miles. There was a certain shame that came with using a stuffed animal to get off, let alone one that was gifted to him by a close friend of his. For whatever reason though, the shame made his mind spin in anticipation. Feeling the vast expanse of soft fluffy white and grey fur under his fingers once he finally grabbed the plush was was electrifying. His mind was already trying to blank on him as he thought up a hundred excuses as to why this was fine. He was just helping put himself to sleep after a long night of insomnia.
It started off small, dipping his toe in the water so to speak. He sat at the edge of his bed with the plush rabbit laying on his bed as he thought of how best to go about this. Maybe he should just... he decided to try laying down and grinding up against the plush through his black boxers and red plaid PJ pants. Sure, there was nothing morally wrong or illegal about using a plushie to get off, but it still felt so wrong. Regardless, he assumed position.
Ted held the plush rabbit's back close to his chest as to get it's butt comfortably lined up with his crotch, a slight blush crossed his cheeks at how humiliating this felt. Still, he pushed on. One little thrust up into the plush and sparks of pleasure shot up his spine. It was so wonderfully soft and fluffy and the fact that the rabbit was stuffed enough to give some friction but not enough to give enough friction was intoxicating. He gave a few more experimental thrusts through his boxers and PJ pants, feeling his cock stand further at attention with each rub between the thighs of the plush.
It wasn't enough though. He needed more and he needed more now. Quickly Ted undid his PJ pants and kicked them off before returning his attention to his (hopefully) one night stand. With how caught up he was becoming in the action, it was understandable he didn't exactly notice the wet spot forming in his underwear, let alone how much precum was leaking out of his almost aching cock. The slick translucent precum smeared its way from his cock to the plush rabbit with every thrust making it all so much more pleasurable. As much as he hated to admit it, he couldn't help but to give small almost silent "ah"s and "hnn"s as he fucked into his plush. The feeling radiating from his dick was so horribly amazing he felt like his mind was growing heavier, hazier, and made it so... so hard to think. It was as if his mind was getting melted into pond he was sinking into and each thought was just a little ripple - almost imperceivable from the bottom where he was.
Feeling the very beginnings of a knot forming in his stomach and Not wanting to get off too quickly, Ted bit his lip and forced himself to stop thrusting. It felt agonizing at first but he wanted to wring every drop of pleasure out of himself he could manage for now. The original intention of his ministrations were still in the back of his mind, but with each panted breath in this short moment, the thought of going to sleep floated further and further away. His eyelids fluttered for a moment as he gripped the plush closer for some kind of rock to stabilize himself on in the empty lake his mind was becoming.
Feeling the beginnings of the knot in his stomach die down some, Ted resumed by fucking up into the soft slick fur between the plush rabbit's legs. He held it's thighs together to give himself the tightness he had begun to crave. At this point, all he could think about was in, out, in, out, in, out. His mind melted just that little bit further listening to his dick quietly rubbing against the stuffed body he held close as well as his own panting and almost whines. Not wanting to be heard, despite being home alone, he bit onto one of the ears of the plush rabbit. the soft mink lining of the inside of the ear against his tongue felt so disgustingly nice. God the plush rabbit even smelled nice now that he had his nose practically buried in it. Did you put essential oils on it or something? It almost smelled like jasmine, citrus and that unique old plushie smell.
This. This must be what heaven is. The combination of the smells, the taste, the softness of the fur, the sounds of his dick ravaging the thighs of the plush rabbit, and of course already being one edge in was so, so, so very wonderful to Ted. The only thing that could make it better was if the plush was nice and warm, fuck he would simply be unable to keep himself from cumming if that were the case.
The thought of fucking a nice warm hole made it that much better though, god damn. Ted paused once again, trying to fight back the thoughts and keep the knot in his stomach from snapping. While spooning the plush was nice, sure, he wanted something different to enjoy any new sensations he could get. He landed on fucking the plush rabbit in closer to a doggy style position where he stood at the edge of the bed with the plush laying out on a pillow perfectly at dick height. In what was probably his last half aware thought, Ted reached down to his PJ pants pocket and took out his phone. He propped it up at one corner of the bed to fully capture the current scene and hit record. Making sure the film was running, he started fucking into the stuffed rabbit with renewed vigor. If what he was just doing was heavenly, then this must be godly. The precum soaked fur on the top of his dick tantalizingly slicking up the head of his cock with his own precum released with each thrust, and now the cold satin sheets on the underside? He had to grip the base of his cock and still his thrusting just to not cum on the first thrust between the little sandwich he had made himself.
Ted was already at three edges, his dick growing to be angry red in colour as he kept fighting off cumming just to carry on a little longer. At this point, not even clinging on to the plush was enough of a life vest to keep him afloat in the vast expanse of open ocean his mind had become from the overwhelming sensations. He was lost in a sea of pleasure and quite happily drowning in it. Poor boy's mind was so far gone he had already forgotten why he was biting the stuffed bunny's ear, although it didn't really matter since he was home alone.
"Fuck... please..." he murmurs as he leans down to nearly lay on the plush rabbit. Ted didn't really know what he was pleading for but he knew it felt right. His whines grew wider as he let his mouth hang open and fuck himself senselessly into the stuffed rabbit. "Please, please, please, please" he repeated as if it was some kind of personal mantra, his pace becoming more erratic with each desperate thrust. "Please, I wanna cum so bad, please! Too good, please!!!" he grew louder, holding the rabbit tight as he finally chased his orgasm like his life depended on it. Realizing the was about to cum, he hurriedly flip the plush rabbit over onto its back and pressed his cock back up against it's stomach. His dick almost reached half way up it's stomach, actually seeing that fact and thinking about the bulge he'd surely make if he were actually fucking into the soft fluffy polyester insides.
With just a few final thrusts, Ted's short yet sweet gooning session was over. Thick pearly white ropes of cum surged from his cock as he grinded into the plush for that final bit of stimulation. His cum claimed it's everything as his; it's stomach, it's chest, it's face, and some even got on it's ears. With a satisfied yet shaky sigh, he pulled away and examined his work. The plush was, to put it lightly, ruined. The fur on it's underside had become so slicked with precum, cum, and a bit of sweat. What was once the sweat smell of jasmine, orange, and the unique old smell of stuffed animals was over cum by his own musk and the smell of sex.
Ted panted into the hot and heavy room as he came down from his high. He hadn't cum that hard in ages, and god did that fucking feel good. A final shiver rolled up his spine when he pulled away from the slick fur of the plush rabbit.
A realization hit him after a few moments. Well shit, how was he going to clean this up?
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:33 < JESUS FUCKING CHRIST THAT TOOK FUREVER!!! I hope yall enjoy it :3. Despite not being into plushophilia myself, I had so much fun writing this! honestly this is genuinely the most satisfied with my writing I've been in a while :3. I know it's not everyone's cup of tea, but that's ok, I think it's just fun to write about weird kinks/fetishes as long as it isn't about something that hurts people! Anyways, thank you so much for reading!
:33 < Dividers credits: @cafekitsune
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drawmebabyblue · 1 year
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Some innocent flirting with the town sheriff 🥰
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csbat · 9 months
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𝐈𝐓’𝐒 𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 — 𝐒𝐑.
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▸ PAIRING: Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!Reader
▸ SUMMARY: Simon was so used to your presence, so used to you always being there. He’s struggling to cope now that you aren’t.
▸ CONTENT INCLUDES: Major character death, angst, hurt/no comfort
▸ WORD COUNT: 1,033 (+ head-cannons at the end)
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Fear was the first and last emotion Ghost ever felt. He was a weapon; cold in the way he burned, poetic in the way he fought bloody and loved the same. He was made of bared teeth and rough hands, carved out of gunmetal and overflowing with carnal brutality. He made fear seem like a carnival performance, like a jester in front of a king.
Watching your body crumble, blood staining the same hands he held not so long ago—hands that felt him—hands that knew him. Yeah, Ghost was fucking terrified.
From blood and tears to tranquil peace. From aching bones to pale skin. From all to none in the blink of an eye. The gunfire ceased, and he spared a thought to wonder why. Maybe it was just him. Maybe he was just too focused on the way your chest didn’t rise and fall. Maybe his heart was just beating so loud in his ears that he couldn’t hear anything else.
Ghost didn’t remember stumbling toward your body, didn’t remember cradling you in his arms, and he didn’t remember shaking you with desperation. No, he remembered your silence. He remembered holding your pale face in his palms, his hands shaky and his voice wavering as he mumbled hushed apologies against your skin.
“I’m sorry.” He kissed your cheek—messy and so fucking painful. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Your neck, your jaw, your forehead. “Please, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
For what felt like an army, Ghost was the last face people saw; the cause of many’s demise. He’s heard so many people’s last words, from pleads to apologies and everything in between. He carries so many final thoughts with him, things he never thought he’d care about until he realized that he’d never know yours.
He’d never get to see you smile again. He’d never get to hear your laugh, or the shakiness in your voice when he told you he loved you. He’d never get to take you out, watch you admire the sunset and call the view pretty, and he’d never get to agree while his gaze was still on you. He’d never get to help you fold laundry again, or hear you sing along to the radio, or watch you dance around the kitchen in the middle of the night.
Someone once told Ghost that the greatest ability one could have was the ability to remember.
Someone was a fucking liar.
Simon didn’t want to remember you, he wanted to know you. He needed you here, because the second you were gone he felt homesick. He felt like he was too big for his body, like he was suffocating without your presence to breathe life back into him.
He was his own villain, but love was his betrayer.
Ghost has died many times now; the kind of death that you don’t notice. The kind that can’t be seen. Once when his father made him watch that prostitute overdose, twice when he got buried alive, three when he came home to find his family slaughtered. He didn’t want to think about the fourth. Ghost has died many times, but he’s never felt the cold arms of death impaling him. He’s never wished it would handle someone so softly.
He hoped it was peaceful. He hoped it felt like sitting in your favorite garden and feeling the sun on your skin. He hoped the wind was blowing, and he hoped the porch light turned on when it grew dark. He hoped it wasn’t as cold as he felt without you.
Ghost turned his sorrow to anger. He wouldn’t rest until everyone that had ever hurt you was buried in the ground, wouldn’t rest until he made them statistics. He’d make you a graveyard in his desperation as if it were a sacrifice. As if he could turn in twenty-seven souls for the release of one. He’d find someone to blame, and he’d make them pay for it.
If he had to, he’d even make the gods suffer. He’d make them listen, make them greet his cries with their own while his grief haunts the soil and his turmoil shakes the clouds. They’ll fear him when he rips through the ground with his bare hands, desperate to feel your touch. Your hands would be cold, but he’d take them into his and warm them with the burden of his existence. The gods will have no choice but to pray for his forgiveness and beg for his mercy.
The only thing that could stop him was dead, and he’d return the favor until his body was rotten.
Home never felt so far away, even when he was standing in it. It went from his favorite place to a cage; nothing but four walls and a roof that felt abandoned by your lack of presence. Simon was like a ghost at the table, sitting there just to reminisce on the late nights you’d spend there with him. He almost imagined what you’d say if you were here now. Probably some shitty joke he’d pretend to hate. A shitty joke that he’d tell Soap later. A shitty joke that would live in the back of Simon’s mind until his memory failed him, stored with all the others you’ve told.
He didn’t find comfort in the walls decorated with your love and ideas. Almost desperately, they screamed: you won’t find comfort here. This is not your home anymore. She doesn’t haunt the halls. You won’t find her no matter how hard you look. Your records were still sprawled out on the coffee table, and the puzzle you were working on sat unfinished on the kitchen counter. He couldn’t bring himself to move the things you touched. Couldn’t even stand to look at them.
You were a good person. You deserved a soft ending with him. Curled up on the couch, skin wrinkled with age, a warm cup of tea in your hands. Simon knew he’d still find you beautiful.
He’d find you in the garden, laying in the tall grass and smiling when the sun hit your skin and the breeze flew past.
He’d turn on the porch light when it got dark.
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THINGS THAT HAPPENED AFTER YOUR DEATH:
: The recruits learned that Ghost only tolerated them because you were around
: None of the task force sits at the table in the mess hall that you always occupied (except for Ghost)
: Every time someone mentions anything that has to do with you (your favorite movie, favorite subject, etc.) Ghost would lash out
: Ghost would throw himself into his work to distract himself from the silence of your home
: He’d always wear the hoodie that you stole from him, trying to imprint your scent into his skin
: He’d eventually grow old (shocker), and he’d hate himself for leaving you behind
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▸ A/N: I genuinely cannot tell if the shit I write is good or not, but I hope whoever read all this isn’t disappointed. It’s late and I’m tired, so I didn’t really go into how others reacted, but I might elongate this in the future. If you can’t tell, I fucking love angst + making indifferent men feel pain, because yes. Just yes. I still have no fucking clue how this shit works, so bare with me please, we’ll get there eventually 😭
P.S, I tried a new color scheme, don’t know if I love it or hate it yet
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