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#gift ask game
bebemoon · 1 year
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.。❅*⋆⍋*。 𝓯𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝓰𝓲𝓯𝓽𝓼 𝓯𝓸𝓻 @𝓫𝓾𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓮𝓫𝓲𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓼 .
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renli su x musée roo heart lock pendant necklace • duygu ay amelie 2-piece set (from “versailles” collection) • ross simons cultured pearl bunny drop earrings in sterling silver
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miu miu “twist” eau de toilette • pale pink ribbon wand
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97 notes · View notes
nightmare getting apples, for the first christmas thing
damn, you really just went straight to the angst, huh- this ask game!
He would hate it, obviously. With a burning passion. You'd have to either be really close to him or just really innocent to leave with your head after that. If you meant well, fine but also he just hates the things, and what they represent. He also hates eating them, and seeing them rot, and cutting them up, and-
so now he just has basket of apples terrorizing him from the corner of his offer and he's doing everything in his power to a: not cry and b: not let them rot
So yeah uh. Don't get your resident nootmere apples, that's just a no-no
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agrebel18 · 1 year
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🎁 and Gus?
ohhhh i love my boy BUT I DON'T HAVE MUCH STUFF OF HIM ON HERE😭😭😭 THIS IS A CRIME, anyways here you go
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carlyraejepsans · 6 months
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sans undertale would not make i fucked your wife jokes. people want to make jokes about sans fucking asgore's wife but sans the character would NOT do that r you kidding me. you can cut the secondhand embarrassment with a knife every time they're in the same room together, sans likes the guy, i bet he feels genuinely kinda bad for asgore. he'd be like sorry about the dating your ex wife thing. to be fair she's a really cool ex wife. and asgore would be like (rescue shelter dog sigh) She is.
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rosedom · 15 days
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AHHHH HELLOOO sorry i usually dont request much, haha this is actually my second request in all of my tumblr story ever but...i saw you decided to write for gaming and i just couldnt resist, i love your writing a lot and i just think its so immaculate hahaa. Could you write an scenario where male reader is stressed from work (imagine he has an important job like a doctor or something whatever you want is fine :)) because he has been working days nonstop, so much that his boyfriend is all worked up and horny for him so when reader comes back he finds himself straddled by him while hes begging for fucking? With cockwarming, breeding kink and cowgirl position. Could that be with Gaming, Lyney and Gorou? SORRY IF IM ASKING MUCH I DONT WANT TO BE A BOTHER😭😭 i just dont know how to request but thanks for reading all of rant. And again, thank you and sorry for bothering😔 have a nice day/afternoon/night!
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"an unnamed player has invited GA-MING, LYNEY, and GOROU to play . . . an apple a day
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✦ㅤㅤ 【 CW 】 dom!top!male!reader, sub!bottom!ftm!characters, vaginal sex & riding, breeding kink + creampies, creaming (lyney), gratuitous praise + petnames .
A/N : aa u are never a bother !! i am SO SORRY this took so long for me to get to, omg . . . but i had sm fun with this (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)
"do you want to watch, [PLAYER]? press KEEP READING to spectate the match."
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Patient after patient after patient, each one with a more downright stupid trouble than the last. Your day had started with a young man, clearly fresh out of Millelith training, complaining of a tummy ache, of all things! He had clutched his stomach and moaned and groaned, and all you could prescribe him was bedrest. It’s not like you were going to waste medicine—medicine that some people needed—on someone who ached because he didn't eat fucking breakfast. 
The next patient was an older woman, here only for her biannual check up. You'd greeted her, said a sweet, “Good morning, madame,” but all she did was turn her snobby nose up at you and demand you not waste her time.
“Madame, you have a serious—” 
“I know, young man.” You had heaved a sigh, letting her boss you around for the length of her appointment before sending her off with the exact same specifications as last time: take vitamins, get ample rest, stop talking back to people just doing their jobs. (Though, that last one there was merely something you wished you had said.
Too bad the customer—in this case, patient—is always right, huh?)
But, by the end of the day, you wish, instead, that you had simply elderly after elderly; their disrespect pales to the absolute headache that the rest of your patients put behind your eyes, pounding at your skull—bam, bam, bam.
Wham bam-thank-you-ma'am, all throbbing incessantly behind your eyes and making you wanna hurl—except, god, you’re the fucking doctor, and who’s there to take care of him when he’s a little under the weather? You’ve got your boyfriend, of course—your perfect boyfriend, light of your life, apple of your eye, yet he’s home, and you’re here, and you’re bloody exhausted. 
“I need to go home,” you murmur—quiet, lest your own voice make you lose the last of your thin-threaded sanity—, already stripping yourself of the itchy scrubs you wear during the long days. 
“But sir—” the nurse asks, meak, but her voice is still too loud, too shrill for right now. 
You huff. “I’ve worked for fourteen hours.” The tired gruff to your own voice makes you cringe. You can feel the way it tumbles from your chest, rattling you, your overly sensitive eyes and brain and head and fuckin’ everything, at this point. “Refer to the doc on duty, now.” 
The nurse nods, once. “Have a good night, doctor.”
You bid farewell—a kind apology with a promise to make it up to them, to bring them coffee, maybe, or some cookies—, and you take the slow walk home. The sky is dark and the fireflies are out, the gentle glow illuminating the path. With nothing but your own thoughts and the night to accompany you, you feel your headache gradually ease. It throbs, still; but each bump in your skull is gentler, now: it’s easier to ignore. 
Although the porch light is too strong—the lantern bright and attracting the nighttime bugs and moths—, the foyer of your home is dark. Your aching head is grateful for the reprieve—for the silence that envelops you in totality the second the door clicks quietly shut behind you—, but something other than tiredness pulls at your heartstrings: your sweet boyfriend, clad in only a shirt of yours, toeing into the entryway. 
“Honey?” He wipes the sleep from his eyes, softly smiling at you. “Hi.”
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“Ga-ming, honey—” honey, because Ga-ming unabashedly stole the pet name from you, first, “—you didn’t have to stay up for me.” 
As if on cue, his jaw cracks open in a yawn: this, you do not need the lights on to see. Your heart aches with your head, knowing that he had stayed up just for you. “Honey,” you repeat, sliding off your jacket and stepping up to him. You take his waist in your hands, bunching up the shirt he stole from your closet.
“Quit with that,” he murmurs, tilting up his head for a soft kiss. You grant it; but when you go to pull back, to keep the kiss gentle and chaste, Ga-ming presses forward, darting that little tongue out to lick at the seam of your lips; his hips, too, come bumping against yours, pressing into your thigh, pant to skin—
“Ga-ming?” you repeat, breath leaving you in a low huff. “You’re—” bare. 
Utterly, wholly bare: an expanse of warm, slick skin against your clothed leg. “‘m ready,” he mumbles while he takes to mouthing at your throat. His lips soothe you, somehow; it’s a reprieve, a stark contrast, to the pounding at your skull. 
“Ready?” you whisper, tilting your head back, letting your hands guide the steady roll of his hips onto your lap. 
He nods. “Ready for you,” he enunciates as he softly whines. 
Ga-ming—your Ga-ming—, your boyfriend, your love and light of your life: right here in front of you, on you, all needy for you, offering himself to you, wholly ready for the taking. 
“So please,” he continues, his cock dragging heavy across the seam of your pant; “fuck me.”
“Oh, honey,” you murmur; then again, an “oh, honey,” because you’re still half-dressed up in your clothes—though they’re only soft and bland, made to fit under the rough scrubs you had abandoned at the office—, and Ga-ming is naked save for the shirt draping across him, the low hemline covering the absolutely sinful way he grinds down. It’s a dirty move, a down, down, down that gives his sensitive cock friction against your pelvis. 
“Please, please, ‘m ready, I said—” his words abruptly drop off, a high cry in his throat that sends him to hide his overly-warm face in your neck. His skin burns against you, a feverish-hot that makes you chuckle, makes the throb in your head go away, just-so. “I said I-I was ready, so, please!”
You coo, quiet, bumping your hips up once. The jerking motion makes him cry out, but he manages to keep himself upright, right-side up but entirely unmoored on your cock. “Go on then, little lion. Take what you need, yeah?”
Whimpering a quiet, “Y-yeah,” he begins riding you, slow, steady—but slightly off-balanced—rolls of his hips that makes him whine, makes you groan low n’ deep in your chest. You let your hands rest on his hips, the fabric of his shirt falling over your wrists, and gently guide his motions. Once you’ve helped him establish himself, he begins riding you harder, more desperate.
Silent tears—though, are they truly silent, loud as he is moaning out for you?—dribble down his cheeks, falling to his shirt and soaking the collar of it in salty evidence of his abject pleasure. His abdomen is tensing and relaxing and tensing and relaxing again, all in a rapid loop, in and out and in n’ out, and then there’s a fucking bulge right below his navel when he sinks down hard n’ deep on your cock; and you’re sent over the edge at the sight, moaning through your teeth as you fill Ga-ming up with hot, sticky cum.
“Oh, oh—” he cries, grinding down harsh to get all your cum in as deep as possible, deep ‘nuff to breed him— “bred me, bred me so well, oh—” You groan at his desperate babbling as his thighs jerk around your hips, just before they give out on him entirely. He falls bodily into your chest, heaving through his own orgasm as weak mewls tumble from his prettily parted lips. Each sound is smeared into your throat while you laugh, light and breathless, jostling his overly-sensitized body and making him flinch. 
“Sorry, honey.” You kiss at his temple, and, the whole while, his small cunt is left to unconsciously milk your cock, left to assure that loud, insecure part of his brain that he’s wanted, that he’s bred all nice n’ full because he is loved. You’re long done, now, but the undulations make your body warm, soft, safe—just like Ga-ming is, comfy in your lap and wholly protected. “Thank you.”
He shakes his head against you, nuzzling into your throat with a heavy sigh. “You don’t have—hafta thank me,” he mumbles, a lick at your Adam’s apple to seal the deal. “I wanted ta.”
Tucking up the blankets around him, you grin. “Then can you warm my cock, lil’ dragon? Just for me?” You run your fingers lightly up his clothed spine, delighting in the shiver you can feel, one that runs the length of your cock as he’s snug on it. “Since earlier was all about you?” You raise the end of your sentence in a lilting tone, meant to tease, and Ga-ming huffs at you. 
And, n further retaliation, he clenches around you; the soft squeeze—all wet n’ warm, smearing your own cum across the base of your cock and leaving the mess of both of yours to dribble down the minute space between your bodies—forces you to calm your breathing, to take in the delicate scent of what is undeniably Ga-ming mixed with the smell of your own shirt, your own cologne. 
You laugh, then. “‘m sorry,” you say again amidst giggles, ones you’re careful you confine only to your upper chest lest the movement be too uncomfortable on both of your oversensitive groins. 
He doesn't reply, snuggled up comfy on your lap and stuffed full of your cock n’ cum both. Instead, he only noses into your neck further before his breathing steadies, lulling you to sleep, too.
It’s in your final moments of consciousness that you realize your head no longer hurts. 
(You suppose you now have the evidence that, yes, an orgasm is sufficient enough a cure for headaches.)
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Under Lyney’s palm, a small floor lamp clicks silently on. The light is admittedly dim, but, to your sensitive eyes, the bulb is blinding. You cringe and cover your eyes; but it only serves to shield you slightly, because you’re still upright in the foyer, and your body is rather weak. “Lyney,” you tiredly murmur, lifting your palm just enough to see the ground lest you trip. 
You bump into him, laughing lightly, but his worried hands jump to your arm. “Hey—”
“I’m okay.” You’re quick to calm him, placing your free hand on his in a tender gesture as you make way to the living room. “Just a headache, ‘s all. Ya shouldn't have stayed up f’r me.” Earlier, it hurt to even think; but here, with him, the pain is easy to ignore, in the face of his own self destruction.
He grumbles at you, though, says something you can’t quite catch and drops his hands, pads over to the lamp to flick it off. The return of darkness is soothing. 
He smiles at you, then; or, at least, you think he does. It’s difficult to see in the dark, and you can’t strain your eyes without hurting yourself. “I wanted to!” He takes three long strides before he’s standing in front of you, draping his arms across your shoulders. The position makes his (your) shirt ride up on his belly, and— ”I missed you, y’know,” he murmurs, suddenly all soft n’ deep, looking up at you and bumping his forehead against your chin. “A lot, really.” 
“Lyn—” 
He quickly silences you with a kiss. Against your lips, he pulls back, murmurs, “I missed your cock, especially.”
Laughing against him, you lean up ‘til he can no longer reach you. He pouts at you when you reply, faux-snark, “only my cock, huh?” Your bottom lip juts out—a mirror of Lyney’s own, a magic trick of his you took for your own; it’s a devilish trick, one you play right alongside puppy-dog eyes you know he’s soft to. “How cruel.” 
He huffs at you, pulling you down by the collar of your shirt to kiss the mirth off your lips. “I was tryin’ to be seductive,” he grumbles, knocking against your chin and beginning to push you backwards into the living room. “But nevermind!”
You want to say, “Hey, now:” disagree with him and keep on pouting and go, “hey, hey, hey,” all offended, but the backs of your knees come into contact with the edge of the sofa, and you’re well and sufficiently distracted from that idea.
“Sit,” he gently commands you—merely the illusion of choice—, giving you no choice in the matter with the way he’s pressing you down into the cushions. You go easily; you sigh in relief when the softness begins enveloping you—a pillow’s snug right in the middle of your back, and you briefly wonder if Lyney had planned this. He murmurs, “there you go,” quiet n’ soft, and you’re taken by the way this man gives to you. 
He wears his heart on his sleeve, truly; except, right now, the sleeve is yours (just like his heart belongs to you and yours to him in turn), and it's bare, and so is the expanse of his long, pale thighs, the hem of his boxers peeking out beneath the shirt. He stands in front of you, between your legs, makes sure you’re down and that you’re gonna stay down, but your eyes aren’t really tired, not anymore, staring at Luney—your Lyney—before he huffs and sits bodily onto you, straddling your lap with his knees sinking into the cushions on either side of you.
“Lyney,” you murmur, reaching out to take hold of his thighs. The position makes the shirt rise up on his belly, exposing the soft, rippling muscles there; but, in the dark, all you can go by is what you feel against your own stomach, his bare skin pressed to your thin shirt. “I was kiddin’, sweetheart.”
“I know you were,” he snaps at you, mean-like, but he brings his arms around your shoulders all sweetly and nuzzles into the side of your head. “But I wasn’t. I—I really did miss you; and your cock. If you—if you wanna, of course.” 
“Of course I want to, Lyn,” you mutter, tilting your head up to kiss beneath his chin. “I’m just a little tired.”
“A little?” He huffs, again, before sighing. “Just—let me do the work, alright? I’m already...” he pauses, tilts his head to the side, breathes in and out sharply.
You hum at him to go on. 
“‘m already prepped.” Oh. 
“Oh?” You grin, bringing your tired arm up to cup his cheek. He leans into your palm and his eyelashes flutter, brushing against your skin. “Go ahead then, sweet thing.”
And go ahead he does, smiling into you before he abruptly leans back ‘nuff to chuck off the shirt. You whine, say, “hey!” but there isn’t any bite left on your tongue when Lyney starts tugging his boxers down, too. He’s impatient, pulling at the seam and groaning curses at the fabric—as if it’s the damn boxers’ fault that he’s in a position that prevents him from taking them off. 
He relents, tilting this way and that and finally—after painstaking minutes later, ones that, under no circumstance, should be arousing, but the anticipation, the wait: it all makes your dick chub up in your own pants—Lyney’s left naked in your lap. The fabric hangs off his foot, and you reach down to tug it the rest of the way off for your sweet boyfriend as he busies himself unbuckling your own belt, loosening the tough leather enough for your pants to droop and enough for him to reach a hot hand into your briefs. 
“Eager, huh?” you tease, lifting your hips—and, subsequently, him—to let him get your dick out of your pants. Neither of you bother pulling down your own pants, not after Lyney spent so long on his boxers alone. He doesn’t dally. “My sweet Lyney.”
He sighs, again—he’s rather dramatic tonight; but, then again, when isn’t he? It wouldn’t quite be your Lyney without some theatrics—, spitting into his palm and lathering up your cock with it while he makes to straddle you more fully. “Thought you were tired,” he grumbles, hovering his, indeed, wet n’ slicked up and entirely prepped cunt over your thick cockhead.
“Mhm.” You set your hands on his plush thighs once he hooks the head of you into his loosened hole, groaning low and pleased in your throat while he softly whimpers at the barely-there stretch. He prepared himself well. “But when you’re lookin’ so pretty for me, I can’t help being wide awake. Wouldn’t wanna miss this sight for the world.”
With your eyes now adjusted to the light—and, oh, you consider how the throb of your head is a bygone memory now—, you can see the way his cheeks darken just-so, puffed up in exertion as his groin meets yours. You’ve got your cock stuffed up balls-deep in him, and he leans into you once he’s fully settled. 
He moans, less out of outright pleasure and more out of total contentment, comfy and warm on your lap as your arms knead at his thighs. His arms squeeze around your shoulders, and he quietly asks, “Gimme a minute.”
Nodding, you simply bask in the steady heat of him, letting him adjust and recognize that, yes, you’re home, now, and you hadn’t really left him at all. “I missed you,” you murmur rather suddenly, your voice quiet but still stark in the silence of the night. “Thought about you durin’ my shift.”
“You did?” His voice is rough but wispy, a little out-there and entirely gone. He’s slipping into that mindset he always does when he’s left to warm your cock—regardless of if it were by his volition or your own—, but he begins to subtly grind his hips against you, mewling at the hot sparks of rapture from his cock rubbing just right against you. 
“‘Course I did,” you continue, moving your hands to his hips instead to help move him along. His arms tighten around you and he moans directly into your ear.
From then on, it’s quiet: quiet, that is, save from the obscene slick noises of the lube Lyney used to prep himself earlier with his own slick, your pre-cum mixing up and making a mess of thick liquid between both of your thighs. His moans are barely audible, these soft, gentle lil’ uh, uh, uh’s punched out of him with each tender grind down. 
You think, even, that you’ll both cum like this: quiet, nothing but the sounds of your connection and heavy breaths, moans, groans as you fall over the edge. But then Lyney starts bumping his groin against yours even harder, grinding down deep on your cock and rubbing against your full balls, and he starts babbling for you to “breed me! Please—”
“I-I’ll breed you,” you groan, leaning your head back into the sofa cushions and chasing your release, chasing the release you both want, the one he wants so desperately stuffed up deep inside him. “Gonna fill you right up, just like you want, sweetheart.” 
He babbles more—a mix of syllables and words, more pleas for you to breed him—until he’s silenced by his own high-pitched whine, cumming around you and slathering you in creamy-white. The steady clench and release of his cunt forces you to your own end, thick cum slowly leaking out from the edges of his cunt and your cock. (You can hardly tell what’s your leaking cum and what is his own.)
“Thank you,” he mumbles, already beginning to doze. “Th’nk you:” quieter, more muddled against your ear.
You grab the throw you have across the sofa’s armrest, rucking it up around the two of you; you cocoon Lyney safe in your arms and on your softened cock. He’s nodded off, now, and he misses your words: “You don’t have to thank me,” you say anyway, even if he doesn’t hear you, “I love you.”
The cum’ll be sticky, later, when you wake up; but for now, it’s perfect. It’s perfectly warm and entirely cozy, wholly snuggled up with the love of your life. Your headache, the stressors of the day—they’re all forgotten in his presence. 
You’re so, so glad to love him. 
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“Hi, puppy,” you coo. The sound of your own voice grates you, but you ignore it to sweetly smile at your beloved. He stands there, motionless for a moment right there at the threshold before the foyer, until he shakes his head with a barely-there laugh. “Gorou?” 
He tilts his head to the side—this you can see, the silhouette of him in the moonlight—before he takes a tentative step forward. 
Then another. And another. Another, another, another, ‘till he’s standing in front of you and leans up to kiss your jaw. “Hi,” he repeats, voice ruff (hah!) and hoarse, a little too much so. “Missed ya.”
You tilt your head back to let him mouth at you, and your hands subconsciously come to clutch at his hips, and— “Oh, Gorou,” you mumble, pleasantly aghast, because your hands come into contact with bare, slick skin. “Pent up?”
With a quiet whimper, he tilts his hips forward, into you, pressing against the contact of your fingers on him. You slowly slide your one hand around, sneaking a large handful of his ass before you dip into his cleft, shuddering when your fingertip easily glides across his slicked, open cunt. 
“I-I wanted you, so bad,” he starts to mumble, shy, tucking his head into the meat where your shoulder meets your neck. Without any prompting, you adjust your stance, pressing your knee into his cock and making him jerk forward with another whimper high in his throat. “Oh!”
Slowly, his hips begin grinding—it’s a weak movement, testing, making sure you're really okay with this, right now. He moves unsure against you until you begin bumping your knee, letting his slick make a mess of your pant leg. “Go on,” you goad him on, soft, holding him snug against you. You can feel his cunt clench even through the fabric of your pants, a rapid rat-a-tat-tat against you that is oddly reminiscent of the headache you can feel begin to dissipate. “Take your pleasure, pup.”
He nods vehemently against you, beginning to hump as his tail swishes side to side, side to side, hypnotizing you just slightly. It’s hard to parse it out in the dark, but the shadow of it is undeniable behind him. Each bounce of your leg makes Gorou whimper, and he’s quick to crane his neck up for a kiss to muffle himself. You grant his request easily, but only for a minute; after, you gently part from him to murmur, so quiet that only he could possibly hear, those big, soft ears of his twitching as he strains, “What else do you want, honey?” 
“Want you,” he whines, grinding harshly once, twice. “Want you inside me, want you to breed me.” 
You didn’t expect that, but you’re a doctor, after all; it’s kinda in the job description to roll with the punches, so you do. “You wanna get fucked full of pups?” you ask, teasing and light, but Gorou’s mouth parts as a loud whine crawls out of his chest.
“Yes! Please.” Thick tears begin to drop from his eyes, saltwater dribbling onto the bare skin of your throat. “Now, now—breed me now,” he begs, and you coo at him, bringing your hands to curl into his hair, rubbing soothing circles into the base of one puppydog ear. 
“Patience, pup.” 
And, because he’s Gorou, and Gorou is nothing but a good boy, he nods, rapid-quick movements of his head, and begins to slow on your thigh. Heat shimmers low in your belly as he steps back from you on shaky legs, a wet splotch across your leg from his cunt. You bring a hand down, meaning to scoop it up off your pant, but your finger brushes two distinctly different textures: his natural slick, and fuckin’ lube. “Did you prepare yourself for me?”
“Y-yeah,” he mutters, tail tucking itself between his legs. You almost cringe at that, knowing he’s smearing himself into his own fur, but if he doesn’t mind, then you won’t either; besides, it’s hard to truly care when your boyfriend is so bashful in front of you. “I—I missed you, ‘nd wanted to be ready for you.”
The image of Gorou, ass up on the bed with four of his fingers stuffed up inside of himself flitters across your mind, makes your cock throb in your britches. Your erection was easy to ignore, earlier; but now it’s abject torture. 
However, it’s not nearly as torturous as it was for your boyfriend, and you know this. You know he didn’t cum, know his fingers are far too short to truly reach in deep and press against his g-spot, know his wrist can’t comfortably bend to jerk himself off and finger himself at the same time. So you coo, soft, “Sweet boy. Where’s your toy?”
“Charging,” he mutters. 
You grin at that: it’s perfect. “Can you go get it then, puppy?” 
With an audible swallow, he nods, rushing for your bedroom. You follow behind him, lethargic but so, so turned on; and while he’s grabbing the vibrator from the corner, you shuck off the rest of your clothes and plop yourself down on the edge of your bed. 
He must not expect you to have followed him, however, because once he turns around, he jumps, ears flattening to his head in embarrassment. You only laugh and pat your lap. “C’mere.”
Quickly—and toy in tow—, he shuffles over to you. He stands awkwardly in front of you for a moment before you murmur, “I said c’mere,” and tug him to straddle your lap. The position immediately forces his cock—slick n’ thick, out of its hood and throbbing incessantly—against yours, and he mewls helplessly for a moment, grinds once, twice again, before he grabs the lube to the side of you. 
You hadn’t even noticed it there, but now that he’s grabbed it, pointed it out, you feel other wet spots beneath you. He fuckin’ masturbated here, right on the duvet you both sleep under, thinkin’ about you and only you. You’re taking out of your musings when he slathers up your cock in lube, messy and sloppy, and then he’s rising, positioning you, and sinking right on down.
“Mm!” he cries out, swiveling his hips to take you in deeper, deeper, deeper. You groan at the lube-slick combination that smothers your cock in Gorou, Gorou, Gorou. “Breed me, breed me!” Each meak plea makes your cock pulse inside him, and he mewls at each throb inside him. “Please!”
“I got you, pup,” you murmur, your edge so close you can taste it on the tip of your tongue. “Just make yourself feel good, and I’ll breed you, okay? Okay, puppy?”
“Okay, okay—” 
You grin. “Good boy,” you say, and then he’s tumbling over the edge and bringing you right down with him. You groan into his throat, feeling the vibrations of his whimpers n’ whining moans as he’s getting thoroughly bred. Your hands ruck up his shirt to hold his sides and soothe him down from his high. “You did so good for me, sweetheart. Bred you just like I promised I would, hm?”
He weakly nods. “Thank you,” he mumbles, nosing at your throat. 
And, well. You’re bloody exhausted, and you promised to breed him, and he can’t keep on being bred if you pull out. You tell yourself you’re only upholding your promise as Gorou falls asleep on your cock, breathing deep on your lap: tell yourself that it’s the lingering tiredness that suddenly seems to hit you in full-force that keeps him warm and snug on you. 
Really, clean-up can wait. 
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i got a lil' carried away on lyney's part ,, o(*^@^*)o also, none of these were really cowgirl 'cos reader was sitting up for it . . . i couldn't think of how to have him lay flat in these scenarios LOLL
13 MAR. 2024, @rosedom, rosey .
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mozzaremi · 1 year
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omori au doodle dump
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whatlovelybones-if · 3 months
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"the screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain" THE WHAT?! YOU DARE AVERY??? AND WTF J???
What would happen if MC and J were about to kiss, but MC suddenly stopped and just apathetically stared at them and said that they resented them for not being their first kiss, and just left? 😂😂
(Also, did MC have a some sort of relationship before the story began, or is that left for headcannon?)
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it started with a simple statement.
“i won’t be riding back with you today,” J said.
you didn’t mind, not really. of course, you used to take every opportunity to spend time with them, but you could understand that they had their own life and sometimes their plans didn’t line up with yours.
“anything special you got planned?” you joked while closing your school locker, but you feel your insides wither and shrivel like a crumpled flower when they give you the actual reason.
“avery wanted to take me home today,” J said, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal but the embarrassed pink on their cheeks give them away.
you had a feeling whatever was going to happen today, you wouldn’t be liking it at all. on top of that, J was acting weird as hell. not to mention that this avery person had been someone they’d been weirdly close the past couple of days.
you also happen to know that avery lived on the other side of town, completely off the route you and J took to get home every day. avery wasn’t just giving them a ride; it was something else. the more you thought about it, the more it sounded like a date. a motherfucking date.
you felt your heart starting to weigh three times heavier as you forced a smile and said, “oh, sure, that’s fine.” and then, before you could stop yourself, you found yourself stupidly asking, “so did they ask you out on a date or something?”
to save yourself the embarrassment and act nonchalant, you find yourself ruffling their hair slightly. if J noticed that you were forcing it, they didn’t let it show. instead they just laughed nervously, trying to fix their hair, and said, “actually, i was the one who ended up asking them out.”
wonderful. you wanted to scream, but you managed to give them the fakest smile you could. “i’m so happy for you.”
J picked up on the hint that maybe you weren’t feeling as happy as you’re saying you are because they asked, “are you alright, teddy?”
that nickname hurts even more now as you nod, “of course, why wouldn’t i be?”
one of J’s love languages has always been physical touch and everything just gets a lot more complicated; their hand on your back is warm, the inky dark eyes that stare back at you are kind and worried, the full pink lips that you wish to kiss look so inviting. they smell the same as always: leather, strawberries, spearmint, and marlboro red smoke masked by a fancy cologne/perfume.
“did i do something wrong?” J asks, looking like a kicked puppy.
you can’t stand it. the concerned look on J’s face as they ask you what’s wrong when everything is wrong right now. it’s wrong that they can’t see how much you love them. it’s wrong that they can’t see how loving them has become second nature for you. it’s wrong that they can’t see how you don’t want to be just their best friend.
knowing them, you know your best friend is probably imagining a thousand different scenarios of how they must’ve hurt you. but you know that they didn’t hurt you, they could never do that, at least not intentionally.
then you do it. you actually do it. one of the stupidest things you have ever done in your 15 years of existence.
you leaned in and kissed them.
the look on J’s face makes you wanna crawl into your own skin and die. their body had tensed up, their lips frozen open, parted but not uttering a sound. all of that was enough to tell you that it was fucking mistake. so you do the only thing that made sense to you at that moment: you turn and run outside like a fucking coward.
time seemed to slow down, each second stretching impossibly beyond normal. the only sound that could be heard was the rain. heavy, rhythmic, and coming down without pause. you don’t even feel the chill setting in as your whole body burns with the shame of what you did and the image of J’s reaction only makes your skin crawl more.
stupid, stupid, stupid!
you run across the parking lot to get to your car and book the hell out of the school campus. you utter a loud curse when you check your pockets and realise you left your car keys in your locker.
you’re soaked to the bone and you aim a swift kick at your car; panting like you just ran a marathon, hair sticking to your neck and cheeks, heavy breathing pushing your chest up and down, your face wet from both the rain and your tears.
tears? no, you’re not wrong, you can feel the saltiness mixing up with the rain and pouring down your face. you haven’t cried in forever. at least not in a genuine way.
why in the world did it have to J of all people that you had to fall for? they had been your best friend since you were kids, always a constant and comforting presence in your life. almost a decade of friendship down the drain because of your stupid feelings. it wasn’t worth it at all to lose your best friend like this.
your best friend who’s now calling your name. a yell in the distance muffled by the sound of the rain and of your breaking heart. your breath hitches but you ignore them. there’s no way you can face them, not right now.
“for god’s sake, you can’t just kiss me and walk away! hey!” J yells out.
“go away, J! i really don’t want to talk to you right now.”
they catch up to you, refusing to let you run off again. “and why is that, hm?”
“i don’t know!” you answer, throwing up your hands in exasperation. “i’m ignoring you right now.”
“well,” J continues to stubbornly come closer, “i am ignoring the fact that you’re ignoring me.”
you give them a glare. “that’s not how it works.”
J matches your challenging glare. “fine then. tell me why you kissed me and i will leave you alone.”
“i kissed you because i love you, you daft dumbo!” you nearly yell, frustrated beyond reason. ignoring the dumbfounded look on J’s face, you continue, “i’ve loved you ever since we were kids. i love your eyes and how they sparkle like stars when you’re talking about music. i love your voice and how it soothes me whenever i’m having a hard time. i love how you know me and know exactly what to say to make me feel better whenever and wherever. i just love you so much and i cannot stand the thought of you with avery. i will get over this though, J, just give me some ti—”
in a heartbeat, they lean in and their lips are on yours. you can’t help the gasp which slips out of your mouth, too surprised, too tense, and J holds your face dearly like you’re something precious, pressing your lips and body against theirs with something akin to desperation. both of you so entirely soaked from the rain, so entirely frightened, so entirely in love.
when the kiss ends, it’s because both of you are completely out of breath. J doesn’t let the space between the two of you grow any further, though. they instead press themselves further against you, your bodies fitting like perfect puzzle pieces.
“don’t get over me,” they plead, the taste of strawberry in your mouth, forehead against yours, dark eyes fluttering close. “don’t ever get over me.”
“b-but,” you stutter, head still spinning, “what about avery?”
J groans, following it up with a chuckle. “one date and i think even they’d be able to see it.”
“see what?”
“how you are the one i’m in love with.”
before you can even process what they just said, they lean in again to seal it with a kiss.
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bayheart · 1 year
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HIIIIII so this was for a server gift exchange teehee, my giftee was @funnywizard3000 !!! AS U CAN TELL BY THE USERNAME.... funny wizard image was in order :)
team game night!!!!! bulkhead is winning. also prowl would have corrected bee on the dnd spell name first if he wasn’t busy using this opportunity to look at bulkhead’s cards. u know how it is 💖
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hauntedtrait · 1 year
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i was today years old when i figured out i could use gshade to take transparent screenshots….. literally screaming mourning all the time and effort i spent removing backgrounds and color correcting when i could’ve just had the computer do it all from the start 😭 anyways jesus christ i need to sleep its 6am
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mango-sideburns · 8 months
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My fav thing about TAZ is that any aspect out of context sounds fucking bonkers.
Like, in the balance finale there's a scene in which Garfield (who is very specifically never described visually bc most people imagine him as like. The Lasagna Cat. Who in this universe is the most powerful warlock in the realm and also has a hobby of cloning people, which is great for the one character that got forced into haunting a mannequin) is summoned by an alien spaceship that runs on the power of friendship so he could beat up some flashing balls. In D&D.
And that was just. Such a normal scene in the narrative. No one blinked an eye. I would like to bow down to Griffins clear unmatched talent for making me feel such big emotions over ridiculous shit like a goddamned umbrella or a regular ass pair of jeans or the idea of a taco recipe.
#taz balance#the adventure zone#taz#i have. so many drafts of this post decontexualizing so many different scenes.#merle killing a room of autism creature looking things by asking them to tell the truth which then summons god#also merle retiring from his retirement to run fantasy margaritaville under the title Earl Merle#magnus the mannequin telling taako and merle to find the baby voidfish bc the big voidfish sung at him real hard bc in the century he#just now remembered (bc hes a mannequin not a human boy)#he gifted an alien jellyfish with dozens of shitty wooden ducks. he forgot that century bc his friend fed the jellyfishs baby a book#the gnome version of Teddy Rucksbin turns out to be the universes most competent spaceship pilot. hes also a talented opera singer#a man named Barry Bluejeans is dead and uses his ghost haunting powers to gift the three heroes badges that they cant see#right before theyre shuttled off in a cannonball to save a space lab full of kitschy elevators thats snowing pink tourmaline#barry also uses his ghost powers to hold hands with magnus and make random shapes in midair like a dresser when theyre trapped in a#fantasy version of The Dating Game hosted by ghost Jesse and James Rocket who steal bodyparts if you lose their game.#or like in campaign how a dude who wiped out in the first three seconds of ninja warrior convinces a human wifi router#who owns a bible theme park to take the apparent King of America to the white house on their hovercraft to be trued for treason#after he announced his intent to take over the country in a televised debate with an inuit goddess who is sometimes trapped in the body#of an HR worker all Donald Blake/Thor style#anyways. this show is ridiculous and i love it So Much
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You've met The:
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Now behold, The Connected Marketeers:
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The Genuinely Unconnected Marketeers:
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The Possibly Connected Outside Work Marketeers
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And The Cool Cutie Who Also Happens To Be A Marketeer
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Art by Umebitan
Link Below:
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bebemoon · 1 year
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.。❅*⋆⍋*。 𝓯𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝓰𝓲𝓯𝓽𝓼 𝓯𝓸𝓻 @𝔀𝓪𝓴1𝓷𝓰𝓽𝓱𝓮𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓬𝓱 .
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karen sugarman pink morganite filigree clasp w/ french meerschaum reliquary ex voto pendant . alexander mcqueen cropped bustier (s/s 2oo5 collection) . gucci: the alchemist’s garden “moonlight serenade” acqua profumata
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robert physick carved marble bust of a nymph (c. 19th century) . medieval silver signet ring w/ crescent moon and star (c. 165o)
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Christmas Event 1 - Imagines
Send me a character and a gift for them, and I'll tell you how they react to getting it from an s/o
For example, something like "Nightmare getting calligraphy supplies"
You can find the other winter event here!
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emry-stars-art · 9 months
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What was Abrams favorite thing that Andrew gave him during his courting attempts?
Okay I’ve been sitting on this one because I was trying to give it my best answer and like. I still don’t know lol
I know that people in the replies and tags are going to have incredible answers as well so I want this to be more of a “here’s a collection of things he likes the most” and I get to start so here’s my take:
It’s a book. I hear your valid confusion but LISTEN. In the stretch before Abram finally realizes what’s been going on with the gifts/etc, Andrew gives Abram a book - could be poetry, could be a romance story, idk - with a ribbon just barely peeking out of one page. Abram, obviously, doesn’t think much of it and he’s never been big on reading (I don’t know why I never have Neil liking to read lol is that canon) so he keeps the book on his dresser or something like “I’ll get around to it if he insists”
And then after Abram actually, clearly says he can accept Andrew’s advances, Andrew remembers about it and realizes Abram must not have ever opened the book because he would have figured this all out before now if he had
He asks him about it, if he ever read it, and Abram’s like “…no”
So Andrew tells him to. Later, when Abram’s back in his room, he picks up the book and checks out the first page, and it’s something pretty obviously unimportant or unrelated. And the next page. Eventually he thinks to check the ribbon; he flips to the pages and somewhere on them a quote is underlined in steady deep blue ink:
My glances through the eyes of friendship grow more brief by the day. You remain in the kindest, softest embrace of my heart, but now I find myself watching, hopeful, and friends do not look at friends the way I sometimes look at you.
Stunned, in a word.
But this is something he can figure out. This isn’t flowers - they’re lovely but die so quickly, and Abram doesn’t know the language of them or which ones Andrew would like. It isn’t meals shared, because that’s too common by now. It isn’t direct words or actions of affection because those are far too awkward for someone with so little experience with them. But Abram looks at this book, sees exactly what to do with it, and he knows certainly that this is a way the prince wouldn’t mind communicating because he was the first to do it. Abram doesn’t even have to be around when Andrew reads it.
So Abram spends the next several days scanning the book when he has time, finding many quotes he could perhaps imagine returning, finding a few he keeps marked just in case. Then he finds one that he doesn’t even bother marking with a scrap paper, he immediately picks up his pen and underlines it.
I look at the moon and she has your face: the brightest thing in my sky, the most beautiful, and so, so far away.
(And @jtl-fics had the sweetest idea of Abram pressing and keeping the flowers from the bouquet Andrew gets him in this post; and that he uses some to make bookmarks probably because he knows how much the prince likes books. He would definitely use one of those bookmarks to mark the page he underlined rather than the scrap ribbon 🥰)
Anyway the next time Abram sees the prince he wordlessly hands him back the book. Andrew sees the new mark but doesn’t try to open it yet (which relieves Abram more than he’ll admit), just keeping it under his arm until he has somewhere to put it. But it doesn’t take him near as long to find another quote, since he tends to get distracted reading the context or surrounding passages; he underlines the very next sentence and gets the book back to Abram the next morning. Understanding the risk of Abram’s misunderstanding and completely willing to explain himself in plain terms when Abram asks. Still with the pressed flower bookmark.
To have you near enough to touch should surely destroy me.
When Abram opens it later he first sees that the pages look very familiar - those passages look very familiar - that quote is certainly familiar. And he gets very worried very quickly. Maybe Andrew didn’t like that one, maybe Abram had chosen wrong and he didn’t know how to do this as well as he’d thought. But he doesn’t close it fast enough not to finally, mercifully read on and realize that some of the ink on the page is not his own black ink. After it, dark enough to almost be black in the wrong light, is Andrew’s dark blue.
But after reading Andrew’s quote he does in fact close the book quickly, sitting back and just staring, mostly because he’d surprised himself; he won’t know Andrew’s intention for certain until he asks, but this time - likely for the first time - Abram looks at the word destroy and doesn’t immediately think of the harm he’s done. (Andrew’s new, unfamiliar way with words had to work it’s way into Abram’s understanding eventually.)
They go on as long as there’s still quotes they like in the book, and only once does Andrew get frustrated that Abram stole one of his before he could get around to using it.
Anyway thank you for the sweet ask, here’s a quick sketch of Andrew reading to Abram in the library
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puppyeared · 3 months
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How do you do fellow human?
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if i answered this 2 weeks ago i would have said i want a quick and easy death <- currently on school break
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moonastro · 1 month
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VALENTINES SPECIAL
tarot game
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I'm so excited to finally make another game. remember that these games are to have fun and not to be taken seriously AT ALL.
for this game, i decided to change it up a bit and make it more detailed and personal.
i will use tarot to write a love letter from your future spouse.
so, how to get a spot?
like+ reblog this post
no anons (i will know if you are following or not)
send usual initials and your favourite valentine day decoration/dessert. EG- rose bouquet.
like my recent post
additional** if you are a tarot reader yourself may i know some key words that describe me. for funsies😅😅.
thank you all for everything and remember to have fun!!
open slots: 15/15- CLOSED
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