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triplesilverstar · 5 months

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Desperation

Rating: 18+

Pairing: Vash X afab!Reader

CW: P in V sex, fingerings, desperate, clothed sex, naked, intimate, heart felt, pining, making out, hand job, groping, angst, very heavy angst at the end.

Word count: Roughly 2K

A/N: So... the lovely Helixel drew something and shared it in a discord we're both in yesterday. And it left my hot and bothered with no other thoughts for the rest of my day. So when I was done work I needed to sit down and write those damn thoughts that the art put in my head. The link to said art is below the break and trust me, it is delicious and I hope it eats your brain like it did mine.

Here's the link and now on with the one shot/blurb

It made his heart thunder in his chest, the muscle beating hard enough he was certain he’d have scars along the inside of his ribs to match the hardened flesh outside. Turning almost in slow motion and seeing you there, unable to make out anything outside of your form with the light illuminated your form. A few short steps before his feet and hammering the ground in his desperation to reach you.

Hearing your laughter reach his ears as his arms encased you while his lips slotted over yours. The sensation of your nimble fingers trailing up his chest and slipping over his shoulders to push his jacket away, his hands pulling away from you just long enough to let the sleeves drop away. Your lips taste like heaven, a sense of peace washing over him as your lips provide a gentle resistance to his insistence.

Like a man lost in the desert for weeks coming across a lush oasis and taking that first long drink. Almost drowning in his desperation to enjoy the feeling of your clothed body leaning into his, the small little mewls you let out while his tongue slid along your lower lip.

All the while his hands glide along your sides, taking note of the curve of your waist, the heat of your skin warming the cool metal of his prosthetic as it rests against your bare hip. A soft giggle, like a feather teasing his nose as your lips part and he rushes past them, groaning at the taste of you heavy on his tongue. He could remain wrapped in your embrace for the rest of his life, swallowed whole by the fire you ignite in his soul.

Yet while he revels in the heady luxury that is your tongue against his, he doesn’t miss your fingers tugging on the fabric of his shirt. Your own desperation for him is clear as the neck of his shirt grows tighter in your insistence trying to pull it up and away from his skin. Pulled taunt between both of your bodies as neither of you moves away, the smallest gap would be too much.

At least until he needs air, a long clear line of salvia connecting your lips before his shirt is gone. His hands dropping to undo the snap of your belt, the shifting of your hips allowing the thick material of your pants dropping to the ground. Groaning at the vision of you in your leotard, his blue eyes focused on one spot, the darkening space between your thighs before the smell of your arousal hits him like a train wreck. His knees trembling, and not just because your fingers are on his belt making quick work of loosening it and your hand slipping down the waistband of his pants to grip his warm cock. The rough pads, the only ones he wants wrapped around his shaft, his hips jerking involuntarily.

Two can play at that game, his flesh hand pushing the bottom of your leotard away and tracing the outside of your dripping flesh with his metal fingers. The nodes provide sensation in the tips making him groan at the heat of your sex, the amount of liquid pouring from deep inside of you making him dizzy. Or was it the pumping of your hand around his twitching cock?

His fingers start to rub harder and harder along your slit and he can hear your breathing change, the tempo of your inhales rising to match the movement of his index and middle fingers.

As if you don’t want to be outdone, your hand is twisting around his flesh tighter and his balls throbbing in tandem. Taking a long inhale before smirking against the side of your mouth, shoving both of his fingers deep inside your walls and as you gasp at the intrusion he catches your mouth, his tongue plunging into the wet cavern in time to his hand thrusting up into your core.

Gripping your asscheek and keeping the fabric away, wishing he had taken the time to fully remove the damn thing so he could feel more of your warming skin under his palm. As his tongue sweeps inside of your mouth he can feel your orgasm growing closer adding a third finger and increasing the speed of his fingers before curling them against that spot inside of you that makes you quake in his hold.

Your grip on his dick loosening as you shake against him, letting out a whimper that sends a line of lightning tingling along his spine down to his balls. As you relax, your plush breasts still trapped in the tight fabric against his body he smirks as his eyes open. Taking in your slack jaw and barely open orbs that make his heart stutter, the adoration he sees in them almost painful.

How can someone like you see something in him to cause you to smile at him like he’s your whole world?

The throbbing of his cock pulling him from his own melancholy, pulling his fingers from your core with a wet slurp as your juices pour down his hand. Lifting it to his lips while gazing into your eyes before spreading them, your clear slick forming strands along the V they form. Sticking out his tongue and making a show of cleaning the proof of your release from his digits.

From the moment it touches his tongue he hums. You’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, a nectar he could slurp from your core until you're whimpering that it’s too much covered in sweat and shaking from his tender ministrations.

As you let out another mewl against him and shiver coming back to your senses his flesh hand slides along the fabric of your leotard before finding the snaps holding it in place. A few quick movements as he tosses you in the air, a symphony of squeals ringing around you before you land on the bed buck naked.

He doesn’t waste any time chasing after you as you bounce his pants and underwear gone grabbing both of your hands in his prosthetic and placing it above your head, stopping you from trying to hide from his wandering eyes.

Licking his lips as he drinks in your form committing every scar to memory, the curve of your breast and waist. Shuddering as his flesh hand cups your jaw, a quick kiss pressed to your lips before trailing his fingertips along your throat. Your heartbeat pounding in time to his, strong and steady as he enjoys the feeling of your skin under his.

Moving lower until he can cup one of your breasts. Sending you a wink and lowering his head to suck at the mound, humming as your back arches pushing more of your chest into his open mouth. He can feel your nipple pebbling, the tip of his tongue starting to circle the hardening flesh while his flesh hand kneads the other.

Taking his time as your body keeps arching and falling against him while his cock throbs against your thigh smearing pre-cum along the skin in erratic waves. Knowing you could struggle against his hold and break free if you wanted, instead caught up in the same flames of desire as he is. Both of you are prisoners to your lust for one another, and when he pulls away with a pop you sigh while the damp skin puckers as the cold air hits your skin.

Leaning upwards to catch your mouth as both of you battle for dominance in the kiss, adjust your lower body so the head of his cock is teasing along your folds. Your slick coating his length as it slides along the lips of your pussy, the pressure delectable over your clit and he can feel the throbbing of the bundle of nerves against his sensitive skin.

Releasing his grip on your wrist and pushing himself upwards so his chest is hovering over yours, a few beads of sweat falling from his body softly to yours. He shivers as your fingers follow the line of sinew making up the muscles of his forearm and the smooth metal shaped like a bone, up past his elbows and careful of the translation to ravaged flesh before gripping his shoulders.

Sharing a look of want before you give him a curt nod, one of your smaller hands reach down to pump his cock before aligning his tip with your dripping opening. Serving as a guide as he slowly sinks into you welcoming heat, the muscles of your inner walls parting for his length easily. Your core knows every vein along his shaft, as if you’ve adjusted to just his shape and he knows he’s in heaven as he pierces you until he’s as deep as he can go.

Lowering his forehead to yours but keeping the bulk of his weight off you while you adjust to his size. Your hand cupping his jaw with your thumb brushing his cheekbone, a soft laugh from you has your walls gripping him even tighter. A long exhale before you nod once more and grip his shoulders again, a sign he can move as freely as he wants.

Pulling his hips backwards until only his tip is encased in your walls taking a moment to enjoy the look of serenity on your face, suddenly snapping his hips to drive himself back to his base in one fluid motion. A tiny gasp from you, and he sets his pace well aware you can the pistoning of his body inside of you as your back arches in pleasure. Blinking the sweat from his eyes and groaning when you move your legs to wrap around his hips, allowing him to hammer deeper inside of you.

One of your hands moving to grip the back of his neck while the other slides along the meat of his upper back, your quivering core sucking him in as if you’ll never let him go. Grinning as he lowers his body down so as he thrusts part of his pelvis is brushing your clit, the sound of wet skin punctuated by breathy moans as you both chase your high.

He can feel his orgasm growing as you bury your face against his chest while your fingers press harder against the nape of his neck as your walls clamp down on his shaft. Pumping his hips faster and riding out your second release as he chases his own, panting and whining while you try to milk him for all he’s worth. Moments from spilling his hot seed in your welcoming walls.

Only to wake up just before he can tip over that precipice, sitting up suddenly with a hand over his scarred chest and a phantom pain where his missing arm should be.

The tears start to pour from his eyes as his mind wakes up and he remembers.

Remembers those final hours in JuLai, telling you to run and take Meryl with you while he fought his brother trying to keep the cube that even now he doesn’t remember how he created it.

Remembers seeing your retreating form as Wolfwood grabbed Meryl.

Remembers blowing up the city, and you with it.

His Mayfly.

The first person to not pull away from him. To hold him close as he broke down, to love him after learning he wasn’t human. And he was the reason he would never hold you like he had in his dream ever again. The tiny voice at the back of his mind saying he needed to keep believing you were alive and looking for him. Except it was easier to wallow in his own self imposed exile.

All the while you sat up in a dingy hotel room, trying to figure out why after a year you still couldn’t find him, the infamous Humanoid Typhoon. Vash the Stampede. Your missing lover.

I said it was angst heavy. Enjoy the brain rot 😘

#trigun smut #vash the stampede x reader smut #trigun stampede #vash the stampede #vash the stampede x reader #vash the stampede smut #vash smut #inspired by art #tristamp #trigun #twink writes

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whiskygoldwings · 14 days

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Anecdotes of a Guard Life: Bribery

Inspired by this post!

Another this-just-took-hold-of-me-and-wouldn't-let-go-until-I-wrote-it inspired by someone else bit of fanfic! At least it's only around 1000 words this time... No CWs! This is all just fluff!

---

Stone ate his mildly disgusting breakfast mush lacklusterly. The packaging had promised melioorun flavour porridge, but if this slop had even seen anything resembling a melioorun, he’d eat the whole kriffing box. Adding some of the sugar they’d “requistioned” from the most recent Senate Gala had helped far less than he expected.

The door to the small commander’s mess opened, and Stone blearily looked up, grateful for the distraction.

Fox walked in, fully kitted up in armour and helmet, and Stone raised an eyebrow. The Marshall Commander stuck to protocol rigidly, but barracks areas were helmet-by-choice areas, and Fox typically chose to go without. If he wasn’t coming off a 24 hour shift in the Senate, he’d probably be better able to figure out a reason behind it, but as it was, he just stared as Fox moved over towards the cupboards.

He watched as Fox opened the first cupboard, stared into it for several moments, pushed aside a few bits, then shut it and moved on to the next one. This process repeated itself several times before Stone finally mustered together the curiosity to ask.

“What’re you looking for, Fox?”

There’s a low grumbling, completely inaudible through the vocoder, and Stone blinks. “Sorry?”

Fox sighs heavily and turns to face him. “Caf.”

Stone stares. “Don’t you normally have several boxes in the first cupboard?”

“Yes.”

Silence.

“So... Where’s it all gone?” Stone ventures cautiously. Surely the Marshall Commander wouldn’t forget to add caf to the requisition forms he fills out?

There’s a sound that Stone is convinced in a growl, then one word. “Thorn.”

Stone’s spoon is held forgotten suspended above his bowl, as he squints at Fox, confused.

“...Thorn?”

“You called?” Thorn suddenly pops his head in through the open door and Stone has to frantically catch his spoon before it flips onto the floor as he jumps.

“Kriff, Thorn!”

“Only on weekends!” Thorn chants, voice entirely too chipper for this hour of the morning. He slides into the room, also fully kitted up, but that’s much more normal for the early-bird Commander. “I heard my name being taken in vain?”

“Where’s the caf?”

Thorn pauses and turns to face the source of the last growled question. Fox is laser-focused on him and even through the visor Stone’s pretty sure the glower on his face is fierce.

Thorn doesn’t answer for a moment, before his helmet tilts slightly to the side and he places his hands on his hips. “You know what you need to do.”

Stone watches, eyes flipping between the two of them as they stand off against each other. He’s got absolutely no idea what’s going on, but whatever it is, it’s fascinating.

Fox’s shoulders rise tensely, and his fists clench, before all of a sudden he slumps with a sigh. He raises his arms slightly and Thorn makes an... inhuman squealing sound before rushing forwards, slipping his arms around him and lifting him from the ground in a...

Hug...

Thorn is hugging Fox, arms wrapped around his middle, Fox’s boots dangling a foot above the ground and helmet tilted exasperatedly to the side. Stone could swear Thorn’s visor has taken on a gleeful tint as he squeezes Fox, who lets out a little “Ooft” of protest, but otherwise does nothing to prevent it from happening.

Stone’s pretty sure his mouth has dropped wide open, but he just can’t seem to stop staring. He never thought he’d see the day. Marhsall Commander Fox. Accepting a hug. And not separating the perpetrator’s head from their shoulders.

He wishes he’d been wearing his own helmet. What he wouldn’t give for a holo... No one will believe him.

Thorn keeps squeezing for what must be a whole minute before finally easing a floppy Fox back to the ground and letting go. Fox stands awkwardly for a moment, head canted back, before sighing again. “Caf?” He asks shortly, though Stone could swear his voice is soft and fond behind the abruptness.

“Bones has it!” Thorn chirps.

Fox nods, before edging carefully around Thorn, never turning his back to him, as if in fear of another hug attack, before leaving the room.

Stone sits in silence while Thorn watches after him for a moment, then has to ask “What the kriff was all that about?”

Thorn turns to him, pulling off his helmet with a grin. “I hide his caf until he lets me give him a hug!”

Stone stares. “You know he’s just going to kill you one day right?”

Thorn laughs. “You’d think but, here’s a little secret.” He strides over and throws himself into the chair opposite Stone, groaning gratefully at being off his feet. “Fox has a secret caf stash squirreled away in his weapons locker.”

Stone blinks, confused. He has not had enough sleep for this. “So... Why’s he looking for the stuff you hid?”

“Exactly,” and here Thorn smiles again, but it’s soft and slightly sad this time. “He has his own right? So. If he’s searching for the stuff I hid rather than using his secret stash, that’s how I know he really needs a hug.”

“Why doesn’t he just ask?” Stone frowns.

“Marshall Commander Fox ask for a hug? The calm, never-shaken, strong, Shiny-idol Fox? That one?” Thorn raises an eyebrow, and Stone thinks.

Yeah... It wouldn’t exactly fit the image he’s made for himself.

“Fair enough,” Stone shrugs, digging his spoon back into his slop and grimacing at the congealed texture.

“Want to know another secret?” Thorn asks, and Stone probably shouldn’t, but he’s weak for gossip and Thorn, the master manipulator, is well aware of it.

“Go on then.”

Thorn pulls something out of his pocket. “I carry caf rations with me at all times.” He holds up a little tub of what is clearly instant caf granules and shakes it at Stone.

“In case of emergency hug needs?”

Thorn grins. “Partially, but also. If I really, really want something and Fox is in a bad mood, bringing him a caf and asking while he’s in the middle of his second sip is almost guaranteed to get me what I want.”

Stone bursts into laughter. The Guard may follow it’s Marshall Commander with adoration and respect.

But secretly, he’s pretty sure Thorn is the real leader of the Guard.

#star wars the clone wars #Marshall commander fox #commander fox #coruscant Guard #coruscant guard as family #commander thorn #commander stone #Fox needs hugs #Fox gets hugs #And caf #All is right with the world #Inspired by art #Clone wars fanfiction #my fanfiction

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melestasflight · 1 year

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Finrod and Maglor compose the Noldolantë

An illustration of a scene from Voices That Were Once Ours created by the amazing @wombywoo. Fic snippet below the cut.

Perhaps it is that very realization of the briefness that dictates life in these lands. That joy must be snatched from fleeting moments before they float away like withered leaves down the Sirion.

At long last, his heart misgives him, and when Makalaurë’s invitation arrives to journey east, Finrod accepts.

He has not seen Maglor, as he is now known, since the feast of the Mereth Aderthad, and even that encounter lacked the intimacy of friendship. What little he knows has come from Angrod’s visits or Celegorm’s letters, almost all having to do with enemy movements or breeding horses from Maglor’s herds. All valuable knowledge for a King in times of siege, but not what Finrod wants to know.

What does the Lord of the Gap sing about these days? Are there songbirds in the flatlands to rest upon his finger?

From Voices That Were Once Ours

#finrod #finrod felagund #maglor #fingolfin #lalwen #fingon #celegorm #noldolante #mithrim #maglor's gap #inspired by art #wombywoo art #my writing #the silmarillion #silmarillion #lotr #tolkien

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call-me-cosmic · 6 months

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“Wow all this art is so gorgeous, I just wanna–“ *eats it and gains it’s power*

Ok, well, I didn’t gain ALL of its power, but the art still inspired me nonetheless. Here’s a peek at a short comic I’m working on!

I believe the artworks are done by @hadroncollider on Twitter, but I’m not sure. I’ve been having a hard time tracking the artist down! If I’m incorrect, please let me know!!

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mattsucks-kra · 8 months

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Ineffable Wives! (all time favorite)

Yeah so this drawing was inspired by Eva Gonzalès' "la toilette" cause I'm absolutely obsessed with impressionists and Good Omens and I needed to cope after e6

Also, new signature!

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zairaalbereo · 10 months

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Nicolò and Yusuf as ‘Sea Riders’ (but make it crusades era).

Inspired by Ludwig von Hofmann’s “Reiter am Strand” ca. 1890 — (look at that and tell me it’s not Nicky!) Ludwig von Hofmann was a German artist (1861-1945), and he sure liked his nude riders… (Seriously, there are dozens…) Looking at his art, I couldn’t help but imagine Nicolò and Yusuf riding and playing in the surf like a pair of boys.

And that’s why you have Yusuf, too… 😘

PS: Happy birthday TOG fandom!! 🥳🥳🥳

If Netflix won’t give us flashbacks, we’ll make our own.

#the old guard #tog fanart #the old guard fanart #joe x nicky #joe/nicky #nicolo di genova #yusuf al kaysani #kaysanova #immortal husbands #tog2 #ha we wish #tog anniversary #inspired by art #ludwig von hofmann #tog art #nicky di genova #my art #fanart #artists on tumblr

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convertedzukaang · 1 month

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what? a Zukaang zombie AU?

You read that right.

Title: Heaven Help Us

Warnings: Violence & Smut

Inspired by this artwork by Yishu who helped me with the plot/outline and encouraged me to write this fic. Everybody thank her! ( ͡◉ ͜ʖ ͡◉)

Anyway, here's the Ao3 link (人◕ω◕) enjoy!

#zukaang #zuko #aang #aang x zuko #zuko x aang #zukaang fanfic #TWD AU #inspired by art

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poohbea · 2 years

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𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐌𝐘 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒.

— because Timiko ( @sanjisblackasswife ) has outdone themselves yet again i had to write about it - visuals 1 2 3

wordcount: 1.8k

content: dom husband!toji, chubby fem!reader, black reader, mirror sex, reverse cowgirl?, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex (use protection kids), LOTS of praise, pet names (pretty, baby girl, baby, doll, MAMAS, etc.), mention of hickeys (you're covered in em), possessive toji, creampie, cock warming, oh and did i mention the waist chain?

— synopsis: after receiving your anniversary gift from your wonderful husband you begin to feel a little insecure about your body. he lets you see yourself through his eyes.

note from pooh: alright it’s late and im sleep deprived but it’s done and i’m happy. i need sleep help. i couldn’t leave this gem alone, thank you to timiko for giving us another master piece love you - y’all go check her out and give her some love.

WARNING: this is smut, so please ensure you have your age visible on your account before interacting. Minors (below 18+), ageless and blank blogs will be BLOCKED

Hope you enjoy ♡ reblogs are greatly appreciated

You played with Toji’s gift in your bedroom mirror, holding it up to your stomach, his name plate glowing prettily under the lights. It was your first wedding anniversary, a day you’d been looking forward to since he asked you to marry him what seemed like so long ago.

The waist chain was a clear silver, with two bands. The top with a pair of dainty hearts and the other with Toji’s name in cursive. The more you stared at yourself, however, the more you began to feel self conscious.

Would you be able to wear it out? You hated people looking at your stomach enough as it is, let alone with the extra attention a waist chain would bring to the area. Maybe you’d wear it when you lost a bit of weight, you thought to yourself, convinced it would look better that way.

So caught up in your thoughts you didn’t hear Toji enter, stopping to watch you in the mirror frowning at your own reflection. “What’s wrong, pretty?” He smiles, wrapping his arms around you from behind.

You let out a soft sigh, letting the chain hang from your fingertips. “I-I just…” He turns you to face him, brows furrowing at your hesitation. You could tell him anything, you knew that, he didn’t understand why you were holding back.

“Use your words, baby. What’s the matter?” Your gaze shifts to the chain in your hands, so does his. “You don’t like the gift?” He asks gently, taking it from you.

“No! I love it, it’s gorgeous, it’s just that I’m scared to wear it.” You answer honestly, failing to meet his gaze.

He hums in thought, turning you to face the mirror again. “Why?” The chain is positioned just above your hips, his name plate falling at your navel as he clasps it around your waist. A smile finds his lips, taking in the dainty accessory with a devilish look in his eye. “Perfect, mamas.”

“I don’t understand what you see in me.” You blurt out suddenly, facing him again, growing tired of your reflection. All you saw was disappointment anyway. “I’m not skinny,” you continue. “I have a big stomach. I’m too heavy… there’s so many better girls…” Hanging your head in shame, your words die in your throat as you feel tears brim your waterline.

Toji couldn’t help but frown seeing you so upset with yourself. Especially when he didn’t believe any of it. Was this really how you saw yourself? How you think about yourself daily? He couldn't let this go on.

His index finger tilts your head so your eyes finally meet his. He wasn’t going to let you run from this, not if he had anything to say about it. “Every last inch and pound of that cute body of yours is all mine.” His thumb smooths over your pillowy lips as a smirk upturns his own. “Why would I trade you for anyone else?”

“But-” You started, only to be cut off by him kissing his teeth.

“But?” Although there was a prolonged silence the question was a rhetorical one and you knew it. “Since you don’t believe me…” His lips close in on yours, hand slipping around your throat softly, thumb pressed against your jaw. “I’ll prove it to you.” Heat floods your body as his breath ghosts your lips with each syllable, almost bringing you to your knees at how close he’d gotten. “Strip. Now. And face the mirror.” He instructs darkly, tilting his head slightly, awaiting your response.

With a shaky breath you muster. “Yes, sir.” Feeling your arousal already pooling between your thighs.

He pulls you in for a kiss, lips soft but dominating over your own. He takes your bottom lip between his teeth as he pulls back, letting it recoil with a subtle bounce. “Good girl.”

The next few minutes were a blur as you took off your shirt and shorts. You were going to stop at your panties but Toji’s next words told you otherwise. “All of it, darlin’.” Letting the final item fall to the carpeted floor, you followed his instruction and stood in front of the mirror, resisting the urge to bring your hands up to cover yourself in embarrassment.

Your husband had also rid himself of his clothes, sitting expectantly on the edge of the bed behind you. “Mm, look at you baby.” He groans, making the heat on your skin rise. “C’mere.”

You walk into his arms gratefully, standing between his spread legs, where his cock was already hard against his stomach. He brings you into his lap, sitting you down in the space in front him on the edge of the bed and letting your legs hang over his, spreading them wide as his knees parted.

Your head leans onto his shoulder, letting his chest press against your back comfortably. He trails kisses over your neck, shoulders and jaw, hands with a mind of their own as they caressed your supple body, moulding into his touch perfectly. “You see, sweetheart?” His lips brush over the shell of your ear. “So pretty just for me. And this…” You gasp as his fingers slot through your folds, brushing over your clit as he did so. “Already so wet for me, huh, doll?”

The words couldn’t make it past your lips, stuck on your tongue as he played with your pussy between his fingertips. All you really could do was let out short and stuttered breaths, quiet moans becoming more frequent the longer he teased you.

“You ready?” He smiles against your ear, hands positioned under your thighs.

“Yes.” Was all you could manage before he lifts you up and his swollen tip is easing into your entrance. “T-Toji!”

“Take it baby. That’s it.” Your pussy grips him in a vice as he sits you down fully, enjoying the view of his cock buried deep in the reflection of the mirror. He enjoys the way your chest rises and falls so fast, letting little whimpers fall past your lips that you’d trapped between your teeth. “Look at yourself sweetheart. Look how fuckin’ sexy you look. How you fit so perfectly in my hands.”

You peek through heavy lids, the image reflected back at you unrecognisable. Your legs wide, held open by his hands that imprinted into your skin. Your hair was a mess of curls, sweat beading between your breasts, your stomach and thighs, all littered with dark hickeys from the activities the night before.

Toji begins to move you along his cock, raising and lowering you as if you weigh nothing to him. He chuckles at the way you fall back against him immediately, lost in the pleasure of his tip nudging your sweet spot, the one he knew like the back of his hand. “You see, doll.” His hips rut up to meet yours in time with his movements. “Look at how easy it is for me to just pick you up and show you how pretty you are.”

“Toj- fuck!” You whine, hooking your hand at the nape of his neck. “Oh my go-” Every word was met with a harsh thrust, the friction along your gummy walls snuffing out any coherency you had left in you.

He chuckles in your ear, voice deep and hot against your skin. “This body was made for me and me alone.”

“Yes, yes, yes. It’s yours Toji- Fuck!” Your other hand covers your mouth, attempting to muffle the increased volume of your voice.

The action was short lived as Toji’s hand covers your own, drawing it down to your pussy to let your fingers hover over your clit. “Don’t be embarrassed mamas, just feel good for me, yeah?” His fingers draw broken circles on the sensitive bud, leading yours that were weakly trying to keep up through the fog of pleasure that clouded your mind. “Fuck, you feel so good around me, baby girl. You’re gripping me so tight.”

You were trying so hard to stay with him, to keep up with his ministrations. But with how his dick and fingers danced in time at your core, you knew you wouldn’t last very long at the rate it was going. His fingers overtook yours at a sped up pace, cock hitting deeper with each stroke. You felt that familiar sensation in the pit of your stomach, a string being pulled, tighter and tighter, on the cusp of snapping.

“To-Toji! Toji, I’m-” Your hand grips his that continue to strum your clit, trembling as the thread unravelled in a matter of seconds. “Coming!” Was the last word before it snapped entirely and you were covering his dick in cum. Cream drooling from your pussy down to his balls as he continued to fuck up into you, moaning at just how tight you were clenching around him.

“Fu-fuck, babygirl!” His strokes border errectic before he’s pushing you down to the hilt, forcing you to take it all. You feel his cock twitch inside of you, spurting strings of hot cum along your walls, making sure you were full of it.

Whines escape you as he sucks at the juncture between your neck and jaw, blooming another deep purple mark to add to the growing collection over your body. Possessiveness overtaking him even in his tired state.

He leaves a kiss on your skin in finality before tapping your thigh as a gesture to get up. You do so with trembling legs, pussy clenching around nothing at the emptiness between your thighs, letting his cum spill down the flesh. Silently he takes your arm, pulling you on top of him to straddle his lap. “Put it back in for me, doll.” He sighs, resting a hand on your ass, kneading and relishing in the softness of it as you guide his cock back into the warmth of your pussy. Whining at the sensitivity sending tingles up your spine.

You lay there on his chest, trying hard not to pay attention to the presence between your legs while you listen to his heartbeat, the rhythm strong against your ear. “Learnt your lesson?” His voice reverberates in his chest, making your body vibrate at his low baritone.

“Yes.” You mutter weakly, face pressed against his chest, on the precipice of sleep.

“Now, stop talking about yourself that way. Don’t even think about yourself that way either. It pisses me off.” You tighten around him as his hips shift slightly beneath you. “I love your cellulite, stretch marks, tummy, all of it. It’s mine. Understand, dummy?” When you stay silent for too long his hand lifts from your ass. “I said…” He lands a harsh smack to the soft skin, forcing a meek yelp from your smaller frame. “Understand?”

“Yes, Toji.” You whimper, feeling sleep overcome you, his body serving as a lullaby to your weary conscience.

He lets out a tired laugh, letting his hand run from your ass up your spine, combing through your hair gently to massage your scalp. “That’s my girl.”

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riality-check · 1 year

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hi, so because i’m me, i immediately saw this post from @lazylittledragon and got a ridiculous amount of thoughts about it. so. yeah.

Anyway, Eddie is life and Steve is death.

Life is about that one big adventure. It’s one story, your story, one of billions on the planet running simultaneously, intersecting with dozens, maybe even hundreds or thousands of others. Who better to keep that all straight than Eddie Munson, Dungeon Master extraordinaire? Who better to keep life exciting and novel and fun than Eddie, whose personality has always been a little too big, who’s never been considered “boring” ever, at literally any point in time.

That’s where Steve comes in.

Steve isn’t boring, but death certainly is. It doesn’t always start out the same, but the end? That’s monotonous.

Everyone becomes a little more like a kid when they die. Searching for guidance. Wanting a hand to hold.

Steve doesn’t see himself as a paragon of wisdom, but he can give them a few words. Make them laugh. Offer a hand.

They always take it. Some are more reluctant than others, but they always take it.

He thinks it helps that he looks so unassuming. No scythe or bats’ wings, no cloak of darkness or grim reaper-esque looks. Just comfortable clothes in the colors he likes, hair styled so it doesn’t flop in his face.

Everyone becomes themselves again when they die. Steve leads by example, puts his genuine self out there for them.

He really hopes it helps.

What definitely helps are the chess matches.

Eddie is good at chess. Much better than Steve is, anyway. He attributes this to the fact that he has to constantly think about moving parts, while Steve doesn’t. It doesn’t matter. They still meet up regularly, play a friendly game, talk.

They talk a lot. They didn’t expect to, at first.

But when you’re talking to the only other entity in the universe who somewhat gets it, you find you have a lot to talk about.

And, as it turns out, you’ll play footsie under the table, too.

#ria writes #stranger things #stranger things ficlet #st #st ficlet #steddie #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #inspired by art #once again #idk i wrote this up just now #have fun with it

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nichenarratives · 7 months

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Crescendo

An Obscure Oneshot

Inspired by this post.

Deep within the forested trails of Missouri, an orange aura licks the midnight sky, casting a glow as potent as the early morning sun over the trees. Closer, the crackle of wood as flames engulf an inconspicuous log cabin is as intrusive as the heat itself radiating from the cabin's carcass, a bright, monstrous creature waning and waxing with the wind, too powerful to be thwarted by the thin flurry of snow fluttering down on the three who watch the building burn.

To the left, an austere feline with a strong jaw and face stripes hunches forward to light a cigarette. Despite his proximity, Atlas May has done little to set these wheels in motion; he arrived with the other two and set them upon the establishment instead, holding back to watch his pilfered heavy hitter and triggerman work their first mission together, gauging if his earlier deduction - that they would be perfect partners - were accurate.

Smoke lit, the striped feline straightens and flicks his match into the snow, where it promptly extinguishes. He raises his gaze to the flaming cabin and calmly drags on his cigarette, relishing the heat it brings to his chest, enjoying the potent hit of nicotine as his rival's storehouse burns to the ground at his order. Atlas quirks a slight smile and exhales smoke in a steady stream.

The night was almost flawless. Almost.

He can feel the young triggerman staring at his cheek, the anxiously perfectionistic tuxedo attempting to discern their boss' opinion on the job. Mordecai Heller has worked for the Lackadaisy Speakeasy for almost eight months, keeping on top of their books as an accountant, but this is his first job as triggerman, and he fucked up getting into a physical altercation with a guardsman, almost costing him his life.

Atlas knows that's not what worries the tuxedo, however; he isn't begging to return to his desk job nor in crisis after a brush with death, but concerned he's been inadequate. The boy has a lot of anxiety compared to his partner who, even before he had completed dozens of similar assignments, had the confidence to handle himself.

Viktor Vasko never looked for reassurance or validation, never pandered to his boss, and it's those qualities Atlas wants to encourage in their new triggerman. With life or death hanging on the pull of a trigger, Mordecai couldn't be second guessing himself. He has to be confident, capable, and possess enough autonomy for self-preservation, not hinge his worth on the words of an authority figure that won't always be there to pat him on the back.

The striped feline takes another drag of his cigarette as the experienced bobcat draws Mordecai's attention and hands him back his dropped spectacles. Another slip up, the older businessman turned smuggler muses, sharp eyes still on the roaring flames. Had he lost those, he'd be useless as a sharpshooter and an accountant until they were replaced, if he'd even managed to get out of the flames without time to find the exit with blurry vision. He's got a lot to learn. Viktor will have his hands full for a while.

"Job done," Atlas finally states, drawing the attention of both the man and the boy. He pauses to take a last drag on the cigarette before dropping it to the snow, the sizzle of hot ash lost to the violent crackle of the larger fire. "Take him to see Elsa," he orders, catching Viktor's gaze over the tom's head. He doesn't intend to address Mordecai directly tonight; such attention is reserved for when he does a good job. "Get his arm stitched, then get some sleep. I want you both back in my office tomorrow at one tomorrow, to debrief."

The bobcat simply nods in acknowledgement, then watches as Atlas turns and strides away, back to his own car, taken swiftly by the trees and snow, tracks buried as if he were never there. Only once their boss is gone does Viktor look to the young man now in his charge, the tuxedo barely out of adolescence, a boy with a man's weapon at his hip and an unerring need for acceptance he won't find in Atlas May.

Mordecai drops his gaze to the snow, hand clutching at his injured arm more tightly. He doesn't need to be explicitly told he messed up; he's supposed to be their trigger man, to keep his distance, to protect the brawler and take out any who tried to get the jump on him. He'd been a fool not to take the second shot before approaching, to try to save ammunition instead of safeguarding himself.

The subsequent shot had been aimed at his heart. Had he not brought his satchel, had he not raised it in time, he'd most likely have bled out on the stairs long before they set fire to the building. Falling through the banister, rotted wood splintering into his arm, the dull thud of landing on the joint, are all still visceral memories, as was the lightning decision to shoot at the man who loomed over the broken banister, weapon raised for a second shot.

Mordecai hadn't even aimed, didn't have time, but it was enough to bring the man tumbling down on top of him, whereupon the tuxedo managed to get the upper hand and impale him with the shattered banister, the crescendo of the fight. He'd lost his pince nez in the scuffle but ordered to leave immediately after, had scurried off without them, teeth grit against the aching throb in his left shoulder, the gun still grasped in his less dominant hand.

He'd survived, but barely. Mordecai shudders, both from the cold and the icy reception from Atlas, the man he wanted to impress. Alive, but a disappointment.

Viktor hadn't wanted to bring the boy on this job, but Atlas had insisted, touting that he needed to learn the stakes, that easing him into it would be detrimental. He believed the boy had what it takes to be a successful triggerman, if only he had the right teacher. "You," Atlas had posited, clapping a hand on the bobcat's shoulder as they watched Mordecai through his office window. "That's why he's coming tonight, so you can show him how it's done. You wait; a couple of jobs, and he'll be the best triggerman we could ask for."

The tuxedo looks as far from a triggerman as anyone could be in that moment; fragile, sullen, freezing. Mordecai shivers and clutches his arm, barely suppressing a cringe of pain into a slight flinch. He's a lost and lonely body, out in the woods all on his own, and without guidance he may perish. An almost vacant expression plays in downcast eyes and the bobcat's expression softens slightly, a sudden wave of empathy in his stomach.

He saw that face looking back at him in the mirror many times after returning from the war, and knows the hollow feeling that accompanies leaving everything you love behind to start anew, only to feel wholly inadequate. It's the wonder if the difficult decisions you made really were right, or if you've screwed everything up so badly, perhaps you'd be better off not waking up tomorrow.

Without a word, the bobcat side steps to close the distance between them to mere inches. Mordecai sees his feet shift and glances up through his lashes, shoulder still hunched against the cold. Eyes still locked on the raging fire, Viktor opens arm arm out behind the tuxedo, his hand pressed into a pocket so his coat also fans out, silently offering the tom a chance to step closer if he wants.

An offer of comfort and warmth, in a moment of uncertainty.

Mordecai hesitates, ears half-turned away from the crackle of the fire, eyes slowly shifting between the bobcat's stony face and the free space at his side. It would be a step to the left - a simple, single step towards his new comrade - and he'd have accepted the unexpected offer, an offer he's not sure he fully understands the scope of, but is enticed by the warmth nonetheless.

Eventually, much like Viktor, he sets his eyes on the fire and silently steps closer, allowing his injured arm to brush the other's fluffy jumper before angling the appendage to rest on the bobcat's front. Viktor gently closes his arm around him, encasing Mordecai in half of his overcoat, which the tuxedo grabs the edge of to hold around his body, trapping the heat in with them as he pulls it tight, unperturbed by the feel of Viktor's arm around his back and side.

The flames continue to lick the darkness, burning the inky black in orange and yellow as they watch, mesmerised by flames in a comfortable silence. A bobcat, offering simple solace to a tuxedo, in need of reassurance... and perhaps a warmer coat.

#mordecai heller #lackadaisy #fanfiction #lackadaisy cats #lackadaisy mordecai #fanfic #niche narratives #tracy j butler #obscure oneshots #oneshot fanfiction #oneshot #inspired by art #vikdecai #cute husbands being husbands before they were husbands

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dracopetal · 4 months

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Sirius/Draco inspired by @basiatlu's iconic piece of them here

dirty filthy secret on ao3 (explicit)

The air in Sirius’ shitty bedroom at Twelve Grimmauld Place was stale with sweat and in some distant corner of Sirius’ mind, he knew this was wrong, somehow. But even if he wanted to stop, he wasn’t sure if he could.

Draco, the little Malfoy brat that had sneered at Harry and his friends for years, was writhing and moaning under him like some animal, like a little dog being punished. His normally perfectly slicked-back hair was plastered to his damp forehead with sweat and his hips bore the many bruises from Sirius’ fingers.

“Agh, fuck,” Draco hissed with a particularly vicious thrust, and it only spurred Sirius on, the little voice in that distant corner fading away with whispers of Narcissa’s son, cousin Draco.

Second cousin, Sirius thought before banishing the voice of reason. He didn’t need reason, not when he had this.

Not when Draco clenched around his cock, his reddened hole swallowing Sirius eagerly down with every thrust of Sirius’ hips. Not when Sirius grabbed a handful of his white-blond hair with fingers damp from his own insides, and yanked his head back until his tattooed chest collided with Draco’s back.

“Fuck,” Draco hissed again, and Sirius didn’t let up, not for a moment. Draco’s cock, pink and swollen and curved slightly to the left, bounced in front of him, and Sirius didn’t touch it. He didn’t forbid Draco from doing so, but he didn’t even try.

Maybe he was punishing himself. Sirius didn’t really give a shit.

He kept a tight grip of Draco’s hair, holding him in place, and thrust deeper and deeper, as if trying to carve out his insides. Draco moaned and whimpered, his hands fluttering and eventually settling on his own arse, pulling himself open, giving permission that Sirius had never bothered seeking.

Sirius took the invitation anyway, and let go of Draco’s hair. Draco, momentarily startled, flopped forwards onto the bed, not having time to brace himself.

Sirius didn’t care. Sirius didn’t care about anything - not the war, not Azkaban, not that he was fucking his cousin. Only that familiar sweet pull at the base of his cock mattered. He chased after it desperately, wanting to feel something at his core, even if it only lasted a few minutes.

Draco was rutting into the dirty bed sheets, little noises escaping his throat telling Sirius that he was just on the edge. Sirius held him down by his hips, fingers slotting over the bruises and pressing, wanting to sting, to feel him clench and hear him hiss.

“Fuck,” Draco hissed, like it was the only word he could say. Sirius’ thought there could be a joke there, something about his Mother hearing, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. His orgasm was just within his grasp, if he reached out he could touch it with his fingertips, and he could focus on nothing else.

Pounding inside Draco’s hole, who panted with each thrust like a man drowning. Sirius dragged his nails over the alabaster skin stretched over his spine, for no reason other than he could, and Draco turned slightly, angling himself up so he could look Sirius in the eye, and it was enough.

Sirius’ orgasm hit him hard and fast, like pleasure always did, and he was only distantly aware of pumping his seed into his cousin, who clenched his hole around his softening cock. Sirius held tightly to his hips and panted.

Sirius stayed inside until Draco wriggled, and then he pulled out, deliciously slow, watching intently as his come dribbled out of the swollen ring of muscle.

Draco moaned unabashedly, nothing aristocratic left about him, and Sirius plunged two fingers back inside, purely to hear him gasp. Sirius pulled out the fingers and wiped his come on Draco’s thigh.

Sirius collapsed on the dirty sheets next to Draco and threw an arm over his scarred chest. Draco didn’t react, he was pink in the face and gazing dazedly up at the bed canopy. He would have to leave soon; the thrill of his orgasm was already fading, and soon enough Harry would be home. And Harry couldn’t know, not about this.

Sirius couldn’t quite bring himself to tell the brat to get out, so instead he stalled until he got his breath back, and twirled a strand of his white hair around his fingers. He could wait a little while, at least until Harry got back, and then he’d bundle him out of the floo. Sirius’ dirty, filthy little secret.

#hp #draco malfoy #sirius black #sirius x draco #drarius #draco x sirius #my writing #inspired by art

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midnights-dragon · 2 months

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I am very proud of how this story turned out! It is fully and entirely inspired by the wonderful art of @tanpopomugishu's Good Omens First Responders AU (PLEASE check out their art it is SO GOOD y'all), and though it is a one-shot, it is rather long, at 11k words. Feel free to give it a read, and definitely look at tanpopomugishu's art if you want your eyes to be blessed.

Summary:

The EMT was a handsome older bloke, with soft, curly blonde-white hair and warm blue eyes that were soft and crinkled at the edges. His cheeks were round and flushed with red, and he looked rather frazzled, but in a way that somehow looked so utterly gorgeous. White gloves were pulled tightly over his hands, contrasting the dark color of his uniform, and spectacles balanced on his nose, slightly fogged from the smoke nearby, though they were, for the most part, out of range from the smoldering church. “Hi.” Crowley, who was caked in grime and smoke and debris and who was wearing a dirty, unwashed firefighter’s suit and who was barely able to speak in a voice louder than a raspy, hoarse croak, thought that perhaps he had died and gone to Heaven. Would’ve believed it, too, with this angel before him, if the adrenaline wasn’t starting to wear off, giving way to dull, throbbing pain in his skull. “M’Crowley,” he introduced himself, rather stupidly. “Anthony Crowley.”

Crowley is a firefighter; Aziraphale is an EMT. A First Responders Human AU one-shot of their first (whumpy but fluffy) meeting, inspired by artwork (link in A/N)!

And my favorite line:

Anthony Crowley did not believe in love, or soulmates, or red strings, and yet here he was, tied up in a knot of crimson.

I hope you enjoy if you read! <3

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thejujvtsupost · 7 days

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Toji, Mamaguro and their blessing

Notes: I have no idea where this came from tbh but I just started yappin after I saw this art and here we are. I’m now forcing you to suffer with me.

I can't stop thinking about the fact that there was a time that Toji was genuinely in love with mamaguro and saw her as the light of his life after suffering for so many years.

And then comes megumi, born from such raw love that he's named 'blessing' and Toji's life becomes even better with a loving wife and beautiful baby.

But then everything is black. Absolute nothingness because mamaguro is dead and he's a single father, floundering with his young son and completely lost; because the light of his life has been snuffed out.

And hasn't he suffered enough? His entire childhood and the loneliness and pain, and as an adult, the loss of his love...

So yeah, some might judge him for remarrying so fast, but what else is he supposed to do??

He's not fit to be a parent by himself, he's utterly shattered by grief. And megumi, his sweet boy he undoubtedly loves but reminds him almost too much of his dead wife, deserves much better than him and his broken heart.

Maybe he's a shit father, he's disappointed in himself too. But he thinks he at least found someone relatively reliable enough to care for him- of course tsumiki's mom dips, but he tried to find something.

Years later, in his final moments, he faces the music and tells a damn teenager- the one that kills him, with way too much money, that his son is going to be sold to the zenins in a few years.

Because in that very last moment, he's thinking of his blessing and the world is getting blurry and he feels cold and-

His wife, his only love, greets him and he knows everything is gonna be alright. And she accepts him with loving arms, says it'll work out and he's so relieved. Because his blessing doesn't deserve someone as broken as him, and Megumi (and tsumiki) won't be alone after all.

Maybe in another life, he'll get a do over and things won't be so bad. He'll find his wife in the next life easily, because he would know her soul from worlds away, and their blessing will be there too- it's all he wants. He wants to know peace.

When his wife tells him it's time, he takes his last breath and goes with her wherever it is the dead go; together...

Dividers by @thecutestgrotto

#i cried writing this #jujutsu kaisen #rambles #inspired by art #toji fushiguro #megumi fushiguro #mamaguro

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c4t1l1n4 · 12 days

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So I wrote a quick little short fic about THIS cute comic by @uhuraborealis. I wrote it just now in like 10 minutes so it's not edited, but you can read it under the cut!

Vulcans Tell No Lies

Spock knows that when Jim approaches him with a look like that, nothing good is going to come of it.

“Spock,” Jim asks, voice full of wonder and eyes full of stars. “Can you meld with the Enterprise? Tell her I love her?”

Spock considers the captain for a moment. It’s not something he’s thought about—mind-melding with a ship. He doesn’t really think that anything would happen, as much as he’s touched the console and felt nothing in response. He knows that humans refer to ships as female and often personify them out of loneliness or a need for bonding. He doesn’t understand why humans can’t just appreciate a machine for the tasks it performs, but seeing as much as Dr. McCoy tries to project his human emotions on Spock himself, he supposes that it must just be second nature to them.

He indulges in a more human tendency, seeing as it was just him and Jim, and sighs. It cannot hurt to try, if not for the very least on the premise of scientific discovery, and it’s not like there’s anyone around to judge him.

“Fine.” He agrees rather bluntly, but Jim just looks at him, enthralled.

Spock supposes, as he places a hand on the console, that he can always lie for the sake of appeasing Jim. Vulcans do not lie, but as McCoy always points out, Spock is only half-vulcan, and half-vulcans can bend the truth.

However, as he reaches out for what he can find of the consciousness of the Enterprise, he finds that he has no reason to lie. He is so caught off guard by the discovery as some form of being reaches back towards him, that he is overwhelmed by the experience.

The Enterprise does not think in the same way, with clear structure, intent, or words. No, she thinks with colors and emotions, bright and loud, filling up his senses. She is overwhelmingly a she, and she imparts him with the notion that she will tolerate nothing less from him, even if it means zapping him through the console like a misbehaving child.

He supposes that might be the best way to describe the way she feels about the crew—as children. They are all so much smaller than her, and she cares for them, treating them as gently as she can. In return, they treat her with love and respect and keep her in working order. If Dr. McCoy would stop hitting the biobed display screens when he was frustrated, she would appreciate that, though.

After taking a moment to reign the sensory flood back in, Spock organizes his mind and sends a specific train of thought to her. The words do not translate to her, so he tries to phrase them in a way she would understand, thinking of command gold, bright eyes, and a happy spirit. He focuses on the general sense of cheer, well-being, and concern that Jim carries for every member of his crew, but also on the horribly mushy feeling Spock gets on the inside when thinking about him.

Color ripples across his vision, something like laughter, and he thinks she gets the point. The reply he gets in return is what he sent tenfold—a tidal wave of things he could not possibly put into words and yet understands perfectly. He thanks her, sending a bright wave of gratitude radiating warmly from deep inside him, and pulls away.

He opens his eyes and looks over to Jim, who is waiting patiently. Curiosity and excitement dance in his eyes. There is no possible way to convey what he experienced in what felt like hours but was probably only seconds, so instead he says, “She loves you back.”

When Jim beams at him, smile wide and eyes glistening, Spock is glad it is no lie at all.

#star trek #fanfiction #star trek tos #star trek fanfiction #drabble #quick fic #inspired by art #fanart #star trek fanart #please excuse the lack of editing #i'm tired and this inspiration came out of nowhere #probs to the original artist #please check out and interact with the original post #hints of spirk because obv

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