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#possible fic stuff???
ragingtwilight · 2 years
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ECLIPSE
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ao3-crack · 6 months
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(x)
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old-desert · 17 days
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Ah yes, hooman Loop
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^ early concept
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nerdykorgi · 19 days
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Caleb, father of hundred, Wittebane.
ok you can't tell me he didn't adopt all like 100 of those grimbastards and became their dad, wheither they liked it or not. /lh He just the whole tired dad vibe
I like to think he helps comfort them after they die. They all just ghosts chillin in the bone pit together and talk about how much Belos sucks lol
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I was also possessed by the spirit of hyperfixation and made like 30 grimwalker ocs!? They all have unique little perks and stuff and I love them, ill probably show some of them if anyones actually interested lol.
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podcastenthusiast · 1 year
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"Here should be safe to set up camp," Geralt says, scanning the treeline with his eyes in that odd witcher way. Like he's seeing much more than a mere mortal could.
"Thank the gods," sighs Jaskier, who's been really starting to regret skiving off those physical fitness courses at Oxenfurt.
"Get a fire started while I tend to Roach."
"Oh Geralt, I'd love to, I would. Truly it's colder than a sorceress' shapely—"
"Jaskier."
"Well, as they say: you can lead a bard to timber, but you can't make him—"
"Just do it, Jaskier."
"I don't know how! All right? I've never built a fire in the middle of nowhere before! It's not one of the seven liberal arts, and I much prefer my fires stoked by comely barmaids in taverns."
Geralt looks at him for a long moment. It's a complicated look—frustration and amusement and a hint of regret. Mostly it's a look that says Jaskier is an idiot for joining him on the Path.
"Right," Geralt says slowly. He begins building the campfire himself.
"I imagine they teach wilderness survival to baby witchers at witcher school."
Geralt looks at him again and there's something different in his expression. The ghost of a smile? Jaskier doesn't quite know how to read it.
"Kaer Morhen," he says. "And yeah. Something like that."
"Oh?" Jaskier has to rein in his enthusiasm, his curious questions. Geralt so rarely reveals anything personal about himself or his past. Not that Jaskier has been forthcoming in that regard either. They live in the moment, day by day, but some context would help his creative process.
Besides all that, he genuinely wants to get to know Geralt a little better.
"Vesemir took me out into the forest one day. Gave me a knife and left me there for a month."
There is no bitterness in his words. If anything, the witcher sounds...almost fond. Nostalgic. Proud of his younger self for overcoming the challenges his mentors set before him.
It takes a moment for the true meaning of that to sink in and, once it does, Jaskier is horrified. His own parents weren't great, but even they would never simply abandon him.
"He just— like as a test— what—?"
"Real eloquent, bard. I doubt he had any choice. Probably wasn't even supposed to give me anything."
"How old were you?" he demands, unsure if any answer will make this revelation less abhorrent.
"Six? Seven? Maybe eight. I don't know." Geralt makes a gesture with his fingers and the pile of wood beneath his hand sparks with flame. "Not old enough to have learned Igni yet."
He can picture it, too, so vividly. Curse his dammed artist's imagination. Geralt, just a kid, alone and scared and definitely cold—because no one bothered to teach him how to start a fire.
"Stop it," the witcher snaps.
"What?"
"Looking at me like that. I'm fine. I was fine back then. Wasn't so bad at all compared to the Grasses. Vesemir came back for me like he said he would. I survived the trial—no, I didn't just survive; I exceeded all expectations, which is why they..." The witcher trails off. Takes a breath.
All of that... It's quite a lot of words for Geralt. Honest words, even.
It's his job to talk, to sing, to commit the most painful and difficult experiences to beautiful poetic verse. But Jaskier doesn't know what to say to his friend right now. Surely he has to say something.
"Geralt..."
"Don't waste your pity. Save it for the ones who didn't make it through. I did."
"Okay," the bard replies, careful and tentative. He isn't a brave man, nor a particularly kind one. But Jaskier considers himself an honest fellow so he adds, "Just because you made it through, you know, that doesn't mean what happened to you was all right, Geralt. Children aren't supposed to be left alone to fend for themselves."
The witcher laughs—a humorless, wretched sound. He doesn't say anything at all to that. Which is okay, really; Jaskier just needed him to hear it.
There is a long silence. The fire crackles. Jaskier absently strums his lute.
"You're gonna write a ballad about this, aren't you," Geralt says after a while.
"No!" Maybe. Yes. He won't perform it.
"Hm."
The fire crackles.
Quite out of the blue, Geralt tells him, "I befriended a wolf back then."
"What? You're joking!"
"Witchers don't have a sense of humor. Common knowledge."
"Common misconception. Most people are just stupid. No, hang on, stop distracting me—You had a pet wolf?!"
"Not a pet," the witcher corrects, smiling faintly. "Fangtooth was her own wolf."
"Fangtooth?" Jaskier repeats, struggling to contain his amusement. "Not Roach?"
"No."
"Forgive me, but that's adorable."
"I was just a child. I wanted to stay with her in the wilderness. Be a wolf, too. Or a knight." He shakes his head dismissively. Silly childish dreams.
"But you didn't," Jaskier says. And feels stupid for saying something so obvious.
"Too late for that," Geralt replies without reproach. "I was already a witcher."
"As a child, I wanted to run away and join the circus," the bard offers.
"Of course you did."
They're quiet for a moment then. Comfortable, shared silence. Just the sounds of birds and forest creatures, and Roach contentedly eating grass. The fire crackles.
"Geralt, will you teach me to light a fire? Without witcher magic, obviously, since I don't have any."
"Why?"
"Because...well, because I could be a more useful traveling companion. Like Fangtooth must've been."
"...Fine," Geralt agrees after some thought.
It is a skill he will be very grateful to have on freezing nights in the coming years, especially whenever the witcher is too injured or ill from those dreadful potions to help set up camp. He will try not to think of the child Geralt once was, subjected to horrific tests of his ability to survive all on his own.
Except he hadn't been on his own back then, not completely. And he isn't alone anymore, either.
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sipofchai · 6 months
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in pursuit of ecstasy
AO3 | mdni banner by @/cafekitsune
Fandom: Good Omens
Pairing: Aziraphale/Reader
Word Count: 1.2
Summary:  The fingers leave your mouth, and he kisses you again, deeper this time. He is soft and he is solid. He is tender when he runs a hand down your waist, firm as that same hand gathers to a fist, grabbing at your thigh and then reaching under—
(or: the one where reader has trouble orgasming, and gets some reassurance from our favorite angel)
Tags: smut, gender neutral reader, comfort, no orgasms (sorry!), fingering
A/N: trying to clear out my drafts so here's something unfinished from 2022
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Aziraphale loves watching you come.
You know this because he tells you, often and at length. How beautiful you are like this; how lovely; lush and languid and positively luminous as you fall apart beneath him. Soft eyes. Parted lips. He could spend minutes, months, millennia—all the time in the world and then some—bringing you up to that edge, just to see you tip over. To watch you writhe and flutter and sigh. To hold you while you do. To brush the hair from your temple and kiss the corner of your mouth; to run a gentle, greedy hand down your chest, over the soft terrain of your stomach to the apex of your thighs, and see how, even fucked out and exhausted, you still shudder at the touch.
You love it too, of course. You love feeling this way; more than anything, you love that he is the one making you feel this way.
You just wish there was something you could do to make it easier.
Here is the thing about having a literal angel for a lover: he has no qualms about taking his time. None of your past partners could have been half so patient — and of course, he has more knowledge and power in his arsenal than all of them combined. Every trick or touch known (and unknown) to mankind, he has at his disposal; and, when all else fails, there's always a well-timed miracle to be used.
You know you should be grateful. And you are! After all, who could really complain about having a celestial being lavishing attention and unconditional affection upon you?
But you would be lying if you didn't say it made you feel a little...inadequate.
It is a difficult thing, sometimes, to love this body of yours. This tricky, treacherous body. How it so often pushes when you need to pull; gives up at the very moment you most want to persevere.
Maybe it's a carryover from past relationships. People expecting you to be more responsive. Less particular. Easier. Rationally, you know it's no hardship for him. For Aziraphale, an orgasm is never more than a finger-snap away. But that knowledge isn't enough to get you out of your own head. It doesn't stop the constant parade of self doubt; the wishing, the wanting, the waiting for your body to get in line and respond to his touch the way you think (you feel, you know) you're supposed to. Trying to relax. Trying and failing and failing and failing and—
"Sorry." You push back. "Sorry, can we—I just..."
"Yes, of course." Both of you are panting a bit, though you are the only one with a light sheen of sweat across your brow. He reaches out, fingers miraculously cool to the touch, and pushes back a few wayward tendrils of hair. "Do you need a break? Some water?"
"No. Well, yes, actually, water would be nice." No sooner have the words left your lips than a glass of water appears in his hand. You try to pace yourself. You're thirsty enough to down the whole thing in one go, but then you'll have no excuse not to be talking, and then you'll have to start trying to explain yourself, and that is the absolute last thing you feel capable of doing right now.
He watches you with unbearable tenderness as you take one final swallow. "Is everything all right?"
You nod vigorously. "Yes! I just, um. We can stop now, if you want."
"Stop?" He seems genuinely puzzled. "But you haven't finished yet."
"Right. But you have!" you offer, chewing on your bottom lip.
"Well, yes, but you can't exactly blame me for that," he says, his hand sliding down to squeeze your arse in a way that compels you to lean forward and kiss him, hooking one leg over his hip, letting out a quiet moan which he greedily swallows. "And besides," he murmurs, "that's no reason for you to go without, hm?"
You stiffen slightly. "I just...I think I might be a bit far out from that."
He chuckles. "Darling. Surely you must know by now that I'm hardly in a rush."
“I know, I know. But it makes me…it makes me feel worse, sometimes. The longer it goes, and I know it’s not going to happen, and knowing you’re putting in all that work for nothing—”
" And if I were to tell you I enjoyed it?”
“I wish I believed you. And I do, to a degree, I just. I don’t know, Aziraphale. I don’t always enjoy it."
“All right. That’s perfectly all right. We can always stop.”
“That’s—um. I don’t know that I’m explaining myself right.” You press two fingers to your temple. “Sometimes I don’t want to stop, I just want to stop thinking…about that. Stop focusing on it.”
You feel, more than hear, him crawl up behind you. Well-kept hands slide around your waist, and you don’t protest as he tugs you against his chest, nuzzles into your neck, presses a kiss to the delicate skin beneath your jaw. You shiver, eyes fluttering closed. He smells like tea and parchment, like freshly-pressed laundry, like sunlight and spearmint and the garden after a storm. Clean and comforting and yours.
“You know, I realize I’ve spend a great deal of time waxing poetic about how much I enjoy watching you come undone. And I don’t regret that—indeed, I meant it quite sincerely. But I believe I may have been amiss in my priorities.
“You see, I also rather enjoy everything that comes before.”
He kisses just below your ear. Down your neck, until it tickles, and you giggle and squirm as he kisses his way back up to your mouth.
You pull him closer, hungry for the feeling of skin on skin, of his chest against yours. He leans away for only a moment, replacing his mouth with fingers. "Suck," he says, and you do. "Yes," he says, and it should be irritating, how amused he sounds at your unquestioning obedience, but you are too hungry for him to care. "Yes, that's very good."
The fingers leave your mouth, and he kisses you again, deeper this time. He is soft and he is solid. He is tender when he runs a hand down your waist, firm as that same hand gathers to a fist, grabbing at your thigh and then reaching under, running his spit-slick fingers over your entrance. You're almost ready, still warm and relaxed from earlier, and he slips in without any trouble—first one finger, then two, and you can't help but sigh at how pleasant it feels, how right.
When you try to reach for him, he nudges your arm away.
"None of that," he murmurs. "I'm trying to enjoy you, darling. No distractions."
"I just thought—ah." He curls his fingers at exactly the right spot, and your words are swallowed by a moan.
"And that's just the problem, isn't it? Too much thinking." He's pursing his lips, you can hear it in his voice, though it's hard to focus much on anything other than the lovely way his voice vibrates through you when he lowers it in pitch like that. "Far too much thinking."
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viperwhispered · 3 days
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Rest
Guess what? I've got more Jamil x reader for y'all. You can also find this on ao3. No warnings, just 866 words of kinda fluffy(?) caretaking stuff with gender-neutral reader.
At this point, you know Jamil’s schedule almost as well as he does. So, when you have the chance, you head to Scarabia’s kitchen, hoping to spend some time with Jamil while he and the other students prepare dinner. 
However, when you enter, it takes you but a moment to notice Jamil’s uncharacteristic fumbling and the tired look in his eyes. The way Jamil’s chopping the vegetables has you worried about him cutting himself with that knife he’s usually so adept with, and it seems it’s only force of habit that’s keeping him on track.
You frown, and when your eyes meet Jamil’s, you can already see him put his guard up.
So he knows what state he is in, huh? And still, here he is.
It seems Jamil is reading your thoughts, all of him telling you drop it before any words are even said.
At least he still lets you lean in and give a quick kiss to his cheek in greeting.
“Hello love. Do you still have a lot on your agenda for today?” you ask, keeping your tone low for at least some semblance of privacy in the busy kitchen.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” is the response you get.
Of course.
It takes a little more pestering before Jamil actually answers your question. Your lips purse. That list is far too long to your liking.
You take a moment to think, juggling your own plans and to-do list against the urgency of the things Jamil mentioned.
“Will Kalim be eating from that?” you ask, pointing at the food Jamil is preparing.
“Yes.”
“Alright, I won’t be touching that one, then. I’ve gotta do a few things but I’ll be back when you’re done here.”
“Don’t,” Jamil says with a glare, clearly aware of what you’re thinking.
Yet even his disapproving look doesn’t have the usual weight behind it.
“Yes. I will,” you say firmly, even as your heart curls inwards with another bout of concern.
Really, when did he get so tired?
And how did you not notice it earlier?
You leave the kitchen before Jamil can protest further, hurrying through the dorm corridors to find Kalim.
Soon you have an enthusiastic – and concerned – supporter for your plans. You have Kalim point out a few reliable Scarabia students to help with a few of the most urgent matters Jamil mentioned – cleaning up the common areas, delivering some paperwork to Crowley, preparing some dorm-wide notices – while you see to Kalim getting his school supplies in order for the following day. You even recruit a couple of third years to help Kalim with his homework.
You’ll see to the rest tomorrow – after all, you do also have a boyfriend to look after.
Your conversation over dinner can hardly be called anything else than an argument – despite Kalim’s best attempts at acting as a moderating force between you two. It is very tempting to ask Kalim to tell Jamil to take the rest of the day off – it’s not like Jamil would be willing to openly disobey a direct order. Still, you really don’t need to remind Jamil of his position on top of everything else that you’re already doing more or less against his wishes.
Eventually, however, Jamil’s had a square meal, the most urgent things on his to-do list are being taken care of, and you’ve managed to drag him to his bed.
“I really wish you wouldn’t push yourself so hard,” you murmur, your arms wrapped tightly around Jamil. You’re telling yourself you really do just want to cuddle, to offer some respite to Jamil. Still, there might also be a part of you worried that if you were to let go, he’d just jump up and get back to working himself to the bone.
Yet, for all his protestations, just the fact that you’ve gotten Jamil to lay down with you speaks volumes of his current exhaustion.
“I can’t just leave my duties, albi. You know this.”
“Making yourself too indispensable, is what you’re doing,” you protest.
Oh, you know it’s not so simple. Not with his background, not with all the expectations and assumptions.
But sometimes you really wish it would be.
Jamil merely scoffs in response to your words.
Still, it is undeniable that he is slowly beginning to relax in your arms, slowly bringing his head closer to yours. His eyes are starting to flutter, too.
“I will still need to help Kalim with his homework, at the very least.”
You wonder who he is trying to convince more, you or himself.
“Amin and Khalil are helping him. They’re basically top of their classes, aren’t they? I’m sure they’ve got it.”
Still, Jamil frowns.
You sigh. He really is not letting go, is he?
“Do you want me to go supervise?” you ask.
And leave you, unsaid yet hanging there right after your words.
“Don’t,” Jamil eventually says, the word barely more than a breath.
It seems he has accepted his fate.
You softly caress Jamil’s hair, listening to his softening breathing.
And when you wake up, wholly unaware of having been lulled to sleep in the first place, it’s to the lightest of touches from Jamil’s fingers.
Tagging @diodellet @twstgo @crystallizsch @jamilvapologist @jamilsimpno69 as per request If you'd like to be tagged for any future works, let me know!
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remedyturtles · 1 month
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hey @teainthesnow i want amw and dw to meet in the @tmntaucompetition so badly ...
[]
“Hey, quick question!” Leo said, stopping the newest Leo in his tracks. This one looked pretty cool with that scarf, though the missing hand sucked.
“Yeah?” The alternate Leo asked, a little wary, eyes tracking and stuttering on Leo’s beautiful custom arm. 
“Are you a two for one deal?” Leo asked, grinning full force. 
A small pause. Then a posture shift, a more excited smile in return — something Leo had never seen from the other side. “Hell yeah I am.”
“Dude!” Leo threw his hands in the air. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere! Me too!”
“You too?” 
Sensei stepped in, spine shifting and shoulders straightening, and that slightly deeper voice said, “Leonardo clown car, at your service. We heard there was another one of us and Leo insisted we find you.”
"You've found me! This is so cool, I had no idea there was anyone else like us." The alternate Leo eyed them as they swapped places, looking curious and interested.
"Hah. Hey, are there four people here, or is it just me?" Sensei said, eyes crinkling.
The other laughed. "That's so bad, I love it."
"He's the worst." Leo pushed him out of the way. "Hey, hey, do you want to arm wrestle?"
There was a pointed glance at the missing hand versus robotic arm given in return.
"No, no, with our normal arms. I wanna see like, who's stronger in which combination of who's in control." Leo bounced on his heels, giddy.
That wariness returned on the other's face, so Sensei stepped in, calming hand on Leo's metaphorical shoulder. "Sorry about him, he's pretty easily excited."
"Tell me about it." A faintly amused smile brushed away anything else. "Yeah, we could do that. But don't complain to me when you lose."
Sensei let his competitive gleam shine. "You're on."
Followed by a groan of the two younger Leo's. But they stole a table to test -- gaining quite the audience who had little context for what was going on -- and it was impossible to tell who won considering both sides cheated.
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cryscendo · 2 months
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“I don't think I can say no to you."
"You can say no," Kurt reminded, resting his forehead on Blaine's. "If you don't want to."
Blaine exhaled, the warmth from his prior sleep coating Kurt's lips like molasses. "I always want to," Blaine said. "I always want you."
treading water, an absolutely gorgeous fic written by @kurtsascot. i cannot recommend it enough. do yourself a favor and read it here.
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chiropteracupola · 2 months
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a wee dormouse perkins for @aranov!
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karkatbug · 2 months
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does anyone else have a to do list that includes shit like:
leave nice comment on [davekat] fic
queue more [davekat] posts on tumblr
do laundry [think about davekat laundry scene]
buy groceries
tweet "is it the middle of february yet" to try and manifest an early hs2 update
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thegeminisage · 6 months
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Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock, James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy, James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy & Spock, James T. Kirk & Thomas Leighton, James T. Kirk & Original Character(s) Characters: James T. Kirk, Spock (Star Trek), Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Anton Karidian | Kodos, Thomas Leighton, Original Child Character(s) Additional Tags: Tarsus IV (Star Trek), Episode: s01e12 The Conscience of the King, Tense Changes, Blackmail, Trauma, Angst, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Dark, Untagged Trope
AOS-style take on Conscience of the King. Twelve years after Tarsus IV and three months after dying to realign the warp core and save his ship, Jim Kirk seems to have a new lease on life: he's been resurrected, started pursuing a tentative new relationship with Spock, and has an entire five-year mission ahead of him. That is, until the attempted murder of an old friend forces him to divert the Enterprise away from her intended course and towards Planet Q. After a chance encounter on the planet's surface, new secrets about Jim's time on Tarsus IV come to light—secrets that threaten to destroy everyone he fought to protect, and the new life he's finally achieved. Some things you carry with you wherever you go.
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idesireelysian · 1 year
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discovering their gun kink
how i think you would discover tokrev men’s gun kinks
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characters: sanzu, naoto, mikey
wordcount: 0.6k
cw/tw: gn!reader, guns, gun kink, pet names (once; baby), slight talk of kink, suggestive but not nsfw, you can interpret this as a romantic relationship qpr fwbs etc tried to keep it ambigous but what’s established is that you’re fucking
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☆—`sanzu
he’s known about his gun kink for a while now
has even lived out the fantasy with someone before you two started fucking
so he’s wanted to tell you for a while
he’s not insecure or embarassed about it at all but communication is kind of hard for him, which is why he thought he could maybe just hint at it. which didn’t work at all
one day, the two of you are on a party hosted by the haitani brothers
somehow, you end up playing truth or dare, and sanzu gets asked what one of his biggest kinks is
he admits that he has a gun kink
later, when you’re in private, you tell him that you’re surprised but certainly open to try it out sometime
he grabs your face and hungrily kisses you right then & there.
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☆—`naoto
he hasn’t discovered his gun kink yet.
as a detective, he has his own gun. he decides to show it to you one day because you seemed interested
he lets you hold it and all that, but he unloaded it beforehand for safety
so you jokingly point it at him, slowly drawing closer
naoto doesn’t react at all, which is why you decide to only stop walking right in front of him. you lay a hand on his nape and hold the gun to his temple
so close to him, you can see a blush spread from his cheeks all the way up to his ears
he stays still, no signs of moving away. ,,y/n, can you put the gun down, please?’’, he asks, voice raspy
you do as you’re told, lowering your hand with the gun. ,,why’s that, though? i can see that you’re enjoying it, you know...’’
,,i just- i didn’t expect to get turned on by being held at gunpoint’’, he admits, not looking into your eyes
,,oh? if you want to, we can explore your newly discovered kink’’, you offer and smile
his blush gets even darker, and he nods. ,,please put it back on my temple’’, he asks shyly
,,of course, baby.’’ you shove him against the nearest wall and comply.
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☆—`mikey
i feel like he straight up tells you tbh
you’re coming home after work, and see him standing in the kitchen, reaching for his beloved taiyaki
obviously, you decide to sneak up on him and hug him from behind. it earns you a surprised yelp
,,y/n! now you made me drop my food..’’, he complains, but doesn’t make any attempts to leave your grasp and pick it up again
,,yeah, yeah, love you too.’’ you roll your eyes, though can’t help to smile
mikey leans back into your touch, tilting his head back to look at your face
you gently kiss his forehead
,,more..?’’, he asks, and grins
you like kissing him anyway, so you comply, spinning him around to face you first
he immediately leans in to kiss your lips, trying not to smile too much to ruin it
after a few kisses, it starts to get more and more heated, and mikey’s clinging to your body, trying to find naked skin
you shove him against the counter, taiyaki long forgotten
,,y/n? could we.. try something a little more extreme today, maybe?’’, he asks against your lips
,,like what, exactly?’’
,,well, you know. i have a sort of gun kink..’’, he admits, looking right into your eyes. he isn’t ashamed of it
,,hm... sure, if you’d like that!’’ you smile, and cup his cheeks, pulling him into another passionate kiss.
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yamisnuffles · 2 months
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I know I'm not the first to say it, but everyone really should reread their own fic. It's such a treat lol.
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I'm so ashamed of myself. I have done so much research for the 1930s noir fic and yet I missed this. I could have made them live through an extremely cold time, like, some of the most extreme weather in New York. February 1934. But nooo. I'm past that. I'm in early 1935. Fuck damn it.
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tanjir0se · 7 months
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WHAT IF I CAME BACK WRONG AND WE WERE BOTH BOYS 🔥🔥🔥🥴🥴🙈
WIP of a scene from my Demon!Kyojuro Rengiyuu fic I spat out while procrastinating on actually writing it!!!
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