;; Teeth
Summary: You've always wondered why Brendan has settled for wearing a flipper, and when you ask he isn't shy to show you why.
Kinks & TW: oral sex (female receiving), face riding.
Word Count: 1.4k
You remembered the night that it had happened, the night when a high stick took out both of Brenden’s front teeth and left them scattered on the ice. You hadn’t been dating him then. He had been nothing more than a hockey player on the television screen as you and your now ex boyfriend watched the game in a grungy New York City bar.
While it had been years, and a few teams, since he lost them. Brendan still didn’t have them fixed. Sure, he had a flipper that created the illusion of a perfect smile, but he still had to pull them out at meal times. Yet, he still went without them more often than not. The absence of them left a broad dark space in his smirk, and while you didn’t mind it, you couldn’t help but be curious. Why didn’t he get it fixed?
It wasn’t like he didn’t have the money for it, or the time.
Which is why you decided to ask him one morning as the two of you began the day together in the early morning glow that filtered into your apartment. You stood at the kitchen island dressed in nothing but one of his dress shirts that had come home a little wrinkled and smelling of his collonge after a long road trip. You had rolled the sleeves up and it left your bare elbows to rest on the counter as you arched over seemingly occupied in the book you held in one hand while occasionally nursing your morning coffee with the other.
When Brendan crossed your path, he was on his way out of the bathroom after having a hot shower. His wet curls hung low onto his forehead, and droplets of water dropped down the toned angles of his body until it dripped off the angles of him or were absorbed by the white town that hung lowly on his hips. It was then, as he crossed your path you asked him, “what’s the reason you don’t get your teeth fixed, babe?”
Peering up over the edge of your book you watched as Brendan’s steps slowed. His head cocked to the side, and then, without answering you, he smiled.
Your eyes narrowed, suspicious of his silence as you lowered your book down to lay pages down on the counter top, “what is it?”
“I can show you.”
Your head cocked to match the angle of his as he glanced back at you, “Okay, then show me.”
“Right now?” he asked you as if you had anything else to do on a quiet morning that he got to spend at home, instead of at the rink.
“Right now.”
Brendan abandoned what would be his path to the bedroom to get dressed and made his detour into the kitchen. He came to stand right in front of you, one hand keeping his towel at bay while the other reached out to steal your cup of coffee. A single hand had wrapped around it almost fully before lowering down to rest on the countertop. Your lips parted, ready to ask him why you couldn’t enjoy your coffee while he showed you some little trick or quirk that having no teeth allowed him to do - but before you could, his hands had found your waist and he was picking you up to carry you off to the bedroom.
It wasn't some romantic, bridal style, kind of carry either. Brendan liked to man handle you. He hoisted you up, throwing You over his shoulder in what rivaled a fireman's carry. Hanging over his one shoulder, you watched the muscles of his back flex, water traveling down over each ridge and ripple. It was your fixation, your eyes traveling the path of a single bead, your lungs vacant of even a single breath as the rush of the carry caught you completely by surprise. Air only found its way back as you were forced to take in a sharp inhale with the impact of Brendan's hand firm against the flesh of your ass. It filled your body with the familiar sting, and before you could protest what you thought would be another impact, Brendan was tossing you down into the comfort of your bed.
“What are you-” you couldn't even finish your question before you felt his hands on you again.
Each hand, rough and battle hardened, slipped between your legs at your knees. The scratch of the calluses on his palms against your smooth skin left you shuddering as he pushed your legs open wide.
You swallowed hard, the draft of the air conditioner sending a chill over your bare cunt as you hadn't thought twice about needing panties with his shirt having hung so low on your legs. You hadn't risked being much of a distraction, yet, you still ended up laying back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as Brendan’s hot breath washed over the skin of your thighs.
You could feel his every exhale as he kissed his way up the inside of your legs. Oneside, then the other, leaving a wet trail of saliva that heated and cooled and heated again. The closer he got to the apex of your thighs, the better it felt, and the more you squirmed in the anticipation of feeling his mouth on your needy cunt. But the more you squirmed, the more Brendan toyed with you.
His hands tried to hold your legs at bay first. Careful touches that settled your legs back into their place, splayed just enough to accommodate him between them, but then your hips became to quiver and buck into the air with such an impatience that it left him cursing against your flesh.
Brendan's mouth lingered on your thigh, his mouth leaving slopping kisses so close to your cunt, you could practically feel his lips on your folds. And if he had his teeth in, you were sure he would have been nipping at your flesh then. But he proceeded without them as he drew back just far enough to bring up both hands to each side of your cunt. Brendan spread you right open with the ease of just his thumbs as they were placed on each side of your cunt. You could feel the wetness of your own arousal dripping from your needy cunt, your core flexing in the mere anticipation of feeling him.
It was there, so close to your cunt, he muttered out words so quiet you couldn't understand him before he delved right into the sweetness of your cunt. The flat of his tongue met you without warning, so hot, so wet, as it dragged over the entrance of your core and lapped up to the very sensitivity of your clit that left you gasping. He did it once more - no, then again, a few times to get the taste of you before he was completely intoxicated by the sweetness of your cunt.
His arms wound around your legs, keeping them wide and open for him even as you quivered at the pleasure. Brendan devoured you, so shamelessly, as his nose teased your clit while his tongue parted your folds and dipped inside your cunt. It was a deliberate, yet almost gentle action. One that left your hips bucking to grind your cunt against his tongue.
It must have been the moment Brendan had been waiting for. Before you could get even a second rotation in, Brendan’s large hands were gripping firmly at the flesh of your ass. It pressed your cunt further into his face, and in a quick action that left you gasping, Brendan lifted you up from the bed and threw himself down onto it All without his head leaving the space between your thighs.
You were left to straddle his face, your knees and thighs on either side of it as his tongue continued its messy work. You could feel every slick glide, and every breath as you rode his face. Every roll of your hips dragged your cunt over his eager tongue. And even as the pleasure bubbled in the depths of your stomach, sending your legs tight around his head and your toes curling, he didn't concede. He lay there, letting you ride out the waves of your pleasure on his tongue until you were left panting and still.
It was then he eased you up with the strength of his hold, stealing one last kiss from your inner thigh, before he smiled that large, stupid toothless grin and said, matter-of-factly, “That's why.”
TAGLIST: @mp0625 @starshine-hockey-girl
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a frog stares at him from the bright lake touched by the moonlight , a clear night and warm weather ; thankfully . xue yang wasn't sure if he would survive the chill of the mountain just wearing these stupid robes that didn't even cover up his arms warmly enough . idiots , first rule of meditating is to feel comfortable — or whatever . he winces , rubs his bruised wrists before wetting the soft cloth in the lake's water . lan qiren didn't give him a headband , out of his grudge or because he was a special little case , it didn't matter because xue yang simply grinned it off . they look like they're designed for girls , anyway . he's so lost in trying to reach the leash marks bleeding on his back to hear xingchen's footsteps until he sees him walk toward the bright spring . . . he gives him a smile while he's panting . maybe he should just get inside the water instead of trying to clean the blood off . ❛ daozhang . came for a swim ? ❜ did they tell him he's sneaked inside the forbidden library ? if the cloud recesses didn't hold the information he needed to create his own , original spell to bring a pair of lovely eyes back , then xue yang isn't sure where he could find it . he washes the red cloth on the water , pushes away his hair from one bare shoulder as he mumbles ; ❛ did you eat from the lotus cake lan wangji brought ? it was horrible . the lengths he's going to impress yilling laozu , so funny . he's not even close to what wei wuxian is . ❜ isn't that funny ; is he even remotely close to the beauty of xiao xingchen ? does he have any connections to the moon and gentleness of spring winds ? xue yang respects wei ying , more than anyone perhaps . there were nights he'd lay awake and wonder with eyes wide open – how did wei wuxian do such remarkable things ? he pauses momentarily , smiles with a lock of brown hair half-blocking his left eye . moonlight looks incredibly ugly compared to xingchen , tonight ; ❛ are you here for another set of leash hits ?? daozhang . have mercy . i haven't even eaten my dinner . ❜
@crue11 | xxc carefully not frowning about being called 'daozhang' at this stage-
They did tell him.
They tell him everything Xue Yang does and does not do, because Xiao XingChen vouches for him, a demonic cultivator, another one nonetheless, not quite as mad as the Grandmaster himself, but still as loathed via association alone, bringing Lan QiRen just one step closer to considering the very cultivation world itself lost.
Xiao XingChen knows, not so much painfully as begrudgingly well, that it's most likely his name that had gotten Xue Yang this spot Xiao XingChen had been the one to even demand for him.
It was a necessity.
One more step to fulfill the act that Xue Yang needed redemption he hadn't already fulfilled. One more move to make sure everyone to look at them walking as a pair would see that Xiao XingChen was doing a right and just thing... and that it wasn't his heart that came up with all these conclusions, all the different ways he could justify being as tightly bound to Xue Yang as Xue Yang decided to be bound to him.
So, yes.
They did tell him.
Because he demands to know.
And is he surprised?
No.
Xue Yang didn't become who he became or do what he did, and Xiao XingChen would not even be here, alive to mull over the past and whatnot, if it weren't for Xue Yang's knack for breaking rules and doing as he pleases. He couldn't quite tell how much of it was ingrained into his very character, and how much came to be as a vengeance towards the world that took so much effort to break him into becoming a demonic cultivator in the first place.
Fact is fact, that's all he knows, and if Xue Yang breaks a rule, well... Xiao XingChen can only be glad it was one coupled with a thirst for knowledge as opposed to a massacre waiting to happen.
Perhaps that is why he isn't here to scold him. Xiao XingChen spent a lot of time on a different kind of mountain. Baoshan Sanren had been just as disciplined and strict, but she never presented them with walls covered in thousands upon thousands of rules. The rules they were meant to follow, people like him, people like Song Lan, were implicit, intertwined into the behaviours they were taught to mimic.
Or... in other words, Xiao XingChen doesn't actually respect GusuLan as much as he pretends to, to guarantee Xue Yang a spot here.
The alternative, aforementioned Baoshan Sanren, was not an option - he couldn't return a second time - if he wanted to be around to keep people off Xue Yang's back and away from whatever reaction he would muster to having his toes stepped on.
Whichever sounds closer to the truth.
"You seem to hold quite a bit of reverie for Wei WuXian," Xiao XingChen says, as he seeks out the spot Xue Yang is talking from and assesses it coming close enough to the ground to consider him seated. He lowers himself to the ground nearby, and feels around for the air to turn into bare skin until he knows how much closer he needs to shift.
His fingers brush Xue Yang's arm and he pulls them back as if scalded, revealing no more than that until he's sat directly behind his... his... his?
His tone is carefully neutral. There's no reason for him to believe Wei WuXian and him are in anyway connected to one another, most likely placed in two different categories within Xue Yang's mind. He can't help but wonder, though, how likely Xue Yang would be to break more serious rules, just for a chance to learn from the Grandmaster of the cultivation he's known for.
"Don't be ridiculous," Xiao XingChen adds to the... well, ridiculous suggestion of himself appearing to add more punishment to Xue Yang's already marred back. He may not know what it looks like, but he heard it. And he's heard of how exactly GusuLan thinks discipline can be ingrained into its guest disciples.
One of the many reasons he doesn't like working with sects.
He finds Xue Yang's arm again and pinches the underside he can reach, hardly an action worth of note, just a way to pretend he's annoyed as opposed to all the other things he typically feels around him.
Conflicting and dissonant as they may be.
"Let me help you," his fingertips ghost along and upwards until Xue Yang's arm bends into a shoulder, and then carefully down the first inches of the expanse of his back. He's careful to make sure he's not pushing or adding pressure where the marks start, terrible things as exaggerated as some suggest demonic cultivation to be.
"I may not be able to see, but I've treated wounds of yours before. Then we can eat dinner."
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👻 GHOST - do they believe in ghosts? what are their "ghostly experiences", if any?
@volonata ›› ›› 𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐊𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚 [ OC Emoji Meme ♢ always accepting ]
Kurama's stubborn nature, coupled with his pragmatic and analytical mindset, makes him highly skeptical of supernatural phenomena like ghosts. He prefers to approach such matters with a healthy dose of skepticism, relying on logical explanations rather than attributing occurrences to paranormal activity. Nonetheless, he doesn't outright dismiss the possibility of ghosts; instead, he demands concrete evidence before considering their existence.
Kurama's encounters with potential ghosts during investigations frequently took place in eerie or unnerving settings. There was a time, while investigating a supposedly haunted house as part of a case, he had experienced unexplained sounds such as footsteps echoing in empty hallways or doors mysteriously slamming shut. On another occasion, Kurama has looked over witness accounts detailing sightings of apparitions or unexplained shadows flitting through the darkness. Initially skeptical of such reports, Kurama adopted an open-minded approach, always prepared to explore every possibility. He was willing to entertain almost anything if it could aid in solving the case.
During these investigations, he's encountered instances of electronic devices malfunctioning inexplicably or experiencing sudden power outages. Despite his rational mindset, these occurrences have left Kurama questioning the boundaries of what he knows. Yet, his stubborn pride prevents him from admitting the possibility that ghosts might exist—and that they elicit a primal fear within him.
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OK I've been meaning to ask this for a while: why 'forest pennies' as a Túrin + Beleg tag? What do pennies have to do with them?
Okay so one time in a conversation I called Túrin a "forest puppy" because Beleg finding him in the woods and bringing him to one of the marchwarden lodges reminded me of someone finding a stray dog and bringing it home so they can decide whether they’re going to keep it or not. This led to me calling both of them forest puppies for a few months. But then one day my friend sent me a variation of that “finally I can keep these pennies to myself” meme, commenting that I’m the voiceover, Beleg and Túrin are the pennies, and the “I smell pennies” cryptid is the ship-happy people in the fandom. So “forest puppies” and “I smell pennies” got merged together into “forest pennies”. Thanks for asking about it, actually...I was wondering if anyone was confused by that tag and now I’ve had an excuse to explain it. Here are some forest pennies getting patched up after a rough day of orc-hunting.
(By the way, for those who might not know why I personally don’t subscribe to the general lax view of fandom shipping, there’s another paragraph under the cut so that those who want to read it can and those who don’t want to read it don’t have to see it.)
The reason I don’t ship non-canon ships (or even think about the canon ones very often) is that since I don’t experience sexual attraction myself. As a result, Tolkien’s platonic friendships are especially meaningful to me (one might even say they’re...precious...ba-dum-tss) and it bums me out to see that so few others appreciate the value--or even acknowledge the existence--of hecka strong platonic love. I’m only alive today because someone loved me enough, non-sexually, to keep me that way. Of course I’m not “out to get” the people who choose to ship the platonic relationships for fun or for whatever other purpose, of course I’m not. You all can do whatever you want. But I would be lying if I said it doesn’t hurt a little bit to have the highest form of love I can experience dropped by the wayside in favor of “they only care about each other because they want to bang”, especially when the version that speaks to me is the canon one which people are deliberately revising.
And now that I’ve filled my quota of vulnerability for the day, here’s another drawing to lighten the mood.
Darn elves and their physics-defying plot armor.
(^Túrin, probably)
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