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sprout-fics · 9 months

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Adjustment

(Price x F! Reader)

Call of Duty Masterlist

Rating: Explicit Wordcount: 4k Tags: Dom/Sub, Dom Price, Sub Reader, BDSM, Non-sexual dominance, Impact play, Spanking, Masochism, Pain kink, Safe Sane Consensual, Crying during play, Aftercare, Cuddling, Soft Price Warnings: Please mind the tags A/N: The Price Spanking Fic nobody asked for

When Price calls you to his office this evening, you know exactly why.

It’s been a week since your last mission, the one you were in charge of, the one that went wrong. Faulty intel, no one’s fault except your informant, one who’s reward for his neglect had been a bullet to his face. It was nothing less than a bloody fucking miracle you and your team had gotten out alive, though not unscathed. Two of your squad were still in medical a week later, in good spirits but still injured. On your watch.

The mission rattled you more than you expected it to. It’s not your first time leading a team into less than perfect circumstances, but it is the first time it went this rotten. Your nerves are frayed, pent up, unable to uncoil from the stress of the whole situation. Thankfully you’d not been raked over the coals by your CO, but you almost wish you had been, as if the reprimands and stern lashing would provide some sort of needed outlet to your strained, taut emotions.

As it stands, you hadn’t gotten that much, had instead been trying to find ways to deal despite that. The result had you chewing the heads off recruits, snapping at your teammates, tackling the obstacles course, pacing the perimeter of base in a desperate attempt to cool off. Even so, it wasn’t working, and you know that, know you need to find a better method of taming the roiling sensation of uneasiness inside you. Yet your chosen method, the thing that helped, felt simultaneously desperately needed and horrifically indulgent, a guilty pleasure that was more guilt than anything else.

So you buckled down, brushed people off when they checked on you, gritted your teeth with murmurs of “I’m fine.” and didn’t stay around to listen to them object.

It had only been when Soap had gently approached you in the mess hall, in that soft but stubborn way of his when he knew something was wrong that you snapped. The hurt that had flashed across the sergeant’s face when you practically snarled at him was evident, angered and pained. Yet Soap limped away with his tail between his legs, likely knowing there wasn’t much he could help with, and very likely went straight to Price’s office to report on your viperous demeanor.

It had taken less than an hour for you to get the message from Price.

My office. 9pm.

Which is where you stood now, at 8:59, looking at the seconds on your watch tick down until your fated arrival, just to be spiteful.

You knock less than sixty seconds later, and the voice on the other side almost immediately beckons you inside.

He’s sitting at his desk, idly glancing over paperwork, a glass of whiskey half drained on his desk. Condensation collects on it, drips down onto the coaster he’s meticulously placed so it doesn’t stain the wood. Your eyes fall on it, standing at a lazy parade rest, avoiding the stare he levels at you from under the brim of his hat.

“Lock the door.”

The tenor of his voice is less gruff and more commanding, demanding deference, offering a vague warning should you not obey.

Ah. So it’s going to be one of those evenings. You think to yourself, reaching behind you and clicking the lock shut with a noise that speaks of imminent consequences. There’s a low, apprehensive murmur of excitement tracing under your skin, one that trails up your spine in a shiver you swallow down, don’t allow him to see.

It’s infrequent, this thing you have with the captain. A relationship, a still blossoming one, yes- but also something darker, a little more depraved, something to indulge in your mutual urges with each other. It’s always a little present, some days more than others. Around the rest of your comrades he’s no different to you, but when their backs are turned it’s his hand on your nape, giving the smallest amount of delicious pressure that speaks of dominance, possession.

“Come here.”

You pad over, feeling a familiar, low stirring sensation in your gut at the tone of your captain. Firm, unquestionable, a touch severe but only in a way that was meant to be listened.

You come to rest just short of his knees, as he shifts in his chair to face you. Your hands still rest behind you, held in a taut grip he can’t see. When he speaks, you struggle to meet his eyes, struggle to keep your face placid, unreadable.

“Have you been avoiding me?”

“No.” You respond almost instantly, a rapid response that you internally wince at because you know he can see straight through it.

“Hm.” He offers in return, and you only grimace harder.

“Have I done anything to deserve that?” Price asks, temperate, even, and the utter control in it sometimes scares you only because you know exactly what lies beneath.

“No, Sir.”

That, at least, is the truth. You have been avoiding him, and Price can see that plain as day. Yet the reason lies not with him but with yourself, your stubbornness to soldier on, to refuse help, to buckle down in the worst of ways until the issue naturally works its way out of your system. Unfortunately for you, Price’s keen eyes pick upon even the smallest subtleties in you. It’s an insight he’s developed from years of service, one you haven’t yet found yourself, often leaving the man before you a series of mysteries. You’ll unravel them with time, you think, trust him to deliver the unknowns piece by piece until there’s either nothing left.

“Care to explain what happened with Soap earlier?” He goes on, and you stiffen noticeably, shoulders rising and back straightening, a little ashamed but also guilty at what transpired earlier. The words of it clog your throat, try and force their way upwards.

You could tell him, confess to him why you’re acting the way you are, ask him for what you need. Yet there’s a little poisonous spite bubbling inside you, one that wants him to force it out of you, wants to push against him rebelliously if only to reap the consequences.

You look him in the eyes, stubbornly refusing to break your gaze.

“No Sir.”

It’s more than a little perfunctory, a little biting, but it feels good to see the way Price’s eyes narrow at your tone. There’s a hunger behind them, pupils dark and focused, like he’s staring at something he wants to take apart.

“I think someone needs an adjustment.” Price declares, voice a low growl that’s still within the realm of warning, not yet dipping to the point of no return. It’s just enough, scratches something in your hindbrain that asks for more. More.

You watch as the captain scoots his chair back from where he sits, legs spread wide. For a moment you think he wants you between them, until one large, calloused palm pats against his thigh.

“Over my knee, darling.”

This is familiar to you, and you’ve spent more than one evening, more than one afternoon in the same place that he instructs you. Now, however, you hesitate, stubbornness crossing your expression, biting down on an objection that you’re fine. You don’t need this. Yet you know Price would see right through that too, and you’re not about to safeword out of a release if you can get one. Not if it’s him.

“Don’t make me ask twice.” He warns, eyes unblinking, and even though you still want to object you at last gingerly drape yourself across his knees, ass upwards.

Price is quick to scoot down your pants, revealing the tender skin of your bottom to his gaze. You jolt at his hand that smoothes across the flesh appreciatively.

“You’re not going to count.” He tells you softly, firmly. “You can use your colors if you need them, but otherwise we’ll be done when I say we’re done. Understood?”

You don’t answer, biting your lip, still fighting it. Price’s hand stills, and then grips against your ass, voice now a clear warning, frustration growing at your clear lack of communication.

“Understood, Sergeant?” He prompts again, and this time you nod, focus down on the floor with a small and breathy “Yes, Sir.”

“Good.”

With that, Price’s hand comes down. Hard.

Pain blooms against your skin and you yelp, quick to cover your mouth lest the surrounding offices hear you. It’s late, most of the base is in bed, and the chances of someone finding you are slim. Even so, you know better than to risk it.

Price soothes a hand against the skin, offering no murmurs or hums to ease the pain. Instead, you feel his hand pull away, and you suck in a breath, ready for the next slap.

It’s only once you’ve released, dared to glance at him that Price’s hand comes down on the opposite cheek. You jolt forward, a little cry of surprise escaping you once more.

Price is slow, methodical. There’s a precision to him that’s fine tuned with experience, an unrelenting focus to his task at hand that has your gut clenching with a distant flicker of need. Each impact of his hand leaves a stinging, needed deliverance that gives a more than welcome distraction to the festering frustration inside of you.

Price gives you a few breaths between each slap, just enough to collect yourself before his palm comes down in a devastating collision. It doesn’t take long for your ass to warm under his touch, a little raw, making you bite back a hiss as he takes moments to idly stroke it with a tender touch that’s an unnerving contrast to the impacts he offers.

You lay rigid, balancing tightly, muscles coiled and resistant. You’re still fighting it, can’t let go just yet, doggedly refusing to allow yourself to release the tension in your form. It presses down on the small of your back with the bracing touch of Price’s arm, lays thick in your shoulders as you teeth your lip bloody and try not to make any noise.

It’s not enough. You’re still wound far too tight, shoulders scrunched, body rigid, and as Price’s hand comes down once more in a smack that feels thunderous, you can’t help but flinch.

“Mm. That’s not good enough, love.” He rumbles after the next few impacts, with you stubbornly biting your lip to prevent any sounds from escaping. A hand kneads the stinging flesh of your ass and you groan a little at the pain, but don’t raise your voice, don’t move from your position over his lap.

You feel Price pause, adjust, and soon one of your wrists is hauled behind your back, then the other, as you’re forced to sag your entire weight against him. It releases some of the tension in your form, but it only manifests itself in a squirming resistance that has Price huff a little displeased sound down at you.

Price’s hand settles on your nape as you squirm, and the simple act of scruffing you has goosebumps rising across your flesh, body seizing with a sharp intake of air. You tremble, skin electrifying under his touch. Every synapse feels too bright, too hot, and when his thumb presses against the underside of your jaw you give him a full body shudder that vibrates into his hand. Yet all Price offers you in return is a single, growling demand that pulls at something deep, primal inside your ribcage.

“Settle.”

Just like that, you feel yourself loosen abruptly, going completely still, muscles sagging as if Price just snapped the strings holding you aloft. Your body goes lax, limp, head dropping forward in surrender, and Price hums a rumbling, approving noise that makes you keen.

“Very good.”

With that, he resumes.

The spanks come quicker now, with devastating accuracy, rapid fire and heavy. It takes a few impacts for you to stop holding your breath, let your eyes open and unfocus on the floor in front of you. There’s a warm, velvety haze beginning to fog over your senses now. It cottons your thoughts, muffles the world around you, allows that previous resistance inside you to slowly begin to ease.

The pain feels good.

Little moans start spilling past your lips, and you slowly stop trying to silence them. The sting of Price’s hand settles low in your belly, licks a tender flame into your core. A murmur of arousal resides there, fueled by the profound act of surrender. The utter, encompassing trust that resides between you and him in this regard is a tonic unlike any other. It lets you fall completely into yourself, submitting to where he wants to lead you, knowing he’ll ground you, keep you safe, give you not exactly what you want, but what you need.

Price can sense the way you’re unwinding, can feel the noises from you now, a little louder, more breathless, lips parting with shuddering gasps. He pauses after a particularly harsh smack, allowing the knuckles of his hand to rest against the top of your ass. Not moving, just resting. Not finished yet.

“You wanted this but didn’t know how to ask, isn’t that right, love?” He asks, and it takes you a moment, but you nod. Hell, you’re not sure why you didn’t ask for this sooner. You know he’d give it if you asked while you’re wound up like this, would find a way to unravel you at the seams and let the cotton, soft, sinking feeling envelop you and offer you a much needed respite.

“Color?” He prods gently, and you’re already so warmly out of it for a moment that you have to remember how to answer him.

“Green.”

Price grunts, satisfied, and his knuckles trace over the raw, swollen skin of your flesh before his hand turns over again.

He doesn’t ask if you’re ready, and this time you don’t bother to tense before his hand comes down. It’s less this time, the impacts not enough to shatter you the way they did before, but the pain is still enough to make you droop forward, release an exhale that loosens your shoulders all the way down. You’re already feeling it, can already feel the stress being sapped away along with your resistance, but you know Price won’t be satisfied until the thing that was holding it in the first place snaps inside you, makes you surrender completely.

“Doing well. Just a little more.” He urges, and you whimper.

You don’t know if you can take more. You’re already kind of floaty, it already scratches that needed itch under your skin, but you know there’s so much more you can offer him.

At last it comes loose, a sob startles from your throat at it being so much, and it seems to open the floodgates. You inhale a long, shuddering breath as Price pauses, and when it releases it’s as an unsteady, whimpering sigh that dissolves into another sob. Price kneads your ass and the pain forces another cry from your throat until you shudder with it, and begin to cry in earnest.

“That’s it. Very good. Let it go.” He urges, voice soothing, tender, firm in the way you need him to be so he can hold up the sagging, collapsed form of you.

The crying is cathartic, a week of pent up emotion and stress at last simmering to the surface and leaking down your face in hot, wet tears. It’s not at the sting of pain, not at any type of unwillingness or shame. Instead it’s like unplugging a drain, allowing the tepid surface of stress inside you to circle downwards, allowing the utter vulnerability of being like this to sink away the thing that had been holding you back from your own emancipation. Every single remaining ounce of tension in your body sags away, and you droop over Price’s lap with your head tucked forward, chest rattling with thick, sobbing cries.

Fuck, it feels good.

The complete and utter release of the tension in your form has your breath collapse from your lungs, sends hot, fat tears rolling down your face in an all too needed exoneration of the troubled tightness that was held in your form. Even as your chest shutters there’s a strange, serene calm that washes over you at the act of finally, finally letting go.

It isn’t over, because Price delivers several more harsh, stinging slaps, as if to shake the rest of it loose from you, until he at last relents. He braces an arm over the small of your back, murmuring a small “Steady.” as you shudder. Face tipped forward, the trails of tears on your face drip down from your chin onto the floor. A hand gently strokes the stinging, swollen flesh of your ass, and despite the smarting it’s grounding, keeping you leveled from the tempting descent of rumination that lies in the back of your mind.

“You did well.” Price tells you at last, when your cries have begun to ease, and it stutters a little whine from you, the praise a balm to your slightly overwhelmed senses. He waits until you settle a bit more before shifting, and soon you find yourself tucked in his lap, head braced against his chest. You stay there, sniffling, moving to rub at your face, but Price keeps your hand on your lap where it is, a thumb grazing over your knuckles. His voice is low as he offers soft little hushes and murmurs into you, words of praise and reassurance that allow the tears to ebb and make your eyes flutter shut.

You sink, allow yourself to go limp in his arms, with him balancing you and supporting your weight so you can stay in the moment of letting go. One arm braces you, the other holding you fast against his chest where you drink in his musky, heavy scent. Tobacco, gun powder, just a hint of cologne he tries to use to cover the scent of his cigars. It clouds over your senses, sends you down into that blissful state of fuzzy, ambiguous relaxation you’ve craved so desperately since the mission. It’s complete bliss, being able to just be here, in his arms, fresh off a much needed bout of crying and feeling the world fade away so it’s just you, him, and the offerings of smoky praise he breathes into your ear. You float, entirely and blessedly unaware, trusting him to keep you in his arms, to keep you safe, to allow you space for this much needed reprieve.

You don’t know how long you stay down like that. Eventually your hiccups fade into stuttering little breaths, and soon you synchronize your inhales and exhales with the long, steady rise and fall of the captain’s chest. Fatigue wears down on your form, and soon your cottoned, muffled senses give way to a sleepy, comfy kind of softness that has you exhale a long, final sigh against him.

“Back with me?” He asks at last, and you aren’t sure if it’s been mere minutes or hours, too droopy and exhausted to tell. You nod, still a little too hazy to find words, giving him a non-committal, lethargic grumble that has a huff of laughter blowing against your skin.

“Take your time, darling.” He tells you, and you nod once more, let your eyes flutter shut and head loll against his chest just a little longer.

Eventually you feel the world begin to seep back into your senses, and you shift on his lap, hissing at the scrape of your bare ass against his cargo pants.

“Easy.” He tells you, voice dipping with a hint of that sternness again, and you force yourself to still from your wriggling.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Price’s voice finally inquires, and you hesitate, afraid it will all come rushing back the moment you say it all aloud. Yet you remind yourself that you’re safe here, in his arms, that even if you did feel tension and panic rise up again in your chest that Price will ease you back down again.

So it comes spilling loose with an unsteady sigh. The frantic realizations of the mission when it turned sour, the terror as you watched your team members come under fire, hauling them to safety and narrowly avoiding injury yourself. Needing to be strong for them, keeping your mounting horror clamped down as you frantically radioed for ex-fil. Waiting for the chopper as you felt warm blood gush over your palms, rasped reassurances to them, held their hands with red-stained gloves as they were hauled out of the battlefield. Getting back to base and asking yourself what you did, what happened, how you didn’t anticipate this, trying desperately to tell yourself that at least you made it all back alive.

The tears don’t come back. You’re far too spent for that, instead imbuing yourself in the sensation of Price stroking your arm steadily as you ramble, emptying your chest of worries. You don’t know how long it takes, but Price remains silent, steady, a lighthouse in the fog as you surrender to him. Eventually the heavy pauses between your words grow longer, until there’s only silence that remains between you both.

“None of that was your fault, love.” He reminds you at last.

“I know.” You provide after a moment. “I just…” A clinging thickness lingers in your throat, and you swallow it, unfocused eyes lazily resting on the broad planes on his chest.

“I was scared.”

Price sighs, and it isn’t unkind or pitying. It feels more like a release of himself too, allowing you to nuzzle into the emptiness the air leaves behind in his chest. “I know love. But you did well, got your team out, got those lads home alive.”

You nod, and if he had said that an hour earlier you think you would have fought him on it. Now, the words feel like pure, cathartic relief that soothes cooly through your veins.

Silence once again falls over you both as Price allows you to come back to yourself. It’s only once you shift, look up at him that his face turns down towards you, eyebrows raised.

“Solid?”

You nod, a little firmer now, but relaxed, open. “Solid.” You confirm, and oh. You missed that too, the rare, tender smile he gives you. It’s different than the usual wry, amused nature of him, reserved only for moments like this, where the world of gunshots and explosions, of broken bones and helicopters fades into the quiet solitude of just you both.

You relish it as long as you can before it fades, and Price tilts his head down at you to stare under his brows with a stern, admonishing, unblinking stare.

“You’ll come to me before you decide to start biting other people’s heads off. Understood?” He professes rather than inquires, and you wither a little, remorseful, knowing better than to break eye contact with him as you nod, adding an obligatory “Yes, Sir.” for good measure.

“Good girl.” He rumbles, and it has you shiver a little, never immune to the way those words send your blood coursing a little higher in your veins. “Took it well. Always do.”

“Thank you Sir.” You breathe, happy and content, pleased at the act of pleasing him.

“Do you need to…?” You turn to ask, shifting a little on his lap to feel the half-hard bulge in his trousers. Price only chuckles, shakes his head.

“We can worry about that later, love.” He promises, and that makes your eyes widen, sit a little straighter where you sit on him, eager and interested in the offer. Price notices instantly, levels you with a knowing amusement that has his lips curl. “That is, if you want to.” and you duck your head a little, a little abashed at being so very easy to read, but nod.

“Can I sleep in your bed tonight?” You ask quietly.

“Manners.” Price reprimands fondly

“Please?”

He grumbles, feigning begrudging exasperation at the request, and it only has you grin at him, the first smile in what feels like a very, very long time.

“Of course darling.”

#Price x reader #price x you #john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain john price x you #reader insert #x reader #oneshot #cod mw2 #cod mw2022 #mw2 #mwii #call of duty #my writing #my fic #Tossing this out onto tumblr before I regret it #two fics in one day way to go sproutie #jk they were on ao3 first I'm just now cross posting them here

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daily-odile · 2 months

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staring

#isat #in stars and time #isat odile #technically based on justarandompersoniguess' papertrail au but there is no context here HAHA #the au gripped me by the hand and i drew a very rough 6 page comic out of it #don't think I'll post the whole thing here tho since it's super messy (but you could probably find it if you dug in the server heehee)#looking forward to their fic about it!#day 41 #anyways for now just have these two trying their best to figure out what the other one is thinking

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slutifer · 5 days

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ｔｏｕｃｈｔａｎｋ

𝗆𝖺𝗆𝗆𝗈𝗇 𝗑 𝖿𝖾𝗆 𝗆𝖼

𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍 (𝖬𝖣𝖭𝖨) 𝗈𝗋𝖺𝗅 (𝖿𝖾𝗆 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀), 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗌𝖾, 𝖺𝖿𝖺𝖻 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗂𝖺 wc: 1068 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾: 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗂 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗇𝗀 (𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝖻𝗒 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗇𝗇𝗂𝖾), 𝗂 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝖺𝗆𝗆𝗈𝗇 😰 𝗂 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗂𝗍,, 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒!! ♡

‘cause he’s so pretty when he goes down on me gold-skinned eager baby, blue shirt out the laundry he tells me he’s gentle when he wants to be so i think he wants to be gentle with me

mammon's eyes glistened as he slowly scanned your face. his thumb traced your lower lip, cupping your chin with a touch so delicate, it was as though you were the most precious gem.

he finally had you alone, quite a rare occasion in the house of lamentation, and he was relishing in it. his greed burned aglow in his chest, the flame being stoked by your warmth radiating through the small distance between your body and his.

you giggled softly at the love struck look on his face and teased his thumb with a swipe of your tongue, his cheeks instantly heating up at the action.

"d-don't tease me, mc." his flustered voice was soft but it seeped through the still air in his room, raising goosebumps on your arms.

you pushed his thumb past your lips, smiling around it and wrapped your fingers around his wrist, holding him in place. he inhaled a sharp breath at your obvious beckoning, pushing his thumb lightly against the press of your tongue.

his tongue peeked out through his lips, dampening them quickly before he removed his thumb from your mouth. you pouted dramatically at the loss of his digit only for mammon to gently push your body down. he hovered above you with his hands pressed against his bed on either side of your head. you took the opportunity to make room for him to slot himself between your legs and he groaned in response, almost instantly laying into your body.

his face found its place in the crook of your neck where he left lingering, open mouth kisses and soft bites.

"so beautiful," he mumbled against your neck.

your hands wrapped around him, pulling his body even closer. he responded most eagerly and pushed his body further into yours, grinding himself against your heat.

"and all for m-me, fuck-" he moaned breathily.

his mouth found yours in a firm kiss, his tongue pushing past your lips. the urgency of his mouth juxtaposed the feather-like caress of his hands traveling from your cheeks, to your neck, and down to your chest. mammon's fingers grazed over your clothed nipple, sending a shiver down your spine. he swallowed your moans as he teased your sensitive nub, responding with his own whimpers when you pressed your own pelvis onto his hardness.

"need to taste ya, treasure." he mumbled against your lips. you moaned in response, your hands tugged lightly on his feathery white hair.

"words, darlin', i need to hear ya." he urged, his fingers trailing down to the elastic of your shorts.

"yes, yes. please, mammon." you bit down on his lip softly.

"good girl," he smirked, pecking your swollen lips once more before he sat up, pulling your shorts and underwear off in one swift movement.

he wasted no time as he positioned his head between your legs, nearly salivating at the sight before him.

"so wet for me already," his breath fanned over your sensitive core and your pussy clenched around nothing, your hands gripping the sheets. he began kissing your inner thighs, slowly inching his way to your wetness.

"ah, m-mammon?" you stutter out, your body shuddering, responding to his lips dragging against your inner thigh.

"yeah, baby?" mammon peeks up at you, eyes glazed over, pupils blown out. he tilts his head, lightly leaning it against your thigh.

"you're so pretty." your voice barely above a whisper, his blush deepened.

"you drive me crazy," a small smile graced his exquisite features. he placed his hands on either side of your thighs pushing your legs further apart, dipping his head down and placing an open mouth kiss to your clit. your body arched off of the bed, hips rising slightly with a rippling pleasure.

your hands shot up, burying themselves in his hair once again. he chuckled lightly before gently sucking on the bundle of nerves. you could no longer control the sounds that escaped your throat as he ran a finger through your folds before pushing two of them into your dripping core. your eyes flutter shut, teeth gritting as he curved his fingers, hitting the sweetest spot.

he began fucking you with his fingers as he focused on lapping up your wetness greedily.

"eyes open. look at me, baby.” he pushed his fingers in roughly, forcing your eyes to snap open. whimpering, you perched yourself up on your elbows and looked down at the beautiful man between your thighs. his hair had become disheveled, strands hanging over his forehead as his frenzied eyes connected with yours.

the sight of mammon between your legs - fingers fucking into you, his mouth expertly working your pussy - was overwhelming, pressure began to build in your lower stomach.

"m-mammonnn," you moaned, unable to think straight, "baby, i'm s-so clo-ose!" you nearly squealed, fingers tightening their grip on his hair, pulling his soaked face closer.

he sped up his movements, the pressure continued to build in your body, your pussy clenching harder around his fingers.

mammon could've cum right then - your voice, your body, your everything. his eyes never left yours, taking in the sight of your fucked out face, tits bouncing as he pressed his fingers into you. you were his human, all his.

you took my breath away so now i can’t suck in my stomach around you anymore

“cum for me, baby.” he moaned against your wetness. the vibrations of his voice pulsed through you and almost as though a switch flipped inside of you, you screamed out, throwing your head back as you reached your orgasm. sparks went off all over your body, stars blurring your vision. your body tightened around mammon's fingers as you rode out your release, heart pounding against your ribcage.

he placed a delicate kiss on your thigh, removing his fingers. you sucked in a light breath through your teeth at the sudden emptiness, watching as mammon sucked his fingers into his mouth.

"all mine." he smirked, leaning down and pressing his lips to yours. you moaned at the taste of yourself on him, sitting up and pushing him onto his back. mammon's eyes were wide, his mouth slightly agape.

"my turn." you smiled devilishly, straddling his hips.

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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 6 months

Note

If it's not too much trouble could you show us some of your sketches of Barnaby and Wally cuddling/ hugging? The way you draw them injects serotonin directly into my blood stream 🫶🏽 👉🏽👈🏽

Have a nice day/night btw!

im not sure if there's anything leftover that i haven't already posted & isn't too dated for me to handle... but actually hold on lemme look through my scribble pages. there might be something hiding in the back

AHA! mostly au scribbles but here they are!

#the top two are from a fic that exists only in my head and as a partial outline. the rest are au. obviously lmao #the second one is a bit old. so is the dragon one. and the human one #the first is the freshest!#most of my Them scribbles have been posted either in groups or with other stuff...#i havent drawn them being cute in a while. i should do that #rambles from the bog #scribble salad #Thank You! have a nice day/night as well! i hope you enjoy these little doodles!

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osamusriceballs · 9 months

Text

Last-Minute Plans

Ushijima x fem reader

Warnings: NSFW (cockwarming, rather soft)

Words: ~ 1,5 k

About: Wakatoshi got a ring for you, and he needs to make sure it fits.

A/n: Happy Birthday to our beloved Wakatoshi-kun~

"It fits,"

he mumbles with a sigh of relief, one he hadn't realized he was holding. He looks contently at the jewelry now adorning your ring finger.

Ushijima knows that he's late with this. He should have attempted this plan a long time ago; he despises last-minute actions. Lately, however, you've insisted on waiting until he returns home late from practice due to extended training sessions just before the crucial match, making it impossible for him to secretly slip that ring onto your finger to see if it fits. He's aware he hasn't been giving you the time you deserve lately, but he's determined to make it up as soon as he can. He intends to spoil you as soon as the match is over and his schedule finally allows him to have more free time, treating you like the princess you are.

He had nearly abandoned the idea of trying the ring on your finger. He considered simply hoping for the best, planning to alter the ring quickly after proposing if it didn't fit. He knows you wouldn't have minded, but he wanted this moment to be perfect. The first difficulty he had encountered, however, was that you had rings in various sizes in your jewelry box- probably for different fingers, but even after sorting through them, he was still not convinced that he chose the right size.

Relief washes over him as he sees the ring fitting comfortably, and for a short moment, he envisions your future together. He dreams of having you sleep beside him every night, of going on the vacation you've always dreamed of, and of giving you the beautiful wedding ceremony you've always wanted. He's already asked Tendou to be his best man and informed his parents of his plans. He even decided to send his father a notice that his son will be getting married soon—hopefully.

The ring looks stunning on your hand. It's noticeable yet subtly elegant. He's confident you'll love it; you've often praised his taste, describing him as simple in his choices, which you adore.

His gaze drifts to your peaceful sleeping form. You must be exhausted not to have woken up yet. Normally, you'd wait until he returns or awaken when he quietly lies down beside you, an act he's yet to master. You'd always greet him with a tender kiss, a gesture he cherishes most during his days and misses the most when he's away. Yet, you sleep soundly, your face soft, breathing steady. You're wearing one of his shirts, the old Shiratorizawa jersey you claim is the comfiest—adorable on you, he agrees.

He's fairly certain you're wearing only flimsy panties beneath, but he'll take his sweet time tomorrow to explore every inch of your body.

"Toshi," your sleepy voice pulls him from his daydreams, and he quickly hides the ring, clutching your hand in his. You stir, turning towards him, brows furrowing as you reach out blindly.

"Y/n, go back to sleep. It's late," he murmurs in a soothing tone, knowing you find his voice calming.

"I missed you," you groan, squinting your eyes as you try to make out his face in the dimly lit room.

"I missed you too," he replies, smiling softly and leaning down to press a tender kiss to your lips. You smile in return, bringing your free hand to his cheek, a bit clumsily—almost slapping his face, but he doesn't mind; he is simply happy having you close.

"You haven't shaved today," you mumble as you caress his cheek. He hums in response. "I forgot. Does it bother you?"

"No, it doesn't. But you never forget to shave. What was on your mind today?"

You, he thinks, but for once, he refrains from sharing his thoughts. He needs to distract you, to take back the ring unnoticed. How you haven't noticed it so far surprises him.

"I was thinking about…" he begins, his voice trailing off, unsure how to respond without you getting suspicious.

"Wakatoshi, come to bed. You seem really tired," you yawn, and he suddenly knows what he needs to do.

Ushijima leans down to kiss you again, this time deepening the kiss with more passion. He feels your response, your body arching into his touch, your lips moving in sync with his.

"Toshi," you're already breathless after a few kisses, and he finally feels your hand relax, fingers intertwining with his with the metal still on your finger. He typically holds your hand more firmly, but now he keeps his grip gentle, ensuring you don't feel the ring on your finger. With his free hand, he traces the hem of your shirt, his fingers gliding beneath the fabric, encountering the softness of your skin.

"Want you, but I'm tired," you whisper against his lips, prompting him to nuzzle against your neck. "Should I pleasure you? Should I make you feel full?" You moan softly and weakly nod, your eyes barely open in the dark room. Unbeknownst to you, a wave of relief washes over him. This may not be going exactly as he planned, but making love to you with the ring already on your finger is better than he could have imagined.

He quickly runs through potential scenarios in which he could smoothly slide the ring off your finger, deciding to position himself behind you while maintaining a hold on your hand in front of your body. Shifting his body weight, he maneuvers behind you until his chest presses against your back. He skillfully settles beneath the blanket without releasing your hand, making sure not to tighten his grip around your fingers. His lips find your neck, where he places the gentlest kisses against your skin, earning the softest, most beautiful moans from your lips. His hips begin to rhythmically move against your backside, and he feels how he hardens in his pants.

You contently hum while you lean into his touch, raising one leg to allow him to slip his thigh between yours. "Feels good," you murmur as he starts a grinding motion against your pussy. He feels his growing need, a nearly instinctive response to your body. His earlier suspicion about you wearing only his shirt and panties appears accurate; that much he notices when his shorts ride up and his bare thigh grinds against your cunt. As much as he wants the feeling of your bare skin against his, he knows that undressing might raise too much suspicion. Instead, he guides his free hand downward, gently tracing circles against your clothed center.

"You're so perfect. So beautiful. I love you so much," he whispers into your ear, causing you to shudder in his arms. Your grip on his hand tightens, while your other hand softly clutches the sheets. He understands your needs. Grateful that he's still wearing the soft shorts, he pushes them down slightly, quickly freeing his cock.

"Should I use some lube?" he asks, concern lacing his voice, worried about hurting you since he hasn't fully prepared you yet—a truly challenging task when ensuring your hand remains held and he can only use one hand properly.

"Think I'm wet enough," you mumble, and he dips two fingers between your folds to confirm, and he is rewarded with enough arousal to forget about his worries.

As much as he wants to ravish you right now, he knows you would probably drift off to sleep if he makes love to you tenderly—so that's precisely what he does. He gently spreads your legs further with his thigh, allowing his cock to rest between your legs. It has almost become a routine for him to set aside your panties and gradually ease his cock inside you- a practice that you often do after he comes home late from his practice sessions.

A breathy moan escapes your lips at the stretch, and he feels his own body tensing at the sensation of your soft walls around him. He continues to push until he's fully inside of you. You always take him so well—it feels breathtaking to be buried deep inside you. He still hopes you'll succumb to sleep in this embrace, even though he's surely wide awake himself.

"Feels good," you hum, your breathing gradually returning to a steady rhythm. He pulls you closer, inhaling the soothing flowery scent of your hair- a scent that always brings him comfort and calms his mind when he can't seem to rest. You might not fully grasp how much he loves you—how every fiber of his being yearns for you, how he wishes for you to be happy and to be his. This is precisely why he plans to propose to you tomorrow and to place the ring back on your finger. You wouldn't refuse him on his birthday, would you?

"Sleep well, my love."

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updownlately · 7 months

Text

5 - why the hell do you love me?

series masterlist

~~~

“Pleaseeee? I’ll do the dishes for the rest of the week?” Alessia pouted, eyes pleading as her eyes kept darting between you and the corner of your shared bedroom.

“Lessi you’d already be doing them anyways…you made that promise yesterday when we were in the exact same situation,” you laughed, leaning against the doorframe.

“But-“

“Baby, it’s not that bad, I promise. You got this!” You grinned, eyes full of mirth.

You couldn’t help but find the situation amusing, you doing your best to hide your constant smile behind the neck of your hoodie.

“I’ll- I’ll…erm…,” head swivelling between both sides of the room, the blonde tried to come up with another trade, something, anything, that would get her out of this situation ASAP.

“I’ll take the blame the next five times we’re late for practice!” She yelped, eyes widening as she saw the slightest movement from the corner of her eyes, head whipping to stare intently at the opposite side of the room, her back to you.

You couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped you no matter how hard you tried. Nearly bent over, hands on your knees, you shook with laughter. Shaking your head as you rose to your standing form, you wiped a lone tear from the corner of your eye. Short of breath, you just barely managed to get the next words out.

“Love, if you stare any harder at it, I won’t even need to do anything here,” you jested.

“It’s not funny…” Looking briefly at you, the striker shot you a desperate look, eyes full of fear as she swallowed hard.

You finally relented, heart melting at just how absolutely terrified she looked.

“I’ll cut you a deal, yeah? I’ll take it out but you have to follow me as I do....”

Apparently that exchange wasn’t as good as you thought it was, Alessia whipping her head to give you an incredulous stare, momentarily forgetting about her woes.

“No! What- Why?” She sputtered out, shooting you a pout before her voice turned sweet, chin tilting up towards you. “Baby, please can you just get rid of it? If you love me?”

Jaw dropping, a surprised look on your face at her antics, her attempt at guilt-tripping you nearly successful, you shook your head in mock disbelief.

“Less, what would you do if I wasn’t here? Like, you’d have to get rid of it by yourself somehow…” You shook your head in faux disappointment, a smile giving away just how annoyed you were (spoiler: it was not at all).

“I’d move out.”

The blonde’s reply was so definitive and quick, you couldn’t help but bark out a laugh.

“Less…” Rolling your eyes playfully, you made your way to the corner of the room, the paper you had been hiding behind your back finally making its presence known.

As you approached the barely penny-sized spider chilling on the wall, you could make out the sound of Alessia’s footsteps behind you, the noise getting suspiciously quieter and quieter with each step.

Turning in your tracks, hands on your hips, you tilted your head as you took in the blonde who was nearly halfway out the door, a sheepish smile on her face.

“Okay and where do you think you’re going?” Eyebrow raised in question, you tapped your foot as Alessia shot you an embarrassed look, no doubt ashamed at being caught mid-getaway.

“…away?” Shooting you a toothy grin, the Arsenal striker took a slow step backwards, testing you.

Unfortunately for her however, you weren’t having it, enjoying her discomfort of arachnids too much to let her escape now.

“Nuh-uh, get back here…or I’m not taking it out,” you threatened, confident that Alessia wouldn’t take that risk.

And you were proven right in your judgement a second later, Alessia despondently making her way to you, shoulders caved inwards.

Grinning toothily, you quickly placed a peck on her cheek in appreciation before you made your way over to the spider, paper held taut.

Doing your best to teach the blonde how to catch spiders on her own, you made a point to show her how to hold the sheet of paper, curling it just enough to give it some structure as you wiggled it underneath the arachnid.

Eyes dancing in amusement, you chuckled as Alessia watched you with wide eyes, stepping back quickly from you as you started walking towards the door, the spider on your paper like it was Aladdin.

“Love, I don't know what they teach you here in England but spiders can't fly....” you laughed out.

Getting a groan in return, your smile didn't leave your face for a second, cheeks beginning to hurt now.

Quickly making your way outside to the garden, you gently put the paper down on the ground as watched as the tiny eight-legged fuzzball scampered away.

Standing upright, you turned to the blonde that had followed you.

“What would you do without me?” You teased, a twinkle in your eye.

“Probably change homes every other day.” The cheeky response had you shaking your head with a smile on your face, eyes rolling at the dumb joke.

Punching the striker playfully, you intertwined your fingers as you led her back inside.

“Please tell me you at least learned how I did that?”

You groaned as the Gunner shook her own head, the smile on her face saying everything.

“Alessia!”

She shot you a toothy grin, bringing your intertwined hands up and placing a gentle kiss on the back of yours. “I guess you’ll just have to stick around for the rest of my life huh?.”

“So I can continue getting rid of spiders for you?”

“Yup,” Alessia smirked, popping the ‘p’.

“You’re lucky you’re cute, y’know?” You smiled softly, liking the idea of forever with your girl.

Pulling away from the blonde, ready to head back to where you had initially been- on the couch reading your book- you placed another quick kiss on her cheek.

“By the way, you’re still taking the blame for the next five times we’re late for practice!”

And with that, you took off, scrambling to get away from Alessia before she could protest, her groan of disapproval ringing throughout your home as you vibrated with laughter.

Maybe a future of being your love’s designated spider catch didn’t sound so bad after all, especially not when the promise of forever was slipped in between.

#not proofread as usual #on a spree of posting mediocre works and i'm too lazy to do anything about it #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine #alessia russo #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso community #woso #fluff #my writing #part 5 of a 15 part series :)#bpom #blurb #two fics in two days? who am i?

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griefabyss69 · 4 months

Text

Right Where It Belongs

Written for @steddiemicrofic!

[ AO3 ] [ Tip / Commissions post ]

‘HOLE’ wc: 404 | rated: E | cw: None

Steve's POV of Legend Has It + a little further 😈

Whatever the hell had possessed Steve to answer Eddie's question by gently taking his hand and making tender love to it with his mouth has decided to stick around, apparently.

The side of him that goes a little nuts at the opportunity to eat someone out didn't care that he was about to wholesale simulate oral sex on his good friend's hand – and not even for a joke, there's no inebriated guffawing here.

There's only Eddie's lips, wet and bitten and open on the type of moan he usually only ever hears from himself.

There's only his own mouth, his tongue still fucking the tight ring of Eddie's fingers, flicking the underside of them as if it’s inside of someone's pussy.

And he's getting into it – too into it – his cock giving intermittent reminders that it exists every time Eddie's eyelids flutter shut or he gasps around a swallow… or when he fucking cums right in front of him, in his jeans.

He stares at where Eddie's grinding his palm down into his crotch, only looking up to catch the tail end of his orgasm face, drinking in the hot red flush over his skin.

Shit, either his oral skills are telepathic or Eddie's got sensitive hands.

"Oh God," Eddie groans, and Steve wants to make a joke about that, ease the tension a little, but he's too slow to pull his mouth away from Eddie's knuckles.

Steve clears his throat awkwardly, and kisses Eddie's wrist, trying for an "It's okay that you came in your pants, I thought it was really hot" kind of moment while Eddie's got his eyes covered with his free hand.

"I'm so sorry," Eddie mumbles, and Steve liked the embarrassment, but can't stand the shame.

So he places Eddie's hand on the couch between them and goes for his zipper, the sound making Eddie's head perk up.

There we go.

"I'm sorry too," Steve says, meeting one unnecessary apology with another.

He pulls his cock out, hard and bare and ready, not touching it yet as Eddie watches, teeth sinking into his lip.

"This is the other part of it," he says, shifting on the couch to give his hand room so he can cup his balls. "Making someone cum with your tongue is fucking great."

"Yeah," Eddie breathes, folding down to get his mouth close to Steve’s cock, looking up at him. "It is."

#griefabyss69 writing #steddiemicroficjanuary #steddie fanfiction #steddie fanfic #I don't think I could rest another night without posting this so two fics in one day for you all!!!#I finished it right after the LARP AU update :' ))) big day for bisexual sex

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raz-writes-the-thing · 6 months

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Bullshite Doctors (Broadchurch Drabble)

Alec Hardy x Fem!Reader / requests are open

Summary: Alec is shocked by the type of care females get at the doctors.

CW: the healthcare systems systematic oppression and negligence of women/girls, also crying

Broadchurch Tag List: @clarina04 @kaylinelizabeth4004 @yeethaw13 (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

It’s growing clearer and clearer with every appointment that Alec has not been to many appointments with a woman before. At the first appointment, Alec was just so genuinely baffled by the fact that the doctor didn’t really do anything to help you or look at you that he couldn’t do anything but witness it.

On the second appointment with a different doctor, he’d done his best to be polite but firm with the doctor, and when that didn’t work, he’d sat quietly chewing on his thumb and bouncing his knee with frustration. This, of course, made the doctor concerned, and the doctor turned his attention to making sure Alec was alright and not tending to his actual patient.

The third time it happened, Alec was abrasive and irritable with the doctor. Every time the doctor tried to dismiss your concerns, Alec spoke up and did his best to get you the help you so desperately needed. But no, everything was just “normal for a woman your age” or “nothing to worry about.”

Alec, in a last-ditch attempt, had swallowed his desire to keep his work and home life separate and asked Ellie for advice on who her GP was. It was a female doctor, and Alec had thought surely- surely this time they’d listen.

Nope. Same shit, different doctor. This was where you were now, one hand pressed to your inflamed gut and the other giving Alec’s arm a warning squeeze. In your experience getting angry at the doctors only slowed the whole process down even further.

“No, I’m sorry- but- what the fuck d’ya ken? All ‘a you God-f’ersaken doctors. Y’ all say the same thing, and it’s fuckin’ bullshite! I swear t’fuckin God, we’ve been to every doctor in this shithole of a town, and none of you! None! Have taken us seriously.”

You blink, taken aback by this outburst. You can’t help the coy little smile that starts spreading across your lips, though you’re surprised when you go to brush some hair out of your face and pull your hand back to find that it’s wet. Oh.

“Darlin’, what’s wrong?” Alec says, noticing and crouching before you. The doctor seems unsure what to do and passes Alec a tissue.

Your boyfriend blots the tears away and shushes you gently, squeezing your knee comfortingly.

“Sorry- I,” you take a deep breath. “I’ve just never had someone bat for me like that. The doctors, they- they just don’t listen.”

“I ken what y’mean, love,” Alec replied, wiping away the last tears and turning away to face your doctor. “I don’t care what you think, but you are gonna listen to this woman ‘n take her seriously. Because otherwise, I’m gonna have t’ investigate you for negligence to y’er patients.”

Alec stands and adjusts his coat to show the doctor a flash of his badge. The woman nods curtly, and you give her a stiff smile. While you’re extremely irritated that flashing his badge is what finally gets a doctor to listen, you hold onto the fact that there actually is a doctor listening to you right now.

You’re able to actually explain what’s going on after that, and get some help.

It’s thanks to Alec that you’re able to get a diagnosis and medication. Things start to get better after that, and you always make sure to bring Alec along to your more serious appointments.

He never refuses, and you always get your answers.

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foxwithapen · 1 year

Text

For the first time ever, Luigi was afraid to return home. Not because of any particular danger, like traps or ghosts or monsters. In fact, he was excited to sleep in his own bed again, with his worn blankets that felt like comfort.

It was his brother he was afraid of.

He'd been staying at Bowser's just to avoid confronting Mario, sleeping in a spare bedroom that was far too big. Sometimes Junior would run to his room after having a nightmare, and Luigi would cuddle with him to keep away the bad thoughts. And of course, he loved the kid. He loved everyone in that castle. But he missed his brother.

The past few times Luigi had seen him, Peach was always there, keeping the peace between Mario and Bowser. They laughed as a group, ate food together, and played games. But the air was still tense, thick with all the unspoken words between the two brothers. Luigi couldn't stand it. He had to do something.

The time between Luigi's knock and the door opening felt like eternity. He couldn't keep his hands from shaking as he tapped them against his leg, trying to take deep breaths. Peach said he had nothing to worry about, but this was one thing he couldn't risk losing. Not his brother, his best friend.

"Who is it?"

"It's, uh, Luigi. Sono a casa."

The door swung open, and there was Mario. They both just stared at each other. Nothing had changed—well, almost nothing—and yet, they both had nothing to say.

So, Mario swept Luigi into a crushing embrace instead.

"Bro! Please, come in. I shouldn't have to invite you into your own home!" Mario sat Luigi down at their dining table, before bustling off to brew then some coffee. "What's kept you away for so long, eh?"

Luigi fidgeted nervously in his seat. "I thought you were mad at me," he mumbled, grateful for the warmth as Mario slid a mug of steaming coffee into his hands.

"Me? At my fratellino? I could never!"

"Then...why have you been avoiding me whenever we see each other?"

"Well, I thought you were mad at me."

"W-what?"

Mario took a sip of his coffee. "You haven't come home in so long. You don't meet my eyes anymore. I thought I did something wrong..."

"So, you aren't mad at me for being with Bowser?"

Mario laughed good-naturedly. "I was a bit shocked at first, sure. But mad? I've seen the way you look at each other. I could never fault you for that! Plus, if I did, I'd be a hypocrite."

Luigi couldn't help but laugh as well, the tightness that had been living in his chest finally loosening. "So you're okay with me and Bowser?"

"Of course bro! He makes you happy, and that makes me happy." He nudged his arm in Luigi's direction. "Hey, you should have him over sometime. We always meet at his castle, or Peach's. We'd need to get him a bigger chair, maybe even a bigger doorway, but we can make it work."

Luigi felt the tears dripping down his cheeks before he even processed he was crying. Mario jumped up from his chair. "Mi dispiace bro, did I say something? I didn't mean to—"

But the tears falling from Luigi's eyes weren't those of sadness. "Thank you, bro," he whispered. "Thank you for understanding. Ti voglio bene."

Mario smiled, pulling Luigi into another hug, one he hadn't realized he'd needed so much. "Of course. I love you too, bro."

#bowuigi #well. implied at least #Luigi #Mario #bowuigi fic #two posts in one day? who am i smh

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tea-earl-grey · 6 months

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i had an itching for comfort media so i went back to watch some s1 voyager episodes and s1 is soooo much better than i remembered. the later seasons appeal to my tastes a bit more but all the characters in s1 are so earnest and hopeful even when they butt heads and disagree and i'm just sitting here like "oh god they don't know what the next 7 years have in store..." i doubt it was that purposeful on the writers' part but it's so compelling how all of the characters have pretty open insecurities and are clearly people with lives and dreams beyond Voyager and bit by bit that's chipped away in later seasons. yes everyone becomes more confident and competent but is that really who they are or are they just losing themselves along the journey? (unfortunately the Doyalist explanation is just that the writers stopped putting focus on like. half of the main cast but shh i'm here for Watsonian analysis.)

like it's particularly noticeable with Janeway. she's definitely always been written as a strong leader but i forgot how much in early seasons we get to see her insecurities and vulnerabilities, how different she acts from when she's acting as captain to when she's alone, how often she questions her morality and whether she has the right to make decisions for her crew (and how often others questioned that right). then in the later seasons (around s3 and definitely by s4), she almost never questions her moral decisions, she rarely shows doubt, she plans heists on Borg cubes without a second thought, she dispenses her justice to the Equinox crew without really considering their position, she regulates others' autonomy (especially with Seven and the Doctor) without seeming to realize how easily that can go wrong. and don't get me wrong i love this development and think it's incredibly realistic for Janeway to deeply internalize her role and authority as a Captain and for it to permanently change her sense of self. Endgame is the perfect closure for Janeway's character because her future self exerts that same authority that she's been practicing over herself (also Janeway gets to live out her martyr complex one last time). i just wish the show was a little bit more self-aware that it was writing Janeway (and other characters) like this because there could be so many more interesting character conflicts.

anyways rewatching early ds9 made me say "aww these characters don't know that one day they'll all grow together and basically become family" and rewatching early voyager has me saying "uhohhhh these characters don't know the unhealthy relationships and neuroses they're going to uncover and develop". toxic found family for the win.

#forever obsessing over characters who change for the worst because of their duty and aren't even aware of how Changed they are #i started writing a fic about Janeway reuniting with her family post-Voyager and them being disturbed at how different she is and hmm #might need to get back to that one #anyways i maintain that sisko is the best written captain in star trek but i think janeway might be my favorite #alas it was inevitable...#also surprise surprise voyager is yet another show i'm enjoying so much more on rewatch #the first time through s1 to s3 took me like a year to watch through. now i've watched half of s1 in two days #voyager #kathryn janeway #my posts

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cuubism · 1 year

Text

It’s 3pm on a rainy Wednesday, and Hob is sleepily grading student papers, when Death of the Endless appears in his flat, lies quietly down on the couch, and rests her head in his lap.

Hob stares down at her for a long moment, hands aloft in indecision, because this is not... something they do. By now he can say he calls Death a friend, and they get drinks together sometimes and chat, but this...

“Everything alright, love?” he asks, finally resting a hand on her shoulder.

“I don’t mean to disturb your peace,” Death says quietly. The TV Hob’s left on as background noise—some silly cooking show—nearly drowns out her voice entirely.

“Nothing peaceful about trying to find nice ways to tell my students they can’t write for shit,” Hob says, pushing his papers away. He can’t see Death’s face well like this, but he doesn’t like the uneven sound of her voice, not when she’s usually so level. “Disturb away.”

After a long moment in which they both just listen to the TV program host blather on about crumpets, Death says, “I am not affected by deaths.”

“…Alright,” Hob says, though he’s not convinced.

“I am…” Death continues, but trails off on a breath like a whistle of cold wind. “May I... stay here awhile?”

“‘Course.” Hob carefully pets at her head, strokes her hair. Worry is building, but he doesn’t think Death needs him to pull her words out of her the way he sometimes has to with Dream. She will speak when she’s ready. “Do you want to hear some truly fascinating attempts at historical analysis? Or is peace and quiet what you’re looking for?”

“You can speak if you wish,” Death says, still in that quiet tone.

So Hob tells her about some of his students, the ones who truly seem to have some promise in the field, and the others who he’s pretty sure are just mangling their papers together from sentences out of one of those AI things, if the originality is anything to go by. It’s disappointing but does make for humorous reading. Though really, Hob’s not sure whether to laugh or despair when he has to read lines like War has negative effects on people in an actual university academic paper. Wow, you don’t say.

He does manage to get a few chuckles out of his friend, but none with her usual humor and enthusiasm, and eventually he trails off, and they listen quietly to the background noise of the TV.

“Is there anything I can do?” Hob asks quietly.

“Can you control the future, Hob?” Death asks, a rhetorical question without any of her usual lightheartedness.

“Can’t even control the present,” Hob says. He just keeps his hands on her, one on her shoulder, one on the top of her head. Grounding, he hopes. And he thinks on what she’d said.

Hob knows that Destiny is the only Endless that operates in the future, but he has wondered, now that he understands them a bit better, if Death may not have a foot in that direction as well. She must know, some way, how to be where she must when she must.

Death has never seemed overly burdened by the past, even though history is a tower of bones a hundred miles high. Hob had asked, once — do all those terrible things ever bother you? you were there for them all —and all she had said was, “It has already happened,” with neither pleasure nor pain, just acceptance.

The future is another matter entirely.

“Is something going to happen?” he asks.

“I will not burden you with knowledge that is not yours to carry,” Death says.

So, that’s a yes.

“Maybe I could do something about it,” Hob suggests, though he suspects where that query will lead.

“You could not.”

“What about you, then?”

“That is not my place,” she says, though she sounds less certain about it than she usually is when discussing her function.

“You sure?” Hob asks.

“Were I to change fates for some, what excuse would I have for not doing so for all? Unfair things happen hourly, and always will. If I upend the balance, there is no telling how things would tip out of control down the road.”

It must be hard, Hob thinks, to be so powerful and yet so powerless.

“You did spare me,” he points out.

Death huffs, almost a laugh. “In truth, I shouldn’t have done that. Although I suspect Destiny had it written in his book for other purposes entirely.”

Huh. Well, that’s probably something Hob shouldn’t think on too hard for the sake of his own sanity.

“Well, I’m certainly not complaining about it,” Hob says, and Death chuckles.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” he asks, when they’ve been sitting for another few minutes in silence.

“I… do not have many friends,” Death says. Common family trait, then, Hob thinks. Not that it’s really so surprising. Death is very personable, but most of her interactions with people are, well… fleeting. And it can’t be easy to make normal friends, when you’re as expansive a being as one of the Endless.

“Stay for a while then,” Hob says. He pulls a blanket over her and tucks it around her shoulders. “Until you have to go.”

“Thank you, Hob,” says Death, still sounding incredibly weighed down by her function, but given a slight reprieve, perhaps.

Hob rubs her shoulder and thinks about these endless creatures he’s chosen to love. Do they have anyone else to worry about them? He doesn’t think so. It’s just Hob, and he doesn’t think that’s anywhere close to enough, but he’ll just have to do his best.

“Any time, love,” he tells her, and means it.

#hob death friendship my beloved #couple days later hob's got /two/ endless sitting depressed on his couch cuz lbr whatever unspecified mass casualty event happens is going #to fuck up death and dream both #rip #hob gadling #death of the endless #deathling #i mean it's not intended as shippy but that's my tag for the two of them right now #my writing #FINALLY one ongoing wip finished. thank you nano. it's a short one but still #sandman fic #just post the most random ficlet and then go back to work XD #me: i won't post anything during nano i'll just focus on writing. also me:

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elvisabutler · 1 year

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OK, I'll bite: since your requests are open, may we please, with all the cherries on top, get a Dove pregnancy fic? If you have the time and energy, of course - I know your WIP list is crazy, and I'm sure you have all kinds of things going on irl too, as we all do! 😘

if your child needs a daddy, i can help

summary: you find yourself pregnant with your first kid and you and austin make room for them in your lives despite how sometimes the whole pregnancy makes you feel emotionally and physically. fandom: austin butler | elvis ( 2022 ) rating: m, i suppose. he does get his finger inside of her. pairing: austin butler x priscilla actress reader ( little dove verse ) word count: 2261 warnings: the normal warnings apply for this verse. daddy kink. dom/sub dynamics. brief mentions of past relationships that were not at all pleasant. anxiety. negative self talk. pregnancy kink. breeding kink. THESE WARNINGS MAKE IT SOUND MORE SMUTTY THAN IT IS. but it's actually quite fluffy. austin's just horny for his wife. referenced/implied fingering. future and past p in v sex referenced. author’s note: consider this canon for the main verse? obviously set in the future so- god maybe 2024/2025? generally speaking i loved this prompt and technically meant to keep it short or at the very least fluffy but uh- well austin's a horndog is really what happened. thank you anon for this prompt, truly, i'm really trying to get up the courage/gumption to restart actually actively writing for dove and austin and stuff like this and the asks really help more than you know. also thank you for acknowledging my crazy wip list. didn't actually think i'd write this as quick as i did, and truly i meant to have it up on mother's day when i realized how quick i was writing it but this past weekend. lord she was a doozy in my work real life. anyway i hope you like it and anyone who actually wants to be tagged for this verse, either hit me up in my ask box or my dms or someway. i didn't do my normal austin tag list for this because i know this verse has been known to occasionally bother some people and i don't want to put it in your face if you don't want to read it, you know?

It happens- as all things do with you and Austin- quickly. It comes within the two months of you telling Austin you want to make Austin a real Daddy. A daddy who can hold his child and rock it and sing it little lullabies until it grows up to be and strong like their parents. You'd think since you're a grown woman and a surprising amount of your life has become regimented in ways it wasn't after dating and then marrying Austin that you wouldn't miss your period and not notice. You wouldn't miss it one month, two months and only realize something's strange when you go to visit Austin to see his show and hiss and practically yelp in pain when he presses up against your chest. They were bigger but they always got a little bigger around your period, it was fine. But then Austin is murmuring in your ear and pressing his hand against your stomach where he can feel a firmness where there wasn't one before.

"Are you pregnant?"

That's a weird question to ask, you're due for your period any day now, you think, thinking that you're close enough to the beginning of the next month that you're due for one soon. Not that it'll be your third missed period in a row. You shake your head, "no, I'm due for it next week, I think."

Austin raises an eyebrow and presses against the firm spot, waiting for it to give only to realize it's staying firm, there's something there. "When was your last one, Dove?"

You open your mouth to answer once, twice, three times before you look down at his hand against your stomach and see how your breasts are practically spilling out of your bra and you let out a noise of delight and shock rolled into one. Your voice is soft when you answer him finally. "I don't remember."

The squeal of delight you let out and the way Austin laughs and laughs and laughs twirling you around before setting you back down so he can kiss your belly is something the cast talks about for the next week or two.

It's a flurry to try and get things rescheduled, have projects pushed back or dropped all together as your belly starts to curve outward, becoming harder and harder to hide as the weeks go by. You and Austin had made an agreement to not announce a single thing before 12 weeks. It wasn't a guarantee nothing would go wrong but it put you in a safer territory than you would be if you announced earlier. Austin argues every so often that you shouldn't make an announcement, not because he doesn't want people to know but because he's so fiercely protective over your private life with him beyond what the two of you have to show that exposing your child to this nonsense fills him with dread. He worries about the judgment he figures you'll get over having a baby like this. Worries about how if you want to book something short that people may look at your belly and realize that it's not worth it. Maxwell and Simon, your agents and managers and pseudo dads rolled into one promise to get you just one more thing even if you'll have an obvious belly for them because they care about you and your career almost if not more than Austin does.

You tell him- no, you explain to him that you can't do that, you can't go into hiding because you're pregnant. You want to be able to tell the world that you're carrying his baby, that your belly is growing because you told him you wanted a baby. This baby may not be their child, but they're your fans and what would you be without your fans? No, you have to announce it so that you can finally stop hiding in oversized hoodies and dresses tailored to hide your bump. Besides, you've been known to read the gossip blogs and the magazines while waiting for your doctor's appointments. You know very well there's theories as to what's going on and how people find it suspicious you've gone from full body shots on instagram to above the waist shots. There's theories about why you had to drop out of a film that you'd be filming while nine months pregnant and ready to pop if you did. This is the only real way to put them to rest.

"Looking forward to this little one and I having many more mother's days to come. Your daddy and I can't wait to meet you." is the caption you go with on Mother's day with Austin's hands and your hands on your stomach. The comments make you cry though if Austin asks you're only crying because of the hormones. Not because of your little Elvis family bombarding your comments with congratulations or the way any negative comments get overwhelmed by happier comments. Even Kaia and Vanessa say congratulations and you feel something in your chest loosen at the knowledge. You feel the fear that had gripped your heart deep down that whispered how you'd have to hide this pregnancy like you hide your submission to Austin- like you hid your relationships with your other doms- disintegrate and evaporate into thin air.

Austin knows the second he sees your smile and sees your response to a few messages that he's doomed, he's lost the fight of getting you to remain a little more private about the pregnancy. Truthfully he's just thankful you agree with him that the two of you are going to try your absolute hardest to keep the baby themselves out of the limelight. And - as he murmurs, cupping your growing bump one night- their three siblings. Your feed is split between promoting your new project, random other things you'd do and posts about your growing bump, your occasional sickness and how pregnancy isn't really all it's cracked up to be even when you want a baby.

It comes to a head one day when you're seven months pregnant with your big long baby that Austin felt the need to gift you with all his height genes and you're posting something about how this week has just been rough.

"I'm not speaking for everyone, obviously, and all you infertility moms can tell me I'm wrong, but for me- I'm- society gives us all some rose tinted glasses when it comes to pregnancy and from what some of you guys have told me, motherhood." You sigh, wincing as your daughter kicks your rib cage and does this somersault that has your stomach rolling and twisting. "I want more kids but- this hurts. This hurts and I feel huge and I can't breathe sometimes because they're pressing on everything and I know you guys have seen the pap photos, I can't even really hug Austin right any more."

Austin for his part knows better than to interrupt when he hears you talking to yourself and despite his better judgment waits outside your shared bedroom door until he hears words that stop his heart.

"It's selfish, I guess, but I worry sometimes that he doesn't- he isn't going to like me nearly as much when the baby comes out. We've all heard about how guys do that and Austin's but- I don't know. I'm being melancholy and that's not what you signed up for today." You lift up your shirt to show your bump as your daughter does another roll that you manage to catch on camera. "I guess they wanted to show off at the expense of mommy. You are definitely your father's kid."

When it's been silent for a few minutes and he hears you grunt in pain he finally walks inside the room to see you standing in front of the mirror, cupping your bump before running your hands over your chest. There's a part of him in the back of his head that finds the action arousing beyond belief but he sees the look on your face and sees how you're playing with your necklace as the hand that was on your breast moves up. You're so engrossed in looking at your body and allowing your mind to whisper things to you that you don't notice Austin until he's up behind you and his hands are lifting up your belly just so.

"Oh, Aus- Fuck, Daddy, keep your hands there." You moan, the relief palpable in your tone. "That feels so good, she's been-"

"Growing too fast and too big for my little Dove?" Austin's tone is light and playful has he kisses your neck, watching the two of you in the mirror. "The joys of having me as the other half of the genes. Two more months and then she's out of you and you're free until the next one."

Your jaw tenses just a little at the words. It's not that you don't want another baby but who's truly to say he's going to want you enough to make one. The silence after his joke is what makes Austin pause and has him kissing at your jaw. "What's wrong?"

Because something is wrong and you have to communicate with him, if you need something you need to tell him, that's always been the rule in your relationship. A sigh leaves your lips. "There's- you're not going to find me attractive-" you pause and try to take a breath before the first thought that comes to your mind leaves your mouth in a rush. "Elvis didn't like Priscilla after she had Lisa."

Austin drops your belly gently against your protests and turns you to face him while shaking his head, taking your head in his hands. "Dove. Don't- we're not them, remember?"

"I know that!" You practically whine before rubbing at your eyes that are quickly filling with tears. "I know we're not! I know you're Austin and I'm me but I look and feel like a beached whale and my boobs are huge and will probably sag everywhere-"

Austin places his finger on your lips before shaking his head. "I'm going to stop you right there and tell you to look down." He watches you as your eyes slide down his torso and stop between his legs. He's- he's hard just from looking at you and touching you. There's his arousal staring you in the face in his grey sweatpants and you can't help but bite your lip. It twitches a little.

"You're- Daddy."

"I'm hard. You know how I've been the bigger you get. I thought you were attractive before but carrying my baby? Watching your belly swell and seeing your boobs escape every bra you put them in? Dove, if my dick had it's way you'd be pregnant every second you could be." He murmurs, allowing his hands to slide down your neck to your chest where he gives your breasts and nipples a squeeze before sliding down to your stomach. "And when this belly is gone? When our daughter is suckling at your chest? I'm going to remember that you did this. Going to remember how my wife grew our daughter and is feeding her from her own body still. I'm going to know that you're strong and perfect. And I'm going to remind myself we have a baby schedule to stick to. That I can't just immediately put another one inside of you."

His words cause a shudder to ripple through you and Austin smirks just a little, moving his hands down lower and lower, "Dove, if I put my hand between your legs how wet is it going to get?"

You feel your breath shakily leave your mouth. "Soaked. Please, Austin-"

A kiss cuts off your words as Austin's hand slides in between your leggings and your skin, inching ever so closer to where he's ignited a fire. He pulls away just a hair and shakes his head. "Try again, lil Dove. Please who?"

The eyeroll you give him holds no malice but you can't help it even as your arousal threatens to overwhelm you. "Daddy, please."

"I'll always give my Dove what she needs," he murmurs, finally sliding his fingers inside of you with a low groan from both of you.

It's funny how after that night your sex life with Austin up until the end of your pregnancy became a little more intense. More frequent as if to reassure you any time the voice inside your head got too loud and any time every trick your therapists taught you failed. Austin loved you and there wasn't a single doubt about that. Even if there was, the way he was by your side throughout your labor with your daughter would have done away with any doubts. There wasn't much more you could ask for in a partner than what he did for you that day and what he does for you as you recover.

It's a week before any of you are ready to take a picture but you're thankful for Ashley recommending a good photographer for the newborn pictures despite Austin's protests that he could take his own. After all, you wanted him in some of them, and you didn't trust an autotaken picture for this. When it comes time for Austin to post that your daughter's been born he goes for a simple picture that shows your hand on top of Austin's and Loretta's on yours with a simple caption: isn't she lovely, isn't she wonderful.

He saves the other photos for you to post.

#austin butler #austin butler x priscilla actress reader #austin butler x reader #austin butler x you #austin butler x y/n #austin butler fic #austin butler fanfic #austin butler fluff #austin butler smut #austin butler fanfiction #little dove series #dove series #you read your lines so cleverly and never missed a cue #ally writes #also surprise me posting two fics in one day!!

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