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ken-dom · 1 hour
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When I have to do something challenging, I use what I like to call the Watney Method. Step 1: figure out what needs to be done. Step 2: figure out what you need to do to accomplish that. Step 3: do that. If that’s too hard, I use the Grace Method, which is exactly the same as the Watney Method with the small addition of crying throughout the entire process.
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ken-dom · 2 days
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ken-dom · 3 days
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The Stars Look Very Different Today
∘₊✧ Ryland Grace solo fic
2.5k words
∘₊✧ Summary: The computer has a new command for Ryland — one he’s extremely relieved to carry out.
∘₊✧ Author’s notes: I’m barely half way through the book and I’m so in love with Ryland already. My god. Anyway this obviously got me into researching some of the hornier aspects of space travel, potentially unlocked a new kink along the way, and this is where I ended up. If you’re as curious as I am about the topic of this fic, you might enjoy this Vice article and also this Mauden article!
Title from Space Oddity by David Bowie, suggested by the wonderful @heresthestorymorningglory who encouraged me endlessly with this fic, as always!
∘₊✧ Warnings/content: NSFW, Project Hail Mary spoilers!, masturbation, if you squint it’s kinda Ryland x Computer — and it’s kinda forced masturbation but he definitely wants to do it so take it as you wish, premature ejaculation, written from Ryland’s POV in keeping with the novel, horny Ryland, mentions of porn, low key science kink, and my favourite tag ever: cumming in space! 🪐🛸💦
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∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘
‘Ejaculate.’
The voice has become familiar to me over the last few days. Almost comforting at times, if not a little on the unsettling side. But hey, unsettling isn’t the worst thing a person can be, right? Or a computer, if we’re being technical. Which I suppose we should be.
I blink my eyes open, groggy from what I’m guessing was a relatively short period of sleep before I check the analogue clock on the wall to confirm it. I don’t think on it for too long, however, because my attention is pulled to the heat I can feel pooling in my gut, and the throbbing sensation in my… between my legs. It’s untimely, but expected.
I’ve found myself with this little problem upon waking up for the third time in a row, now. The previous times, I’ve ignored it, willed it away while trying to keep my mind on everything else I’m still adjusting to rather than wasting my time… enjoying myself a little too much. 
This time, though, it seems the ship knows and wants me to do something about it.
I obviously haven’t heard correctly. My inconveniently timed arousal must be playing on my mind. It has been a while since I… no, that’s irrelevant right now, I’m giving in but I need to focus.
Why would the computer instruct me to-
‘Ejaculate.’
There it is again, plain as day this time. Yup. The computer wants me to… ejaculate.
Despite being completely alone, lightyears away from another living human, I feel incredibly exposed all of a sudden.
I gradually sit up and look around the room, rubbing at my tired eyes, careful not to cause any friction that might exacerbate matters. One of the robot arms is waiting patiently at the other side of the small room, holding out a little plastic cup, which I presume I am supposed to deposit my offering into. And then, what? Give it back to put into safe storage? Or eject it out into space where it’ll crystallise and float forever as evidence of my deed, only for some alien to discover and analyse a hundred years from now and take back to his home planet with breaking news. ‘Sex seed found among the stars, Earth astronaut got too excited about space travel.’
Sex seed? Jeepers.
Maybe, more likely, they’ll keep it to repopulate in the event of this whole thing not working out, or-
Ok. Let me think this through a little more scientifically.
Why would I need to ejaculate right now? What’s different about this time to the previous times I’ve woken up with a raging erection straining against my uniform?
‘Ejaculate.’
‘Just give me a moment, please?’ I reply, irritable, and the computer does not answer. The robot arm remains, though, and I know I will be given no choice in this.
Is that ethical? 
Whatever. I don’t think I need to get caught up in the semantics of whether one can consent to a spacecraft computer asking for one’s semen, robot arms or not. And after all, in the words of the wise Beyoncé, I woke up like this.
So, back to the question. If it’s not for repopulation purposes, perhaps… ah! Of course! It’s for my own good! The computer is trying to make sure I stay healthy.
Masturbation has been proven to lower anxiety levels and stress. This is a high-pressure sort of situation after all. Maybe it thinks I need a little relaxation to be able to focus properly, or to keep my blood pressure levels well maintained?
That’s the stuff. I’m really getting the ball rolling now.
I remember a study I read, and realise that actually, the fact that it’s been a while is actually important here, too, and not just a distraction my body insists on.
Infrequent ejaculation can result in prostatitis, and the way to avoid the secretions and subsequent bacteria growth that cause the condition, is to ejaculate. Frequently.
The computer has either noticed my recent arousal levels; the higher heart rate, the dilated pupils, the change in blood flow to cause certain… swellings, and let’s face it, the scent of desperation I must be giving off after this long without an orgasm, and thinks I’m overdue an ejaculation or two… or, it’s programmed to encourage masturbation at set intervals with frequent ejaculation in mind as a necessary tool to health.
In honesty, I started to lose my erection when the first of all these thoughts occurred to me – nothing like a computer and a robot arm teaming up to persuade you to rub one out for them to kill the mood – but… mmh…
Listen, I know I can get a little… carried away with science, but I really am alone out here and I don’t think the computer is at all concerned with what gets me going. It just wants me to cum in a cup. I can do that. I think.
I retrieve the cup from the robot arm, which folds away, patiently waiting for me to return with the goods, no doubt.
‘Don’t look, okay?’ I say a little weakly, feeling my cheeks heat up. I know it’s a computer, but it knows things. Too much, almost, and I feel watched. I’ve never been into that, being watched. Nothing against it, but I much prefer to do this with my curtains closed and my doors locked, preferably in a darkened room, or the shower. Since I can’t be afforded these luxuries aboard the Hail Mary, the least I can ask for is the computer not to look.
It doesn’t answer me, of course. I didn’t really expect it to, but at least with whatever else it gathers about me, it’ll know I’m not enjoying it’s presence while I knock one out for it.
Who knows, maybe over time, we’ll get to know one another and the computer’s presence will be the only way I can jerk off. Maybe it’ll start talking me though it… would dirty talk be programmed incase of difficulty… getting into it?
I chuckle softly, knowing that liking the computer is a real possibility. Doll syndrome, it’s called. I’d start preferring the computer to a real living, breathing human. Or maybe there’s another syndrome specifically for the preference of a computer…
But I’m letting myself get distracted again.
Back to the matter at hand. Ha!
I sit back down on my bed, my erection pressed painfully against my uniform trousers now, as I consider the little plastic cup. By the look of it, it holds about 100mls. The average ejaculate is around 1.25-5mls, and from experience I tend to fall somewhere in the middle of that range, so it’s extremely unlikely I’ll fill it, but it really has been so long, the fleeting thought passes through my mind that it won’t be big enough.
Then my thoughts switch to how this is all so clinical and not at all sexy. I guess that’s another kink I might be missing out on, but before I can get carried away again, the robot arm drops something else down for me.
Oh. It’s a dirty magazine. The sort they keep on the top shelf, hidden behind more family friendly editions like House and Home or Celebrity Chat or whatever people read these days.
A pair of breasts almost knock me clean out as the magazine drops into view before me. The robot arm flicks through the thin, glossy pages and holds it open at a page of a woman with her legs spread, glistening folds displayed beautifully as if just for me.
But she’s not real. Looking at the image only reminds me that I’m alone, and whilst her aroused state and thoughts of how she might pleasure herself does make my cock twitch, my heart sinks a little that I’ll never feel another wet pussy.
‘No thank you,’ I choke out, slightly reluctant, and the robot arm switches to a magazine it was apparently holding behind the one with the pretty vagina photograph.
This one displays an image of a thick, handsome penis, uncut and leaking at the tip, fingers ghosting over the happy trail above…
‘No, that’s not the issue,’ I say, a little high pitched, because my cock is leaking now too, and I know I’m not going to make it to the cup if they keep showing me images like this.. ‘I just… I can manage on my own, thank you.’
Still, I feel a little disappointed when the robot arm takes that enticing cock away, too, and I’m left truly alone once again.
I let out a long breath, as even as I can muster. I need to get out of my head.
I close my eyes, breathing deeply. I focus on the ache between my legs. I think about taking my time, really enjoying the sensation of touching myself in space – and the thought that I’m actually in space, does it for me again. With an involuntary pulse of my cock, I feel a thick drop of pre-ejaculate form at the tip.
Take my time? Who am I kidding.
Clasping the cup securely in one hand, I slip the other over the crotch of my trousers and the strangled noise that escapes me would’ve been enough to wake the whole neighbourhood had I been back home on Earth.
I feel a rush of shame flood my senses, but then I remind myself that I can be as loud as I want here. In space, no one can hear you moan. I laugh again, feeling giddy. This is kind of exciting, actually. The thought that I’m alone is finally working for me, and without overthinking it any further, I tear open the fastening on my trousers and let my cock spring free.
I’m so hard it’s painful, visibly throbbing, angry red tip shining with pre-cum. Begging to be touched.
I realise as I stare down at my neglected equipment that words like cum and cock aren’t usually so easily thrown around in my vocabulary, and that I must be unusually horny – another word I tend to shy away from until the moment calls for it – to be thinking like this.
I bite my lips together, anticipating how it might feel.
I’ve never done this in space before. It must be ok to do it, otherwise the computer wouldn’t expect me to just get on with it, ‘reading’ material included, but what if it feels different? What if it hurts?
I tentatively raise a trembling hand and carefully drag a featherlight fingertip up the underside, base to tip, tracing a thick vein and collecting some pre-cum on the way.
I squirm, moaning loudly. I wonder if the computer has really shut its ears off, or if it’s simply programmed to know the difference between horny, desperate groaning and other types of sounds, like real pain or distress.
Whatever, I need more. Fuck.
I suck my finger clean and do it again. A gentle fingertip ghosting up the hot flesh and my body jolts upright.
I’m not gonna last more than a few seconds, and I know it.
It turns out that for whatever reason, touching yourself in space feels fucking incredible.
I lose track of most of my thoughts after that, feeling like I’ve transformed into some sort of rabid animal.
I slump backwards, spreading my legs, and my hand wraps around my shaft, immediately pumping furiously as a broken string of growls and roars rip from my throat.
I barely have time to remember the cup, but somewhere in the haze of unbridled bliss, my lizard brain must have kicked in at just the right moment because only instinct could have given me the sense to raise my other hand and position the cup to catch the insane amount of ejaculate I release as I writhe on the sheets.
Some of it dribbles down over my fingers, but it doesn’t matter, as long as I deposit some in the provided receptacle, I suppose, the computer will be satisfied.
It seems to drag on for a while, this release. Not that I’m complaining; it feels so good I wouldn’t be able to comprehend words enough to form an actual complaint at this moment, even if I wanted to. But as climaxes go, this one, long and intense and oh, so delicious, is up there with the best.
I shakily place the cup (around 7-10mls not including what I didn’t catch – that has to be some sort of record for me) onto the floor and roll over, curling into a ball, my softening cock twitching through aftershocks of pleasure as every muscle in my body relaxes me into another round of sleep.
I wake up five hours later, sprawled on my back with my cock out, still soft for now, and my hand sticky. It must have worked. I must have needed it.
Slowly, I sit up again, tucking my co- my penis back in. Making myself presentable. I am in uniform, after all. I reach up to smooth my hair down. It’s a mess, and there are loose strands stuck to my forehead. I’ll deal with that later.
I notice the cup of ejaculate has gone, collected by my trusty pal, the porno robot arm, and a little sink has been revealed from behind its wall panel.
The computer isn’t going to instruct me to clean myself up – it’s giving me that dignity at least, but it’s pointing me in the right direction. And it’s correct.
I stand on shaky legs to head over there, feeling a slight headrush.
Hopefully, the computer will never speak of it again-
‘Thirty-seven seconds.’
‘Until what?’ I ask, too relaxed to care very much, as I soap up my semen-coated palm.
‘Thirty-seven seconds to produce 7.8mls of semen.’
My cheeks burn. It timed me? And I couldn’t even last out a whole minute?
Did computers care about premature ejaculation as much as humans seem to? Is it even premature when you’re only trying to pleasure yourself?
‘Yeah, well, it’s been a while,’ I retort, sheepish but clearly irked. ‘A long while.’
No further comment from the computer. Great.
I know it’s time for me to get on with the thousand other things occupying my time on this ship, so I do. But the nagging thought I couldn’t shake as I observed the beetles told me that I had to prove the computer wrong about my stamina.
I can last.
And apparently, the thought of proving the computer wrong about my own masturbation habits was doing it for me and-
‘Mmhhnnn-’
That delicious friction against my sensitive cock in these pants was tormenting me. And I thought cock not penis so I must be horny again. Does space travel typically cause high levels of arousal?
Fuck it. It doesn’t matter.
‘Computer, you got another cup? You can watch this time. I’m gonna put on a real show for you.’
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ken-dom · 3 days
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I will DIE on the hill that Holland March is an ipad kid
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ken-dom · 8 days
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save me colt seavers save me
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ken-dom · 8 days
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RYAN GOSLING & EMILY BLUNT for Vanity Fair (April 23 2024 - x)
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ken-dom · 8 days
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Only God Forgives - Behind the scenes
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ken-dom · 9 days
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Prodigal Doll
Goose Boys Mafia AU
AO3 Link
Length: 753 words (short and not sweet)
Summary: Nobody ever expected Ken to join the family business, but when he's caught in the middle of a war he knows nothing about, the other boys have to pick up the pieces.
Content/Warning: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Hurt/barely comfort
Authors Note: I don't even remember how this started lol
I think I saw those Tag Heuer photoshoot pics that look like Ken but as Six?
Anyways I have a LOT of lore ideas and a whole arc for Ken in this, but god only knows if I can actually write it ugh
Also I'm not sorry lmao
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“He’s… changed”
“ Don’t say that”
“Look at him!”
“Shut the fuck up, Richard”
Gathered, the men stare at Ken.
Whenever he used to be scared, he was loud (it was a liability sometimes, all the shrieking and sobbing). But now, he’s silent. Tear stains cut clean lines through the filth and gore on his cheeks, but none fall from his eyes. Not anymore.
He’s… vacant. Not like Driver, his stare always intense, or like Julian, always lost in thought. No. He’s just. Empty.
Six and Lars are sanitizing and bandaging his wounds. Slashes on his chest, burns on his limbs, bruises scattered on every inch of available skin like a fucking Jackson Pollock, and blood from god knows who and god knows where drenching his scarily pale skin and platinum blonde hair. He doesn’t flinch, doesn't move at all, even when Six gently murmurs that he needs to reset his shoulder. The bone grinding into place would have even the toughest of men gritting their teeth in pain, but Ken just sits there. Disconnected from the world. Lars is delicately cleaning the blood off of him, swallowing tears of his own while dabbing a warm cloth over his exposed skin. 
Ken wears nothing but a ragged pair of boxers stained with fluids nobody wants to think too hard about (just like they found him). He hasn’t said a word since they found him, but Lars finally gets a reaction out of him. He’s shakingly whispering to Ken that they need to remove his old shorts to wash him off and get him into something clean, but when his hand goes towards the waistband an explosion of movement happens. Ken bolts away from the men, scrambling to the closest wall and pressing his back to it. His voice is raw and venomous as he roars at the surrounding men.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” 
Everyone in the room freezes because Ken never curses. All eyes are on him, the torn and bloodied nails on his hands scratching at the brick wall, the bloody trail of footprints he makes, his heaving chest, and his frantic, darting, unseeing eyes. Blood drips down his inner thigh.
“I think I’m gonna be sick” 
“He needs a professional, guys, we can only do so much”
“Oh yeah, get the cops involved that’s smart”
“I thought I told you to shut the fuck-”
“Everybody out.”
The room silences once again, save for some muffled sobs and Ken's rapid breath. All eyes now turn to the man who spoke, the man in charge . His white jacket is splattered with blood, and a fire rages behind his cold, blue gaze.
“... are you sure we should leave him like this?”
“Six stays, the rest of you leave. He’s in no state for visitors. Every man is allowed some dignity.”
The room empties without protest, save for Ken, Six, Driver, and Julian. Julian didn’t need to ask to stay (not that he would have). Wherever Driver goes, he goes.
“Why am I staying?”
“You have the most combat-medic training. And. You can… restrain him if you need to.”
The rage in Driver’s eyes slips, showing for a brief moment deep, soul-wrenching anguish before he clenches his gloved fists and returns to his default neutral, intense stare. 
“I expect a complete injury report once he’s patched up. Ask Julian if you need any extra supplies. I have to go deal with the rest of this shit storm.”
He turns to leave, but pauses, glancing back over his shoulder.
“And Six?”
Six stands at attention, ready to receive orders.
“...be gentle.”
Six nods once in affirmation and Driver lets his head hang down, taking a deep breath before straightening his spine and closing the door quietly behind him. The room was now solely occupied by the three men left there.
Julian, standing and waiting by the door. Both ready to retrieve any necessary items and guarding against any poor fool that might try and interrupt them.
Six, shoulders sagged and ruffling through a medkit.
And Ken, who had slid to the floor, legs finally giving out, but the wild look in his eye still shining.
And it wasn’t until Six slowly approaches (the same way he did when he freed a wild deer from a beartrap as a kid), sinking to his knees, gently carding his hands through his blood-matted platinum hair and softly reassuring him that you’re safe now, you’re safe, we got you back that Ken starts trembling, a tear finally slipping from his eye.
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ken-dom · 9 days
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RYAN GOSLING & DAVID LEITCH for Men's Health (April 22nd 2024 - x)
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ken-dom · 9 days
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quick redraws of that other great movie where Ryan Gosling is in love with a doll
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ken-dom · 13 days
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ken-dom · 13 days
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Keyboard Smash
Steven Wingdings x afab!reader
1k words
∘₊✧ Summary: fonts drive him crazy in more ways than one.
∘₊✧ Author’s notes: this is the drabble I was toying with writing… don’t @ me! This was entirely encouraged by the usual suspects, and I simply couldn’t resist
∘₊✧ Warnings/content: nsfw, rough sex, dubious consent, slightly creepy vibes including a storm, very silly, probably classed as a crack fic if it wasn’t also pure smut, crying, meltdowns, font kink
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∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘
Your fingertips tapped the keyboard, the little squares clicking the letters into being on the screen before you.
You knew he would disapprove of this font, but it was easy on the eyes and you always managed to write more when you used it.
You could always change it afterwards. He would never need to know. What’s the harm?
You leaned back in your chair, stretching your arms and sighing, tired but so close to finishing up.
You relaxed into your seat, amused by the eerie atmosphere in the room. The bright white light of your computer screen provided the only illumination in the room, aside from the occasional forks of lightning lighting up the night sky through your window. You smiled. He’d probably like that.
And with a loud clap of thunder and another dramatic flash of lightning, he appeared behind you, his shadow flooding your desk with darkness. It was as if he materialised out of nowhere. You jolted up, spinning around in your chair to see him standing behind you, furious and dripping with rainwater.
He didn’t say a word at first, his piercing blue eyes fixed on your screen, carefully taking in the words you’d written. And the font. Oh fuck. The font.
‘Comic sans,’ he muttered under his breath, taking his glasses off to wipe them clean of raindrops and place them delicately back on his face. ‘Comic fucking sans?’
‘I intend to change it when I’m done, but-’
‘Spare me!’ he roared, falling to his knees before you. ‘You’re writing a masterpiece like that in comic sans?! It’s tainted. I’ll never unsee it. You actively clicked on the font drop down, scrolled to C, and selected it, knowing how it would look!’
He was practically sobbing at this point.
‘I- I’m sorry, Steven, at least it’s not Pap-’
‘Don’t speak its name in front of me!’ he screeched.
‘Why don’t we just change the font right now, hm? What do you like? Times New Roman? Calibri?’
‘You can change it, but I’ll never unsee that hideous clown scribble!’ he wailed.
‘Is there anything I can do?’ you offered, beginning to feel at a loss, until a stroke of genius struck. Or so you hoped. ‘Here, how about-’
You turned back to the computer, highlighting the entirety of your work and choosing a new font. Something that would throw him off. Bring him back to you.
There was one you’d never used that caught your eye with its name alone; Satisfy. It seemed like it would be awkward to write in and more appropriate for titles, but it’s cursive style and sensual name immediately got your attention — perhaps it would get his too.
You read over some of your work while you waited for him to finish up his dramatics. It looked a little bit like his handwriting and you smiled at that, wondering if he’d actually copied it for his own penmanship.
Another flash of lightning and he was up again, his hand at your shoulder, warm and caressing.
‘Oh?’ he breathed.
You didn’t speak. Not yet. You let him take it in, biting your lips together in anticipation as he looked over you.
‘Oh, that’s very nice, that’s- mmh…’
‘See? That’s better,’ you smiled, pleased with yourself at having calmed him.
‘Over the desk,’ he instructed, low and commanding. ‘Now.’
You stood, heat flooding to your core at the suddenly seductive tone of his voice, and began to move the keyboard away for space, but a big, strong hand wrapped around your wrist and pinned it to the desk.
‘No. Leave the keyboard. I want to see our work.’
Excited, you propped yourself above it, while he made quick work of unfastening his trousers and sliding yours down, his elegant fingers immediately flying to your folds, circling your clit and ghosting over your slick entrance.
‘Mmh, soaked… you like it too?’
In all honesty you couldn’t say you had ever been aroused by a font. But then you’d never had a screaming, crying meltdown over one either. You guessed his reaction to Satisfy must have been as strong as his reaction to Papyrus had been all those weeks ago when you’d dragged him inside off the road, wet and shaking.
‘Yes,’ you agreed, not wanting him to stop.
Much to your disappointment, he did stop, but only for a moment; the next, he slammed his cock into you hard, stretching you open and driving his hips in sharp snaps against you whilst his free hand pushed your head into the keyboard.
An assortment of random letters and numbers burst onto the screen, displaying more of that delicious font, and he whined desperately.
His other hand snaked around your belly and to the apex of your thighs, rubbing furiously at your sensitive nub, making you squirm back against him. It was too much and not enough all at once, and you were ready to explode.
‘Say it,’ he cried hungrily, ‘say it!’
‘Satisfy!’ you moaned, not even needing to sex up your voice in the slightest. The font might not turn you on, but he did, and his request for you to say its name opened the floodgates into a string of needy moans.
Feeling you begin to clench around him, it took only a few more ragged thrusts and he emptied his release into you with force, a guttural growl echoing around the room while you milked him of all he had.
He collapsed, weak and groaning, on top of you, heavy breaths loud in your ear as he withdrew his length, carefully tucking himself back into his trousers and standing as soon as he was able.
‘Keep up the good work,’ he praised you.
And just like that, he was gone again, leaving you limp over the desk, leaking your combined juices onto the floor, Satisfy leaving a long trail of F’s and C’s and D’s in the space beneath your work where you were still pressed against the keyboard.
‘Comic fucking sans,’ you whispered, laughing to yourself as you peeled off the keys. ‘I’ll give him Satisfy.’
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ken-dom · 14 days
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ken-dom · 15 days
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Kisses #48 Driver and Ken??^^
Kisses 48. kisses to shut them up
∘₊✧ Driver x Ken
∘₊✧ One nsfw sentence toward the end, kissing but it's kinda cnc, violence mentions, sedation mention, I wouldn't really call it fluff but it's not exactly smut either so... somewhere in between
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∘₊✧────────────────✧₊∘
Driver's mind was heavy. He'd not long ago told a guy who recognised him from a job a bit too loudly that he would kick his teeth in, when Ken arrived back from the bathroom, yapping on and on with mindless drivel about whatever had captivated him tonight.
It was Driver of course. Driver always captivated Ken by the end of an evening, and being in a diner made no exception to that rule.
While carefree Ken enjoyed his waffles, Driver stared forward, chewing his pie.
Ken, with his bright shirt and garish enthusiasm drew attention everywhere he went, and Driver needed that to stop right now. His ears were buzzing, his skin was beginning to feel prickly, he was too hot.
He would never wish his wrath on Ken, though. He’d feel guilty for subjecting him to it, of course, but he also knew that Ken would scream, and Ken's screams tended to alert a whole town - let alone startle a tiny diner full of people. Shutting him up would need to be a much more careful affair altogether. He would need to sedate him, and there was only one way to do that.
'You have such a handsome profile,' Ken sighed as Driver tuned back in to find the right moment.
Ken propped his jaw against his fist and gazed dreamily across at his Driver. 'That means the side of your face,' he went on, fingers giving a little demonstration, 'like the shape of your nose and- mmh!!'
Kens lips were as sweet as ever. Sugar-coated with icing sugar, yes, but naturally pleasant to press against one’s own.
Driver's sly tongue found easy entry into Ken's mouth, and when Ken got over the initial shock of this new development, his tongue lapped at the mechanic's with fervour.
Driver held back a moan, reminding himself that he needed to keep composure, that he could lose himself in Ken's sugary kiss and groan, as deep and guttural as he needs to, into his doll's mouth in bed later while he ruts against that sculpted body like an animal, but for now, he needs to remain in control of himself.
His hand, well practised by now, but shaky with adrenaline nonetheless, slid up to Ken's long, thick, neck, fingers and thumb pinching at the nape as he reluctantly pulled back and pressed his forehead to the doll’s instead.
Ken had melted. Completely silent but for his heaving breaths, and utterly weak in Driver's grip. He really would let this man do anything he wanted with him.
The fingers of Driver's free hand traced Ken's quivering bottom lip.
'Go get in the car. I'm taking you home.'
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ken-dom · 17 days
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RYAN GOSLING Photographed by Mary Ellen Matthews for SNL
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ken-dom · 17 days
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RYAN GOSLING in 'The Fall Guy'
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ken-dom · 18 days
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I feel like Hugs 33 and Touching 43 are sooo Lars coded, because he doesn’t really realize how strong he is, he’s just such a softie :,(
Hugs 33. picking them up +
Touching 43. giving them a piggyback ride
∘₊✧ Lars Lindstrom x gn!reader
∘₊✧ Pure fluff! This one ended up just a little longer than the others… also I want to thank my darling @heresthestorymorningglory for the telepathic link that finally gave me the right idea!
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Gazing up at the stars glittering through the gently falling snow, you lean your head against Lars’s shoulder wish a quiet sigh. ‘I don’t know how I’ll make it back.’
‘It is magical out here at night, isn’t it?’ Lars breathes with a soft giggle.
‘It really is,’ you squeeze his gloved hand lightly with yours, ‘but I actually meant the walk back. My legs are frozen and kind of tired.’
There’s a pause then; you feel Lars tense. You think that maybe he’s unsure how to help you, and you know how that upsets him, but then he takes a deep inhale of frosty air and blurts, ‘I can carry you back if you want!’ squeezing his eyes tight shut.
The thought of being so close, safe in his arms, floods your cheeks with heat. ‘Oh… oh, Lars I couldn’t possibly-'
‘It’s okay,’ he reassures you, breath steadying and eyes blinking open to gaze down at you instead of up at the moon. ‘I don’t mind, and besides, I’m really good at it.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah,’ he shrugs, ‘I used to carry Bianca a lot when she didn’t have her wheelchair. She always used to tell me that she loved how strong I am.’
You watch Lars’s cheeks flush with colour, too as he averts is gaze.
‘Alright,’ you agree casually. ‘I would love to see how strong you are.’
All the breath leaves Lars’s body at that, and you feel almost guilty for a moment, but you do so love it when he blushes. You’ve already noticed how strong he is, of course — you’ve watched him chop firewood enough times to know.
Lars turns on the spot and holds his arms out behind himself. You have to bite your lips together to keep from letting out a whine as you mount his back. Even through all the layers, he’s soft and thick and strong and sturdy. If he wasn’t holding you to him so tightly, you might swoon.
‘The stars look even more beautiful from here,’ you whisper, hot against the exposed part of his ear, and a shiver runs through his whole body.
As you finally approach the warm lights of the house and his garage apartment, he carefully sets you down, slips off his woolly hat and unfastens the front of his coat.
‘May I?’
He holds his arms out in front of him this time, and smiles at you as you tilt your head, curious. It’s a handsome smile, lips curling up slightly more at one side, genuine and warm. It’s almost hypnotising. And the next thing you know, Lars is carrying you bridal style into his apartment.
Once you’re back on the ground, and Lars has shed his coat and the little blanket from around his neck, he smiles at you again, with an extra twinkle in his eye.
‘Are your legs too tired to dance?’
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