#anonynous

[magnusbae]

Hi! What about "Can you stay with me?" (and if you'd like it my bonus prompt is "drunk") 💗

The initial draft was written while I was quite literally fainting late at night & the second one fully rewritten while I am dazed and out of it. I would say that I was method writing Obi-Wan who is indeed very much drunk in this one, dearest anon. Thank you for the prompt~ 😊💖

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Obikin || 4,004w || Drunk Obi-Wan is agonized by the prospect of his freshly knighted Padawan leaving him behind— and more. 😌 Some flavors of gentle lime in this drink, very light, very sweet. 🍋💖

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"Can you stay with me?"

Obi-Wan Kenobi sounds properly pathetic and he knows it. Grasping at Anakin’s Tabards as he is, mind swirling in hazy circles around the notion he was doing his very best to avoid thinking about for the past few months. It is not long now that Anakin would look at his Master and see him for what he really was. Perhaps even today. Inebriated as he is, he makes for a good serving of disillusionment. All Anakin needs to do is look, and see, and then…

It seems inevitable—his Padawan will leave.

Former Padawan. Anakin is no longer his Padawan, and that is the heart of it, isn’t it? The severed braid was the firs step. Them having each a battalion of their own, stationed light years away from each other with only the occasional joint mission, a second. The third and final step would be for Anakin to finally open his eyes and look, and see.

It won’t be hard to unveil the carefully crafted Jedi Master facade Obi-Wan had cultivated for the past decade. No, it won’t be hard at all. If Anakin were to stop glorifying him, stop shaping him to be what ever form of idol he had needed for while growing up, if only he were to take an unbiased look at him…

There will no longer be, Kenobi and Skywalker.

For the naked truth was, Anakin had outgrown him, had become more powerful and capable than his Master. There’s little left that Obi-Wan could still offer, still teach. He should be proud. The only one still refusing to see it, is Anakin himself. Once that revelation comes to pass however, it will be complete. A true break, as befitting the Jedi way. Obi-Wan finds no peace in the thought, no completion nor satisfaction in the successful completion of his Padawan’s training—a symbol of his own Mastery.

Not when it means losing him. Not then.

Given his state of drunkenness, words slurred and feet unsteady, he thinks that it’s worth putting to question whatever or not he was a good Jedi at all, least of all a Master. Try as he might, he finds it hard to ponder further. His choice to look inward is as always an avoidance, an escape. An easy detour from looking outward, from looking at Anakin. Anakin who’s eyes he can feel like a physical touch, boring into his very soul.

Obi-Wan’s avoidance is nearly as strong as Anakin’s natural magnetism. One is counseling him to avoid looking, save himself the pain of witnessing the exact moment in which the realization dawns upon the boy. The second, stronger still, demands his undivided attention on him, demands him to look. Demands him. 

Obi-Wan looks up, he meets those eyes, his demise.

Anakin’s eyes widen and he blinks, endless blue clearing as if coming out of some sort of shock.

“Can I—” Anakin splutters “—Obi-Wan, even if the council explicitly ordered me to go save the entire karkin universe just now, I wouldn’t be leaving your side— stars you’ve any idea what you look like right now?

Obi-Wan’s tongue is heavy but he parts his lips to answer, something clever to be sure, he always finds something to say.

“No, never mind.” Anakin cuts in before he could speak. There’s such decisiveness in his tone, such confidence. His former Padawan stands tall, his arms are strong and sure as he handles Obi-Wan closer, making him lean more of his weight against his chest. It’s broad and firm. Obi-Wan should not be noticing those things, should not be aware of those things. It is a further evidence that his Padawan is well and truly grown. Further evidence of his own failing as a Jedi, as a Master, as a…man. Obi-Wan should not be inhaling and smelling home. Should not be leaning closer, itching all over for more, more.

“You’re so wasted that I am surprised you’ve even recognized me at all.” Anakin continues talking, as if the universe is not shifting beneath Obi-Wan’s feet as it is him who finally looks with his gaze unbiased. “The drunken messages though, those you will be seeing tomorrow” there’s dark mirth in that dear voice. “I bet you wanted to send them to— someone else.” Anakin glances at him, eyes narrowed.

Obi-Wan’s offenses at Anakin’s assumption he could ever not recognize him dies over under his gaze, dark and rich, his eyes are captivating. Before Anakin, he did not know that a blue can hold such multitudes. Both the clear morning sky, and the moon lit sky. Beautiful. They loosens his tongue as well as any truth serum would. That or the bottle he had finished on his own finally soaked through.

“I will always—”  His voice comes out so thick that he coughs, starting Anakin from his dark contemplations, whichever those might be. His eyebrows furrow and he quickly snatches a cup of something clear off of a passing robo-waitress’s tray. Irritated with the distraction, Obi-Wan accepts it and drinks if only to make way for the words to follow. He will not let it go. Not now that he’d started. “I will always recognize you, Padawan Mine, drugged, beaten, or otherwise preoccupied— I will always—” “Drugged?!” Anakin cuts in again, arms tightening around Obi-Wan and strangling the annoyed huff at being cut again “You did not mention anything about being drugged, what the kark’ Obi-Wan?!”

Obi-Wan’s mouth is dry, similar to how being drugged would feel. His mind swims and all he sees is Anakin. There’s warmth in his chest, there’s a burn in his gut, there’s a tug in his— 

“It’s hard to tell” he says sheepishly, embarrassed, eyes straying away from Anakin’s strong jaw and up, up to the lights on the ceiling. He should not be thinking of how Anakin’s proximity is enough to replicate a strong drug. How out of orbit he feels around him as of late. “They all start the same, so…” 

Anakin is hardly listening. Instead he is surveying the club with a look of fury that is bordering on homicidal, freeing one hand to rest it on his lightsaber. There’s the distinct feeling of Anakin stretching his force signature out, covering the room, no doubt attempting to locate anyone within their proximity who might have dared drug his former Master. Oh if only he knew that he was the culprit all along. 

Obi-Wan snorts, finding an odd sense of humor in it.

Anakin’s gaze darts back to him, sharp and accusing. He looks so handsome under the colorful, dim lights. He looks so… 

“Ah-nakin.” Obi-Wan sighs out and shuts his eyes lest his spinning head forces him to sober up in the most un-jedi manner.  

“Stay with me,” the request comes so easy, what was it that he was so afraid of? It’s so easy, too easy. Frighteningly so, to reach and touch Anakin’s forearm. There’s skin beneath his touch, warm and human, tense muscles beneath. “Ah” Obi-Wan sighs out in realization. Anakin had rolled the sleeves, so very unofficial for a Jedi and yet so very Anakin of him.

Master Windu would have hated it. It wouldn’t surprise Obi-Wan if this was exact reason why Anakin did it to begin with, after all, he was most adept to handling heat and was not bothered by it even while all else were. Obi-Wan really should have reprimanded the boy more often, should have stopped Anakin from executing all those harmless little vendettas of his while growing up.

If only he did not find them to be so endearing, so amusing. If only he was a better Master, a proper Master. He would have. 

His brain is foggy and he had already forgotten what was it it that he had hoped to achieve by touching Anakin, only that his fingers are circling his wrist and touching the spot at which he can feel his life pulsing. What a terrible habit it is, being intoxicated while negotiating. You should only ever drink enough to appear drunk, never more. How is he to get what he wants, when he has no ideas what it was? 

Obi-Wan’s eyelids are heavy when he tries to blink them open and focus on Anakin. There’s the signature frown, so familiar Obi-Wan can’t help but smile. Anakin is chewing his lips, a compulsion he had never managed to rid himself of. He looks torn between the need to locate and deal with the ‘enemy’, and…. Obi-Wan. 

The way Anakin looks, that should not be reminiscent of the targets Obi-Wan opts for charm as the main form of negotiation with. Should not stir the excitement of a hunt, of a game to be won. Obi-Wan should not use his looks to achieve his goals, he should not use them to get what he wants, he should be a better man than that.

Obi-wan is not a better man. 

Licking his own dry lips, he let’s go off of Anakin’s wrist and reaches for Anakin’s cheeks. There’s a tremble in the touch, his, Anakin’s? He is not certain. 

“Dear One, you can chase your enemies tomorrow.” He speaks in a hushed murmur, he hopes he sounds soft and alluring “Tonight, will you guard this drunk Master of yours?” he looks up, through his lashes, breathing shallowly, feeling hot, hot, hot all over. 

Anakin let’s go off of the lightsaber. It’s an answer enough to what he had picked. It still is deeply gratifying to feel the boy’s hand cover his own, guide it until he wraps his arm around Anakin’s shoulders. It’s an awkward angle, with Anakin being taller than he— he cares very little for it when Anakin wraps an arm around his waist. 

“Let’s go.” He is tight lipped and determined, guiding Obi-Wan out and into a speeder that is parked not far off. If Obi-Wan was even slightly more aware, he’d realize just how much attention the pair of them had draw, how all of the eyes had followed them out. Sometimes he forgets, how famous they had become during this accursed war. Sometimes, he is glad to not remember. 

Anakin is terribly efficient at getting them to the Temple. One blink of an eye they’re flying through the busy highways of Coruscant, the next he is tossed unceremoniously onto a bed that feels and smells familiar. His bed.

They’re in his quarters. Their quarters until very recently. He is breathing harder and he does not dare to think of why. If he does not think, it does not exist. He is self aware enough only to feel how disheveled his robes feel on his body, how messy his hair is, how hot his skin feels all over. He is a mess. 

“Dear one?” he questions. He refuses to acknowledge how his own tone drops, refuses to admit he is rolling his vowels in a way he knows thickens his accent in the most attractive of ways. He doesn’t know why he is flirting with Anakin Skywalker when the boy is barely out of his knighthood and is Anakin. His Anakin, his Anakin on whom he just looked in a way he really should not be looking at, through his eyelashes, with a heavy, wanting gaze. 

The redness of Anakin’s cheeks is evidence enough that he hears and understands the situation well enough. That he is very much aware of what his Master is doing. That he is… perhaps affected. 

Obi-Wan swallows, trying to push himself up to his elbows. He needs to sober up, he must tell him that he is merely jesting, that it is all a little tease, a little laugh, nothing more, just….

Anakin cuts him to it. Before he can excuse, or joke, or explain.

“Not while you’re drunk.” Anakin bites, sounding frustrated, lips swollen red from biting. Obi-Wan startles, surprised. 

What did Anakin just say? Imply?

Blatantly threw straight into his face, more like. 

Yes, but not while he is drunk.

Absurdly, a swell of pride fills his chest to the brim. Anakin’s manners and chivalry surprises him, pleases him. He had raised him well after all, he did not fail him, at least not in this.

His pleasure must bleed into the Force as Anakin regards him with a dark, baffled look. It’s so dark, most would find it intimidating, but for Obi-Wan it’s… dear. He can see the gentleness in that look, the care. There’s warmth in the force when Anakin insist on tucking him in, fingers methodical in the short, careful gestures. Tucking him in as if he was a child. Him, his Master. Former. 

Obi-Wan was tucked in only once in his lifetime, at least as far as he can remember. His first night in the Jedi Temple. So tense he was, so out of his depth, that the he was taken pity of, tucked in with a quiet promise of everything making sense soon. It helped.

It had never happen again. 

“Ahnakin.” he tries to protest, tries to pull a face of offended indigence. It’s hard to do when he is practically shining within the force. A single look from his apprentice is enough to quiet him down. 

“Master.” Anakin replies, and there’s a little eyeroll there. His cheeks are still flushed but he seems as determined as Obi-Wan to not address the Bantha in the room. “You really should be more careful” he lectures him in a way Obi-Wan can distinctly remember doing a few years back, when Anakin had gotten drunk for the first time. 

He leaves then, without a word. Obi-Wan’s throat closes and there’s a pang of pain in his heart. No this. He remembers now. Him. Leaving. That was the whole reason, that was why—

“Master?” Anakin sounds concerned, a glass of water and a container of what looks to be painkillers in his hands. “Are you sick?” a few strides and he is by Obi-Wan’s bed again, placing he glass and container at the bedside table. He looks well and truly worried. 

Unthinking, Obi-Wan sits up. So sudden that he does feel sick from the motion. He ignores it. He reaches for Anakin’s face with both hands, cupping his cheeks with a grip that is too strong, too desperate. A Jedi should not hold onto things with such fervor. 

All it takes for him to lean is to Anakin, is to stop resisting if only for a moment. Anakin’s pull was always there, stronger and stronger until it had become a daily challenge to ignore it, to pretend he does not feel it. All it takes is to stop resisting and his lips find Anakin’s, pressing against that plush softness, inhaling his exhale and finally, finally feeling anchored, inside the orbit he was always meant to circle.

He tilts his chin, leans in, knowing his beard will scratch pleasantly against the smooth jaw, kisses in deeper—

“Mahster—!” Anakin gasps into the kiss, a pang of shock and uncertainty clouding the force around them, sipping through the open nerves of their broken bond.  He does not want to take advantage of his Master, does not want him to end up hating him, does not want him to wake up and be disgusted, appalled— but he wants, he wants so badly. 

“Oh, Anakin.” Obi-Wan breathes out, unsure if it’s endearment of relief that fills him up with warmth, with lightness. One thing he is certain of, no one had ever been, or will be, as sweet, as kind, as dear as Anakin is to him. “I could never hate him.” There’s a drunken lisp to his voice, he needs a moment to correct himself. “You.” He manages, meeting Anakin’s eyes and not blinking, not wanting to miss a single moment. Wanting to see the exact moment in which Anakin realizes he is serious, that he is the most honest he’s been in years. 

Anakin seems to be realizing it too, his eyes widening and cheeks coloring a deeper red than before, he bites his lip.

“I might be…” Obi-Wan’s gaze drops to Anakin’s lips and he thinks about… “intoxicated…” he forces himself to look up, away from temptation, away from sin. “Drugged, possibly.” He is still not fully certain if he is, or it truly is just Anakin with a touch of alcohol. “But I am very much aware that…” he smiles before completing the sentence, it widens so much further with the words to come “…my Padawan simply cannot take advantage of his Master…” there’s really no need to be using this many terms of belonging, especially when they are outdated and irrelevant, but he just cannot… “On the contrary, I am the one who should be deeply ashamed for…mnnn-” 

Anakin’s lips quiet him up, he was never a patient listener, never could hear his Master finish a thought. This is the most effective he had ever been at cutting Obi-Wan’s line of thought, by far. He kisses him in a way Obi-Wan would have never guessed him capable of— it’s soft, sweet, patient. A tender thing, careful, loving. Obi-Wan gasps. Thinking, dazedly of how Anakin will grow to be an amazing lover, so attentive, a beast holding back his fangs in favor of gentle lips… 

The thought sets a burning coil of arousal deep in Obi-Wan’s gut.

Not good. Beyond not good. He should…. 

The thought is present and yet he licks at Anakin’s lips, asking for permission. He is granted one without resistance, without hesitance. Anakin’s lips part and he can taste him and oh, oh. Obi-Wan groans, muscles tensing as he shifts to sit straighter, moving a hand to Anakin’s nape and pulling him closer.

He nearly chokes when the boy sucks on his tongue, arousal shocking him into near soberness. 

“Anakin…” he knows, there’s not enough alcohol in the universe to convince him that this is not going too far, he knows and yet… 

He kisses Anakin again, a little hungrier, a little more wanting.

He must stop this madness. To think that he had started it, to think that he had taken advantage of his trusting, sweet—

“No, Master.” Anakin answers, and Obi-Wan wonders just how much of his shields is truly left if his thoughts can be read so easily, so plainly. “You’ve asked me to stay, and I will stay.” That assuredness is back, firm and leaving no space for argument. This is the same man who leads men on a battlefield, who commands, who leads. Obi-Wan finds it impossibly, undeniably, devastatingly attractive.

“You will sleep.” Anakin decides then, tearing his eyes away from Obi-Wan long enough to gesture at the lights, turning them off with the force. “And I will stay with you.” His eyes land back to Obi-Wan, dark mirth dancing in what Obi-Wan can still see of him. “To keep you safe, Master.” He is teasing him, the little devil.

“How will it even…” Obi-Wan doesn’t want to mention how narrow the bed really is, Anakin would know, with his constant complaints about how leg room and… 

“Don’t worry about that.” Anakin answers, confidence so cocky, so boyish that Obi-Wan huffs a surprised laughter, breaking into giggling when Anakin practically falls on top of him. They struggle like that, laughter mixing, limbs tangling, hair in a mouth and fingers against sides— Anakin captures him then, they’re on their sides, Anakin’s back is firm as he pulls Obi-Wan all the way to himself, forming….

“Absolutely not!” Obi-Wan’s voice raises and breaks a little, attempting to wriggle out of the trap he inadvertently fell into. There’s still some pride life in him. He will not permit this Jedi Knight, his former Padawan no less, big spoon him, 16 years his senior and former Master. Force be his witness, he will not allow it.

Anakin makes a suffering, exasperated exhale when Obi-Wan manages to slip out of his grip— only to be yanked back by the force. All he manages is a choked gasp of protest before the air is knocked out of him, his back hitting a firm chest a little too hard. There’s a vindictive sort of satisfaction in hearing Anakin chokes out a surprised exhale too, clearly, he did not account for the impact being this strong.

“Karkin’ hell…” he hears the boy muttering and snorts out, laughing even while Anakin wraps his mechno-arm around him, pulling him back into the not-as-offensive as before little spoon position. Fine, he thinks. He’ll allow it, just for this one night…. 

His eyes close and he shudders when Anakin’s nose press against his nape, he can feel the slow, deep inhale— can feel the content exhale that follows. 

“Finally.” Anakin breathes out, as if he was waiting for this moment longer than the few minutes  just now. Like he needed it, himself. Like it was not Obi-Wan, pathetic and alone, messaging his former Padawan while drunk beyond reason that led him here, but his own needs, own wants. Like he needed this too, him. Like he needs him. Obi-Wan. 

“Oh Force…” Obi-Wan calls upon it without realizing, without meaning it. Only the force can stand witness to this moment, judge it, measure it. Guide him, tell him right from wrong. “Force.” His voice trembles with it, realizing for the first time that Anakin does see him, in truth, does and still…

“It’s fine with it.” Anakin remarks, nonchalant, amusement coloring the timbre of his voice. “You don’t have to shout at her, I don’t think she like it very much” Anakin refers to the Force differently every time, Obi-Wan suspects he does it simply for the joy of throwing off the younglings.

It unsettles Obi-Wan as well, he will not admit that much, though. Anakin’s connection with the force was always stronger, always different than anyone else’s. If he’s saying that the Force is not finding this offensive…. Obi-Wan will trust him. Anakin enjoys messing around at times, stretching the truth about how the Force works, but he’d never lie about this, not to him. 

Obi-Wan’s body relaxes so completely that he practically sags into Anakin, relief, so much relief. It feels…. Good. There’s rightness to it that even without the Force humming pleasantly in his ears, he’d recognize. Like sharing a sleeping cot in the war zones, minus the blood and gore and pain… it feels secure, it feels…good…. 

He feels himself being lulled to what he suspects will be a long and restful sleep. Such a luxury as of late. “Mnh..” He jolts a little when a hand moves across his side, resting at his hip bone and then back up to his side. He should not permit Anakin this much leeway with him and yet…. He likes it… oh he likes it.

So he doesn’t comment it, allowing him to continue, to stroke him and care for him, and hold him. He is not leaving. 

Sleep comes ease, as easy as an inhale. One moment he is aware of all that surrounds him, the scent and warmth, the weight and touch. The next he is sinking into the open embrace of rest. Distantly, he feels the touch of a Force Signature he knows as well as his own. It is the only half of it, after all. Accepting it, is as easy as breathing too. 

There’s a distant shift, even in sleep he can feel the bond snapping back into place, like moons falling into a familiar route, circling a singular sun. Maybe it was not Anakin who was the sun around which Obi-wan was revolving all along, but their shared….

[minthara]

it's just... why would minthara, the oathbreaker x2, be mad at someone she loves dearly for also rejecting their god? bhaal just uses his spawn, even more so than most other gods. i feel like she wouldn't want that for her love? i've always seen the romance as an 'us against them' kind of dynamic. to me, a realistic and in character outcome of romanced durge who rejects bhaal would be for minthara to want vengeance on durge's behalf, and the two of them to seek out other ways to make themselves more powerful.

bestie fully on ur side lol

idk what they were smoking when coming up with this like. suddenly she's into the gods again? when her whole thing is rejecting lolth and the absolute? sure jan....

[inorganicone2230]

Would Gojo and Geto prepare to dress their darling in feminine clothes that give them easy access to her? :>

Oh fucking hell would they ever!

They already like the way she styles her clothes and outfits, so that's not a problem for either of them, but what they do take issue with is seeing how cheap and crappy the quality is.

Both of them know it's not her fault, since the pieces she has are all she could ever afford, but it still bothers them to see her wearing over washed cotton and tacky polyester. So I imagine that whenever they all go out shopping together, they somehow always end up convincing her to let them buy her some sort of article of clothing; a nice new top for an already sabotaged job interview she has coming up, a new pair of jeans so they can better admire her ass whenever she bends over or has her back to them, a new coat because her old one is worn out and not up to par for the bitter Tokyo cold, or even just a few new pairs of cashmere socks because her feet are always so cold.

But both of them especially love it when she wears skirts and dresses.

Suguru has a particular fantasy that involves her riding his cock in the driver's seat of his car; leaning the seat back and grabbing her ass so he can bounce her back and forth while she grips his shoulders and tries her best to hang on while he tops her from the bottom, and afterwards, when he's finished blowing his load inside of her, he wants to take her soiled panties and let her go the rest of day with his cum leaking out and smearing over her bare thighs.

Meanwhile, Satoru is fond of the prospect of having her warm his cock in a public setting; taking her somewhere like the beach or a park and having her sit on his lap with his cock buried inside of her tight pussy while he lazily reads a book to her. To anyone watching, it would look like nothing more than a happy couple enjoying a day out together while showing a little PDA, with none of them ever knowing that beneath her flowing skirt, he's balls deep inside of her twitching little cunt.

[ask-spooky-manor]

Can you please draw a genderbent version of Jeff, Liu, Nina, Clockwork, Jane, Eyeless Jack??

I was gonna do everyone in the manor for fun, but I got kinda distracted by the boyfriends or girlfriends in this case

[shy-the-trash-lion]

I'm in love with your art style. Can we see Kyoko in it? ^^

Here’s a Kyoko for you smile ✨

[ndn-craft]

C1 Pearl?

You also get a bonus BigB cause I also wanted to draw him

[oeldeservesthenorris]

I love all three hughes brothers honestly …i mean there is something unique about each one of them

Quinn : i love his quite nature , the way he respects others and the occasional smiles that he gives us …..especially in his post match interview , i mean all u want to do is cuddle this man and kiss the red marks on his face. He gives great dad energy and totally a husband material ….he is shy in front of everyone but with you he can become flirtatious and freaky.

Luke : with all due respect ,out of all three brothers..luke looks the most fuckable …..his height,curly hair,veiny arms ,puppy eyes ….i mean who wouldn’t want to wake up next to messy hair , half naked luke . I think he likes having fun in his younger years but when he finds The One ,he will pamper her like no one can.

Jack : a lot of people like jack,s long hair but honestly i think he looks way better in shorter hair , i mean we all know that can be a bit egoistic and witty but thats what makes him sexy . He,s cute and he knows it ….honestly I don’t think he will settle anytime soon but his type is pretty clear (blonde,thin and fancy ) he is not going to settle for someone normal.

Absolutely no lies detected here.

[lazycats-stuff]

How would the batfam react if baybro just keeps adopting the most dangerous dogs in the world like a Pyrenees and malamute

Damian would be happy, more animals for him. Everyone would be vary and Bruce would have to make a sanctuary for the dogs. He grumbles about it at first, but it like you know, if my sons want it...

Tim and Jason would go to dogs for comfort when they don't want to talk to people. Dick would play with them all the time. Alfred would make the best food for the dogs.

And so what if they were dangerous? More protection for the manor.

[katya-girl]

Favorite Hazbin Hotel song? Mine are Loser Baby and Hell’s Greatest Dad!

My favorite Hazbin Hotel songs are Hell's Greatest Dad and More Than Anything. Why? Because an electroswing duet between Lucifer and Alastor is hilarious and perfect(Hell's Greatest Dad).

Lucifer cares for his daughter(Charlie) so much, he would do anything to protect her, and Charlie cares for her father(Lucifer) so much, she would do anything to help him(More Than Anything). It's beautiful!!!

My honest reaction:

[bri-wolfer]

Which tf2 characters do the roomies main?

they dont know what a game is

[clockwayswrites]

clocky, clocky please. i need you to understand i fell so deeply in love with danny x wally that i would cheer every time there was an update. they’re so cute together, like perfect love story cute. now i’m sitting in the dark bawling over the snippet you posted

Awwww *settles you in with a blanket, glass of water, and a purring cat*. Keep rooting for them! They could use your support!

[glitterp0prhaps0dy]

One, I LOVE UR BLOG! Two, am I allowed to request a drawing of John Dory and Floyd from Trolls Band Together theyre my favorites, if you don't feel up to it that's okay, thanks!!

AAAH, thanks for the request :D and I'm so happy you like my blog, I drew them separately if that's okay, john dory was a bit harder to draw though, still fun anyways :)

john looks like he wants a hug tbh,also iv been wanting to design my own cane for floyd so I took this request as an opportunity

[joellkeeny]

I’m picturing dad Steve and reader finally having a date night but he can’t keep his hands off her and is trying to take his wife to the bathroom idk idk but I just have that stuck in my head

oh yeah I love this!

more dad!steve x fem!reader

warnings: dad!steve. smut.

— ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

Friday night, people bustling though the streets on their way home from work, but you on the other hand, are currently on your way to that fancy restaurant just next to the park. Dressed up in his best clothes, Steve insisted to take you out, treat you to a real fancy meal since it's one of the few free days you have without your daughter who was currently at a sleepover. He's been all touchy feely all night, arms wrapping around you waist and lips brushing over the side of your neck while you were putting your earrings on in the mirror, his hand squeezing your thigh while driving, and now, he was holding your hand over the table, smiling at you sweetly though if you looked hard enough you could see a glint of mischief behind them, as if this was just a cover up for his intentions.

“What?” You chuckle, almost embarrassed under his watchful gaze but he doesn't say anything, instead picking up his wine glass, swirling the dark red wine around and taking a sip. “Can't I admire my beautiful wife?” His tone is light as he leans forward on the table, pulling your hand up to his lips to press some kisses to your knuckles and to the back of your hand. A sigh leaves your lips, turning your palm in his hold to brush your fingertips down his jaw, the stubble now more evident as days passed without bothering to shave.“You can, but I know you want something so spill it out.” He almost jolts in his seat when your heel rubs over his leg under the table, doing so in a teasing manner because you know he can't do anything about it.

Gulping, he gathers his thoughts quickly before he licks his lips, waving the waiter over without taking his eyes off of yours. You can feel the intensity of his gaze growing by the second and it makes you shrink in your seat, giddy for what you knew he had planned. But one thing you both know is that neither of you can wait until you get home. And as soon as he pulls out his wallet and pays, he's got his hand wrapped around your waist, rushing to the car. You reach out for the passenger door but he just chuckles, climbing into the backseat and pulling you in after him, landing on his lap. You yelp at the sudden manhandling, hands pressing to his shoulders while his face dives into your neck, the scruff of his stubble scratching against you perfectly to raise goosebumps to your arms.

It's a messy tangle of limbs and lips, kissing at each other hungrily while tugging on your clothes, feeling like teenagers once again. He's been meaning to do this with you, just put your daughter to sleep and come to the bedroom and fuck you senseless, but he knew that wouldn't be possible with the way you always got so caught up in each other.“Missed you so fucking much...” He's breathing out against your lips while finally freeing himself, his heavy length pulsing with need and you quickly shift your panties to the side, the knee long dress bunched up at your waist. “Couldn't wait to get you alone.” You just nod, spreading your legs and helping him press the tip to your entrance, shuddering at the sheer anticipation of it.

“Steve— jesus...” You dig your nails into his shoulders harshly, lowering yourself on him, his girth stretching you out close to your limits. “almost forgot how much there is to take.” You joke, wincing as you finally lower yourself completely on him, letting yourself adjust before starting up on that needy bounce, sliding yourself over his cock, pressing your face into his shoulder with a loud whine, followed by some cut off words fading into nothingness as your thoughts jumble around together.“Gotta remind my pretty wife how good I can make her feel. Don't I, honey?” He's helping your hips and you're sure you'll be sporting fingertip–shaped bruises on your hips and thighs as his digits dig into you, Steve's head leaning back, eyes droopy and ready to fall shut while his mouth opens with a string of curses and some moans, straining in his throat.“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He chants, bucking up into you as he already feels the coil bubbling up, your thighs shaking on each side of his hips while you breach your hand against the fogged up window by your side.

You're sure it's plain and clear what's happening to anyone outside in the parking lot, your sounds along with the rocking on the car not leaving much to the imagination. You knew from the moment he pushed into you that you wouldn't last long, having been deprived of the burning feel and dizzy head which Steve's cock always manages to bring you, no matter if you're sucking him off or letting him fuck you senseless in the backseat of the family car.

“Close? Jesus, please tell me you're close.” He almost whines as you clench down on him, not needing verbal confirmation of the fact since your were both racing towards the edge, that sweet, sweet pleasure almost there. And he leans in again while you rest back against the passenger seat, your hands sliding up to his hair to pull him close, an open mouthed smile stretching over your lips when you feel him twitch at that. He's leaning in for a kiss, though neither of you are able to do that, lips pressing against lips, breathing against each other messily, a few droplets of sweat rising to your skin before your whole body locks up, crying out his name as you lock your arms around his neck to keep him close as he follows you into bliss shortly after, your body shaking and jolting against his as he pants and curses into your shoulder, mumbling how much he loves you as he runs his hands over your body, pushing them under your dress to lazily feel you up.

Only almost half an hour later after a messy makeout session does he manage to get you both sorted up and drive back home, giggling together about what just happened, knowing that round two is waiting for you at home.

[ask-spooky-manor]

What are your favorite seasons? Since Toby likes Christmas, I assume his is winter, right? Mines fall 😌

(Tap to see the images in better quality)

[onboardsorasora]

gripping thigh!

Anonstie I feel like you wanted something steamy for this prompt but all I could think about was Max hating zombies. Don’t hate meeeee, I’ll probably think of a spicy scene after I post this lol if I do I’ll post that too😅

From this prompt list

The room was dark, and the smell of pizza was rich in the small space. It was the Tuesday before the race weekend, everyone came in early because of potential weather issues expected on Wednesday, and a few of the guys on the grid decided it was the perfect time for a movie night catch up.

Charles invited them all to his room, which was immediately vetoed because everyone knew that meant that there would be paparazzi and fans lurking about and none of them wanted the hassle of trying to figure out the best way to sneak into the hotel.

Instead, they all agreed to meet in Pierre's room. It also helped that the pizza place closest to the Alpine hotel had 'the best vegan options' according to Lewis. And cosigned by Daniel, much to everyone's surprise.

They'd played a bit of FIFA before beginning their movie marathon. Pizza was devoured and Lewis' smug 'I told you so' was noted by the stewards.

Max settled on the couch between Daniel and Lando. He was enjoying himself immensely, they rarely ever had time to do something like this, be anything more than F1 drivers. When they were all home they tended to separate and do their own thing; break off into their smaller friend groups.

He and Daniel spent a lot of time together, they were always going out to dinner or watching sports at Daniel's apartment. They were always close friends but Daniel being back at Red Bull threw them further into close quarters even when they were at work.

Max was aware that there were many videos and tweets about how 'down bad' he was for Daniel. Lando never missed an opportunity to present the newest edits and explain the latest fan theories. Lando's most recent hyperfixation were the ones captioned 'the dick can't be that good'.

Well it wasn't like Max knew now was it? He wished he could confirm or deny just how good Daniel's dick really was. Lando liked to tease him about that too.

But ever since his tyre test, Daniel had been extraordinarily busy. Max wished him good luck the Monday night and then he hadn't seen him again until the following race weekend. Daniel had been as elusive as a cool breeze on a hot day. Too busy flying from place to place to get ready for his first race weekend back in F1.

Now, when he wasn't at the track, Daniel was back in Faenza with his team. Max wasn't sulking, no matter what Lando or Christian said.

Tonight, Daniel was right where he belonged– beside Max. And Max was happy. He found his attention deviating a lot from the movie over to Daniel's stunning profile. He wanted to be able to trace the bridge of his nose with his fingers and not just his eyes. Max wanted to catalogue each of Daniel's freckles with his lips, kissing each new one he found hidden in his hairline.

He'd been so distracted looking for differences in Daniel's appearance that he completely missed when the first movie– a gratuitous action flick– ended and the second movie began. The squelching and creaking noises coming from the screen let Max know that he wasn't going to like whatever movie Charles had picked. Because only Charles would pick this kind of movie.

He felt Lando's eyes on him and Max shook his head. He was ok. It would be fine. So what if it was some form of scary movie, as long as there weren't any zombies.

The music intensified and a jump scare introduced the 'outbreak' that caused the major villain in the film. And of course…it was a sort of parasitic zombie.

Max swallowed uncomfortably but said nothing. He felt Daniel's shoulder press into his a little and he smiled over at the beautiful man looking at him with concern. Of course, his friends knew he wasn't the biggest fan of zombies. Which is why he was maybe a smidge annoyed that Charles would choose one. He'd made a grand announcement that everyone would love his choice. He was wrong of course, as always.

The movie continued and Max got more and more uncomfortable. The music raised his anxiety levels and the piercing subsonic sound they used to denote that a zombie was near really grated on his nerves.

"Do you want to go outside?" Daniel whispered in his ear and Max suppressed a shudder. He turned his head, finding Daniel leaned in close. If he tilted his head a little they could kiss, maybe.

"No. I am fine." Max lied. He knew it wasn't a good one because he could clearly see the doubt in Daniel's eyes, even in the dark.

"Come, let's go out on the balcony." Daniel gripped Max's thigh and Max's attention zeroed in on the new press of their bodies. It's not like Daniel had never touched his thigh before, they'd played enough gay chicken over the years and Daniel had touched Max almost everywhere by now. Non sexually.

And of course, this touch wasn't sexual. But this also wasn't gay chicken.

Daniel squeezed his thigh again before standing up, Max followed him because he was gleefully at Daniel's mercy.

They escaped through the sliding doors to the balcony, the balmy night air and city sounds greeting them. Daniel sat on the wicker two seater and patted the dark blue cushion beside him. Max sat obediently.

"There, that's better." Daniel grinned, folding his arms behind his head. Max stared at the tattoos on his bicep that exposed themselves as if he got a flash of ankle and he needed to keep looking before the maiden realized his perversion.

"You wanna stay out here for the whole movie?" Max asked dubiously, hoping he hadn't let the silence happen for too long.

"What, tired of my presence already? Absence didn't make the heart grow fonder, Maxy?" Daniel teased.

"Never." Max tried for a joke but he knew his voice sounded too earnest. Daniel's smile softened.

"I missed you too Maxy Max." He whispered as if a confession only to be heard by the two of them.

“I’m, of course, happy you’re back on the grid but I miss you too much, I think.” Max felt lightheaded, and bit his tongue to just…stop talking.

Daniel’s smile dimmed a little, “I mean at least I was able to work on the last few updates in the sim for you. Adrian said we got good data—“

“Of course I don’t only miss you in the sim Daniel.” Max rolled his eyes, Daniel could be slow sometimes. He guessed he was doing this. “I missed you here. With me.”

He watched as Daniel’s eyes widened then his smile followed suit.

“Yeah nah. It hasn’t been that lonely.”

Max gripped his thighs, remembering the time that Victoria told him that men were shit at taking hints. He needed to text her an apology, he should have believed her.

“Daniel, just kiss me. Please.” Max ordered and Daniel’s face slackened in shock before he nodded.

“Yeah. Ok.” He cupped Max’s cheeks and pulled him in, Max’s eyes fluttered closed in pleasure. He floated out of his body while Daniel kissed him, his mind far away from the zombies infecting people on Pierre’s tv.

[inorganicone2230]

Would Satoru and Suguru enjoy taking the initiative to plan trips and dates for themselves and the Reader, or do you think they'd not see the point in that sort of thing when they could all just stay home together and order in food or something else similarly easy?

Absolutely!

They are more than happy to have a quiet night at home together; vegging out on the couch together (preferably with her snuggled up between them) with snacks and binge watching whatever movie or series has caught their interest, but they are also more than eager to spoil her rotten with dates and trips.

They would probably realize pretty quickly that because of the way her parents raised her, she's likely never been spoiled or truly cared for in any meaningful way. She's never been anyone's first priority and no one has likely ever made her feel special or important, so they are going to want to do their best to make all that up to her and show her what she's been missing out on.

I think it's safe to say though that the boys would have far different ideas on what to do and it would probably lead to a bit of bickering between them, but they would eventually find some sort of middle ground to agree on;

Satoru strikes me as the type to 'go big or go home', and he would probably be the one who would want them to take her on all the overseas trips to exotic places or plan exciting adventures like going to amusement parks and zip lining tours, and he would also be the one to love bomb her with expensive gifts, clothes, chocolates and bouquets of rare flowers. He'd be the one to make every date and outing an entire production.

Suguru on the other hand is the much more subtle of the two, and while his plans would be no less thoughtful, they wouldn't require nearly as much work to set into motion. He would be the one to take them all to local places around the city, like art galleries and museums, a concert featuring live music and dinner at a delicious hole in the wall restaurant afterwards. I could definitely see him planning more quiet getaways for them too, like trips to well known ryokans/onsens (traditional Japanese inns and hot springs), or even just day trips to places outside of Tokyo that he thinks they would all enjoy.