#prompt asks 💌

[jesuistrestriste]

this is my request for more patrick. dare i say artrick. dare i say them both totally pliable in your hands. i am terribly greedy and want to see sub!artrick and dom!reader written by you. please and thank

love youuuuu

eee hope this is to your liking annie ♥️ muah muah muah !

cw (18+) : sub!art donaldson, sub!patrick zweig, dom!reader, messy handjobs, desperation, dirty talk, patrick and art work for it

“does this feel good?” you breathe out, your voice almost shaky from the feeling of both sets of lips on your neck.

“mmn—yeah, yeah, i’m s’good,” art slurs into your left side, bucking up into your sticky hand, “can i—more—ah, faster—? aah-!”

patrick bites at your right earlobe and whimpers against your skin. his cock throbs in your right fist, dribbling with fluid from his attentive slit. it looks like melting glass pouring down his sensitive flesh.

“please,” he groans, “touch my tip, please.. oh, fuck, please—“

you chuckle and then suck in a soft breath when the blonde nips needily at your shoulder, lathing over it with his tongue after in apology. sometimes when his body starts to ache with arousal, he has to find an outlet for it—and sometimes that means biting, grabbing, sobbing, the like. patrick’s usually only slightly more restrained. they’re like two sides of the same coin, both constantly vying for attention, only in subtly different ways. it’s a good thing that you’ve trained them to stop bickering when you’re playing with their willing bodies. otherwise, they’d be at each other’s throats a bit right now.

“behave.”

that singular word from your mouth snaps them both back into place like rubber bands. art pants, high-pitched and whiny, while patrick grabs at the front of your body. he palms over your chest and squeezes whatever he can cup.

“i’m sorry,” you hear earnestly from the left side, accompanied by a calloused hand rubbing your inner thigh. you fist the back of his golden curls, which elicits a sharp, guttural cry to spring forth. his length twitches, balls drawn up.

“sorry, ungh, sorry,” comes from the right side, but less earnest and more please, just don’t stop. your other hand rubs at his bouncing leg. his eyes roll back under heavy lids, eclipsing his colorful irises.

“who wants to come?”

art smushes himself into your side and accidentally slides his dick through your returned grip, shuddering, “me, me—i wanna—.. please, it hurts—“

he swallows his mouthful of drool and buries his face into your neck. whines like a newborn puppy. grabs at your bicep.

patrick tugs roughly at the waistband of your bottoms, desperately wanting to slide his hand down and make you feel good. you can practically feel the waves of heat radiating off of his dazed body.

“i’m ready to come for you, feel me,” he takes his other hand and wraps it around your hand that’s holding his length, urging you to squeeze him a bit more and feel how much he needs it, “i’m so close.. so close, s’ close, i feel it coming..”

you slide your hands off of them at the same time. they crumple forward and moan brokenly at nearly the exact same moment, both feeling the swell of their peaks taper off painfully when your curled fingers caress the undersides. they pout and look up to your eyes.

“are you both going to be good for me?”

simultaneous nods follow the question. unsurprising. they share a look between themselves, then back to you.

you place a hand on the back of art’s neck first, then patrick’s. a soft smirk creeping over your lips as you urge them both forward in front of your eyeline.

they seem to get the hint, their gazes immediately fixating on one another. patrick’s the first to move, reaching his touch from your body to cup art’s ruddy cheek. the blonde leans into the touch like its some sort of lifeline, pleading for any point of contact he can get. he dives in and smushes his lips to the brunette’s, licking at his bottom one to beg for entry. pat obliges.

while you watch them begin to sync up, all broken sounds and lewd smacking and furrowed brows, you spit into your palms and bring them back down to begin pumping them. watching them kiss is like watching them play tennis: they know exactly what to do. it’s almost like they’re doing a dance.

art’s eyes flutter open and roll back, patrick’s squeezing shut tighter. their jaws slack and they lick into each other’s open mouths, gulping each other’s cries down greedily—like they’re consuming one another’s pleasure in the midst of their own. you feel a blurt of warm lubricant seep between your fingers from art’s cock, and a thrum of heat runs through your spine at the realization. he’s always been one to enjoy making-out. thoroughly, actually. he can finish just from it alone. patrick needs a bit more stimulation.

so, expectantly, the brunette chokes on a soft sob against his opposite’s bottom lip and drags his tongue over it. “more,” he murmurs, “aangh, jus’ a bit more—“

you stroke them both faster and they nearly break. pat bites down hard on art’s lip and art yelps, his hips bouncing with your touch.

“gentle, patrick, gentle,” you remind him, thumbing the ridge of his cockhead, the area pulsing and hot to the touch.

art sniffles, kissing his tennis partner deeper despite the sting from the clamp of his teeth. their hands are all over each other now. clawing at forearms and snagging handfuls of hair and gripping over shoulders. it’s a mess.

suddenly, patrick breaks the kiss and whimpers against art’s jaw—low and stuttered. art tries to kiss him again, too lost in the feeling to realize he’s stopped, but misses his lips and mouths at his cheek instead.

“i’m too close,” the brunette shudders, “please, can i come yet? i can’t hold it anymore, it’s gonna come out, gonna come,” he murmurs urgently.

“art, are you ready too?”

he nods, licking over the sweat on pat’s skin depravedly. he kisses him again, finding his lips. “mhmmmn—!”

you slide your hands up to begin rapidly jerking their tips, using their oozing evidence of arousal to work them up to their frayed ends. art squeezes patrick’s arm, mouth open and letting out little sounds that rise in pitch—higher, higher, higher—almost there. patrick tries in vain to fuck into your touch, his pelvis stuttering, his fluids leaking over his happy-trail.

“are you boys going to come now?”

art mewls sharply, patrick swallows thickly around a throaty sob. any more teasing, and you’d never hear the end of it. it’d be cruel, really.. and they’ve been good enough.

you press your thumbs to their tacky frenulums. rubbing quick, successive circles there. just how they like it—just what they need.

“.. let it all go.. show me how obscene and filthy you both look when you break..”

and they do.

they shatter.

their visions white out dizzily as the stimulation reaches the point of no-return; their mouths opening and bodies convulsing in ways that are nothing short of pornographic.

“oh, fuuuck—!” patrick gushes, ropes pouring from him in heavy waves, the paralyzing jabs of pleasure rendering him useless and twitchy as he orgasms. the thick, clotted load spills copiously.

a string of clinging spit bridges their lips as art leans back to pant raggedly. he looks down and watches as his own climax floods the gaps between your fingers and bubbles frothily as your movements refuse to relent. he uses his free hand to grab your wrist, thrusting reflexively as he hiccups and nearly squeals from the overstimulation. “ow—hmmngh—coming, coming, so much—“

you touch both of them until tears spring to the corners of their eyes, threatening to spill down their cheeks as they writhe and squirm in their seats. you suck your inner cheek between your teeth and bite down to resist the desire to torture their parts until they’re too fucked-out to form a thought. you’ve done it before, and it backfired when they weren’t able to stand up afterwards. all limp and shaky. maybe another time.

you slow your movements and slide your fists off of their shafts with a wet squelch, both of them curling inward from the oversensitivity.

“good job,” you croon, “didn’t realize you both were so pent up.. look at my hands..”

you hold up your messy palms to show them what they did. they look up with vacant stares, still breathing heavy and lost in the aftershocks.

“what do you say, hmm? you know what i need to hear.”

art lolls his head to rest on your shoulder and moans lowly, chest rumbling. patrick leans forward to sigh against your neck.

“thank you,” you hear on your left, “thank you so much,” follows on your right.

you smile.

“you’re welcome.”

[draw-your-self-ship]

does oc x canon count as self-shipping if the oc is a self-insert?? /gen

Yeah, if you want it to! OC x Canon is a little special in that it can be considered a self ship or its own separate thing. Its all up to the shipper whether or not they want to label their OC x Canon ship as a self ship thing or purely an OC thing regardless of if the OC is a self insert.

[thejujvtsupost]

The Weekend is a Blessing

The Prompt List is popular and so is Nanami today! A little drabble for prompts #6 and #30 coming up. Thank you to both anons 💗

Notes: GN!reader, fluff, sfw pillow talk, teasing, really cute tbh, Nanami works too much, post Shibuya incident - everyone lived.

Your loving husband of just under a year came home as he usually does: exhausted and his cursed energy run down.

The amount of times Nanami’s been called in for missions in the last two months has increased significantly from the Shibuya incident. This would be his first weekend off in ages and you planned on doing absolutely nothing but sleeping and relaxing together. It was exactly what he needed to refresh his energy after working so hard.

Nanami entered your shared bedroom with his hands already fumbling with his buttons, his entire body screamed sleep deprivation and you turned down the tv you had on for background noise. You struggled to sleep without your husband by your side and often waited for him to get home.

“Kento? Do you need help?” Sympathy rattled in your chest for your husband who was still adjusting to the nerve damage and numbness in his arm. Shoko was talented and reduced the damage and scarring to his arm, but even she couldn’t fix everything.

Still, you were lucky he was alive. So lucky.

“No love, but thank you. Just give me a minute and I’ll be right there.”

Sometimes Nanami had to ground himself before he could spiral into a fit of self doubt. He knew you couldn’t sleep without him and he was unable to finish his work at a normal time to be with you at night.

You worked at the school with much more regular hours, hours that started early and often ended when Nanami was on assignment.

You ignored him, got out from beneath the covers and took over unbuttoning his shirt. There were fresh bruises forming on his cheek and chest but he wouldn’t let you do anything about it until morning. “You are so stubborn.”

“And you’re impatient.”

You both smiled at each other’s teasing, Kento, as serious as he could be at times, wasn’t afraid to be a menace. His clothes were quickly dropped into the hamper before you both got comfortable in bed.

“Can you blame me? My husband is home.” Your head found its way onto his chest as always and soon your limbs were tangled together.

Nanami hummed, “I’m sorry for being so late, mission ended up being more difficult than expected. Yuuji did well though, he handles pain better than most.”

“Yuuji’s hurt?” You immediately sat up- well, tried to but Nanami held you down. “He’s fine, darling. Barely a scratch.”

Yuuji was important to both of you, all of your students held a special place in your heart but Yuuji… Yuuji had no real family left. “Promise?”

“I promise.” Nanami kissed your lips, then your forehead and it wasn’t long before you were both fast asleep, unable to keep your eyes open.

You’ll check on Yuuji in the morning.

Thinking about making a request? Check my bio to see if they’re open!

[bubblegumhearts]

TAG DUMP/NAVIGATION ౨ৎ

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

{Last updated on 24. 2. 2025}

❀~ This post is a tag dump for me! You might use this as a navigation for my blog if you're on mobile, if it's any help.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊

[boopiemadz]

heyy diva!!! 3, 4, 9 and 23 for the oc ask game!!!!

YAY! answering for Harper Penny Stevens ;)

[Ask questions in my inbox: questions ]

3. Whats your OC's fatal flaw? Are they aware of this flaw?

I would say her fatal flaw, especially in the wilderness, is her humanity

Unlike some of the others who are able to separate their morals from survival, Harper has a deep pang of humanity in everything. This makes survival 10x harder because her need for survival and need for humanity cancel eachother out.

Situations in which Harper needs to put her humanity aside are rare, but when they do happen the after effects of her actions make her question whether survival is even as important to her as her humanity.

If that makes any sense at all.

4. When scared does your OC fight, flight, freeze or fawn?

There are two I can see her resorting too ;

Option 1: Freeze. I feel out of complete and utter shock, she would freeze, especially in situations that would effect her in specific and damaging way or situations that are harder to process individually.

Option 2: Fawn In most situations she feels the need to be a mitigator and hold people together, she will negotioate woth her own morals to please the majority to protect herself and those she loves. she does this in situations involving others or just everyday situations.

9. Do you have any specific lyric/ quote you associate with your OC?

SOOO MANY!!!

I have a post of quotes that r so her: OC quotes

And a list of songs:

Franklin house - Brenn!, Unloveable - The Smiths, Fade into you - Mazzy Star, Sidelines - Phoebe Bridgers, Meet me in the woods - Lord Huron, All I need - Radiohead, Wreckingball - Mothermother, Not - Big Thief, La Belle Fleur Sauvage - Lord Huron, Wastland baby - Hozier, Lonley - Noah Cyrus

23. What emotion is the hardest for your OC to process? How about express?

Grief is difficult for anyone to process, but I think its especially hard for Harper to process and work through. And boy does she have alot of grief...

I would say for her Anger and Guilt go hand and hand. Her guilt expresses as anger and her anger expresses as guilt. She can use unhealthy or destructive methods to express those emotions.

I would also say that she used to be good at expressing love, but because f the hurt shes experienced and all the loss she cant express love easily.

[billowingangel]

CanLiet please for the Halloween fanfic

the prompt 17 🛏

Hey Gaby! I just finished it, I hope you like it! This was the first time I wrote Lithuania!!

[sorryimananti-romantic]

I'm sorry I'm loving this fansign concept a bit too much LOOK AT MILF HWA WITH HIS MILF HAIR BRANDISHING HIS MILF SWORD AND HONGJOONG JUST STANDING THERE SMIRKING OMG OMG OMG

Oh yk it'd be cool if in future Take Me Home verse they have to fight some bad ppl and they stand like this. Joong throwing light magic powered arrows and Hwa fighting with a sword I WOULD DROOL.

THE MILF HAIR YES THANK YOU FOR POINTING IT OUT it's really the milf hairstyle on seonghwa>>>>

my matz duo you'll forever be famous.

okay you're right i imagine them fighting like this too. they're fr giving prince of light and prince of dark vibes even here :') even their weapons are light and dark mode LMAO

also you're such an enabler what if i write light and dark matz prince duo oneshot WHAT THEN YOU KEEP GIVING ME IDEAS FOR NEW FICS WHILE MY WIPS ARE COLLECTING DUST SDHGJKDFHG

[jesuistrestriste]

hey sage.. so i’ve been thinking about nerdy scientist!art.. i need someone to hear my plea

venus ! ! ! art is canonically really smart so yea. i see this. he was definitely pretty nerdy in high school and it followed him into his college years..

cw (18+) : nerdy!art, mutual touching, coming in pants,

nerdy!art who approaches you after your guys’ organic chemistry class to offer you tutoring services, claiming that he’s heard you talk to others about how you’re struggling with the topics. he smiles all sweet, backpack slung over one shoulder, blonde ringlets hanging in front of his forehead. it’s hard to resist his kindness. you agree.

you meet him in his dorm room a few days later on the weekend and are met with the smell of him wafting through the space. the light scent of sandalwood shampoo and fresh clothes and open books. he ushers you in and beckons you over to his bed, getting out his laptop and beginning to walk you through his notes. he’s incredibly attentive, too—always checking in to make sure you understand what he’s explaining, and always calling out the confused expression that spreads over your face silently when you’re lost. he laughs and shakes his head, “ask me anything, i’m like a human textbook. it’s actually kinda sad.”

after a few hours though, it gets dark. the two of you are left—still studying—in his room, with a singular desk lamp on in the corner. his thigh brushes your own; an accident. but it’s not a mistake when you turn to meet his eyes for the millionth time and you suddenly feel the need to repay him for his time and effort. you kiss him, and he instantly goes boneless against you. he parts his lips instinctually to give you full access to his mouth, his tongue soft and slick and waiting for yours. the moan that spills from his chest when you kiss him harder is lewd, almost egregiously so, but it doesn’t slow him down or embarrass him. he’s too caught up in the feeling of hot ache bursting in his lower stomach, his erection definitely tenting his sweatpants. fingers creep over your thigh, pulling you closer. then he breaks the kiss to mumble into the corner of your mouth, “oh my god, can i touch you? you’re so warm, fuck—“

he feels like he could finish right then and there. when you respond by crashing your mouth into his neck, he slides his hand down the front of your bottoms to seek out your arousal. moans when he finds it with his fingertips and begins gently caressing you with slow, stuttered circles of his digits. your hand finds his bulge and then it’s nearly over—

“fuck!” he whimpers, curling forward, “fuck, fuck, i’m sorry, im gonna come if you touch me like that..”

but you don’t care. you don’t want to stop. what does it matter if he finishes fast? it’s flattering. you wonder if he’s a virgin.

your touch wraps around his clothed length and gives it four slow tugs before he’s choking on a wet whine and grasping at your shirt with his free hand, his fingertips halting on your sex. you feel his cock throb with the thrums of his orgasm, and you smirk as you kiss his jaw. he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth to stifle the resulting groan.

“sorry.. so sorry..” the words come out breathless and flustered into your frame, his entire body still twitching as he comes down, “i don’t usually—.. hngh.. —that fast.. god..”

you shrug. you tell him it’s no big deal, and how you’re chill with it. you make sure to emphasize how hot it is that he’s sensitive. he lets out a shaky sigh.

“i selfishly hope that you don’t do super well on the quiz,” he whispers, “so you can come back here next week and.. and we can do this all over again..”

you lathe your tongue over his pulse. he shudders like he’s being shocked; tense and erratic.

—

you get a few questions wrong—on purpose—on the knowledge check so that you can present the low grade to him afterwards. he smiles nervously and leans in, “come with me back to mine? i just made a new set of flashcards..”

it only takes five minutes of being back in his dorm before you’re all over each other; your hand in his hair, his hips pressed to yours, his moans filling your head.

best tutor ever.

[draw-your-self-ship]

Hi I'm new to self-shipping and I had a general question. Does real people shipping just mean actors/etc or does that also apply to a character they play? If I were to ship myself with a fictional character portrayed by a real person is that bad? Thank you and I'm sorry for any trouble

No trouble at all, anon!! Real people shipping only refers to shipping with the people/actors behind the characters they portray, not the fictional characters. Shipping yourself with a character who is from a live-action series is perfectly okay and lots of people within the self ship community have live-action F/Os (including me lol).

[vultursvolans]

ONE OF MY FAVORITE AL HAITHAM WRITERS

okay now stop this is so SFFJDSSGJGHJDHIGJHJKJHKJ thank you 🥹

im glad my obsession with him can bring something nice into the world

[allylikethecat]

ally!! i saw the prompt list you reposted and whilst there were MULTIPLE that had me a little squealy thinking about fictional matty and george I think my FAVE would have to be the ‘have you eaten today’!!!

would love to see your take on this, as in my mind fictional matty is not very good at taking care of himself ESPECIALLY when stressed and sometimes fictional george has to step in to make sure he doesn’t like die of starvation and/or sleep deprivation lol.

(also i am anon #4 who would love a nashville fic lol and since I have recently become enamoured with everything you are writing in the george/matty tag i was wondering if I could start signing my asks with a ‘💌�� so you are aware of how much i fully appreciate your glorious fics lol))

Hi! Newly christened Letter 💌 Anon, 

(Side note - it blows my mind people care about this little blog and my writing enough to want to claim emojis so thank you so much to anyone that has - I may not have done the best job of keeping track of what has been claimed because I was so shocked anything had been claimed lol but if anyone else wants one let me know I have a list now! It’s fun!) 

It’s so nice to hear from the Nashville Fic Anon #4 (and to have an official emoji to refer to you with!) The Nashville Fic group is up to FIVE now which means if we went to a restaurant we would need a RESERVATION wild stuff! 

Thank you so much for sending in this prompt! It made me smile super hard so I went out of order and decided to jump it to the top of the list - sorry not sorry! 

I hope this is what you were looking for - if not let me know and I can write something else! Regardless, let me know what you think! 

If anyone else wants to send in a ways of subtley showing love prompt the list can be found here! 

Thank you so much for reading and for sending in this prompt! I’m so happy to hear that you’ve been enjoying my work, I know it’s not for everyone and is very heavy on the angst but the fact that it’s bringing (hopefully) joy to even one or two people makes me so incredibly happy! 🥰

❤️Ally

"Have you eaten today?"

“Hey,” said George softly, causing Matty to look up sharply. His hood slipped off his curls as he tilted his head back, his blurry eyes wide and surprised, glancing around frantically, worried that he had missed the call to board and that the plane was going to leave without him. 

“Have you eaten today?” He asked, frowning at the dark circles under Matty’s sunken eyes illuminated by the glow of his laptop screen.

“Wha?” Matty asked, tugging his headphones off, letting them hang around his neck. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to refocus his vision on George, swallowing a yawn as he did so. He shut his laptop and shoved it into his backpack that was sitting half open at his side, they had to be boarding soon and he didn’t want to forget it (again). 

“I got you a sandwich,” George said, holding up the take away bag, “and a coke, and it made me realize, have you eaten today?”

Matty froze, trying to remember. They had flown in late the night before, and Matty’s head had barely hit the pillow before he was bombarded with calls from his lawyer, and their newly hired PR agency to discuss The Incident as they were referring to it. 

He had spent nearly all night on the bathroom floor, hunched over his laptop, whispering on the phone as to not wake George, as he tried to navigate the storm pulling him in multiple directions. As if George could sleep without the warm weight of Matty pressed against his side, drawn to him like a magnet or a moth to the flame, his own personal weighted blanket. He wasn’t taking care of himself, letting himself be tossed each and every way, his body battered as it beat against the shore line while he gave a bloody smile and assurances that it was fine, everything was fine. But it wasn’t fine,  Matty wasn’t fine. He was spreading himself too thin, his edges frayed and damaged, a salt stained rope threatening to snap. Offering himself up as a punching bag, taking the hits without complaint as if he could spare the rest of them the anguish. 

He had already been up when George awoke, fluttering around the hotel room in a tornado of limbs now that he didn’t have to try and be quiet, fielding calls from lawyers, from PR, from the media and from Jamie. He did it without complaint, giving a sad smile when he said he was okay, that he was figuring it out. That he was sorry to have caused such a commotion, to have made such a mess as if he had been alone in his actions, alone in his views. 

Matty had missed breakfast, pacing the length of the hotel parking lot while he spoke on the phone, a cigarette dangling between two fingers as he chainsmoked through the tense exchanging of words. Then they had taken the van to the venue, completed sound check, and Matty had found a quiet corner to take a zoom call with Brad about set design for the upcoming tour. They performed, the crowd lively even if Matty himself was more subdued. He had showered at the venue before being bundled back into the van, and was now sitting on the floor of the airport lounge, their late night flight out delayed due to a mechanical issue and the complimentary buffet already closed for the evening.  

His stomach grumbled and he reached up, accepting the take away bag and the bottle of coke. He couldn’t imagine that he had gone all day without eating, but he also couldn’t remember a moment where he had. He had started to unwrap a crushed Poptart he had found at the bottom of his backpack, but he couldn’t remember eating it, having been pulled into a debrief about venue security and how it was imperative that he did not make his way into the crowd that night. He had obliged without complaint, he couldn’t imagine all of the hands on him, touching him, pulling at him when he already felt like he was a breath away from breaking. He’s pretty sure he had sat the Poptart down on a table, and when he returned it was gone.  

“Thanks,” he said, pulling the sandwich out of the bag and unwrapping it from the paper, smiling when he saw ham and swiss, his go to comfort food when he was feeling overwhelmed. There was a bag of salt and vinegar crisps in there as well and he tore into the plastic eagerly, surprising even himself with how hungry he was as he scarfed them down as if someone was waiting to take them away from him. He hadn’t realized how truly hungry he was until he had started eating.

“Don’t choke,” said George fondly, dropping his large body onto the ground next to Matty on the floor, wincing at the way his knee cracked on the way down. Turning thirty had been the worst thing he ever did. 

“I won’t,” said Matty after he swallowed a bite of his sandwich, before taking a swig of coke, the carbonation stinging in his chest from drinking it too quickly causing him to hiccup painfully. 

“I love you,” said George fervently, wrapping his arm around Matty’s shoulders and tugging him into his side, Matty went easily, scooting across the rough fabric carpet to lean into George’s comforting warmth, still clinging to his sandwich, stomach jumping as he hiccuped again. Guilt stirring in George’s belly, he wished he could take the haunted look out of Matty’s eyes, he wished he could give him twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep. Matty squeezed George’s knee and took another bite of his sandwich. George wished he had realized that Matty hadn’t eaten sooner. 

“I love you too,” said Matty, resting his head on George’s shoulder, closing his eyes. “Thank you for taking care of me,” he said, opening his eyes again to look at the sandwich, overcome with exhaustion and emotion.

“Always,” said George, it was the least he could do. 

[nolanhollogay]

The way you said “I love you.“ + With a hoarse voice, under the blankets + jjedgar!

college au AND a sick fic we're getting real self indulgent!

+

Not to be dramatic or anything, but Edgar was pretty sure he was dying. And he'd almost died on many occasions so he'd like to think he was familiar with the feeling.

He'd woken up that morning with his entire body aching as if he'd been beaten up. His throat was sore and dry and his head was pounding. He didn't even bother to get up, just pulled the blanket over his head and asked The Lord to watch over him.

"Eds? Are you home?" JJ called from the living room.

He couldn't even work up the energy to respond.

JJ walked into their bedroom, footsteps incredibly loud in the silence. A moment later, he yanked the blanket off of Edgar's head, making him groan.

"Nice to see you too, darlin'," he teased, watching Edgar pathetically try to block the sun from his eyes.

Voice practically non-existent, he grumbled, "What're ya doin' home so early?"

JJ's eyebrows furrowed. "It's two in the afternoon." There was no way. Edgar had only been lying there for ten minutes, tops. "I get off at 1:30 on Saturdays, remember?" He reached out, pressing a grease covered hand to Edgar's forehead. "Oh shit, you're burning up."

"I think I'm dyin'."

"You can't let a cold take you out after you survived being stabbed and almost being beaten to death," JJ said, seriously. "Do we still have soup?"

Edgar shrugged. "Maybe. I think you ate the last can on Thursday but I ain't a hundred percent sure."

"I'm gonna check. Don't move." Edgar had absolutely zero plans on doing anything other than lying there and praying that his death was quick and painless. He replied with a shaky thumbs up.

Five minutes later, JJ reappeared in his coat, holding his keys and his wallet. "I'm going to the store. You're not allowed to die until I get back."

"No promises. Love you."

JJ walked over and kissed his overheated cheek. "Love you too. I'll be back as quick as I can."

+

Edgar fell asleep almost instantly after he left.

When he awoke, who knows how long later, it was to JJ shaking his shoulder through their blanket.

"Wake up! I made soup!" he exclaimed as Edgar groaned.

"Leave me to die, Jay. Save yourself," he grumbled, swatting his hands away.

JJ laughed, before he was climbing under the covers. "Think you're being a little dramatic, Bunny." Brushing Edgar's hair from his eyes, he said, "C'mon. You've been sleeping all day, you should get up. And I literally made you soup from scratch. You have to appreciate my effort."

Edgar's heart went all warm and fuzzy the way it did when JJ was particularly charming. "Ya made me soup from scratch?"

He nodded, eyes shimmering with pride. "Mhmm. Called your mama for help and everything."

"I love you," Edgar said, before coughing directly into his face.

To his credit, all JJ did was laugh. Then he got to his feet, and scooped Edgar's sore body up, carrying him to their kitchen.

[buffythevampirelover]

7. Is there something that could cause your oc to question their identity? What?

For the Liminal Bird-Dog mains:

I think Cal is very very secure in both her asexuality and with the fact she is a lesbian, despite growing up in a strict and religious household. She has taken that journey all alone (until meeting Mary-Ella and then also later Winnie, but she knew well before she met either of them) so she knows her feelings deeply and honestly.

Mary-Ella definitely questions herself being aromantic whenever she feels a REALLY strong bond with someone (in the story she becomes awfully close with Inola) but she feels like whatever she labels herself as, her feelings won't change (if that makes sense?) so even though she questions her identity every once in a while she knows deep down she is aromantic. She feels a lot looser about her gender identity but honestly doesn't have the time to get too deep into questioning that!

Thank you so so much for the ask @illarian-rambling ! This question is from this post, send in some more gang! <3

[calmlb]

Hi!! It's me again. I've been thinking about your offer........ and in the end I was like why not?? since you were kind enough to indulge me. (asking for things is hard!!) There's this post that has been living in my mind rent free: https://nekovale.tumblr.com/post/752655744411860992/withalittlebitofwhump-withalittlebitofwhump And I was wondering if you felt like writing something about it? Of course, if you have time and inspiration strikes! You were already very generous to offer and I thank you very much for it :')

OOOOOOH 👀👀 i actually rly love that prompt!!! it’s a nice reversal to the “hiding an illness” trope that i usually write— especially with Dazai— and i think it would be super fun to explore!!

i can’t guarantee when i’ll be able to get it done (it depends on my health & when inspiration chooses to strike 🫡) but i definitely want to give it a shot bc the fic ideas are already swirling 🤭

tysm for sending this request bc i’m super excited to work on this!! 🥹🩷🩷

[chromatophorica]

If I may ask, are you open to taking Buck/Tommy prompts?

why hello~

i am indeed open to prompts; any prompts, all prompts; the only ships i won't write are with the kiddos, so i am definitely down with some buck/tommy prompts.

anyone can shoot them to my ask; i do have anon's off but you can put a little note in there about me not sharing usernames & i won't. i'll write any rating & while you can include some kinks if you want, i might not be able to include them all but i'll do my best.

please be aware it might take me some time, & if i can't fulfill a prompt in any manner, i'll let you know or offer options. ♥

[jesuistrestriste]

sage i NEED dilf!art pulling down his baby blue pajama pants and getting pegged ib: the end of your last art getting pegged ask

it’s the end of a long day.

art has been working on his laptop all afternoon and evening, the sun now below the horizon as the apartment gets bathed in warm, artificial light from lamps scattered around the living room. he’s still in his pajamas from this morning. a white tee shirt. soft blue joggers. he sighs as he closes his device and lolls his head back against the couch.

you arrive back at your guys’ place just as he’s beginning to relax into the cushions. kicking off your shoes and shutting the door behind you, your keys jingling in your hand as you walk up behind him. you kiss his cheeks, stroke his short blonde hair, and then whisper to him.

“hi, baby.”

he’s melting into you like softened butter. his pretty blues blinking open tiredly as he pulls himself up from the couch and walks over to you. his arms encircle your frame. “mmn.. made you dinner, it’s on the stove..” he murmurs into your neck.

you nod and run a hand down his spine, reveling in the way it arches under your touch. curving into a perfect arc as he shudders. a soft hum of approval leaves your lips, and then you slip out of his hold to walk down the hall and into the bedroom.

it was a happy accident, really. you’d only gone in there to get out of your work clothes. it wasn’t really your fault that the strap at the back of the closet caught your eye. it’d been a while since you’d bent art into all kinds of pretty positions and made him moan so loud that the neighbors had to leave a note on your door the next morning..

you come out of the bedroom and place your hands on your hips, smirking softly as you walk up to your husband. he’s standing in the kitchen and pouring the both of you a glass of sweet wine. he smiles when he feels you approach, but his face immediately drops when he turns and takes in the sight of you. black, lacy lingerie.. his favorite set.. and the rubbery purple strap bobbing in front of your pelvis. he swallows thickly, his breathing picking up—his chest beginning to rise and fall quickly. his stomach swoops. four of his fingers swipe over your torso, and then he’s biting his bottom lip.

“oh, god, please..”

it doesn’t take much more than that before you’re tugging him against you and flipping him around so that you can bend him over the marble countertop. he winces when his cheek presses into the cold surface, but then he squirms—whimpers—and reaches back to pull down his pajama bottoms. his black briefs come down right after. you suck two of your fingers into your mouth, covering them in spit, and then ease them inside him. it’s so easy to work him open nowadays, it’s like your touch is a muscle relaxant.

“aah—fuck—“ he moans, his brow pinching up as he claws at the counter.

you prod at the sensitive gland inside his walls until he’s squeezing your digits for more, his cock leaking and hanging heavily between his legs.

“ready?” you ask.

he nods, “fuck me, need it, just fuck me, baby..”

you pull your slick touch away from him and then guide the tip of the dildo into his hole. your free hand pushes down on the center of his back, fisting his tee. “good boy.. taking me so well..”

he keens as he feels you slide into him and bottom out, and then he’s groaning as he tries to rock back against your pelvis.

once you’re completely inside, you slide your touch to his hips and begin building a rhythm. in and out and in and out and in and out, but it’s still too agonizingly slow for art. it always is. he much prefers when you’re thrusting so hard that he can’t even speak. it’s better that way.

“want more?” you murmur, groping his ass with one hand as the other moves from his hip to his hair, tugging his head up from the counter, “want me to go faster?”

he chokes around a wet cry; his chin is already covered in drool, glistening like quartz.

you take that as a yes.

rearing back, you pull out four inches before slamming them back in—the motion punching a ragged gasp from his lungs. you lean over his back, pressing your chest to it, and lick over the back of his exposed neck. “thaaat’s it, take it, take it, take it, artie..”

your hips move a mile a minute now as you pummel into him, the slap of skin on skin echoing out and bouncing off of the walls. he’s a beautiful, disastrous combination of shaky limbs and tense muscles and broken moans that make him sound like he’s dying. every thrust elicits a sharp gasp or a sob from him. this is the way he likes it. when he can’t move or think or speak without your say-so. when you’ve got him so close to the edge that he gets dizzy.

“t—tou—mngh!—m’fuck, ah, ah, touch—‘m s’hard, it hurts—“

you fuck him rougher.

his eyes roll back.

“want me to touch your cock? is that what you want?”

a nod of his head.

“if i touch you down there, are you gonna make a mess of our flooring?”

another nod. he gulps down a yelp.

“fine then.. only because i know you worked so hard today.. and you missed me.. and you made dinner..” you smirk.

he nods at all of it. he has worked so hard. he needs this—he needs you.

you move the hand in his hair to his length, and a swell of heat thrums in your gut at the feel of him. he’s throbbing and wet and absolutely burning in your hold. he’s so, so close to losing it, you know that for sure now. as soon as he feels your fingers curl around his shaft, his hips jolt and his balls draw up. his jaw slacks open. and then his eyes flutter and squeeze shut. you know that look. you know it too well.

he’s about to—

“i’m—!” he wails, and then he’s convulsing below you, his abdomen contracting against the counter as his knees buckle.

he comes.

hard.

it splurts from his tip like a fountain. gushing between your fingers and sticking like melted ice cream. you fuck him through it all, letting the strap bruise his prostate as you milk him dry.

“ugh, you’re cumming so hard, don’t stop,” you groan out encouragingly, rubbing yourself against the harness, watching him shudder and pant and writhe with the waves of pleasure that lap at his nerves.

you pump him in your hand until he starts to hiccup and whimper. he’s drained of nearly all of his energy, but he musters up just enough to let out a soft sob.

“t’much,” he slurs.

he’d push your touch away if he could. any more and he’d probably pass out. stars are already spattered in his vision, his face prickling with heat.

you give him one last down-stroke and let the remains of his load dribble out. his cock kicks in your hold.

“ah, aah, ah.. done, please, fuck..”

you kiss his shoulder, stroking his hair. the strap stays buried in him, all seven rubbery inches being held in his warmth. it’s almost painfully good.

“i love it when you do that,” you whisper into the fabric of his shirt.

“ngh.. do what?” he wipes at his mouth, the excess saliva being cleared away. the blush on his face burns brighter when he realizes just how much you’ve wrecked him. it’s not surprising, but it always gets him a little embarrassed.

“when you let yourself get lost in it.”

he sniffles and tries to push himself up from the marble, but his biceps are trembling too hard and he just collapses back down. a small, pained noise leaves his lips. you shush him and stroke his jaw.

“just relax.. i’m still inside you.. i’ve got you..”

it’s hard for him to not be able to see your face after he orgasms. to not be able to hold you, and be held. but he knows he’s gotta listen and calm down if he wants to get what he needs. he has to let you take care of him. and god, you do it best.

“o-okay.. can you just hold my hand?”

it’s a simple request but it’s something that makes your chest ache. his hand raises from where it lays and opens up in anticipation. its a silent plea.

your fingers slide between his and interlock.

“i’m here.”

he lets out a breath he’s been holding in. slow, shaky, relieved.

“you’re here.”