So my beautiful best friend, @tacmc and I decided to do a prompt exchange! The prompt we went with is “The fire alarm went off at 3 am and now the cute guy from the apartment next door is standing next to me in his underwear,” with a Rowaelin pairing.
Let us know if this is something you’d like for us to do more often!
You can find her half of the exchange HERE (it’s so damn cute, UGH) and mine below the cut! Enjoy!
I will be truthful, I have never had a player choose to devote themselves to the dark-arts … in-game, obviously. Well, and out of game. Usually they avoid the venerable school with a distance rivaled only by that given to inconspicuous props upon pedestals in wide, empty dungeon rooms. Perhaps its a dislike of suiting the stereotypical (yet badass) summoner of souls and entrapper of the dead, perhaps its a desire to pursue a more immediately rewarding school such as evocation or illusion. I say bah-humbug to this. If someone wishes to play in my game and hang out in haunted graveyards, chanting ‘til the pale moon sinks beneath the horizon, then I say good on you, pal.
Here are some enticing items to tempt the pure and incorruptible over into the blackest fifth and rotten waste, where mortal pleasures and obsessions are diseases to be cured through the sacrifice and suffering of the pursuit of true knowledge. Unlock that fascination, surrender to the whispers, take our hand and join us beneath the cloaking shadows of the dungeon walls.
Hooded-Cowl of the Antler
A warm and well-made cowl which tussles and dances in the midnight winds. A beautiful inner of amber weave gleams like torchlight under the absorbing darkness of the exterior; empty as sorrow, lonely as a blackened tide washing over barren shores of ancient bones and tattered flotsam. The collar ties loop together over the chest around an iron ring, and the hood obscures face and eye from any passing observer. The wearer, upon command, can pull forth from the speechless depths of the earth a great, prideful stag of ashen bone and gleaming frost. It howls out onto the wilderness and slowly lowers its head toward its master, offering a ride upon its icy spine. The stag can run as fast as any horse, living or dead, and can outrun a jackal pack over open ground. It leaves behind a path of frigid air, with pebbles and stones lathered in peeling cold for hours beyond its passing. Those unfortunate enough to cross this trail risk having their blood lock in their veins as they idly step through its trail.
This decoration is a rotten, gnarled length of thick rope, tied around the wearer’s neck with a clubbish knot hanging below the chin. The trailing fibers are frayed and sliced to wire-thin strings. This necklace, or sorts, is worn by those who have survived executions and certain death through one means or quite another. The gallows aren’t suited for them, and many executioners recognise such a symbol; one of an untouchable status. This man should be dead. Whilst the Gift is adorned, the wearer doesn’t require food, water, nor even air to survive. They live on through the worst that life can throw at them, and much beyond that.
The Motley blade is a tidy-little throat slicer. Its a short, silver blade, barely an inch long, secured upon an ivory grip. Its sheath is that of a simple, black leather with a crude zig-zag stitching around its opening. When the Motley dagger earns its name and separates a man from his life with an abrupt, yet precise, infliction, that same body that dropped not two seconds ago jolts back to its feet at his killer’s side. Most guards have seen a murder in their time, so corpses scares them little. Some have even witnessed petty undead, so a shambling body upon its twisted ankles and bloated joints is nothing to panic over. But none had seen the smiles that the Motley carver grows over its victim’s lifeless mugs. Certainly none had heard the screams of the dead men inside as they watched in horror, helplessly passive as they see their own, empty forms stride forth towards friend and fellow alike with a feral madness burning in their bloodshot, and crow-pecked eyes.
These arrows are made of human bone. Their feathered ends are human hairs, the shaft is a carved femur, and the head is a incisor tooth, carved to a needle’s edge. They feel heavy to hold in mortal hands, like all of the goodness in the world and your head bleeds out onto the floor as you level it upon your pale palm. The munition is said to be made exclusively from the skeletons of priests and paladins from wherever they may be found. No-other would do, clearly. For when you test the wrath of the divine you may as well go full-in. Why not desecrate the holy dead? That query becomes difficult to dispute once the arrow meets a target. The arrow stings like a wasp swarm, digging out the skin, itching the blood like the veins are full of sandpaper. Then the victim’s bones begin to creak like heavy timbers under a sea storm, bending and twisting in horrific pain. Then they splinter and fracture through skin like porcupine quills as the bones begin to pull themselves out of their flesh.
Pipes of the Grave
A lonely city-bard may perchance these wooden pipes of birch and green leather in a lonely shop window on a lonely street they have never once walked. The shop-keep promises through yellowed teeth and dry lips that the instrument is as perfect as a true-lover’s kiss, bringing true emotion to any tale told with heartful passion and intent: a memorable performance if there would ever be one. The bard may yet further be intrigued at the low price, and may further yet buy them with a smile gleaming with the thought of gold and silver coins aplenty. The performances that she plays will sing like mountain cries and wail with forlorn hopes, echoing through every generation’s ears, bringing both youth and elders alike to rapturous applause. The crowd is crying, only not in joy. They scatter like woodlice as the lush grasses of the city park grounds split open into raw dirt and clawing fingers, as the generations lost before join in on the celebrations, tearing their rotten hulks up from the ancient graveyards buried and forgotten below. His performance ceases, and the dead collapse into piles of bone. She discards the instrument, destroys it perhaps, and she returns to her original flute. Unfortunately, once the Pipes have been played, the curse it contracts is not so easily gotten rid of, and the dead will rise wherever she sings.
@wingheadshellhead made a post so I started writing a stevetony thing. Maybe I’ll add more to it at some point? Maybe. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
“au where tony, despite being more of a cat person, has a dog, and steve, despite being more of a dog person, has a cat and their pets end up being friends and getting into trouble w/ the neighbors together and this is how they meet”
Also does anyone have suggestions for what Steve would name his cat? I’m sooo bad at naming things.
Yes, Tony names his dog Cap (a golden retriever) in a non-powered AU, because he’s that much of a dork. Love that boy.
Cap has been missing for two hours and Tony is officially ready to start tearing his hair out.
It’s his own fault, really. Tony knows that Cap has learned how to nudge the gate open with her nose, but he’d been too busy making a morning coffee before heading off to the university to pay too much attention to her when he let her out into the backyard after she’d scarfed down her gourmet breakfast of kibble. Tony was exhausted; he had been up late in his shop, lost track of time and only managed to stumble upstairs at two in the morning, bleary-eyed and covered in grease stains.
[because we all know he’s as kinky as it gets, come on / masterlist with the other versions (jimin ; jungkook ; yoongi ; namjoon under /tagged/masterlist]
- switch taehyung with a thing for all things soft and fluffy, materials that slip and slide over his skin and leave him tingling underneath you
- so, yes, inevitably - kitty ears, handmade to fit him in delicate shades of ash grey (yoongi’s hair colour, specifically, and it wasn’t weird that you’d used that for reference), the insides in white. they glow against his skin, offsetting the pink in his cheeks when you slide a hand under his chin and ask who’s a good little kitty?
- anal play, for him - your fingers, curling to find that really good place taeyhung didn’t stop talking about for a full day once he found it on his own in the shower
- watching him writhe and grind up against your palm, fingers clawing at whatever you’ve found to bend him over, fuck himself back with his mouth hanging open, practically panting with pleasure, wanton and lovely
- the same for you, accompanied by his that ever curious, ever present tongue, because to taehyung it isn’t simply a kinky treat - he overheard namjoon discussing its merits with yoongi and seokjin over soju and dinner on a night off (a horrified, fascinated and slightly aroused jeongguk hovered in the background, according to tae)
-he likes to spread your ass with both hands, flicking his tongue in little circles, pushing it in with no warning and his fingers digging into your thighs, keeping you exactly where he wants you
- butt plugs with long, luxurious tails attached that he says send goosebumps over his skin when they brush over his thighs; you’re certain that the sight of him, ass pushed up into the air, back arched, waiting for your move, is one of the hottest things you’ve ever had the pleasure of witnessing
- wet, wet fucking, because of massage oils that smell like aphrodisiac-laced candy, splashed over your chest, his cock, rubbed over five-hours-of-practice sore muscles, working it over his cock and that sweet place just under his balls that has him gasping out your name
- sloppy oral, taehyung near suffocating under the weight of your body on top of him sucking and gasping between licks, leaving bruises littered across the insides of your thighs
- him begging for you to slap him (harder, please, fucking slap me, I’m yours, I’m your bitch, baby, please)
- shaking in makeshift restraints (if you’d been in a rush just to see him strapped down), sometimes done up with meticulous care in soft ropes; the lead of his leather collar looped around the headboard or your hand
- squeezing his neck as tight as you can while you fuck his mouth open with two fingers, delighting in the sight of his eyes fluttering, chanting thank you, thank you, thank you
- exhibitionism (are you really surprised?): slipping his hand over your ass as you hunt for good street food, squeezing in appreciation no matter who’s looking - especially if someone is looking
- pulling you into crooked alleyways at the side of busy streets, with whispered supplications, dressed up demands: gonna fuck my face baby, let me taste you out here like a good little girl?
- always tempting you to go that little bit further
- further is never enough, of course - he wants you in the back of darkened cinemas, against a tree on secluded paths, underwear around your ankles and the sleeve of your jacket balled up against your mouth while he fucks you wide open
- in the shower at the dorms, something dark and dirty catching in his eyes when he slaps a hand down over your mouth, scissoring you with in leisurely twisting motions. The slant of his mouth, concentrated and serious as he slams into you with the desperation only a lonely night full of errant boners and no privacy can bring - it’s almost bored
- pleasure is taken in overwhelming amounts, from telling his hyungs that he’s fine, he’ll be out in just a minute, relying only on the rush of water to mask the lewd slap of his skin on yours, rocking his hips up hard, eyes on yours, then on the sight of his cock sliding in and out of you, water cascading over your thighs
- eating his cum when it leaks out of your hole, swallowing it down, a gentle hum of contentment and arousal as the tastes of you both mix on his tongue
- alternatively, he’s sometimes eager to keep you filled up with it and that’s when the plugs come out - silicone or glass, plain or finely crafted dusky-rose, small or large, you name it and taehyung has ordered it, picked it up as soon its arrived and ripped open the packaging, like the kinkiest kid at christmas
- countless dinners, brunches, impromptu nights in comfy, worn-down cafes with the boys spinning their storm of light-hearted chaos around you - so many of them spent trying to keep taehyung’s hands searching hands on his food and phone instead of tugging you towards the restroom so he can inspect the plug in your asshole
- and if you can’t count the amount of times that jimin has caught you both emerging from a unisex stall with your shirt askew and taehyung’s mouth oddly…pink, and glistening, when he was sure tae had said you were feeling a little sick; then so be it, that’s the hazards of fucking someone with as little self-awareness as tae
- he walks well in heels, and looks good in them too - even better in soft thigh highs and pastel heels, frilled suspended belt on his hips, hands splayed over his face as you work him throuth endless loops of dry orgasms because, as he never fails to remind you, he’s a greedy shit and the pain of it can keep him going for hours
he’s always loud, because sound is one of the little things that has him hardest the fastest - that, and the nerve-wrecking knowledge that you’re sucking the head of his cock, prettily and neatly, with the door open so he has to be quiet
- every slurp and slight pop, the damp tap of his dick’s tip on your tongue has him taut with the effort of keeping his groans and whines at a complete minimum (there’s only so much his phone, playing some drama neither of you care about, can hide)
- possessiveness manifesting in him practically attacking you on movie nights, pulling your mouth to his at every lull in the storyline - and it’s weird, you think, that the complaints are so half hearted when his hand dips between your legs, tugs so blatantly on your underwear with insistent fingers
- so, yes, your circle of your closest friends may or may not be full of voyeuristic perverts and this may or may not have been what lead up the first incident that was as close to a threesome as you’ve ever gotten
- specifically, jeongukk trying his hardest to keep both eyes on a battered manga - held upside down and with the pages half closed - and then on the television, blaring into the dimly lit room - when tae wrapped his fingers loosely round the base of your throat and murmured sweet, filthy nothings into your mouth
- sitting on the sofa in the dorm’s living room, no less, with the hyungs occupied somewhere you couldn’t care about when taehyung’s fingers found their way to your nipples
- “he’s gonna get off to this later,” taehyung had mumbled, “that’s so fucking hot, jesus, I should fuck you right here, let him see you take it”
- you didn’t, because it was unethical, gross, invasive - and everyone had come back early, so there’d only been enough time for jungkook to wall himself into the bathroom, wailing that he was “busy, really busy so just leave me alone and get a life while I just - do - stuff, please, oh my god.”
- It’s the next thing on taehyung’s list, though: entice jeongguk with the promise of wicked and depraved delights, fuck him into submission and servitude, and maybe, finally, show him who the actual hyung is
- (a nice dream, but it’s hard to take seriously when he’s on his knees, begging for orgasms, grinding against nothingness with a masterpiece made up of bruises on his ass.)
Since everyone’s been asking so nicely… ;) Please enjoy!
“How long have you been considering this, sir?”
Washington remains steady. Reminds himself that he has rehearsed this conversation a hundred times, laid out every path and fork and branch in his mind. “For some time,” he concedes. His hands tighten around the strap of leather. Someday, God willing, he will whisper in Hamilton’s ear all the late nights he came into his own hand, over Hamilton’s hand, inside the welcoming heat of Hamilton’s body, envisioning this moment. The late nights when a confession of his desire nearly fell from his lips, only to be suppressed by his own wariness. “I know it’s an extraordinary request.”
Hamilton’s mouth quirks in a smile. Gentle, Washington notices with something like relief beginning to bloom in his chest. Not mocking. Affectionate. “I wouldn’t call it extraordinary. Surprising, perhaps.”
“You know I have little desire to lead. Is it so surprising that–” He falls silent, stricken by a sudden shame.
Before the doubt settles in, warm hands cover his own, squeezing once before gently taking the leather from his hands. “Forgive me. I meant no offense.” Hamilton appraises him briefly, face smoothed into stillness, now only his eyes flashing eagerly. “Kneel.”
His voice is soft but firm, so certain that Washington doesn’t let himself think before complying. His joints creak slightly in protest but he persists; even on his knees his head reaches Hamilton’s chest, but he has to tilt his head to look up into Hamilton’s eyes. Hamilton holds his gaze as he loops the collar around his neck, fastens it tightly enough that each heartbeat throbs against the constriction, snug edging into the barest hint of pain.
Washington’s breath catches in his throat.
Hamilton smiles; it seems unconscious, but more tender than Washington has ever seen. “What a sight,” he murmurs, low and so obviously wanting that Washington’s body aches in response. Hamilton hooks one of his fingers in the scant space between the leather and Washington’s skin, tugs only a little, and Washington’s mouth falls open in an awed groan while arousal burns through his veins.
Hamilton leans in, never releasing his hold on the collar, his lips brushing Washington’s ear when he whispers fiercely, “I will care for you, sir. You have my word.”
we start out soft (we end up hard) (20) p: starting with a kiss meant to be gentle, ending up in a makeout
if hoseok had to pick a day out of the week to live for, it would be sundays.
he wasn’t sure if it was because the sun seemed to have mercy on him, stroking his skin with gentle rays of light until he wakes or if the world decides to take it slow on a weekend - growing quiet, somehow peaceful, a bit too perfect and there’s no one else he’d appreciate the day with than - “y/n?” he mumbles, frowning as he runs his arm up and down on your (supposedly) side of the bed. when nothing but cold sheets meet his skin and empty sighs releases from his lungs, he huffs and pushes himself up, a newfound determination to find where you are.
it doesn’t take him long, possibly a few seconds extra than usual because he’s slow in processing where he’s going but the green light shines upon him when he hear motion and movement in the kitchen. when his eyes peel open, he can’t help the wide grin spreading across his face.
he gives you a heads up when he purposely makes a few small noises so you get a hint (and that you don’t get a heart attack). his footsteps are still light for the most part, but what makes it all come together to start floating up to the heavens with bliss is the way he gently slides his arms around your figure from the back and already, you can hear him smiling.
he presses a long kiss to your exposed shoulder, his shirt always seemingly too big for your frame that it hooks on the right, the end of the collar looped around the space between your shoulder and elbow. what’s being projected in your mind is his gummy grin, his all-too-bright pair of eyes and gosh, his hair that no matter how he tosses and turns in his sleep, he’ll end up looking good.
your hand moves from the spatula, the other expertly switching off the fire before your hands tend to his forearms wrapped around you securely, “good morning,”
he unhooks his chin from your shoulder, leaning back so he can draw his arms to himself but his hands remain to turn you so you’re facing him. when that happens, his smile fades, diminishing as he lures himself back in until he connects his lips to yours.
it starts out slow and mellow; pastel colors being painted with the plush of his lips and the tiny bursts of stars in broad daylight behind your eyelids when they flutter shut, giving into him completely when his arms go back to the mould around your waist and yours fits nicely, loosely locked behind his neck.
one small move of stepping closer to him in the middle of the kiss takes a turn because hoseok’s grip grows tighter when he draws you far from the stove and against the counter beside. it peaks up a notch, his kisses growing more fervent, dripping with need just as the day begins but you’re not surprised, nor do you have any objections.
in contrast to how he nips on your bottom lip and caresses your tongue with his, he ends up whining when your hands draw back lightly to frame his cheeks, so you can pull him away before the both of you get carried away and someone gets burnt by a recently used stove.
“what happened to ‘just relaxing’ today?”
he heaves a deep breath and tilts his chin up, looking at you with a pout, “you, nothing on with just my shirt, does a lot of things to me, y/n,”
with a glint in your eyes hoseok knows too well of, but always falls for seems to spark and - “…do you want to actually do one of those things?”
“you see,” his hands lower down to the hem of your his shirt, already hiking it up with familiarity coursing through your veins, yet each time he does it, it’s sending the shivers down your spine, “you can’t just offer that an expect me to not take it up.”
LISA HARRY WITH THAT CHOCKER OF ANOTHER MAN PHOTOSHOOT I NEED TO IMAGINE CLEARLY HOW HIM AND LOUIS PLAY WITH THAT THING AAGAGSH
LOUIS PULLING HARRY’S MOUTH OFF HIS COCK WITH THE COLLAR??? LOUIS FUCKING HIM FROM BEHIND AND YANKING HARRY UPRIGHT AGAINST HIS CHEST WITH A FINGER LOOPED AROUND THE COLLAR???? HARRY KEEPING THE COLLAR ON AS HE COMES DOWN FROM SUBSPACE BECAUSE IT MAKES HIM FEEL SAFE?????? LOUIS KISSING OVER THE LEATHER AS HARRY SITS IN HIS LAP, JUST WAITING FOR HIM TO COME BACK DOWN????????????? BIIIIIIIIIIIIITCHHHHHHHHH
I turned a shitton of loops! (25 to be exact) (pic 1 & 2)
Ironed the interfacing into the collar (pic 3)
Sewed it all together. Added a bit of the selvage to the edge to give it the fluff his collar has. Loops sewed in as well. They fit the buttons quite nicely! (pic 5-7)
haihai, I was wondering if you can write a neko kink smut for Jimin? Like where it starts off kind and fluffy and then gets really rough? Thank youuu - damn anon, back at it again with the neko kink
A/N: This is my second neko request now and I always feel like I write lowkey neko, it’s not my strong point but I hope you like it anon.
Jimin wanted you.
It was obvious, he was making it obvious. The way his fingers trailed up and
down your arms, the way he squeezed your thighs, each time getting higher and
higher. You could feel his breath on your neck and before you knew it you could
feel his soft lips grazing your jawline. It felt as if all of your midday
‘naps’ started this way, not that you ever complained.
you.” you melted at those magic words and he knew he had you in the palm
of his hands.
Aaaand finally got the f-cking collar on. The grey is a different knit than the green, so it was causing what I can only call compatibility issues, interfering with the stretch, and thus making it impossible to get the right fit. I solved this by using only a small amount of the grey to close the loop, then set the collar as normal. It finally fit just fine. This was taken as I waited for the Fray Check to dry on the serged seams and the applique corners.
Spent today doing the final version of Hera’s cap. Still debating elastic around the face, but an unhemmed try-on may have just settled that in favor of the stretchy. The ponte knit I found is definitely more robust than the trial fabrics, but it still needs a bit of shape and fit around the face. I’ll need to do one last fit of the lekku and make sure everything is trimmed properly beforehand, however.
And it would have been done today, too, but hubby took me out to see Spidey again. =D