They're all my children

Also hi, I hope you're doing alright.

-🍅

absolutely dear tomato anon, ask and you shall receive!

I can consider. so:

Holland has been around a bit, work-wise. He’s bailed out his fair share of doctors and surgeons from scandals which would otherwise end their careers; he therefore has no end of people who can get him his T (also, he had someone do his top surgery for him, and it was done pretty damn neatly too).

Holland does like your help injecting testosterone, though, mostly because you can get a better angle on his glute than he can. WILL bitch and moan the entire time. “JESUS!” “You’ve done this a hundred times before, Hol.” “Yeah but you’ve got the hands of a butcher! Goddamn, my ass…!”

Now he’s got his body the way he wants it, will very much look at himself in the mirror and preen like a budgerigar. Always asking your opinion on what colour suits him best. Annoyingly, the answer is all of them.

Cocky sonofabitch because he is really good in bed. Will make you come until you physically can’t any more, then lean back with his fat, twitching t-dick on display between his spread fingers. “It’s not gonna suck itself, sweetheart.”

With this being said! It’s not hard to get him moaning and whining. Finger-fuck his hole, show him his own arousal webbing between your fingers, and all he can do is gasp about how much he needs you inside him, how good he’ll be if you let him come…

Baby, I gotchu. Holland March x afab!reader, somno, 18+

Holland stumbles in that night only mildly drunk, which for him is practically sober. He finds you already fast asleep. It’s too hot to use the blankets, a sticky sort of summer sweat forming at the touch of fabric, so you’re lying on top of the bedding with nothing but PJ shorts on.

He gets hard at the first glimpse of you. An angel in a shared bed. Waiting.

Hyperspermia Lars and mutually agreed free use.

Lars comes back after an awful day, you're on the phone but he needs to unwind a bit, bending you over the counter. You only put a finger up to your lips to tell him to keep quiet and do nothing as he shoves your pants down.

OH. Yes. Let’s explore this idea further.

You’re at the kitchen counter, on the phone with an old friend when you’re aware of him walking into the house, the cold air brought with him as he opens and closes the door. You turn around to try and catch his eye as he walks past, but he’s gone straight into the bedroom - not unusual, he probably wants to change into something more comfortable. You know he had a hard day lined up in the office, back-to-back meetings with people who he found grating, so it’s understandable that he’s a bit tense. You don’t take his silence personally as you go on with your conversation.

“Did I tell you about the new Chinese place we went to? The one that just opened on the high street?”

“You didn’t! Was it any good?”

“Yeah! So we had the spring rolls to start—”

… but then you feel him come back, and his clothed cock rubs against your ass. Your eyebrows raise as you see his shaking fingers undo the bottle of lube he’s retrieved. Oh, delicious. He wants to indulge in you. He’s still getting used to this “free-use” thing, that he really can have you whenever he wants, wherever he wants.

“You okay? You went quiet,” your friend says on the other end of the line.

“Yeah, sorry! I saw something distracting,” you say, giving Lars a tiny nod, an ‘okay’ as he tugs your pants down. You press a finger to your lips as a silent final request: go ahead, but keep quiet.

Cold lube runs over the curve of your ass and you bite back a gasp, not wanting your friend to ask about the little noises Lars has you making; you can’t help your eyes rolling back in your head as his thick fingers start to work you open ahead of his cock.

“Oh, while I remember, are you and Lars gonna make it to the bowling alley this weekend? We’d all like to see you both!”

“Unf— uh, yeah, I’m sure we will…”

His fingers crook inside you as he hits the sweet spot which makes you see stars. He beckons some obscene noises out of you with the amount of lube that’s coating him now; you hope your friend can’t hear, oh god…

“How is Lars by the way?”

“He’s great,” you manage as he pushes inside and you have only a couple of moments to adjust before he starts fucking you. A hand comes to settle on your shoulder as he bends you over the kitchen counter just a little so he can get a better angle for his thrusts. You manage to strangle a moan in your throat before it can escape.

“Ah, Si just got in with the dogs. I better help him wrangle ‘em… I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Yep!” you manage as Lars fucks you roughly, and before long he’s done. Come coats your insides and drips out around the edges of your hole where even his big cock can’t stopper you up. It drips filthily onto the kitchen tiles, great rivulets of it unable to be caught simply due to the sheer amount Lars shoots out when he orgasms.

You’re just about able to reach to hang the phone up on the wall as his hips stutter to a halt. He collapses forwards, forehead landing between your shoulder blades.

“Sorry,” he mutters, still throbbing inside you.

Hyperspermia Lars and mutually agreed free use.

Lars comes back after an awful day, you're on the phone but he needs to unwind a bit, bending you over the counter. You only put a finger up to your lips to tell him to keep quiet and do nothing as he shoves your pants down.

OH. Yes. Let’s explore this idea further.

You’re at the kitchen counter, on the phone with an old friend when you’re aware of him walking into the house, the cold air brought with him as he opens and closes the door. You turn around to try and catch his eye as he walks past, but he’s gone straight into the bedroom - not unusual, he probably wants to change into something more comfortable. You know he had a hard day lined up in the office, back-to-back meetings with people who he found grating, so it’s understandable that he’s a bit tense. You don’t take his silence personally as you go on with your conversation.

“Did I tell you about the new Chinese place we went to? The one that just opened on the high street?”

“You didn’t! Was it any good?”

“Yeah! So we had the spring rolls to start—”

… but then you feel him come back, and his clothed cock rubs against your ass. Your eyebrows raise as you see his shaking fingers undo the bottle of lube he’s retrieved. Oh, delicious. He wants to indulge in you. He’s still getting used to this “free-use” thing, that he really can have you whenever he wants, wherever he wants.

“You okay? You went quiet,” your friend says on the other end of the line.

“Yeah, sorry! I saw something distracting,” you say, giving Lars a tiny nod, an ‘okay’ as he tugs your pants down. You press a finger to your lips as a silent final request: go ahead, but keep quiet.

Cold lube runs over the curve of your ass and you bite back a gasp, not wanting your friend to ask about the little noises Lars has you making; you can’t help your eyes rolling back in your head as his thick fingers start to work you open ahead of his cock.

“Oh, while I remember, are you and Lars gonna make it to the bowling alley this weekend? We’d all like to see you both!”

“Unf— uh, yeah, I’m sure we will…”

His fingers crook inside you as he hits the sweet spot which makes you see stars. He beckons some obscene noises out of you with the amount of lube that’s coating him now; you hope your friend can’t hear, oh god…

“How is Lars by the way?”

“He’s great,” you manage as he pushes inside and you have only a couple of moments to adjust before he starts fucking you. A hand comes to settle on your shoulder as he bends you over the kitchen counter just a little so he can get a better angle for his thrusts. You manage to strangle a moan in your throat before it can escape.

“Ah, Si just got in with the dogs. I better help him wrangle ‘em… I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Yep!” you manage as Lars fucks you roughly, and before long he’s done. Come coats your insides and drips out around the edges of your hole where even his big cock can’t stopper you up. It drips filthily onto the kitchen tiles, great rivulets of it unable to be caught simply due to the sheer amount Lars shoots out when he orgasms.

You’re just about able to reach to hang the phone up on the wall as his hips stutter to a halt. He collapses forwards, forehead landing between your shoulder blades.

“Sorry,” he mutters, still throbbing inside you.

i run away real fast

oh noo not poor Lars! He’s so self conscious about how much he comes out of his big fat cock. One of the reasons he tries to work off being pent up through wood chopping is a partly to do with the mess… who’d want to date a disgusting guy like him? :(

then there’s you, wonderful you, who’s patient about holding his hand and kissing him, so willing to wait for when he’s comfortable to have his first time… and he’s so nervous and stuttering as you pull him out of his slacks, nearly on the verge of tears about it. And then when you finally get him to confess about what he’s so worried over you’re just like… oh Lars that isn’t a big deal. Let me show you…

so you get a towel and jerk him off so skilfully, and your eyes go wide when he cums and cums and cums… you even reach down to lick some of it up and Lars can’t help but gasp at how dirty it is… but oh, maybe you don’t mind at all!

sorry if anyone has done this and also this is SO self indulgent BUT. combine my interests with me.

Ryland Grace: Divination Wizard. As the character with the highest INT stat wizard is a no-brainer for him. His story is about trying to change the world’s fate so that’s why this school makes sense - plus it’s a bit of horrid irony that he doesn’t see being put on the Mary coming.

Holland March: College of Whispers Bard. He’s a PI, what else is gonna make sense? I’d say rogue but he has all the grace of a gelatinous cube (we’ve seen how much shit he falls off of). Healy is a Barbarian. Holly is their Cleric much to her chagrin.

Ken: pre-movie, NPC villager stats. Mid-movie, Warlock with a Great Old One patron (the patriarchy). Post-movie, Oath of Redemption Paladin (sworn to women’s rights).

Lars Lindstrom: straight up Champion Fighter. Axe wielder. Quiet and effective.

Oh, Jackson skews dom, but the moment you have your mouth on him for more than ten seconds? That fucking melts away like snow in sunlight.

You bite his chest, or suck hickeys into his stomach, or kiss his thighs? He begins to groan and lean into your touch. When your tongue is on his cock, he's gone. Carding his fingers through your hair - after you give him permission, of course - and making these little breathless sounds as you keep his hips in place with your hands.

"Baby, c'mon, please," he chokes as you tease him. You pull off him with a pop, using a finger and thumb to stroke him lazily as you pretend to consider his request.

"Dunno, Jackson, do you deserve it?"

I love when beefy men are subs, in case you didn't know that by now. Colt Seavers x gn!reader. 18+. sub!Colt; oral (reader receiving); Colt continues to never get his cup of coffee.

"He's checking to see if you're looking again. I think they're about to set him on fire," your make-up artist, Allison, says, as she reapplies your foundation. You roll your eyes and try not to smile too much so that you don't mess up her hard work. Allison has been with you for every step of your acting career, and not only is the best at what she does, but she's a terrific wingman, too.

When he hasn’t gotten any shifts as a getaway driver, no side job, and having an overall lazy day, he goes to car meets to burn that desire to go for a ride. Obviously he doesn’t go too much to his identity undercover, but some urges must be met. (Maybe he meets a fellow car lover, aka YOU, and perhaps feels gravitated towards you for the mutual respect for cars..)

my gay ass does not know anything about cars, but I tried. The Driver x gn!reader. 18+. Penetrative sex, which hole is not specified but no lube.

A quiet day. Rare. No jobs: off-day from the garage, no stuntwork, free evening when it comes to getaways. Finally some “him-time”. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. The weather’s good, seems a shame to lock himself inside all day. Might as well go for a drive. What else would he do?

He sees the poster hanging in the lobby of his apartment complex. Must have been put there a few days ago and he simply hadn’t noticed, he usually walks by without a second glance. Today he has reason to slow down and check it out because he’s not in a rush.

Car meet! 

Classic cars on a black-and-white printed flyer, plus the address of a retail park parking lot which has been rented out for the day. A chance to show off. He doesn’t admit it, but he likes showing off his car. He spent enough time fixing it up after all, why not pick up a few compliments from like-minded people?

So he drives to the event. Why not? He gets dozens of appreciative looks as he pulls in… 

…including one from you. 

Because when he pulls up, it’s next to you, and your ‘73 Chevelle Malibu. Same as his, but yours is painted a dazzling baby blue. You grin as he unfolds himself from his vehicle, taking him in: the toothpick in his mouth, the driving gloves, the jacket. You must like what you see. He does too; your leather jacket crinkles as you fold your arms, impressed.  

“Nice car,” you say, and he allows himself to smile.

The two of you talk - mostly it’s you, but he listens and joins in when you want to hear his opinion or response - and he finds himself hooked on you. You clearly fucking love your car. You go into great detail about how you found her in a scrapyard, about to be crushed, and saved her for two hundred dollars. She’s been a long project for you but you beam with pride as you tell him every modification you’ve made and every part you’ve fixed. 

He’s smitten. A bit.

You pull him into a conversation with some people you’re friends with - well, you talk, he watches you fondly - and the group of you end up getting drinks. He notices that you only have one which you nurse throughout the evening. He does the same, and you smile when you catch on. You both know what’s happening when this is over.

He walks you back to your cars from the bar and, when you lean against your driver side door and ask him, “wanna race?” he can’t help but smile again.

It’s close, down there in the concrete bed of the LA river. Wheels spin, dust kicks up, and even though you’re in different vehicles he swears he can hear your laughter from where he sits. You lose by a hair’s breadth but, when you jump out and walk towards him with bright, adrenaline-darkened eyes, he thinks you don’t mind too much.

Your kiss is heated and intense. When he spins you around so your chest is pressed against the body of his car you go willingly. The position isn’t unlike being searched by the police, which you comment on through a kiss-bitten smile.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs in your ear as his hands go for your jeans. 

“Hey, I didn’t say that…”

“Then let me give you what you want.”

You go with a chuckle as he carefully kicks your legs open for easier access. It’s a simple thing to unzip his pants and drag his cock out, spreading pre over the curve of your ass before he finds where you need him most and pushes inside. The moan you muffle into his car’s roof is going to live with him for the rest of his fucking life. He takes you there, against his ‘73 Chevelle Malibu, fucking you so hard that the suspension shakes and you leave a foggy imprint against the window. When he spills inside you, you twist in his grip to claim his mouth with yours, then do an awkward, half-closed dance back to your car. 

You open the door and push him inside before clambering on top. The two of you don’t drive away until morning. 

tags: @kenstimetoshine @nerd-do-well @kiffycreative @bookerdefay @pixiebuggz @regalfirebird @go-bonkers-go-foolish @inthegalaxxy@sexyleftist @julepod @cosmicyeehaw @s4turnsb3st @qardasngan@valentine-blue @wereallbrokenangels@h4rumichan@irlr0gue @writingpromptsworld

What a good point anon! Let’s explore. Ken x gn!reader. 18+. Nipple sucking/play. Can you tell Ken is my fav to write for?

“I can feel my nipples!”

The statement is your alarm for the day. You wake up to see Ken grinning down at you, shirtless, and though this is a delicious sight, it is however - you blearily look to the clock - seven twenty-six in the morning. On a Saturday.

“Ken, honey, what did we say about starting conversations with those types of sentences this early?”