#E-rating

[mattmurdeaux]

MATT MURDOCK + Reddit Comment Reactions to that One Iconic Matt Tweet

BONUS:

[pansy-picnics]

I GOT THIS DIALOGUE LAST NIGHT AND IM STILL LOSING MY MIND OVER IT?

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Eddie punched a man in a parking lot for being a dick over a parking spot. He snarked at the racist who didn’t want Hen or Chimney to treat him. He committed verbal and psychological warfare against Bobby when Bobby wouldn’t let him return to the 118 for good reason. He routinely gives his parents the business.

Eddie’s default is to choose violence and when someone goes low, he goes to Hell. You can’t possibly think he’d ever side with the bigot over the rest of the 118 lmao 😂

[aro-in-danyl]

During an Overlord Meeting

Random Overlord: So how'd you bag the King of Hell?

Alastor: Well I-

Lucifer: The first time we met he told me to go fuck myself and dropped a piano on my head

Other Overlords: ...

Lucifer: I've been charmed by his audacity ever since

[souvenir116]

"Redbull seems to be still strong, with Max, of course."

[the-one-who-lambs]

Oh I am having an EVENING. I just got back to school, spent the last 2 days amazingly productive and prepping for finals, and an hour ago I tested positive for COVID.

So then I had to email my students over the Learning Management App (which doesn't keep the formatting of the email site) that class is going be asynchronous tomorrow. At the end of the email, I tried to copy and paste my usual signature. I pasted and hit send too quickly for me to realize it did not copy.

This is an excerpt from the next chapter of the fanfic I am writing.

[ecstarry]

Fic: Home

When Regulus first mentioned he was moving out of Sirius and Remus’ place, his brother insisted it wasn't necessary. But today, on his last day, Sirius couldn't hide his excitement about living alone with his boyfriend. Regulus was genuinely happy for them, though what bothered him most was leaving their cozy flat behind and getting used to a new living arrangement.

Moving out meant finding a new place and a new roommate. Regulus had enough money to live solo, but the thought of loneliness irked him more than anything. Sirius knew this, which is why an hour after Regulus announced his departure, he received a text from James Potter.

[Jamie] Come live with me

Regulus smirked at his phone. James had saved his contact with that nickname, hoping Regulus would feel guilty about being mean to him. He didn’t, but that didn't mean he wasn't growing fond of James.

[Regulus] Where are your manners, Potter? Shouldn’t you at least ask me out first?

[Jamie] You’re such a princess. I have a spare room and you need a place to live.

[Regulus] So you’re my knight in shining armor coming to my rescue then?

[Jamie] I mean, I do have the looks for it.

[Jamie] Just take the offer.

[Jamie] Don’t even try to say you don’t like my flat when I know for a FACT that you do.

[Regulus] Fine. You sure?

[Jamie] Positive, princess.

AAAAH IM SO EXCITED

Read the complete work here

Snippet of the fic based on the concept that @noasmirrorball shared

[fennelwasp]

Neither of them are particularly NICE to her but daniil’s frequent visible bafflement that people are letting a kid run around like this is. Unbelievably funny

[starchaserdreams]

I just remembered those commercials that said "Rated E for Everyone"

AO3 it's more like "Rated E for Everyone Better Take a Good Look at The Tags"

[bamsara]

"why would you read a fic with a scene or something you dont like in it" you see i have this ability called using my thumb to scroll down the phone screen really fast

[goodomensao3tagoftheday]

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 31

part 1 | part 30 | ao3

updating the rating to E. cw: recreational drug use/marijuana, foreplay, mild-to-moderate spit kink

“I feel like a water bottle,” Steve slurs. At some point he wiggled his way between Eddie’s legs to get a better look at his tattoos — starting at his ankles and working his way up, pointing at each piece and asking, "What's this? And what's that?"

Eddie explained each one in turn: the quotes, the lyrics, the silly art. "This one's the Elvish word for friend. That one's from an Iron Maiden song. Oh, the asterisk? It's supposed to be an asshole. No, I'm serious! That's how Vonnegut drew them in his books."

Now Steve’s lying flat on his back between Eddie’s splayed thighs, eyelids heavy, body warm. 'Go Your Own Way' plays softly on the stereo, and Eddie continues his tattoo tour, the fingers of his free hand weaving patterns through Steve's hair — lazy, twirling zig-zags that send skitters of sensation across his scalp and down his spine.

Steve feels like he could die right now. Happy. Held. Content.

Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.

“This is fucking awesome,” he hums.

“Good,” Eddie grins at him, “I’m glad.” He scratches lightly at his scalp. “What were you, uh— what were you saying about a water bottle?”

Oh, right. Steve lifts a hand; pantomimes tilting a bottle back and forth. “Like, uh….. Sssloshy.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie snorts. “You’re so high.”

“Mmmmhm.”

“And you look like you’re jerking off a ghost."

“I’ll jerk off your ghost,” Steve mutters petulantly.

"I’m sure my ghost would love that.”

Eddie reaches for the joint and takes another drag, and Steve tilts his neck, arching up to look at him. Bites his lip at the pretty picture Eddie makes: the sharp shadows and delicate lines, the shape of his full lips exhaling rings of smoke. Big for a guy's. He remembers thinking that a couple weeks ago. That they were big. That they looked soft.

And now he thinks: Kissable.

Steve licks his lips. “What about your, uh- not ghost?”

Eddie laughs like he’s watching a newborn puppy try to walk. “You want to touch my dick so bad.”

“S’probably a good dick,” Steve shrugs, unashamed.

He probably should be — ashamed. Guilty for the feelings stirring deep inside his chest; feelings weed brings to the surface, sends southbound, turns to need. He can imagine how the good, god-fearing Catholics who raised him would react if they could see him now, how they'd foam and froth and rage, red-faced and covered in spittle as they shouted that he's condemning himself to Hell.

But the thing is, he's already in Hell. He's been here since July.

And anyway, Hell's kinda nice. Gentle and warm, surprisingly kind. Hell smells like leather and tobacco, like weed and aftershave, and it sounds like Lindsey Buckingham, and it likes to braid Steve's hair.

Hell has endless, inky eyes and probably kisses him with tongue.

Heat spreads through him like molten honey at the thought, spilling hot over the edges, curling in his core, and Steve turns his head to the side and drags his mouth over a tattoo on Eddie’s inner thigh — a cartoon cloud over a curled-up snoozing fox. He noses at the edge of Eddie's shorts; pushes them up.

Goosebumps pebble under the warm press of his lips. "What's this one?" Steve whispers, nudging the fabric further up.

Eddie’s laugh is quiet and strained. "Something I don't want to discuss with your mouth this close to my dick. Stevie," he warns, but it's breathless, full of want. There's a wet spot on his shorts.

Steve pushes onto his belly, blows hot breath over the spot, liquid fire coursing through him at he stares at the bulge in Eddie’s shorts. Blistering heat, the sweetness dense, rich and thick on his tongue; in his veins. He mouths at the crease of Eddie's thigh. Eddie smells so good, like skin and sweat and boy, and Steve wants this. Wants it so badly he feels the ache inside his teeth. I dreamed the goddess poured ambrosia...

Steve feels it drip from head to toe.

"Steve." Eddie's voice is sharp this time, commanding and firm as he fists a hand in Steve's hair — not hurting him; not letting him move. Keeping him from putting his mouth just where he wants.

Steve makes a desperate sound and rocks his hips against the bed.

"Steve, stop," Eddie scolds. Pulls his hair a little harder, like he’s tugging on a leash.

"Eddie, please.” Steve’s eyes roll back, and he shifts his hips again. Just once; just a bit. Not nearly hard enough.

"No. Behave. Be good."

Steve freezes — tenses every muscle, holds himself so still, his face flushing with shame, because he didn’t mean to not be good. Didn’t mean to do anything bad. He blinks at Eddie with watery eyes and says he’s sorry, his voice cracking around the word.

"God," Eddie groans. His fist tightens in Steve’s hair, and his hips twitch off the bed, the curve of his cock brushing the tip of Steve's nose. Fuck. "Holy shit. Roll over."

"What?"

"On your back, like you were before." He’s panting when he says it, and Steve does as he's told; flips over onto his back, face bracketed by Eddie's thighs, the tent in his own shorts embarrassingly big. Obvious.

"Good,” Eddie exhales. “That’s- Jesus. Yeah, that’s good." He sinks back against the wall with a winded sigh.

And then he doesn't say anything else.

Doesn’t even move, just slouches down to catch his breath.

Steve kind of wants to cry; feels chastised and stupid, because of course Eddie doesn't want this. He already said he didn't, didn't he? Not tonight, anyway. And now Steve’s ruined things by being high and dumb and selfish, getting himself worked up over nothing and making it Eddie’s problem, and he'll probably spend the rest of this night miserable and blue-balled because he's a horny idiot, but that's—

It’s fine, if Eddie wants to cool things off; if he doesn't want to— he's allowed to not want—

"Here's what's about to happen.”

Steve snaps his head up to listen. Twists his neck around, sees Eddie lounging against the wall like a bored king on a throne, one ringed hand cupping himself loosely through his shorts. He squeezes once, takes another deep breath; lets it out long and controlled. Steve’s gonna fucking drool. "You’re gonna touch yourself for me.”

Steve moans. Guttural and loud, the sound punched out of his lungs, because Eddie’s voice comes out like gravel — husky, deep, the words authoritative and slow; like Steve needs to be punished; like Eddie’s merciful.

“You’re going to touch yourself exactly how I tell you to, and only how I tell you to. If I say stop, you stop. If I say faster, you speed up. If it's too much—" His hand moves to Steve’s cheek, slapping lightly against the bone. “—you tap out, or you tell me.”

Steve nods his head, entranced. Eddie’s thumb moves to his mouth. “And if you’re very, very good…” He tugs his bottom lip; presses in; lets him suck. “…then I’ll let you watch me come. How does that sound?”

Steve whines; hollows his cheeks, sucking harder, flicking his tongue. Eddie’s thighs clamp down around him, and when he pulls his hand away the spit clings to his thumb, a delicate string connecting them before it breaks. “Asked you a question, sweetheart.” He smears the spit over Steve’s chin. “Does that sound good?”

Steve nearly swallows his tongue.

—

part 32

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added tomorrow please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[pango-doots]

WE DID IT FRYEHEADS

[dailytogachako]

˗ˏˋ ꒰ some tgck fanfics that I recommend; a thread ! ꒱ ˎˊ˗

1- For You by dynamighttiddy (Honeygothic)

2- On Monsters and Lesbians and the Inevitable Overlap Between the Two by mor (mornin)

3- Take a Bite by ghostinurattic

4- be an anchor for you by a_sentimental_man

5- Kidnapped by a pretty little dead girl by lexistentialcrisis19

6- holding on tight, don’t slip away by summershouto

tags: @birdsandbeetlesandmoths @ray-the-human @dyn3m1ght @luisaloveshoney @btxtyuri @harbingerofsillies-reblogs @echoelena-ing @ihaventsleptinweekz @magical-grrrl-mavis @pitifulbinx @thisisgrass @beeeepsi @mafuyuchii @morallygreykoifsh @mylittleponywithblitzo @sophia-romantica

@aight-griffin @themantheguytheloser @amygdalabeandip

please, read the hashtags!

[eilaafterhours]

Patience [Grim | Casper]

Content: AFAB Reader, Light Dom/Sub, Blindfolds, Restraints, Men Crying, Cowgirl Position, Pet Names, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert

Pronouns: None (AFAB)

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don’t forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!

Remember: I’ll block you if I catch your ageless or under age (not 18+) ass in my activity :)

This work’s concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries.

"How...how much longer must I remain like...this?"

The two of you had gotten into an argument about patience. He made the proclamation that he was leagues more patient than you, and instead of refuting him, you instead offered a challenge.  

You turned your attention to your partner, smiling at his flushed features. 

He was on your bed, spread wide on his knees. His arms were bound behind his back, and a blindfold hid his gaze. His entire body was coated in a thin layer of sweat, certain parts of his body flushed beautifully red.

Especially the head of his weeping cock.

You swiped the creamy slick away with your thumb, relishing in the way his hips bucked. 

"Ah, so needy..." You rested your clean hand on his cheek, "Open."

He did as he was told. Tilting his head up a bit, tongue lolling out. You placed your thumb on his tongue, and he closed around it immediately, sucking it clean.

"You cleaned it so good." You ran a hand through his hair, removing the blindfold in the process. "Hi there, pretty boy."

"S-sunshine..." His eyelids fluttered close, a curtain of white standing out against the deep red on his checks. "Please."

"Has your patience run thin, Casper?" His teeth caught his bottom lip, "Do you want me to help you?"

You moved to straddle him, sighing through your nose as the weight of his heavy cock settled against your stomach. 

The contact made him squirm a bit, "Ah—un...!"

You wedged your hand between your bodies, wrapping it firmly around his shaft. "Should I let you fuck my hand like this?" 

"Mmm..." You were sure that he was getting caught up in the fantasy, not even realizing that he had begun fucking your hand. 

You let him go for a bit, letting his moans go from soft and airy to restrained and from his throat. 

He was so close. 

You gave him a firm squeeze. 

He stopped moving. 

"So you're the only one who can get off? Naughty boy."

"I'm—fuck—sorry!" Tears slipped down his cheeks. 

"Ah, I've gone too far." You kissed them away. "And you've done so good for me."

He finally opened his eyes to look at you, "Have I?"

You nodded, giving him a soft kiss. "And now it's time for your reward."

You lifted your hips, lining yourself up, then lowered yourself on his cock. Both of you threw your heads back at the sudden heat and fullness. 

Very quickly did the two of you lose yourselves in the chase for ecstasy. He didn't last very long, but that didn't matter because the look on his face and the feeling of his cum filling you, being pushed in and out of you from you bouncing on his dick had you barreling into your own release. 

Once you had caught your breath, you undid the binds from around his arms. You squeaked as they immediately found your waist, dragging you down with him as he let his body go to exhaustion. You let him, resting your head on his chest as his chin nestled on the top of your head.

"So...who's got more patience than whom?" You asked.

"...I'd say it's a tie."

You shot up. "How is it a tie?"

"I may have been tested, but as the proctor, you gave into your lust and came very shortly after me." He smirked.

"Well, I wasn't being tested, so it doesn't matter."

"It does."

"Does not!"

"It does."

And it went like that for a short while longer until the sticky feeling between your legs became too uncomfortable and a bath was more important than who was right. 

Oh well, you'd just have to test him again. 

:)

I don't have much to say, actually. This is my comeback, and it's in a new fandom, um….yeah.

Welp, enjoy!

Masterlist

[desceros]

I gotta request a mating season scenario with Bayverse Donnie X Reader - Mutual Pining and Smut (I love him so much).

[openly weeping] thank you for giving me the excuse to write this anon-chan, you're too good, too pure donatello/reader, EXPLICIT, female reader, 1.9k. donnie's been too shy to take that plunge, but you just smell so good and it's that time of year

You’ve been friends with Donnie long enough to… think about it. What it would be like to let him know how pretty he is. To sit in his lap and press your forehead to his jaw. 

(To unbuckle those suspenders and maybe see what kind of mischief you can get up to.)

To… hold his hand. To… to belong to him.

…But you’ve probably been friends for too long, you think. The relationship would have changed by now if he was interested. He’s not the kind of guy to want something without having it for very long, not without doing something about it. It’s not gonna happen. It’s a wild, hilarious thought—you’ve been friendzoned by a turtle—but that’s just the life you have now, you guess.

So when it finally, suddenly happens, to say you’re surprised is a bit of an understatement.

You’re in his lab, helping him organize his screwdriver collection. Sometimes they get a little mixed up if he gets worked into a frenzy or so tired his eyes start to blur, and it feels good to help him. He likes having your hands for the more boring chores, and you like basking in the dorky little smile he gives you as thanks.

Lost in the monotonous task, you don’t notice him staring, his eyes burning between your shoulder blades, until you feel him in your personal bubble. It’s a blink of time, a breath of awareness, then everything changes.

Donnie tucks his face into your throat, his plastron pressed along your spine as his hands cup your hips and pull them back into his own. Shocked at the intimacy of the touch, you feel yourself go still in his hold, wondering if there’s a gas leak in his lab and you’re hallucinating. 

His mouth parts, his teeth find your pulse, and you decide this is very, very real.

“D… Donnie?” you manage, voice syrupy in your own ears.

“…Smell good,” he murmurs into your skin, pressing into you harder, stepping impossibly closer, forcing you forward until your thighs are caught between his and the edge of the table and you have to smack your palms onto it to keep upright. A cup of screws falls over, spills; but he doesn’t react. Your eyes dart over to the door of his lab; it’s wide open, and you’re not even remotely tucked away back here. 

“Donnie—Donnie, what are you—” you say, though your voice catches in your throat when you feel him turn his head, tucking his beak behind your ear and brushing a long line of claiming kisses down to your shoulder. Your eyes flutter, blood beginning to rush hot in your veins even as you look again to the door of his lab.

Donnie, if he cares, doesn’t show it. Not in the way he slides one hand up your shirt, seeking skin and seeming intoxicated when he finds it. You feel his moan between your shoulder blades as much as you hear it, making your eyes squeeze shut. Oh, wow, that’s—that’s even better than all the times you’ve imagined it, and you’ve maybe imagined it a lot. 

“…too soon,” he mumbles, though how you’re able to catch it when his fingers are fumbling at the button to your jeans, you’re not sure how. 

“Wh… What’s too soon?” you ask, licking your lips and trying to scoop enough consciousness together to talk. “Don—Donnie, you—Did you drink something? Smell something? This is—”

Donnie stops, his forehead finding your shoulder. He’s shaking, you realize, but when you try to turn he presses you harder against the table, pinning you into place. Oh god, oh fuck.

“About two weeks early,” he says through what sounds like clenched teeth. “Shouldn’t—Shouldn’t be happening yet. Normally I can feel it coming on and warn you, but—Have I ever told you you smell really good? You smell so good—”

He shifts his face again, pressing his beak to the corner of your throat and shoulder to inhale deeply. Your hair stands on end, goosebumps flaring down your skin like wildfire. An embarrassing noise catches in your throat. You swallow it, brow furrowing. “What’s early?”

His lips move in a mumble that disappears into the neckline of your shirt. A neckline which, you suddenly realize, is damp from where he’s mouthing at it. Like he’s trying to take it off of you with his teeth. That’s—okay. That’s a lot.

“Didn’t catch that,” you wheeze. 

“…mating season,” he enunciates, igniting every single cell in your body. 

“You… have a mating season,” you choke, staring deliriously at one screw that slowly spins in a circle. He nods. “And you—You’re doing this with—me?” 

“Always you,” he says, starting to ramble as he tugs at the hem of your shirt like it’s offending him. “Every Spring, I feel it coming and you always look so pretty and happy. I’ve been wanting to ask you for years, but I—I’ve never worked up the cour—You smell so fucking good. Can I—I want to—” He whines, trembling, you think, from the concentration it’s taking for him to hold back and speak. His hands are tight on your sides, gripping you, just shy of where it’ll leave a mark.

Your eyes burn as you squeeze them shut. There’s a conversation to be had here, about why he was so fucking stupid and didn’t talk to you, about how much you’ve wanted this too, about what it’s going to mean—but that can be had later, especially considering you’re not completely sure he’s all there. 

“Yeah,” you gasp out, reaching out a hand to snatch at his and bring it to the button of your jeans again. “Yeah, let’s—yes.”

His wrist twists and he’s got his fingers inside your underwear faster than you can suck in a breath at the sudden jolt of pleasure. Beak pressed to your cheek, you hear Donnie chanting thank you thank you thank you, mouth hanging open before he brings his slick fingers to his mouth to slide them inside and wrap his tongue around them. 

“Donnie, fuck,” you breathe when he groans like he took a hit of something hard. It’s wet in your ear, and when he slides his fingers back to your clit and starts to trail biting kisses along your jaw, you can’t help but think about it. Your arms quake where they’re holding you up, helping you press against him, taking the weight of where he’s draped himself like he wants to be your shell.

An impatient noise rips out of his throat, and you feel his other hand tugging at the waist of your jeans. Huffing a laugh at his uncharacteristic ineffectiveness, you grab his wrists to pull him away before you shimmy them down your legs. 

…It’s right when he gets his fingers inside you, stretching you, pretty moans of your name in your ear, when you remember the whole door situation. 

“Donnie—”

“Wanna fuck you,” he slurs against your nape. Your skin stretches too-tight, the bottom of your stomach dropping out in arousal. “Smell like you. Want you to smell like me—” 

He grabs something out of the toolbox, a loud clattering sound, and you feel your panties go slack at your hip, then fall to the floor when he pulls the fabric away. “You—Did you just cut my—”

“In the way. More efficient,” he answers, dropping whatever it was back into place without a care. There goes your toolbox organizing, though it’s maybe hard to care when you feel something slick rub against you, his tail dipping between your legs and pressing close. “Mmm. Spread your legs, pretty. Little more. There, right there.”

He holds you still when he’s happy with your position, one hand at your hip and the other spreading you open in a manner that has the whole door situation falling pretty low on your thinking about this right now list. You’re more interested in the glide of his cloaca against you, the promise of his hitched breath in your ear, the wet kiss that morphs into a low moan as he drops inside of you. 

“Donnie,” you moan, head falling between your rolled shoulders as pleasure makes you tremble. It feels incredible how he fills you, your lungs unable to expand to breathe as it feels like he’s all the way in your throat. His hands grab your hips and tilt them, using them as leverage as he ruts wetly in a filthy glide that makes you mewl and twist. 

Through the fog of bliss, you hear him; he’s babbling, nigh-incoherently. You can just make out a few phrases here and there—so pretty, smell so good, fill you up, breed you full—that make you absolutely incinerate. It feels like he’s consuming you, his whines and moans ringing in your ears. 

The rising tide of ecstasy burns like fire in your veins, your teeth releasing your lip as you’re no longer able to contain the animal noises he’s clawing out of you. Nails dragging along the surface of his table, you come, wailing his name. He presses, making your elbows bend, and you fold into the table as he rails into you with hard slapping hips until he, too, climaxes. His forehead presses hard between your shoulder blades as he fills you, hot and more than you’ve ever taken before, until you feel it running down your legs where you can’t take any more. 

“…Holy shit,” you pant, barking a disbelieving laugh. Donnie, seeming annoyed that you’re able to talk, sinks his teeth into your throat before he kisses it to soothe. 

“Sorry, I, uh. I was hoping we’d talk about that before it happened,” he says once he can breathe again, sounding a little guilty. You shoot him an incredulous look over your shoulder. 

“Are you insane? You just made me come my brains out. How are you apologizing right now? That’s, like, the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.” You glance to the door. “Um. Even if I’m pretty sure everyone else heard it, too.” 

He huffs a laugh, nuzzling his face into your nape. “They’re, uh. Gone. For the week. I’m usually on a bit of a delayed cycle from the others, but I think you being here triggered it. I always love how you smell, and I guess the turtle brain just decided it was tired of waiting on me.” 

Oh, that’s… really sweet, you think, trying not to cry. You lick your lips, opening your mouth to speak only for a whimper to come out instead, forehead rolling on the table’s surface, when you feel his cock start to slide out. 

“Sorry, sorry, it’s—” he breathes, hips pressing a little harder against your own until you feel empty again. As he moves, you hear the wet sound of his cloaca rubbing against you. “Huh. You’re kind of a mess.” 

“Yeah, thanks for that,” you wheeze, trying not to get turned on again when you’d just come. “So, um… season. That’s like, more than once, right?” 

There’s a moment of silence, and then you feel a smile on your back that’s a little shy, and a lot hungry.