#I FUCKING LOVE- THE UNPROMPTED THINGS- i think this is unprompted after all

[deliveringspookzandtreatz]

"EVERY TIME WE TOUCH, I GET THIS FEEEEEELIN'!!! " {Marco}

"AND EVERY TIME WE KISS I SWEAR I COULD FLYYYY!!!"

This man had the damn song on the highest volume not giving a damn care in the world if he was disrupting anyone. He was having fun and giggling like a dumbass. God damn he was belting this out with his chest.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

current favorite thing about Psych: Shawn and his on-again off-again unofficial sometimes boyfriend Despereaux

[cherrieflavouredheadcanons]

Hi can we please have fluff w Aventurine where reader and him reunite after 2. 1 and just fucking elope start a new life etc? Please I need it.

God yes. This is what we all need after 2.1. I'm aware he is in a coma-like state technically now but for the sake of fluff and this headcanon he is awake from that coma and is now reuniting with you. CW: Spoilers for 2.1 and Aventurines actual name, starts angsty but then turns fluffy, Gn reader, pre established relationship hurt/comfort

I am still accepting requests (especially for aven) btw so if you wanna see something send it in!

Back in your arms

You had lost track of how long it was since Aventurine left for his mission in Penacony. Has it been 2 months? No, probably more. It had been months since you last had been able to make contact with him. Your messages no longer went through, unable to be sent.

Looking at your textlog and scrolling up, you came across the last message he had sent you. It had come in while you were asleep, and it simply read “I love you”.

Waking up to that message would have been a sweet message for most people, but for you it had made you immensely worried.

 Aventurine was never someone who professed his love openly, so such messages were quite rare. Receiving such a message, especially unprompted, made you send him a barricade of texts, none of which went through and even now months later none were able to be sent.

If you were honest you were starting to lose hope of ever seeing him again, who knows what happened in Penacony after all? He could be…dead for all you knew, you had no way to verify whether that was true or not after all. 

You tried continuing your life on as you would normally, what else could you do? It was hard though, everyday you missed him more and more. Sometimes you imagined his face in a crowd somewhere but whenever you would take a closer look he would vanish.

Sighing you closed your phone and looked around your apartment, it felt so liveless ever since Aventurine was gone. Tears were falling down your eyes as you wondered how much longer you had to live with the uncertainty of where he was and if he was even alive.

Exhaustion was taking over as you began falling asleep. A common occurrence nowadays, since at night you were restless, unable to fall asleep as you worried. Just as you were beginning to fully doze off, you heard the door to your apartment open, immediately waking up.

No one but you and Aventurine had the key, and with him being absent panic coursed through you thinking someone was breaking and entering. You grabbed the nearest heavy thing to defend yourself with.

“For fucks sake…” You muttered as you made your way to where the noises were coming from. Cursing every entity out there for piling even more shit onto you as if your significant other being possibly dead wasn’t enough.

Readying your weapon (probably a heavy book) you stepped foot into the room where the noise was coming from ready to attack and hit the intruder. But once you saw who it was that was in your appartment, you dropped your makeshift weapon, a sob escaping your mouth.

Before you stood Aventurine, alive and breathing. You rubbed your eyes, making sure that this wasn’t your mind playing a cruel trick on you again. Aventurine watched you with a smirk on his, albeit very exhausted looking, face and his eyes held a new found softness you had never seen before.

You fell into his arms immediately, holding him tightly against your body, feeling his warmth. Desperately you grabbed at his clothes as you held on to him, scared this was all just a dream and you would wake up all alone once again. Tears were falling from your eyes, unable to hold them back, the relief washing over you making you let out all of your emotions.

“Wow you missed me that much?” He asked, in his usual teasing tone. Though there was something in his voice that usually wasn’t there. Desperation and a bit of fear. Was he afraid you wouldn’t have missed him? Or was there a deeper reason for it?

Moving away from the hug you grabbed his face in your hands, the tears still falling from your eyes as you took a good look at him. His face had fallen in, and he seemed exhausted. But there was also something in his eyes, his beautiful eyes you were so sure you would never see again, that you couldn’t recognize, having never seen it on him before.

Before you spoke your first words to him, you pulled his face closer and gently kissed him. The feeling of his lips on yours felt like you were floating in heaven. They may have been more chapped than usual, but fuck was it nice to feel him again.  Breaking the kiss you finally were able to muster up your first words to him.

“Fuck…I was so worried about you…I…When my messages stopped being able to sent I was…so sure you…Please…never worry me like that again Aventurine…”

You leaned your forehead against his, your words jumbled together from the adrenaline coursing through you.

He took in a deep breath, and held it for a moment before letting it out. A gesture you saw in many people before they needed to say something important and heavy, but one you never saw in your lover.

“...Kakavasha…” His voice seemed unsure and meek as he spoke. 

You, of course, had no idea what he was saying, so you looked into his eyes confused.

“Wha-”

“Kakavasha…it is…my given name. The one my mother gave me” He inhaled deeply before he continued.

“It is a long story but the short version is…I am no longer affiliated with the IPC, they probably think I died or something. So I no longer go by Aventurine, and…with how close we are and how much you mean to me. I felt like it was appropriate for you to know my true name...”

His eyes refused to look at you, flickering about unsurely as he spoke. Though he tried to sound confident, his voice wavered, scared that you would not accept him for who he truly was and reject his true self.

You looked at him gently and with all the love you had for him, gently pulling him close again and kissing his nose.

“Well then…It is nice to meet you Kakavasha…” You smiled brightly at him, showing him you accepted him as he was.

He felt relief course through his body and could not help himself but pull you into a passionate kiss. He kissed you like you were the oxygen he needed to stay alive. As if he would die without you.

Breaking the kiss he whispered “Marry me.” It wasn’t a question but a request. One that you were too stunned to answer to, looking at him with wide eyes.

“I mean it. Let’s get married, run away from everything and start a new life just you and me.”

His eyes were pleading with you to agree. He knew that he wanted to start over, but he knew he needed you with him.

“...yes!!” You once again fell into his arms and kissed him. The two of you holding each other so closely it was as if you were one.

Kakavasha knew that he would need to tell you everything that happened in Penacony at one point, even the part where he tried to end his life. But he knew that if he explained everything to you, you would still stay by his side and be with him. 

You were his family after all.

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

He’s staring at him.

Steve Harrington is staring at Eddie Munson.

The thing is, people don’t just stare at Eddie. Not for any reason that means anything good for Eddie. So when, completely unprompted, the fucking King of Hawkins High walks up to Eddie and says, “I need to talk to you,” Eddie thinks he’s entirely justified in the squeak he lets out.

“You? Talk? To me?” Wow. Great job, brain.

“Please,” Harrington whispers, and Eddie thinks desperately this must be some kind of joke, except he’s good at reading people, and he knows the desperation in Harrington’s eyes.

“Okay,” he says, stammers. “Um. There- there’s, behind the school, a, uh-”

“Table,” Harrington nods. “That works. Just…” he sighs, rakes a hand through his hair. “Leave the lunchbox at home.”

Eddie’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “Then what the fuck do you want with me, dude?”

“I can’t explain. Not here, not now. Just. Please. After school, okay?”

Eddie looks at him. Really looks, studies his face, understands the lines by his eyes, the tightness of his mouth. His heart thumps as he realizes. He’s scared. “Okay,” he says, and means it.

Eddie’s a man of his word, so after school he makes his way to the table, pausing when it comes into view. Harrington’s already there, sitting with his head in his hands. Eddie calls out from a couple of paces away. “You sure you don’t want anything from the lunchbox?”

Harrington jumps, hands up, eyes round. Relaxes a little when he sees Eddie. “No. I- I’m good. I can’t, actually.”

Eddie frowns. “What, like, a sports thing? No one’s gotta know, dude, I’ve never been busted, I can keep a secret.”

Steve gives him a half-smile. “No. It’s- it’s not a sports thing. Just… sit down? And promise to listen?”

“Okay,” Eddie says, because he knows how comforting it can be to just have someone there, and he’s not a dick; clearly Harrington’s going through something. Though why he approached Eddie, of all people, he doesn’t know.

“Okay,” Harrington repeats back, taking a breath before starting. “If I were to tell you I’m from the future, a future in which we know each other, how would you ask me to prove it?”

Eddie blinks. He was ready for a lot of things, but not time travel. “Um. I dunno, man, I haven’t really thought about it.”

He takes another deep breath. “Can I try?”

“To- to prove you’re from the future?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie laughs, a little hysterically. “Man, where the fuck do I get the strain you’re on?”

He blinks. “What?”

Eddie gestures at him. “Come on, man, you have to admit you’re not really making sense here.”

Harrington sighs. Takes another breath. Says, “You live with your uncle Wayne. Your father taught you to hot wire cars when you were nine. You listen to Dio and Metallica and Ozzy Osbourne but your favorite song is I Will Always Love You, by Dolly Parton, because it was your mom’s favorite. The guitar pick you wear around your neck was hers. She taught you guitar. You love The Hobbit. Stop me when I’ve said enough.”

Eddie’s never been more scared in his life. “Listen, man, I dunno where you heard all that-”

“Eddie,” he says, implores, and digs something out of his pocket. Opens his hand to reveal a ring.

A ring Eddie already has on his finger.

“What the fuck,” Eddie whispers. Grabs for the ring before he can tell himself it’s a bad idea. Examines it, sees the dent from where his finger had gotten smashed in a door.

His hands start shaking.

“I’m from 1987,” Steve Harrington says, sure as anything. “And I’m trying to stop something terrible.”

“And what would that be?” Eddie asks, feeling strangely detached from the whole thing.

“Your death,” Steve Harrington says, still sure as anything.

Permanent Taglist: @justforthedead89 @ilovecupcakesandtea @madigoround @bookbinderbitch @suddenlyinlove @nburkhardt @artiststarme @paintsplatteredandimperfect

[darlingdaisyfarm]

Spicy chatting with Stan and Ford? Consider this ask my vote for that ❤️💙

(Love your writing, I've lurked for a while and finally remembered to follow)

sexting Stan and Ford headcanons

2 part of this

also thank you so much <3 im so glad to know you enjoy my writing !

tagging : @nekovmancer

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Stan Pines

✧ he tries. god, does he try. but his texts are a combination of filthy and absolutely unhinged, it’s straight to “doll im sittin' here thinkin’ 'bout how good you’d look bent over my desk.”

✧ typically sends a blurry pic of his bare chest, captioned, “betcha wanna get your hands on this masterpiece, huh?" and you’re just staring at the picture like. . . gosh, Stan, who took this? did he set a fucking timer? he looks hot though 

✧ so yeah Stanley sends you photos, usually unprompted and always blurry because he’s just an old man, dear, what did you except?? his clothes half-open, pants unzipped just enough to give you a peek of what’s underneath and next message is: “betcha wanna see the whole thing, huh? be a good girl and ask nice.”

✧ texts you in the middle of the day: “gonna bend you over the kitchen counter tonight babe. make you cum on my fingers before I even think about putting my cock in you. whaddaya think?”

✧ he loves it when you’re bold, you send him something like: “what if I sit on your face instead?” and he’s instantly typing back: “doll, don’t threaten me with a good time. ya know I’d keep ya there till your legs give out.”

✧ Stan worships your photos. you send him a quick pic of you in bed and he replies immediately: “FUCK look at you. LOOK at THAT body. im gonna make you regret sending me that when im back. you better be ready for this cock, doll, ‘cause im not holding back.”

✧ a huge tease tbh, he wants you to beg. “tell me what you want, sweetheart. you want me to spread those legs and eat you out until you’re shaking? or maybe you want this thick cock filling you up?“

✧ “you’re touching yourself right now, aren’t ya? cant stop thinkin bout me pounding into you, huh? go ahead, baby. lemme know how bad you want it.”

✧ he’s got no shame about jerking off while texting you, you say one dirty thing, and he’s already: “jesus fucking christ, you’re killin me here, doll. im so fuckin hard right now. If you were here, I’d have you on your knees, taking care of me like the good girl you are.”

✧ Stan’s aftercare starts in the texts. so after he’s talked you through your orgasm, his messages turn soft. “that’s my girl, bet you look real pretty all flushed and satisfied. get some rest, doll you’re gonna need it when I get home.”

✧ Stan LOVES it when you play hard to get. “cmon, baby, don’t leave me hangin’. I swear, I’ll make it worth your while when I get my hands on you again.” but when you finally cave and give him a little, just a little, taste of what you want, his reply is “yeah that’s better, let me see that pussy of yours. you know I can make you feel good. let me prove it.”

✧ as you have already understood, this man is shameless, and he knows he’s good at getting under your skin.

“been thinkin’ about that pretty little cunt of yours, doll. what’s it gonna take to get my face buried there tonight?

✧ if you send him something back, it’s over. he’s going to double down with something that makes your toes curl. “you don’t know how badly I wanna fuck that smart mouth of yours until you forget your own name.” 

✧ the man is a sucker for dirty talk. he loves it when you tease him back, but he’s the most eloquent in his replies

✧ “If I was there right now, you wouldn’t be able to get a single word out. id have you moanin’ so loud they’d hear you down the street. you like the sound of that?”

✧ “you know I could really go for you in that tiny skirt of yours right now. make you bend over and fuck you while you’re still wearin’ it.” damn

✧ he’s a man of action. his texts are short and right to the point. “im gonna make you scream my name tonight, sweetheart. better be ready.”

✧ sends you something filthy right out of the blue. "you’re really makin' it hard for me to concentrate on work, baby. every time I close my eyes, all I can think about is the way you looked last night, riding me till you couldn’t walk.”

✧ if you send him a picture, especially if you’re in lingerie or something that shows just the right amount of skin, he goes wild. “WOAH, sweetheart. you’re gonna make me LOSE IT. I wanna tear that off you and fuck you right here RIGHTJ NOW.” the author's spelling has been preserved.

✧ a lot messages like: “tell me, doll, what color are those panties you got on right now?“

✧ but the minute you call him on his antics in person, he’s all cocky smirks and “ya can’t blame me for wantin’ to spoil my favorite girl, can ya?”

bonus 

Stan: hey doll, you up?

You: it’s 1 AM Stan

Stan: exactly

Stan: perfect time to talk about what you’d look like on top of me 

You: …smooth 

Stan: c’mon don’t act all shy

Stan: you were thinkin’ it too. bet you’re wearin’ somethin’ cute right now, huh?

Stan: or nothin’. nothin’s good too! 👍👍👍

You: why are you always texting me at the most unholy hours?

Stan: unholy?? c’mon sweetheart i’m just here tryna spread a little late night joy

Stan: i was thinkin’ about you though

Stan: well. you. and about how that sweet little mouth of yours looked last night

You: oh my godd

Stan: what?! it’s the truth

Stan: bet you’d look even better right now

You: you’re horrible

Stan: and you’re fuckin’ gorgeous

Stan: now be a good girl and tell me what you’re wearin

You: literally in my pajamas Stan

Stan: cute

Stan: betcha look sweet all wrapped up in blankets… though you’d look sweeter wrapped around me instead

You: fuck

You: Stan! 

Stan: what? i’m just bein’ honest. you want me to lie? fine! i’m thinkin’ about taxes. there. happy?

You: oh, shut up old man 

Stan: nah i’d rather talk about how soft your thighs are. how they’d feel so good squeezin’ around my head. c’mon, sweetheart, gimme somethin’. don’t make me do all the heavy liftin’ here

You: only if you promise to return the favor

you smirk, biting your lip, already excited because god you love playing hard to get with this man. so you let the moment linger just long enough to make him squirm before snapping a photo, of course you were lying bout pajamas and Stan damn knew, he felt 

you send the picture: lacy panties of your favourite colour barely covering anything, paired with an oversized sleep shirt that’s slipping off your shoulder

Stan: holy fuckin shit

Stan: you’re gonna make an old man’s heart give out

You: what, you don’t like it? :(

Stan: don’t like it? baby i’m gonna FRAME this picture and hang it on my wall

Stan: better yet i’m gonna print it out and carry it around so i can show off what’s mine

You: wtf that’s absurd

Stan: no what’s absurd is how hard i am right now. fuck, baby, you’re gorgeous. every inch of ya

You: your turn, old man

You: prove it 

you don’t expect him to actually follow through, but then your phone buzzes

Stan: look at what you’re gonna get, babe. and it’s all yours

a photo. exactly what you imagined: poorly lit, shot from a slightly awkward angle, but still breathtaking and so damn hot. his cock is thick and heavy in his hand, flushed and glistening at the tip, veins are prominent, pulsing down the shaft, and his fingers, broad, calloused, strong, wrap around it like he’s ready to ruin you as he strokes himself 

your mouth goes dry, you blink at the screen, your lip caught between your teeth. hell, you’ve seen him before, touched him, tasted him, but this photo is something else entirely. your fingers twitch like they want to reach through the phone because you’d crawl through the damn screen if you could

your fingers hover over the keys, trying to think of something clever to say, but the words won’t come. thighs clenching instinctively as you just stare at the screen.

You: okay, not bad, old man

Stan: NOT BAD?!

Stan: sweetheart, you’re lyin’ through your teeth. i know you’re sittin’ there soakin’ through those little lace panties of yours

You: please, you think one dick pic is enough to faze me 

Stan: oh, is that right? big talk comin’ from someone who’s gonna be beggin’ for it by the end of this

You: you wish old man

Stan: nah I know. let me paint you a picture, sweetie

Stan: you, spread out under me, that pretty little pussy so wet i can hear it every time i slide in. your legs wrapped so tight around me like you’re scared i’m gonna pull away. and me, fillin’ you up so deep you can feel me in your fuckin’ throat

and there your smugness falters

You: oh god

You: Stan

Stan: what’s the matter? 

Stan: cat got your tongue? betcha you’re soaked right now, huh? sittin’ there with that pretty little pussy all wet, wishin’ i was there to fill ya up

Stan: admit it, baby. your fingers aren’t even enough. you’re mine. every inch of you belongs to me and i’m gonna remind you of that the second i get my hands on ya

You: you’re not winning this old man

Stan: heh sweetheart, i already HAVE

your fingers fumble on the keyboard as you type, cheeks burning

You: please come

Stan: there you go, now that’s my girl 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Ford Pines

✧ he starts out so awkward it’s painful. you’ll send him something suggestive, and he’ll reply with: “Oh. Well. That’s… intriguing.” Intriguing, Ford? seriously?

✧ as we all know, Ford overthinks everything! it takes him forever to hit send because he’s convinced he’ll say something wrong and he’s so fucking nervous

✧ but as soon as he feels comfortable, he’s sending you long, well thought out messages full of science-y talk about how he wants to make you feel, because of course he’s analyzing you in a way. “I’ve been reading up on the physiological responses of the body during… how should I put this?… intimate interactions. Your body would likely respond most positively to the—” and then he gets really filthy without realizing it

✧ but Ford, dear sweet Ford, doesn’t always realize just how much of an effect his words have on you. if he’ll start spouting off his deep thoughts, you’ll send him, “Ford, I swear to god, if you don’t stop talking, I’m going to need to change my sheets.

✧ absolutely loves when you tease him, but he also knows how to turn it back on you. “Good girl, now tell me exactly what you’d like me to do to you, in vivid detail. I’m taking notes.”

✧ "I’d have you on your knees, darling. Holding you by the hair while I take you deep, slow. You’d love every second of it, wouldn’t you?"

✧ Ford LOVES playing the “I’m going to ruin you slowly” card. It gets under your skin every time. “You won’t be able to think about anything else when I’m done with you. I’ll have you begging for more.”

✧ you’ll send him a flirty text and two minutes later, he’s sent back an entire paragraph detailing how he’d peel your clothes off and worship you from head to toe

✧ as I said, he’s so damn descriptive, I mean bro literally wrote 3 journals, it’s easy for him. “I’d kiss my way down your stomach, slow enough to make you squirm. My fingers would trace your thighs, spreading you open so I could take my time tasting you, savoring every—” you’re already screaming into your pillow

✧ surprisingly filthy when he gets really needy and horny. long messages about exactly what he wants to do to you or what he wants you to do to him

✧ Ford is a huge fan of getting into your mind before he even thinks about touching you. he wants to know what makes you tick, what gets you wet, what turns you on mentally first

✧ he tries to stay composed, but the second you tease him, his composure shatters. you send him a pic, maybe just a peek of your thighs and he’s breathless: “What are you doing to me, darling? Do you have any idea how hard I am right now? I can’t stop imagining those legs wrapped around me while I’m making love to you, God help me.”

✧ “i would love to feel the warmth of your skin beneath my fingers as I slowly undress you. I’ll start by trailing kisses down your neck, your chest, until I reach the sweet spot between your thighs. Would you let me do that, darling?”

✧ embarrassingly vocal about how much he needs you. you’ll get texts like:

“I can’t concentrate on anything. I keep thinking about how tight and wet you felt around me last night. We need to make love again.” and then, seconds later:

“Please tell me you’re touching yourself right now. I need to know you’re thinking about me while you do it.”

✧ “God, I’d give anything to have my cock inside you right now.”

✧ If you send him a spicy picture, he just about short-circuits. “You’re exquisite. I need to see more.”

✧ “You don’t even realize the effect you have on me, do you? I’d ruin you in the most wonderful ways, darling.” you’re a puddle in seconds.  

✧ Ford loves when you’re explicit with him. if you’ll text him something like: “I want your cock so deep I forget my own name,” you’ll get: “Careful what you wish for, darling. I’ll have you screaming it by the time I’m done with you.”

✧ If you ever send him something too really dirty, all your fantasies and wishes, expect him to stare at your text, blink for a second, then type back: “That’s... unexpected. But I’m very intrigued. You must have an incredible imagination.” 

✧ sometimes Ford gets real quiet after a particularly hot conversation, nervous even. “I shouldn’t have sent that… I’m sorry if I…”

“Ford, don’t you dare apologize. I love it.”

bonus

Ford: Are you still awake, darling?

You: what do you think?

Ford: Well, considering you’re answering me, I’d say yes. I must say, you’ve been a distraction all day, sweetheart. I just keep replaying the way your skin felt under my hands the last time we touched… the sounds you made when I kissed you, your thighs.

You: sounds like you’re the distracted one, Doctor Pines

Ford: You’re the most beautiful distraction imaginable. Entirely your fault.

you smirk at the screen as an idea strikes

You: how’s this for distracting?

you send the picture: legs spread wide, your pussy glistening under soft light with two fingers pressing yourself open just enough to expose everything. you know Ford’s obsessive attention to detail, the way he adores every curve and line of you. oh god he’ll lose his mind over this

but. . . 

Ford doesn’t reply immediately. one minute. two now. the anticipation builds and your stomach twists.

You: …

You: Ford?

You: oh my god, say something!

You: was it too much? too forward?

five agonising minutes later, your phone lights up.

Ford: Darling… You are beautiful. Utterly perfect. Forgive my silence, I needed a moment to… compose myself.

You: five minutes of silence isn’t exactly reassuring, Ford

Ford: I assure you, I was not silent in my head.

You: damn

You: thought I broke you there

Ford: You nearly did. It’s taking all my willpower to stay coherent.

You: old man ur making me blush

Ford: I’m sorry! I wouldn’t dream of embarrassing you, my dear. I’d rather make you tremble with pleasure.

You: you really like it that much?

Ford: I’m obsessed, love. Now, listen carefully. Take those fingers, sweetheart. Slowly. I want you to trace circles around your little clit, soft and teasing. No rushing.

and of course you obey

You: im so sensitive rn Ford

Ford: Good, honey. Yeah, nice and slow.

You: like this?

Ford: Exactly like that. Does it feel good, darling? Tell me.

You: so good im already so wet for you 

Ford: Good. Now, slide one of those fingers inside. Don’t go too deep yet. Just enough to feel it.

You: fuck, Ford 

You: feels amazin

Ford: That’s my girl. Now, add another. Stretch yourself out for me, darling. I want you to imagine it’s my fingers instead. Feel how I’d curl my fingers to touch you just right, all your sweet spots. Don’t stop until I tell you to.

You: :((

Ford: Sweetheart? What’s wrong?

You: it’s not the same

You: you’ve got six fingers, i can’t make it feel like you

Ford: Ah, my darling… that’s terribly unfair of me, isn’t it? You’re right. No one else can touch you the way I can. But I promise, when I’m there, I’ll make it up to you tenfold. For now, let’s keep going. I want you to use your fingers, sweetheart. Make yourself feel good for me, pleasure yourself. Please. Slide them deep and tell me how it feels.

[cod-dump]

Step dad Graves is so so funny. Especially if they’re close in age and both secretly love it whilst putting up a fuss. Let Ghost collect father figures and Graves get to impart knowledge . Let Graves hate it at first then get some Ghost lore and be like “…I’m not your stepdad I’m only 6 years older than you…… what do you mean you never had a birthday cake…… what do you mean you were made to laugh at a dying prostitute…… “well guess I’m getting this man a skull cake and we’re playing catch in the yard

The more Graves learned about Ghost the harder it was to pretend he didn’t like him.

They were barely friendly when they worked together going after Hassan and Graves’ betrayal ruined whatever that was. Graves cutting ties with Shepherd and fully working with 141 (to atone for his past and right wrongs all while being able to still work) Ghost had greeted him with much expected hostility.

And Graves responded with indifference. He figured things would stay that way, Ghost would never let go what happened and Graves would never show any care for the man beyond comrades. But then Graves started learning bits and pieces about him, the longer they were around each other the more Ghost started to start talking to him with actual conversations instead of threats. That’s how Graves learned about his fear of snakes. The Ghost, the man who would pick up a fucking spider bare handed, an animal lover to the core, was terrified of snakes.

Graves discovered this during a mission together. They had spent that time in that forest in almost complete silence, waiting for Price to give them the go ahead, when the fearsome Ghost jolted where he laid, flinging something into the bushes nearby before moving away from the spot he had laid in without even moving an inch for two hours.

“Fucking devilish bitch!”

Graves saw the tail end of a snake darting away, and that was when he learned about Ghost’s fear. And that would open up to him learning a lot more about Ghost, more than he ever imagined due to their not so friendly work environment. He, of course, originally was going to taunt Ghost over his rather surprising fear, planning to exploit it until it was no longer effective.

But, of course, he would learn something else related to the snake. Ghost seemingly was deep in his mind after running in with the limbless creature, and he offered up a explanation for his irrational fear (irrational considering all the other creatures he adores).

“Old man liked to force them in my face. Thought how I squirmed was hilarious.”

And just like that, after that piece of information was processed, Ghost didn’t say another word. Graves was left with that piece of history involving Ghost he never expected to learn, let alone from Ghost himself. And after that, Ghost seemed to open up to him more. Graves would like to think he heard himself some leeway with Ghost by not going through with his original intentions on teasing him. It was the only thing that made sense as to why Ghost was starting to warm up to him.

Warming up to him to the point he was willingly offering up more of his lore.

“Don’t like crowds, especially not in dark places.”

He dropped that on another mission, completely unprompted. It was a mutter just for Graves to hear, even though Gaz wasn’t far away. That made something stir within him, something about Ghost just telling him something instead of a man who he is considerably much closer with. And that slight tug of his heart strings became pulling when he learned why he didn’t like crowds. And his old man was behind the reason as well.

The more Graves learned about Ghost, the more he hated his probably long dead father. There was a twisted similarity to Mr. Riley and Graves’ own father. And that just made him become protective of Ghost. He started treating Ghost like he did his Shadows. He was pretty much Shadow materiel with skill and efficiency, but now he was a Shadow to Graves because of what he went through.

Graves had a type he went for when recruiting Shadows. He looked for skill, experience, attitude — But he also looked at their history. He has a soft spot for those with bad home lives, made him feel more connected with them. If he was looking over Ghost’s records with the intention of recruiting him into Shadow Company, man would’ve been a Shadow after he learned about Roba.

“Since when are you two friends?” Soap had questioned, Graves noticing the jealousy in his voice but also the curiosity.

“I can understand his accent better,” Ghost jabbed at Soap, his eyes squinting slightly to show he was smiling under his mask.

Soap made a very insulted gasp, “Oh, is that so?”

Graves felt at place finally, standing next to Ghost as he and Soap bickered. It turned playful rather quickly and Graves felt more at ease next to Soap than he had since they first met. And, dare he even think it, Ghost felt comfortable standing next to him. Finally opening up, finally dropping his metaphorical mask of hostility (Graves doubts he’ll take off his actual mask any time soon).

And, of course Price noticed. He noticed a while back, Graves knows he had. Man knows anything that has to do with his boys, especially Ghost. He hadn’t said a word, never hinted in any way to show he knew. He just acted like it had always been. It was like he wasn’t even surprised. Goes to show he knew Ghost was better than anyone.

“Good to see you two finally getting along,” Price said to Graves one evening, the two had long retired to bed while the boys stayed up playing cards (not UNO, they would be enemies before morning and it would take a few days to get them to drop the pettiness).

Graves hummed, taking a moment to realize what Price was talking about. He didn’t expect him to say anything without Graves mentioning it first.

“We’re tolerating each other.”

Price hummed back, slight smirk on his lips. He knew. He knew that Graves considers Ghost as one of his Shadows. As one of his boys.

[gay-dinasaur]

"This tastes weird," Sam say, taking Dean aback.

He raises his eyebrows and waits for his brother to correct himself - Sam has done a lot of things in his life that pissed Dean off, but he's never acted disrespectful towards the food Dean made him, at least not since he was old enough to read and write.

"I said it tastes weird," Sam repeats, now looking just as confused as Dean is. "What I meant to say is, I don't really like it, but I'm gonna eat it anyway out of politeness," he adds, not really making things better.

Sam stares in dismay at the soup and Dean does the same. The liquid looks the same it did a few minutes ago, nothing out of the ordinary, just a plain pumpkin soup.

Perhaps too plain, for Sam's refined taste.

Normally, he would make a joke and leave it at that, but this situation is too similar to something they've been through and Dean does not like it one bit.

They both look at Jack, who has been up to this point contently eating said soup, apparently without any complaints.

It takes him a few seconds to realize what's happening, but then he's shaking his head. "It wasn't me," he says, shrugging his shoulders.

Dean really wishes he didn't believe him - that way, they could do something about it and fix it, but Jack has probably been affected by the spell as well as is telling the truth.

"Ah, great," Dean sights, "fucking great."

Sam finishes the soup quickly and excuses himself, running out of the room as fast as his giant legs carry him.

Jack tells Dean that he didn't mind the soup at all, which raises Dean's mood a bit before he starts washing the dishes. It's distracting enough that Dean doesn't notice the remaining inhabitant of the bunker walking into the room.

"Do you want help with that?" Comes the gravelly voice and Dean drops the plate he's holding.

Thankfully it doesn't break, only falling a few inches into the sink.

The water is still running as Dean stares at Cas, who tilts his head at him after a few seconds.

"Uh, sure," Dean manages after carefully thinking it through.

Last time, some people even said their truths out loud unprompted, just yelled them out for the world to hear. Dean can't let that happen here. He has to finish this as quickly as possible and then get the hell out of earshot.

Which, fuck, probably means at least a mile, since Cas is an angel who can hear lot more than he should.

Good news is, they both have an appreciation for silence. Sometimes, they don't need to talk, don't have to talk. It's incredibly rare and incredibly calming. Dean doesn't have to fill that silence, doesn't have to make sure Cas isn't angry at him. They just are. Right now, they are standing next to each other, shoulders pressed together and it's relaxing like few other things in this world.

Which is bad, Dean realizes - but only after the words leave his mouth.

"I love you."

That's it.

Three little words; three stupid little words and Dean's life as he knows it is over.

Cas stares at him, unmoving, and Dean thinks about what to say to salvage the situation before coming up with nothing.

Cas stares some more and then carefully puts down the glass he was drying.

Dean's hands are empty too and he's not sure what to do with them.

Cas doesn't seem to have the same problem - his hands grab onto Dean's, holding him in place and Dean realizes he was starting to back up out of the room.

"Dean," Cas says, like he always does. Dean doesn't think anyone else has ever pronounced his name like that.

"Look. It's just... It's... There's this spell, I didn't... I didn't mean to say that. At all, I didn't want to say that, I didn't..." Dean continues mumbling, feeling worse every second as Cas' face falls.

It's subtle, but Dean has years of experience reading his angel - Cas' mouth freezes in place and he sets his jaw and Dean knows he's going to let go of him and pull back just before he does.

Dean's hands feel cold, suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"You remember what Jack did, after we lied to him? Well, he's not the one responsible, this time, but it looks like we can't lie."

"Ah," Cas responds, turning away.

"Wait."

"What, Dean? You wish to repeat it again, you wish to make it clear that you don't love me like I love you? Because I already--"

Dean interrupts him by pressing his lips to his.

Cas sights into it and then blinks up at Dean when he pulls away. Then he lowers his eyes to Dean's lips and they both lean in again, not wanting to be separated for long.

Dean's brain is nothing but fireworks, the notion of kissing Castiel so novel and yet so right, like this is what they are supposed to be doing.

He doesn't know how long have they've been kissing, but if it's anything less than a century, it's not enough.

"Guys, get this--"

Sam shrieks after turning the corner.

Dean - very reluctantly - pulls of Cas to glare at his brother, who promptly turns around and runs out of the room for the second time this hour.

"So. I take it that you do, um, love me?" Cas says sheepishly.

"Yeah." Dean swallows.

"I do."

Suptober, Day 26 - Enchanted

[buckyalpine]

Imagine being obsessed with Bucky's nose. Every other girl fawns over his eyes, his lips, his dimple chin, his arm, his chest, then there's you. You’re always talking about how adorable his nose is. It’s so perfect. 

You love when he smiles because he does this little scrunch and its the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. 

He doesn’t know how to act when you gush over how cute you think it is. You’re not even together so he doesn’t know what to do with himself other than blush deeply and shy away from you. 

It’s all fine until  the rest of the team catch on and all he can do is grumble over how he doesn’t have a cute nose. The only person who can get away with it is you. It really is the cutest nose ever so they make sure he hears it every second of the day. 

“Awww look, he’s doing that lil scrunchy thing again!”

“Shut up Wilson”

“He’s like a bunny when his nose twitches” 

“Shut up Stark”

“Y/n’s right, it’s adorable”

“For fucks sake, not you too punk”

“He’s right Mr. Barnes”

“I’ll ship you back to Queens, kid”

“Adorable”  *boop* You walk by and lightly tap his nose, smiling at the way his cheeks blush immediately after, a goofy smile tugging at his lips. Everyone breaks out into shit eating grins when he doesn't give you a snarky retort, looking back at you with puppy eyes instead. As soon as you disappear around the corner, he glares at them, flipping them off while they all cackle. 

“Not. A. word” 

His mind turns into ABSOLUTE MUSH when you give his nose a peck, unprompted, just when you feel like it. He then breaks out of that trance and contemplates on wearing his Winter Solider mask again when others on the team try to do the same, just to fuck with him.  

I mean, its adorable, can you blame them? 

Anways, idk why I wrote this, I was just thinking about his nose, of all things. 

[meanbossart]

Hi! I'm in love with your DU art and was wondering what Drow's initial reaction to Astarion being a vampire spawn or did he already know? (Also what's his view on vampires in general?)

Oh yeah he knew LOL

Like, I'm sorry, I don't care if your insight is in the negatives - the guy is surrounded by jars of coagulated blood, he's translucent under the sun, he has red eyes and bite marks on his neck, he has FANGS. I will first believe you found some work-around to the whole "sun-burning-me-to-cinders" issue before I DON'T assume that you're a vampire.

Because Astarion took almost a whole act to warm up to DU drow, I had the pleasure of getting the dialogue where he has to tell you about his status as a suckling undead unprompted. And yeah, DU drow's reaction was "Yeah I know". It gave me a good laugh, I'm so glad that was an option.

I think DU drow, after gathering that Astarion was some kind of vampire, just assumed it didn't need to be discussed unless he turned it into a problem. He's fucked-up in the head himself, after all, and the other guy over there is eating necklaces and boots to survive - if you need to take off to eat a boar every other night that's fine, It's none of his business.

But after it was all out in the open, and after they had sex for the first time, it was only then that Astarion tried to bite him. At that point DU drow was already a little carnally-smitten with the guy and had since re-familiarized himself with his own taste for pain. His current object of desire requesting to hurt him for his own benefit and to put himself in such a vulnerable place felt very... Nostalgic. Not only did he agree to it pronto, but it honed his interest in Astarion from that point on. Something about this agreement of theirs was very comforting, and he kept coming back for more, long before any feelings had actually developed.

This has nothing to do with his vampirism, though LOL there just so happens to be a lot of crossover between it and things that endear DU drow to Astarion. The literal bloodthirst, their shared feral nature, the risk implied in being intimate with him, the fact that Astarion looks and smells like a dead body-

This drives DU drow specially nutty. He loves how Astarion smells. This man will stick his face in his crevices and just take a deep long whiff. You're welcome for that mental image, by the way.

Otherwise, his opinion of vampires is very much based on Astarion's own perspective - which means he views them as a whole as untrustworthy creatures; weak, but simultaneously extremely dangerous. Vampire lords are tyrants drunk on power, always one misstep away from their downfall, and spawn are all cornered animals - fragile, but rabid. Astarion is, of course, the exception... Kind of.

[syoddeye]

from: housekeeper anon

I can't believe we were both thinking of mean edging from price at the same time. ugh great minds and what not.

kind of frothing at the mouth at price being all "babies need loving parents" (can you imagine how absolutely feral he would be if reader actually said she loved him unprompted?? like "ily" slips out on accident then suddenly she's bent over the nearest surface djsksk)

anywaysssss love you love you love you aghhh

hi friend. sorry for the delay! yeah, no, i can imagine reader slipping up and murmuring i love you as a more of an offhand remark than an actual declaration. i took this in a direction that may not be for you. my bad. 560ish words.

tags: noncon, period sex, graphic descriptions of period related pain, blood

it's a complete accident. a polite nothing she murmurs after emptying a shopping bag full of last-minute necessities. between john's ritualistic, rough fucking he insists on at least twice daily and scrubbing the floors on her hands and knees, the brutal onset of cramps from her period could not have worse timing.

pain radiates down her thighs to her knees as if splintering her patellae. eating through the cartilage, then licking up her femurs for good measure. the kind of pain where she wishes to take a melon baller to her own organs and scoop.

(she explained it to john in as disgusting terms as possible, begging him for supplies this time around. for him to just lock her in the closet and run out to grab whatever was on hand at the nearest store. to her shock, he did. all that scrubbing must've softened him up.)

it's a courtesy, recited without thinking when he brings back chocolate, painkillers, a heating pad, tampons, pads—a tired, anguished i love you grumbled while holding her stomach, uttered in one of her weakest moments.

she doesn't realize what she's done until he bullies her into the kitchen corner, breath hot on her face when he tells her to say it again. he's made her say it before, but she's never said it unless under duress. universes start and end in the three seconds she does the math and forces herself to repeat it.

it's a miracle he lets her out of the kitchen unfucked.

john sends her to wash up. tells her to take her time—something he never allows. in the shower, she hears him traveling the hall several times over. hurried, thunking footsteps wearing a path from the kitchen to the bedroom. the paracetamol and shower help ease the pain, but all she can think of is what awaits. of her mistake.

he pops into the bathroom once. makes a show of grabbing towels.

her knees nearly fail. of course. of course, he wants to fuck after accidentally saying i love you. period be damned.

she doesn't get out until she's pruney, but wrinkled fingertips don't deter john. neither does the watery blood he finds between her legs. not the man who kills people for a living.

say it again, he asks, in a voice she thinks might be as soft as he manage. c'mon, sweetheart. he grits out, feeding his cock into her cunt. mesmerized by the extra warmth and color. she relents, hoping it'll speed things along.

it's disgustingly loud and sensitive, and she's apoplectic when she comes twice on his cock. his fingers are slippery over her clit, sticky and tacky. his body weight heavy as it presses down on her, grinding. he hisses in her ear, say it. tell me, c'mon, fuckin' say it.

her ears ring from the guttural groan those three stupid words unleash. if she comes a third time, she scarcely feels it, disassociating while he's distracted.

she comes back to her body as it's being kissed and stroked. her husband's soft, soaked in gore, resting on her hip as he half-spoons her. he whispers. little susurrations. knew you'd say it f'me. love you so much, sweetheart.

the worst part, she realizes when he rises to tenderly clean her, cooing and chuckling at the murder scene between her legs, is that her cramps are gone.

[essentiallyleaf]

day 02. pegging. with. chuu.

2013 words.

tags.

kinktober ‘23, futa!idol x male reader, roommates with benefits, sub reader, softie dom chuu, making out, blowjobs (reader receiving and giving), masturbation, mutual masturbation, pegging, pet names, the writing kinda just gets worse as it progresses, it wasn’t supposed to be this long.

notes.

chuu has a dick. if you’re into that, great, if you’re not, i’m sorry, hopefully you’ll like some of the next ones(?). i guess that’s kind of the point of kinktober? anyway, love your parents. intensely, leaf.

She always had those unexpected reactions, her tone or expression often clashing with her words (you saw her smile the widest at “Fuck that bitch and her fancy new whatever, can I suck you off?”), but when she said you looked tense and she’d help you loosen up, you didn’t expect that.

Jiwoo was just your roommate, not exactly the “just your roommate” that asks to copy your homework and not to make noise after 10, more like the “just your roommate” that you have unprompted makeout sessions with during movie night, or right before going to class, or anytime she felt like it, really. It wasn’t uncommon that while making out she would casually offer you a blowjob, what was uncommon is that you’d decline.

One time you were feeling up her boobs and asked to repay the favor, and she asked you if you were sure, said that she’d understand if you never wanted to kiss her, or even talk to her again, then lowered her pants and underwear and showed you her 6.5-inch monster. You simply pecked her and got on your knees. It was your first time, but you did “great, baby boy”.

Since then the two of you started masturbating in front of each other, Jiwoo even using her black dildo on special occasions (you never knew whether to look at her veiny cock or her pretty puppy face, simultaneously focused and completely lost in pleasure) and jerking each other off slowly while kissing. Some of her cum accidentally hit your closed eyelid once, she said she was so sorry, you just picked it up with your finger and licked it off, satisfied. She smiled and cleaned your dick with her tongue.

One day Jiwoo came home looking distracted. She was worried about her driving test (“I’ll get my license when I need one”; she ended up needing one to get from afternoon classes to evening shifts at the coffee shop she worked at, the subway couldn’t get her there in time) and about finals getting closer, she said; you knew there was something else. You made her hot pot that night, then you watched Ratatouille together. She loves Ratatouille. You asked if she was tired, if there was something else she wanted to do. Twenty minutes later you were laying on the couch on top of her, naked.

“I’m putting it in, okay?”

She came three times that night. Before you both fell asleep while spooning on the couch, nothing but a blanket covering your bodies (it was well into May, so it wasn’t that cold), you whispered in her ear:

“I think you’ll do great on your date”

She turned her head. “H- How did you know?”

“I didn’t”

She opened her mouth like she was trying to say something, then probably realized there was no need to. You hugged her tighter.

The date went pretty well. It was a girl she met at the coffee shop, she was a pre-med student who drank lots of coffee and read a little too much Nietzsche for someone her age. Jiwoo said she was just “interested in the human mind”, which is certainly one way of looking at it. Things ended up not working out, but Jiwoo took it surprisingly well. As for you, you’re all for your roommate making her own choices and more than happy to just support her, but you can’t say you were particularly sad about it.

Maybe it’s for the same reason that tonight, you let her have it. You let her play with you, follow her lead, and then, who knows.

What matters is that right now, Jiwoo just jumps onto the couch and starts simply kissing your neck, ridding you of your shirt to access your collarbones, lightly squeezing your cock through your pants in the meantime. You feel up her boobs through her beige t-shirt before she quickly takes it off with your help along with your jeans and her gray waist-high pants, taking no more than twenty seconds. You’re used to her being a little impatient from time to time. She keeps making out with you as she gropes your butt with both hands, humping you increasingly stronger as both of you become erect.

She only stops to get rid of the remaining underwear on both of your bodies, smiling like she has something in mind.Then she extends her index finger in front of your face.

“Wait one second”

You’re not surprised when she comes back from her room with a bottle of lube in her hand. You are surprised when, in the same tone she reminds you to water the plants, gently, but delivering the feeling that it’s something she cares about, ‘cause “without them, it wouldn’t feel like home!”, she tells you:

“Get on all fours”

“Noona?” She’s two years older than you.

“I know it’s scary, okay? I was scared too, but I promise, I promise it’ll feel good. And if it hurts even a little, we stop immediately, I kiss you boo-boo and we watch The Incredibles while eating ice cream” You love The Incredibles, and you love ice cream, but the thought of Jiwoo’s girth splitting your anus open was still pretty fucking scary.

“How about if we skip the kissy boo-boo part?”

It wasn’t what she said, it was her big sister smile, the smile of someone who cares, the smile of someone who, if need be, would protect you from your greatest stan, turned evil after you rejected him, who now wants to pretend-destroy your city and then pretend-save it to look like a hero, or from, a washed restaurant owner, that wants to kill your rat friend, who indirectly cooks rejuvenating dishes, secretly controlling your movements by pulling your hair, I guess?

Anyway, you get on all fours and she softly pats your butt and lower back before squirting some lube on her hands and spreading it thoroughly on her shaft. Then she puts her index and middle fingers on your asshole and starts gently massaging around it.

“Hey, it might be a little cold, okay?”

It is a little cold. But the first phalanx of the first finger feels unexpectedly okay. She slowly goes in deeper and deeper, observing your facial expressions, because seeing you three quarters from the back is enough for her, and listening for any signs of discomfort. She only hears soft mewls, so she places the second finger on your rim and waits. You gradually get used to the feeling and relax more and more, until Jiwoo can push the second digit in, this time even slower than the first. You struggle a little more with this one.

“Shhh, you’re doing so good for me, baby boy” she whispers while kissing your nape. Her reassuring words help you relax a little more, until she can get most of her slender finger in.

“I’m gonna start moving. You just tell me if it hurts, yeah?” Then she begins rotating her fingers inside you, covering your insides with lube. Now that you’ve adjusted to the temperature, it feels surprisingly quite nice. As soon as she deems you appropriately lubed up, she slowly takes her fingers out as you groan. When she’s done, you feel strangely hollow.

“Good boy, my good boy, you did so well” she showers you with compliments while repeatedly kissing you on the cheek. You half-smile back.

“Wanna stop?” You just shake your head.

She takes position behind you on the couch and aligns her rod with you, placing her tip on your asshole. She starts lightly pushing in as you moan out loud, her girth much wider than her fingers. You look back at her and nod to go in, and so she does. You growl as she gradually makes her way into your hole, one of her hands now on your shoulder, the other on your hip.

As you look over your shoulder, asking yourself when she’s finally going to bottom out, she smiles, almost surprised herself.

“A- I’m in”

You take a couple minutes to get adjusted, two minutes filled with “You did a great job, honey”’s and kisses on your shoulders, neck, and lips.

Then she slowly pulls back out, until only her tip is in you. You feel that strange hollowness again.

“Just go in, what are you waiting for?” You look behind, questioningly. 

“Haha~ I knew you would like this” (Touché.)

You can’t say the same, but when she begins thrusting back and forth at a glacial pace, making sure to hit every corner of your hole, any thought of suppressing your moans and “Yes, noona”’s to try to keep a semblance of pride has gone completely out of the window and you’re now in the palm of Jiwoo’s hand. So as she accelerates her rhythm, she simply goes:

“There, there” and moves her right hand to your still erect cock to jerk you off. The built up stimulation from her fingers, to her dick, to now her hand caressing your length makes you explode after only a couple strokes, and many long stripes of white messily paint the couch. Your orgasm lasts what feels like an eternity and you keep growling out loud for more than a few seconds as Jiwoo wraps her hands around you, trying her best to support your limp body.

“You okay?” You still need to take a few deep breaths before you’re able to answer.

“Fuck, that was intense” you’re talking into a pillow, no strength left to even turn to face her.

“You wanna feel something more intense?”

“What? I just came, I’m spent, I have nothing left in me!”

“I’ll do all the work, I won’t even touch your dick! Plus, I still haven’t cum…” She pouts slightly. Fuck, this girl knows you.

“‘Kay, what do I do?”

“Just lay with your back on the couch and your legs open. Get comfortable, I need you to relax~” she says almost melodically, caressing from the top of your head, to your temples, down to your cheeks.

When she sees your eyes close in relaxation, she aligns herself with your hole for a second time and pushes in, this time much more easily. She bottoms out in just a few seconds and in this position, it feels she’s reaching much deeper into you. She notices when you tightly grip a pillow in each hand and groan below her, still not able to express your pleasure through proper words, so she wrings them out of you.

“You like, huh?”

“Yeah. Yeah, noona. Please keep going”

“At your service, baby boy”

She immediately gets into a faster rhythm this time, knowing she won’t last long either. As she pistons in and out of your hole, you feel your guts being rearranged, spikes of pleasure reinvigorating you with energy. Energy that needs to flow out one way or another, and it does through your hands gripping Jiwoo’s asscheeks, guiding, no, throwing her pelvis into you and back out, and through your abs flexing to help your mouth reach up to the lips of the girl above you.

The two of you are now symmetrically slamming your respective hips into each other’s and moaning in each other’s mouths, only partially silencing the sounds of pure, raw sex leaving your apartment. And symmetrically the two of you reach your peaks.

You start spurting the last few drops of cum you have in your body just as she pulls out and jerks herself onto you, two sources of white nectar coming together on your abs, chest, even chin and neck as you and Jiwoo are still French kissing, and keep doing so for a good minute after coming down from your highs, her body now resting on yours.

You wrap one hand around her back and caress her hair with the other while kissing the side of her head.

“Haha~ I take it you liked it”

“Some parts of my body definitely loosened up”

The joke isn’t funny, but she chuckles anyway.

“Thank you, noona”

-

footnotes.

hope you liked it! i wasn’t super happy about some parts, but that’s okay(?). i’m kinda worried i’ll write the same characters over and over again, just changing the names. hopefully it’s just that two different idols in a row gave me the same vibes. we’ll see. may you have a blessed day, dear reader. mmwah. kindly, leaf.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

Phullo it is I again!

I am very glad that you actually responded and given me an actual advice since I was worried about the question I sent you.

Though besides that I have another question for you (hoorayyy)!

So, about the reading books earlier- I’m fortunately a bookworm too! It’s just that I notice I prefer reading the genre science fiction/psychological horror more than… anything else!

And while the books I am currently reading, ‘Flowers For Algernon’ and ‘I’m Thinking Of Ending Things’ (these books are seriously so wonderfully made they make want to tear my walls), DO have romantic aspects of it- it’s not really the main plot of the story..

‘Flowers For Algernon’ has amazing storytelling and is very unique- though I’m not sure if you’ve read it before but, it’s actually just the main character taking notes. Hence why there was a lot misspellings which honestly makes it a great touch if you know the context behind it.

On the other hand, ‘I’m Thinking Of Ending Things’ too shares the same uniqueness as the other, possibly even more unique if I must say so myself. Though I REALLY don’t want to make my story similar to them since I want to make it more heart warming than fucked up..

Which is why I feel like I have the need to borrow or buy at least one romantic book because, I lack of it. I mean I accidentally borrowed it one time but it was kind of disappointing.

I don’t know if its a good idea and if I should do it or not since does it really matter of the genre, or just the writing?

Still, if you have any good books that are in the romance genre. Feel free to recommend some to me!

-lots of love, from another bookworm

welcome back! happy to hear you're a bookworm as well <3 im writing those titles down since i read a criminal lack of sci-fi despite loving it

i actually don't have any straight up romance recs - i don't actively search it out (outside of fanfic), so any romance i read just comes with whatever book i've picked up. just straight up romance bores me, unless its a fic with a pairing i actively like. and even then, i need to take breaks from it unless the romance is interspersed with an actual plot. im not a romantically-geared person! i dont have single Main Plot Is Romance book on my shelves!

but imo its really just the quality of writing that helps. ive never been in a romance, im the child of two different divorces, and yet ive been told that i write romance fairly well. go fuckin figure lmao.

so actually my advice on romance is to just like. wow idk what i do is pick apart the romances i see on tv / in writing. what makes them good together, how do they act around each other, what are their love languages, what's their dynamic, what traditional romance things do they partake in, what dont they partake in, do they have anything nontraditional, do they work and why do / they dont they - does that make their relationship more interesting or is it flat. are they a good match.

you don't have to have every answer, but ive found that at least understanding their characters / dynamics, and having them interact in a way that suits them will help your romance feel natural. dont conform to tropes or tradition, that will just make the relationship flat and unrealistic. and you can always sprinkle in little things that you like / would like, which will help ground the romance and get you into the groove

tldr with romance, i think it's better to observe real life (whether that's paying attention to couples or reading reddit threads) & analyze in-love or in-a-relationship characters instead of just reading romance novels. bc honestly, and from what i can tell, they can tend to be over the top or cookie cutter

just realized you did not explicitly ask for romance advice! Oopsie! i got a little carried away here....

[arlerts-angel]

Dare I ask for jealous armin? Would he be sweet and tell you how he feels or would he be mean and show you how he feels? 🤭🤭

note: this sent me into jealous armin brainrot 😩🥰

nsfw ! minors kindly dni

cw: mean!dom!armin x afab!reader, reader has non-gendered pronouns, use of names (whore, baby, slut, angel), oral sex (m!receiving), unprotected penetrative sex (piv), light aftercare

how armin reacts when he feels jealous depends entirely on why he's jealous.

if someone hits on you unprompted, he'll just bring you a little closer to him... kiss the top of your head and wrap his arm around your waist.

but if you make him jealous on purpose? he's making a bit of a dramatic exit.

when he sees you chatting with someone else, laughing at their jokes (which he thinks knows aren't funny) and glancing over at him... he grabs your hand and drags you away. "wha- where are we going?" you ask innocently. he doesn't answer you, but instead calls out to the person you were flirting with.

"so sorry about dragging this pretty thing away from you. her whore mouth speaks out of turn sometimes."

his grip on your wrist tightens as he pulls you behind him. "armin–" you start. he stops abruptly and speaks in a low voice. "your mouth is only good for one thing right now, and that's not speaking."

once you're away from the crowd, he opens the car door for you because he's still a gentleman. he unbuttons his pants, revealing a tent in his boxers and a little spot of precum where the tip of his achy cock rests.

"show me how you really use that whore mouth of yours." he demands as he frees his erect cock from the confines of his boxers. you don't skip a beat before taking all of his length between your lips. he groans as you suck hungrily on his dick, outlining every curve and vein with your tongue.

"look so pretty with my dick in your mouth." he sighs, pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail and fucking into your mouth. you gag around him, earning a moan from him. "you can take it baby, you're a good slut aren't you?" you nod and continue sucking him off.

he thrusts his cock deep into your throat a couple more times. "fuck–" he groans. his dick twitches in your mouth and you're suddenly met with his thick, warm cum coating your throat. you swallow it all (like a good slut does) and await his next command.

"we're not finished here. just wait til we get home." he coos. he has one hand on the steering wheel while the other teases your cunt. "so fucking wet. not surprised." he teases. "fuck 'min gonna make me cum–!" you whine, but he won't allow you to cum. not yet. he sucks your slick off his fingers and returns his hand to the steering wheel.

after an agonizing drive home, he bends you over the couch and fucks you from behind. "this is how whores get fucked. you like it? being fucked like a whore?" he says through gritted teeth. you nod, unable to complete a coherent thought. "use your words, pretty. you like it, don't you? so fucking dirty." he groans, slamming into your pussy mercilessly. "yes, sir." you cry out. "that's right." he says in your ear. "may i cum now, sir?" you ask as you approach your orgasm. "yeah, cum for me angel."

he slams his cock into you one last time before you both collapse into each other, riding out the highs of your climaxes. he kisses your shoulders and rubs your hair lovingly. "you okay, love? too much?" he asks sweetly. "i'm okay, thank you." you reply. "let's go shower and relax... and, angel? you know i love you, right?"

[possibilistfanfiction]

More surgeon suffering pls! Maybe bea learning more about Ava’s injury?

[definitely sooo gentle & no present-day suffering lol but here u go]

//

‘you can ask.’

beatrice’s gentle, callused, careful fingers still along your back, their patterns you can’t quite decipher gone quiet. ‘i would never do that.’

her voice is so soft and so relaxed, it’s not at all a reprimand; you can’t say it aloud, not yet, but you love her. you roll over so that you can see the gentle planes of her face through the silvery-blue light from the moon and the night outside her big windows, the blinds not yet drawn. she looks at you openly, patiently, like there’s nothing she wants to take from you; everything she wants to give. you know — in your heart and through your friends and your family and your therapist telling you over and over again — that you have so much to offer: you’re beautiful and funny and very smart, and you love the world more than anyone you know. you also know that beatrice is sometimes less sure of herself than she seems: she clams up every time her parents call, unable to tell them to, unequivocally if it was up to you, fuck off; she loves to be lazy and sleep in and wants no one to know; she still is in the habit of downplaying accomplishments, anything from a surgery she mastered (impressive in that you know how hard it is) to a new route she climbed at the gym (you have no idea but lilith was jealous and you can imagine it’s hot); she’s a horrible cook.

‘i know,’ you say, and you do. you let a finger drift down the bridge of her nose, count her freckles, feel the chapped bow of her lips beneath your thumb. she has a scar, small, through her left brow, and you trace it. ‘what’s this from?’

she smiles, always so quick to understand, always so generous. it makes you feel like you could light up the entire world sometimes. ‘i was five; my brothers were trying to teach me how to rollerblade.’

you think about it: beatrice’s gap-toothed grin and the delightfully terrible bob haircut she had for so much of her early childhood, the photos making you laugh when, unprompted, lilith showed you a few weeks ago when you’d all had dinner at a good oyster place near bea’s house. ‘can you rollerblade now?’

‘no, it frightened me. i never learned.’

‘putting that on the short list of things that scare you. good to know.’

she holds up her right arm so you can see the small scar on her elbow, the skin darker than before. ‘at university, i was drunk and my crush dared me to climb a tree.’

you can’t help the laugh it pulls out of you. ‘oh my.’

she nods. ‘yes, quite. needless to say, amelia and i went our separate ways fairly soon after.’

‘well, her loss. i’d have paid to see you fall out of a tree.’

‘i didn’t fall,’ she says. ‘i scraped my elbow on the way up, but i did continue.’

‘of course you did.’

she shrugs. you trace the scars across her chest, ones you love. 

‘camila told me you tried to go back to classes a week after your surgery. like, the day after you got your drains out.’

bea laughs. ‘yes, and promptly fell fast asleep about three minutes in.’

‘front row?’

‘well, the second.’

‘knew it.’

‘i can keep going, if you like. i have a good story about a scraped knee during field hockey at boarding school.’

‘homoerotic, i hope.’

she rolls her eyes, but based on her silence you know you’re right.

she lets you sit in it, easily, and her house is beautiful and warm and, you’re beginning to think — to hope — it might be full of your things one day, too. it’s easier to be brave here, but your words, the worst of them, still get stuck in your throat. ‘well, what do my scars tell you?’

she weighs it. ‘you know i’m more interested in cardio.’

‘you’re the smartest person i’ve ever met.’

‘well, you favor your left hand when you’re practicing sutures, and i know your left foot gets numb often. you have trouble with temperature regulation and walking long distances, but an easier time standing for the most part; your neck aches, i think all the time.’ she pauses. ‘your handwriting is abysmal, although i suspect that has nothing to do with your injuries.’

you’re about to start crying, but she makes things lighter, even now.

‘all i care about, ava,’ she says, soft and sure, a hand tangled in your hair and then gentle on your cheek, ‘is that you get the care you need, that you tell someone — me or anyone else who can help. and you can tell me whatever you like, if ever you feel ready.’

‘i can’t — i want to.’

she kisses your forehead. ‘like i said. it’ll always be up to you. i’m here.’

you take a deep breath. ‘my mom had a garden,’ you say. ‘she died, uh —‘ you get a little caught, stuck on the way her eyes looked when she wasn’t alive anymore, when you couldn’t move, when you were stuck for so long, screaming and so, so scared — ‘she grew all kinds of vegetables.’ your voice shakes but beatrice only nods. ‘and flowers. we were going to —‘ you sniffle and beatrice just wipes your tears — ‘i think she wanted to keep bees. i don’t even know if that was possible; we had a little yard. but everything grew.’

‘that sounds wonderful.’

‘it was, even though i hated eating my vegetables.’

beatrice laughs softly, admonishing in a way that’s harmless, fond. ‘you’ve grown so much since then.’

‘hey, i’ll have you know just today i ate, like, seven bites of a salad.’

‘very impressive.’

‘can i — not right now, because i think i’ll just cry too much, but — can i tell you more about her? i wish you could’ve met her.’ i wish i could remember her more; i can’t forget.

‘i would love that. and, if she was anything like you, i’m sure she would’ve lit up an entire room. it would’ve been an honor.’

‘bea, i really don’t want to cry again,’ you whine.

‘you should know,’ she tells you, a little firm, so there’s no argument. ‘she would be so proud of you. i know it; who wouldn’t be?’

‘that’s —‘ you bury your face in her neck, just for a moment, soft and warm and safe. 

‘would you like to plant a garden?’

‘in my tiny ass apartment?’

‘no,’ she says, and you can’t see her but you can practically feel her rolling her eyes. ‘here. i have the whole back yard and, frankly, no real interest in a lawn.’

‘i —‘ you back up so you can look at her, and her eyes are clear. ‘really?’

‘of course. i’m actually quite interested in self-sustaining agriculture, and the pacific northwest has great growing conditions for so much wonderful flora and fauna.’

‘wow. okay, but — it’s your house.’

she pauses. ‘ava.’

‘i just — you’re sure?’

‘i would really enjoy it, if you’d like. also, my friend marco, from the climbing gym, runs the community garden in their neighborhood and has been pestering me to meet you.’

‘you talk about me?’

‘of course.’

‘well, if marco will do all the heavy lifting, and preferably both of you not have shirts on, i’m so in.’

‘it’s february.’

you shrug. ‘you’re tough.’

beatrice laughs, and you sink into it, delight in it. you could light up the whole world, ava, she told you after two glasses of wine and half an edible the other night, entirely serious, crammed onto the small couch in your small apartment, your life expanding far beyond, past any walls you knew. 

‘next weekend, when we’re both off,’ she says, ‘we can go to the nursery nearby and get started.’

‘you’re —‘ the love of my life sits right on the tip of your tongue, but you kiss her instead. ‘thank you.’

‘thank you for telling me about your garden, and your mother.’

all you can do is nod, and then hold her after she turns over and falls asleep.

[jamietwat]

Thinking about how in the Roy/Keeley/Jamie dynamic, Keeley was the one like nope, not my job to fix him and honestly love that for her and so valid to be like nope, you’re done and then get interested in again after he fixed himself

But out of her and Roy, Roy “I hope he dies of the incurable condition of being a little bitch” is the one that spent a season and a half wondering why anyone would ever think there was anything remotely redeemable about Jamie or why anyone would waste their time on him just to spend the second half of season 3 being the I can fix him one and rearranging his life to give Jamie as much of his undivided attention as possible

Like it’s not in the classic I can fix him personality wise thing that was much more of a Ted role with trying to make him treat people better and to make him be a team player. But the trying to make Jamie the best possible footballer he could be think is just another version of investing an unhinged amount of time into the guy you like to try to turn him into the ideal version of himself

Season 1 had Keeley like he has no accountability or consideration for others and it’s not my job to fix him

Season 2 had Jamie going yikes I don’t want to be a complete prick anymore and putting in the work to fix himself

And then season 3 had Roy going oh fuck it’s not incurable after all and liking Jamie enough that he caught Jamie sulking in the corner and went oh, Jamie’s being a self-obsessed little bitch again because someone is getting more attention and recognition than him? Time to volunteer to get up at ungodly hours and spend most of my time turning him into the best version of himself completely unprompted

But also personality wise, Roy was like I can unfix him a little

For a man that claimed to hate everything about season 1 Jamie, Roy’s really out here going Ted made you stop being a prick and it’s a problem… Oh, you’re pouting and ignoring the teammates all around you because you’re not the very best anymore and you hate that they all like the player better than you? Let’s make you the best again… Oh, you’re giving the rest of the team credit instead of bragging about yourself to the press? Time to brag for you

Jamie fixed himself and became a better version of himself and Roy decided that he liked him then said wait that’s kind of better but also if you could be a little bit worse and a little more obnoxious and self-absorbed again would be even better

[aeolianblues]

Aaahhh, I'm so nervous, I'm packing for London, and my whole family has spooked me out about the cultural differences between dressing in North America and the UK, going all 'oh Brits and Europeans, they really don't appreciate North American slacker dressing, they dress less casually than you guys so you better pack your best clothes especially for when you go out' and I'm like... ?? Are you thinking of Victorians, European socialites or telling me that Brits don't wear jeans and a tee, what's going on.

Like my look for the last few weeks has been 'rockstar at a photoshoot' (kinda taken from Razorlight's mid-00s shoots ngl), the look of mildly interesting graphic tee with jeans or trousers tucking in the shirt and a sorta smart jacket on top, which works great with the weather getting colder. And just because people rarely ever see me without one, a scarf (I just think they're neat). I'm not sure I'd call that slacker, like I sure as hell shouldn't need to go for 'jaw dropping backless strapless dress with rhinestone-encrusted pencil heels' in order to look formal, UGH. I am 100% cis but I really struggle with 'smart' dressing expectations for women.

Being away from home for a few years for uni was one of the best things I did because suddenly there was an option, that I could set a hard boundary that wearing dresses wasn't for me, that I didn't necessarily need to turn up in perfectly smooth, waxed legs and a skirt, masterfully pulling off some impressive heels and smiling the right way with a big smile on my playfully, youthfully sparkly lip-glossed lips. Suddenly, I could simply exist outside of that if I wanted to. The push and pressure to have appropriate 'evening wear' and an evening wear-appropriate body have been guns to my head for like a decade now. And I have never once looked comfortably, confident or happy in one of those.

Being on my own, going out to shops without my family, slowly my own taste began to emerge. I found my styles, I found my layers. My 'bad, slacker American' look (we're not even American). I found the scarves, the quarter zips, the military-style/Libertines jackets, the open shirt tied around your waist, a neckerchief, cargos with a billion pockets, bell bottoms, cuffed jeans, bold coloured jackets. Long sleeves under tees. Cool sunglasses. Boots. I've been approached by actual strangers who have only come up to tell me that they love my look (thankfully when my friends were around because I could literally never talk about this unprompted) (cheers 'Graham'!!) I can't or won't talk about it, but after 25 billion lectures by my mum, my grandma, my dad occasionally, like of course I'm going to remember someone saying that and it's going to be a big counterpoint in my mind!! Is that not 'smart' enough for you???

It's unfair, really. I'm not a fashionista. I'm not a stylish person just like that. I have actually had to think about what to wear, and I'm sure I've made like, colour faux pas and fashion no-nos, but that's the best I can do! I do not give a fuck to do more! It shouldn't be my job to do more than this! I should not have to be a fucking princess-in-training with my graceful walk and red-carpet-woman-dressing sense available on speed dial. That's not my world. Why are the expectations on women so fucking high.

Or just absurd, I think I could show up in a cute lil black dress, my legs horribly red in places from imperfect and probably painful as hell attempts to get rid of any semblance of hair, untoned as you were, odd colourations and probably even dry ngl, and look very awkward and uncomfortable, and my grandma would beam at me approvingly for 'attempting to look like a girl' but I could be the fucking coolest person in the room absolutely killing it in trousers and a smartly layered white band shirt that's the conversation opener that I'm just winning the room with, and still my grandma would take me aside, point to my cousin in a cocktail dress and go, look at her, can't you at least try to make an effort? For me? Look, girls look so nice :) in a dress, you should wear one too. And it'll be so awkward and I'll want to die in that moment and I'll be thinking, did you not see any effort in this?

And it won't fucking matter, I'll be dealing with this shit until at least one of us is in the ground. It's going to be this non-stop for the next two weeks that we're on holiday. All I was largely mindful of was that the UK (for some reason) seems to despise the puffer jackets that North America (on account of being COLDER) cannot do without. Now I don't own a coat of the sort a chic Londoner would wear because it was 0 degrees here last night. When do you want me to wear a thin, formal coat, two days in October? It'll be -3 soon enough. That coat won't do, I'll need a sweater, I'll need a windproof jacket on top that's not wool. By mid-November, it'll be -7 that gets colder as the wind blows. Your coats from even up north in the UK would be useless there! You've got to dress for where you live, it's much too cold up here for that, unless you're gonna add another layer over that. It's not 'slacker American casualness', it's that the closer you get to the Arctic, it gets colder...

So like. Apologies, United Kingdom. I have to bring my ugly puffy jacket with me, when I go back home in January it's gonna be -21 degrees. I can't care what five people at the airport think then.

I'm just nervous about the packing, but it's possible I'm also just nervous about my family's expectations. I am pretty confident you'll find the word 'jeans' in the Oxford English Dictionary.