#I KNOW they've explored each other's bodies

[chateau-dilf]

Villefort and his two stupid ass boyfriends one of which has moments of clarity and brutishness never before seen and the other who will throw a tantrum at any given time

[superpowered-dirt]

You're the One That I Want being the song in the Honda Odyssey sequence is so which could mean nothing of them

[msnihilist]

“why aren’t there phineas/isabella/ferb fics” girl that’s incest be fr

[imjusta-girls-things]

they lost focus and had a consensual workplace relationship.

[caesarclowningaround]

not me thinking about mickey miranda at 4 in the morning... again

[investingestincest]

First case done in barely an hour fuck yeah

[superkickme]

cant stop thinking about that 2016 Cody and Sami match tbh

[heartofbusan]

Best laid plans of stomach bugs and men.

The chemistry is the point.

Some people underestimate the effort and toll it takes on ones body and schedule to fly 14 hours to visit another person. 14 hours to spend 72 hours together means commitment. It means bro's before ho's and I am frankly HERE FOR IT.

The discourse I am seeing is extremely telling of how fickle people are about their support for jikook. People watch too much scripted reality tv 🙄 bcs they really expected this relationship, this reunion if you will, to play out in multiple angle close ups and medium shots and several wide angle shots with dramatic zooms and heavily directed post-moment recaps with dramatic silences or eye rolls to play up the drama? The lack of moments, the MUNDANITY if you will IS THE POINT. They are so real to me, so life like, so domestic goals!

Being quiet with each other. No uncomfortable silences, but comfortable togetherness.

That's what leads to horny bed fighting, which in my eyes could lead to more if not for the cameras 👀 just me?

When they said unscripted, this is what they meant. When they said unplanned, this is what they referred to. Not directed, not scripted, not fanservice 🙄 to fit a planned narrative. This is how their relationship plays out. I'd go so far as to call it a documentary instead of a reality series. While documentaries have tons of genres within itself, this genre is one where there's a broad range of planned activities, but where the narrative is constructed in post production: editing. Id know, since im an editor. This tells me that they counted on the natural chemistry between 'JeonJi' (SO CUTE) to 'lead the way' instead of a multitude of directed interactions that they (the producers) would have needed to tick a dramatic narrative box.

So what does that lead to? In my professional opinion as a director/editor the first two episodes lacked a dramatic arc. There was little directing going on to force one

the chemistry is the point

The flirting, the lulls in conversation, them being together, seeing them have fun, and reconnecting is the point. Instead of what they're doing or what they're talking about. The episodes, therefore, are kinda boring in the sense of entertainment, but wildly exiting in the sense of what we get to see play out. And it's incredibly nuanced. And nuance often flies over people's heads..again, the crowd that expects to be held by the hand when it comes to drama: reality tv.

It's a huge risk to take as a production. Let's not underestimate that! 'Are You Sure' was so unscripted that they didn’t even have a title until halfway into the second or third day. Again: they were banking on JeonJi to build upon their chaos to lead to a narrative and a title, etc. That is so telling to me. That them being together is the raison d'etre of this show. Jimin 'sacrificing' his time to fly to the US, Jeonkook making space in his busy schedule time to spend time unwinding, JeonJi making good on their need to finally spend time together after the booked and busy year they've had.

Jimin enjoying the hell out of Jungkook having fun.

Because that is who Jimin has always been: his adventurous spirit takes him places because he loves exploring and being in tue moment. He'll willingly travel to have those moments. Jungkook on the other hand doesn’t. He dislikes leaving the comfort of his surroundings because he doesn’t see the pot of gold that being adventurous brings him while he's comfortable in his home. I relate 😩 so much. Just planning trips alone makes me enter a comatose state, so I'd rather not go than sacrifice my rest to plan an adventure. I don't even know I'll get anything out of. That is, until Im actually on that planned trip and having the time of my life! They've always been like that. Jimin had to be the incentive to get Jungkook out on that trip. Take.him.by the hand if you will 😭😭

And then there's the stomach bug. YOU DAMMNED CURSED THING. It threw a HUGE wrench into their plans, and if anyone doesn’t take that into consideration, then you haven't had a stomachbug EVER while still having to face up to your commitments. Park Jimin will NEVER back down from his commitments, his promises *pinky promises* are sacred to him, and this bug took away the catalyst of this duo. Jungkook suddenly had to be the extrovert of the two, and boy, does he struggle in that role. He was to me his usuall baby elf self. So adorable and cute with his nose focused on food and Jimin’s care. But my man loves to rely on Jimin to lead the way in shenanigans and to make any moment entertaining, and you could just tell Jimin wasn't in his feels enough to overcome his lack of energy. Poor baby. Really, he's the best of us because I would have straight up refused to be filmed in that moment. A whole night of diarrhea and still showing up to film the next day?! NO MA'M NOT ME.

If you've read up to this point, I commend you. It was just supposed to be a short rant, but it became an entire essay because I can not with the overly reactionary nature some people show. Drawing entire conclusions based on two hour long episodes. I know, I might be contradicting myself here but extenuating circumstances and all. Jimin wasn’t on his game, and Jungkook was also recovering. When a show is banking on the chemistry between two people to shoulder the brunt of this show and said people are extremely sick, well then what can I tell you?

We need to sit back and enjoy the fact that we are getting such access to them, so unfiltered. Jikook enjoying each other, come rain or shine, in sickness and in health, whatever the mood brings, because that to me is more valuable than DRAMA or NARRATIVE. We'll probably get a bit more of that once they're going to Jeju, and they're both hopefully healthy. We're even getting a new element for them to play off of: Tete shows up! Like a jack in the box, and Jungkook seems to not be having it, lmao...see..unscripted and natural. I love that for them!

Idols are people first, and we need to celebrate that, not demand more.

[zepskies]

This is more of a Sam and Dean request than a reader and Dean request but what about Sam having a crush on Dean's gf? How would he react to that, I am honestly CRAVING angst and this is the angstiest, is that a word, thing I could think of, I am so sorry if you don't like angst or this makes you uncomfortable!!!

Oh my God. You killed me with this one, hun. 😫😫 I have another SB imagine coming next week, but I thought I'd put out this one for Dean to break it up a bit.

Pairing: Dean W. x Reader, one-sided Sam W. x Reader Word Count: 1,500

Imagine: You are Dean's one exception.

Sam knows it's wrong.

You're smart, with a degree in history that aids them well on hunts.

You're sharp, with a smart mouth that rivals Dean's (and keeps him on his toes).

But you're also kind. You take care of him and Dean with all the feminine grace and care they've never had in their lives.

Sam realizes it when he's up until 3 a.m. in the bunker's War Room. He's sat at the table, researching, eyes bleary, hands cramping from turning pages. And he finds a mug of hot tea sliding next to his idle hand on the table.

You're there with a smile and a hand on his shoulder. "Workin' hard or hardly working?"

Sam clears his throat and nods, chuckles a little. "I'm good." He eyes the mug. "Thanks, though I might need something stronger."

You eye him with gentle reproach. "Nope. Green tea is better for you this late at night. You really should go to sleep, Sam."

Sam tacitly agrees, but only because he can feel the warmth of your hand through his clothing, and it makes his face warmer than the tea. He watches you walk away, notices the curve of your ass in those little shorts. He can imagine your warm hands on his body, caressing him. He can imagine letting his lips graze your skin, exploring you, then devouring you.

And that's when his thoughts stutter to a halt. Sam inwardly cringes.

Despite his sleep-deprived brain, he's reminded that you're traveling down the hall to the room you share with his brother, and for Sam, it's nothing short of torture.

Because he realizes then that he isn't just fond of you. He doesn't love you like an older brother, or even a quasi-brother-in-law. He wants you.

Again, Sam knows it's wrong...but he can't help it. It's one of the saddest cliches in the fucking book. You're his brother's girl, and he wants you for himself.

And it's getting harder to hide it from Dean. They know each other too well -- a result of having no one but each other, but more practically, having lived in such close quarters for so long before they discovered the bunker.

When Sam gets hurt on a hunt, the cut is at a bad angle. He can't quite reach, so you dutifully come around and gently move his hand out of the way to do the stitch yourself. You tsk at him in playful disappointment. "I swear, it's a wonder you and Dean aren't walking patchwork quilts at this point."

Sam chuckles through his nose, wincing when the movement pulls on the stitch. You shoot him a stern look. "Stop moving."

"You're the one making me laugh!" he says, smiling incredulously.

"I don't accept excuses," you retort. "Keep still, please."

"Yes, ma'am," Sam says, his breath hitching for a different reason as he feels your soft hands along his side. He plays it off as pain. "Sorry," you murmur more sincerely. He tells you it's okay. His gaze flicks up, unconsciously finding Dean's face across the room.

He's just finished cleaning a cut on his hand. But he's been watching; Sam can tell. Dean's too perceptive not to notice Sam's discomfort. He probably even knows why. Sam can see a glint of it in Dean's eyes, the stoic front of his face.

"There we go!" you say in satisfaction, and you pat Sam's bare arm. He gives you a wan smile. "Thanks."

"You done, sweetheart?" Dean asks. You get up from your seat by Sam. "What do you need?" you ask.

"You. Come 'ere," he says with a smile, giving you a beckoning finger. "I felt that knot on the back of your head earlier. Think you're slick?"

You huff, but you also smile, in the way you only do for Dean. Sam watches you get up and go to Dean, who touches your cheek, stroking with a thumb first. Then he parts your hair to inspect the back of your head, and you wince a bit. You did fall pretty hard, now that Sam thinks of it. He frowns.

Dean lets out a deep breath. "You've got a nasty bump. You're taking it easy tonight, got it?"

"Yeah? Gonna help me relax?" you whisper. But Sam still hears you, because apparently no one taught you how the hell to whisper.

Dean smirks. "Watch it. I'll think you're flirting with me."

You give him a coy smile as your hand travels up his chest, between the open edges of his plaid shirt, then all the way down, to tease at his belt. "Believe me, when I do, you'll be the first one to know."

Dean's smirk deepens, but his eyes are softer. He closes a hand around yours and brings it to his lips. You lean up and request, wordlessly, for a kiss. Dean obliges you, capturing your lips with a soft kiss.

He eventually breaks from you, only to press his lips to your forehead next, closing his eyes with a sigh. He doesn't like it when you try to hide your injuries from him. You just don't want him to worry so much.

You smile and rest against his chest afterwards. It's clear as day what your heart holds.

It's hard for Sam to watch. His throat constricts, but he takes pains to avert his gaze.

He's so full to the brim with this that he sees no other recourse. He catches Dean alone in the kitchen and tries to make a confession. "Dean, we need to talk."

"Can it wait 'til I'm done?" Dean's plating up some stovetop mac and cheese -- your favorite.

"You're done cooking," Sam points out. Dean looks up at him. "We're doing a little dinner in bed situation. I made her promise to take it easy."

Sam admires the way Dean takes care of you. He really does. But it's also like a small oyster knife twisting in his gut. "Good. I'm glad," is all he says. "Yeah, we can talk later."

"Later" doesn't come for a long time. Weeks, in fact. But every time he tries to broach the problem, Dean finds a way to wiggle out of having the conversation. Always a distraction. A hunt. A fire you almost started in the kitchen. Being "in the middle" of something -- something in the bedroom that you insist needs Dean's immediate attention. Sam gives up for a while after that.

But Winchesters are nothing if not goddamn stubborn. Sam finally catches Dean alone in his room for once. You've gone to the grocery store, leaving the brothers alone in the bunker, but not for long, so Sam needs this chance.

"Dean, can we talk?"

Dean looks up at his brother from where he sits on the edge of his bed. He taps his knee, releases a breath. They both know what this is.

"Are you gonna do more than talk?" Dean asks. It's not what Sam expects. "What?"

"Whatever's on your mind, are you ever gonna do something about it?" Dean asks.

Sam stares back at his brother. He thinks. Hard. He's flipped back and forth for months. If he tells you how he feels, it's over. Things will never be the same between the three of you. It'll confuse you. It might even hurt you. It'll hurt Dean. Sam loves you both, if in very different ways.

So Sam is a bit deflated when he raises his resigned gaze and meets his brother's. "No."

After a moment, Dean nods. "Then we've got nothing to talk about."

But... Sam wants not to want you. Not to love you. Deep, deep down, a large chunk of him feels that he shouldn't have to hide himself. That you have a right to know the depths of what he feels, and what he feels for you.

"I see you're not convinced," Dean says dryly. Sam is silent, until Dean sighs and beckons him over. Sam obliges and sits down next to his older brother, the man he's looked up to (at least metaphorically) his whole life.

"I'd give my life for you. You know that. Right, Sammy?" Dean says. "If I couldn't tear the world apart, I'd lay myself out flat."

Sam sighs. "Dean..." Of fucking course he knows that. Dean already had given his life for him once. Remembering that only adds to Sam's guilt.

Dean meets Sam's gaze directly then. "But this is where I draw the line. She's my line," he says. His face is almost stoic, but his eyes are filled with unyielding fire. "I'm not layin' down on that. Not for you. Not for anyone."

Sam's heart clenches with every kind of pain, but he's also never respected his brother more. He nods. "I get it."

"No, you really fucking don't," Dean says. He's more than serious. "I mean it, Sam. I'll break your damn nose."

After a long moment, Sam nods. He knew Dean loved you. Of course he did. But this is the first time Sam truly understands how deeply. How completely. It's more than jealousy can fathom.

Sam realizes then that he lost, even before he began.

AN: Whew! 😮‍💨 I got way deeper into this than I expected to. Poor Sam. 😭 But I hope this scratched your angsty itch, my dear!

Read the Sequel

Here's the requested sequel to this: Sam crosses the line.

Also, if you want to read the reverse of this (Dean is in love with Sam's girlfriend): Dean gives you an impossible choice.

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[aspirationalpeony]

Lucky Me

Summary: You and Mel do a little experimenting after she shares a disappointing truth about her past relationships. Content Warnings: Lots of smut. :) This fic is loosely set in the same world as "Finding Beauty," but can be enjoyed independently. AO3 Link

"He wasn't good at it," Melissa says. "Joe. Makin' me come." She blushes.

It's so not her--tough, capable Melissa, fearless and demanding. You touch her cheek, brush a strand of red hair back behind her ear. She hasn't had a touch-up in a while, and there's a streak of gray growing in at her temple. You love that she can be vulnerable with you, admitting these little truths about herself, in words, in body.

"Really?" you say. You have a well, duh moment in your own head: the last time you saw Joe, he interrupted you constantly, derailing your thoughts to tell his own stories, never letting you get to the punchline of a joke. He just feels like a bad lover, inattentive and untrustworthy. Plus, you know the stuff he said to Melissa about her body.

"Yeah." She plays with the band of her smart watch, then leans forward off the couch toward the coffee table, picking up her wine glass. (It's a weeknight, so the liquid inside is grapefruit-flavored sparkling water.) "And 'specially later on, I couldn't get wet, he'd get so frustrated."

"Even though you were telling him what to do?"

Putting her glass back down, she cuts a look at you for the assumption, but it breaks out into a smile, a little sheepish. Your heart does a flip-flop at the sight. "Well, yeah."

Your fingertip traces the shell of her ear. She shivers. You can't believe Joe would get frustrated, impatient, bored of trying to give this woman pleasure. Every inch of her has some private sensitivity: the lobes of her ears, the small of her back, behind her knees, below her navel. Getting to learn these secrets has been the most incredible privilege. And it's been fun.

It's taken her a while to learn to let you, rather than tell you; to give you a chance to explore. She's so used to controlling every moment, organizing her own pleasure and yours. You love when Melissa is the boss, but you also love when she gives up the authority; when she melts into the feeling and lets you be in charge.

"What about Gary?" you ask.

She snorts. "Gary who?" Her mouth twists and she shakes her head, at the question, at herself. "I mean, sometimes I'd take his mustache for a ride, but that's about it. He didn't have, y'know. It." Her eyes flick up to yours again. You haven't missed the way they've been down this whole time, unable to hold your gaze; how her chin is tucked toward her chest, her shoulders up. "It doesn't... Bother you? Talkin' about them?"

You check in with yourself, but end up shrugging. "Not really." You've spent time with Melissa and Joe together, and there's no heat between them, just the friendly chemistry of two people who've known each other half their lives. Gary you did see once, and he looked kind of like an uncooked ham. What is there to be jealous of?

You study her face. She's still pink and a little twitchy. "Does it bother you? You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." You drop your hand to her nape, rubbing your thumb comfortingly along the column of her neck. She sways into you with a sigh.

"I wanna," she says. "Talk about it. I feel like I..." Her lips pinch. "Owe ya."

"No," you say, straightening up. The plastic of the couch creaks with your movement. "Melissa, you don't owe me anything. I want to talk about it if you do, but--"

"Nah, that's--" she shakes her head. "It's not what I meant. I mean, I... It's like, it's a part of... Me. Y'know." She pushes her hair back from her face. "And 'cause I love you, and--" she laughs a little--"cause you're stuck with me, I..."

Your always-active heart gives a tremor, hearing the cautious vulnerability of her voice. You slide your arm around her and pull her in.

"It ain't that big a deal," she says, muffled, lying, against your shoulder.

Even if she can't admit it--your tough-girl sweetheart, not wanting to let her soft heart show--you can. "It is to me," you say, and squeeze her.

You loosen your grip, and she tucks herself against your side. It always surprises you how small she really is. Every day she's like a cat that's making itself big, back up, fur on end, daring anyone to come at her; here she gets to shrink back down, turn back into herself, become your kitten.

"I don't get it," you say after a few minutes of comfortable silence. "It's fun making you come. I love it."

"Lucky me," Mel says, very smugly.

"I sometimes think about--" you stop. This really isn't the moment for your fantasies: yeah, you guys were talking about sex, but not in the dirty sense; it was Melissa sharing something important, something emotional, and...

"Yeah?" she says. Her voice has two registers when she's turned on: airy, almost girlish, usually when you've surprised her, and throaty, a rasp. Now it's that fainter, breathless one. The sound of it sends a tickling frisson down your spine.

"Um," you say, and it's your turn to blush. "I think about... A lot of things."

"I'm waitin'."

You huff an embarrassed laugh. It's one thing to fantasize, another thing to tell the object of your fantasy all about it. "Sometimes I think about," you say, and clear your throat, "how sensitive you are. And I want to know how many times I can make you come."

You can feel the way her breathing speeds up, her body against your side, but she doesn't speak.

"We usually stop at two," you say, "but I think you can take more. I think you can take a lot more. And--sometimes, I think about how little it takes, like, when you're right there. Like I can just breathe on your clit and you'll come. I think about getting you there and telling you 'no.'"

Her breath catches.

"I bet you'd go crazy." You're smiling a little. You touch your mouth, tapping your lower lip, thinking of it. "You'd cuss me out, you'd yank my hair. You'd probably try to finish yourself off. I might have to tie you up to stop you."

"Oh," she says.

You risk a glance at her face. She's looking up at you from where she's leaning against your side, her green eyes glassy, her cheeks pink, her lips parted.

"You like that, baby?" You slide your hand down her back and feel the muscles shift as she moves, pushing herself up, then throwing a leg over you, settling onto your lap.

Having her like this is perfect. She used to hold herself up on her knees, not letting you take her weight, until you got her to understand that you loved the pressure of her body against yours, that there was no such thing as too much of her.

She dips her head and kisses you. It's not a starter kiss, warming you up; she kisses you like you're inside her now, deep and filthy, putting her tongue in your mouth with no foreplay. You groan as her hand cups your neck, feeling the prickle of her manicured nails against your skin.

"You think about me like that a lot?" she asks you when she's letting you catch your breath. The words are low, your faces close, like it's a secret someone could overhear.

"Yeah," you admit. Your hands slide over her hips to grip her ass. She gives an encouraging little motion when you squeeze. "I love thinking about what I could do to you..." Her breath hitches again. "What you'd enjoy."

"You get off on it?"

"Yeah, I do," you say. "I get off on getting you off."

Her eyelashes flutter. She makes a noise like a whimper. You have a flash of inspiration, and before you can second-guess yourself, you take her hand from your neck, the other from your shoulder, and pull them behind her back.

She gasps. It's an arrow of electricity right to your clit. Her eyes open wide, searching for yours, as you gather her wrists into one hand. It's not a very strong grip--she could yank away from you easily--but it pulls her shoulders back and leaves her chest thrust forward.

"Is this okay?"

She nods.

"You have to tell me."

"It's okay," she says. Her voice has dropped into that second register of pure arousal, throaty and low. "It's... It's good."

"Did Joe ever do this to you?" You don't know what makes you bring him up. Not jealousy, but... Maybe curiosity. Maybe wondering if he ever took the time to catalogue Melissa's reactions, to think through what would really turn her on, if he ever gave that much of a shit.

She chuckles breathlessly. "Like to see him try," she mutters. Her blush is traveling down her throat and blotching her chest.

You follow its path to the three buttons at the front of her blouse. You watch her chest start to heave as you work them open with your free hand. They expose the center gore of her bra and a hint of the silky curve of its cups.

You palm one breast roughly, squeezing. She groans. You can just feel her hardening nipple through the layers of fabric separating you. You thumb it, pinch hard, to make sure she can feel it, turning her next moan into a whine.

Her hips rock into your lap, trying to get friction. You lean back to look at her: disheveled, red, her hair spilling everywhere, her lip gloss blurry from kissing.

"You're so fucking sexy," you tell her, voice low, making her moan again.

You'd love to finger her, but there's no lube, and she's in leggings pulled up high over her hips, with not a lot of room between the two of you to get inside them. You slide your hand between her legs and over her covered sex.

She pushes down into your palm, hard, as you nose the tender inner curve of one breast, tracing your lips against the edge of her bra. Pressing through her leggings, you can feel the plump shape of her cunt. You trace those folds down, then up, over her clit.

"Oh, fuck," she breathes as you start rubbing. "Oh, fuck..." She shifts restlessly; you think she might pull her wrists away, but instead she arches toward you, drops her head back, inviting a bite to her throat, which you give. You suck soft skin into your mouth, scrape of your teeth, nibble, move down, find another spot, repeat. You can't leave marks, but there are blotches of satisfying pink where you've touched her.

"You getting close?" You work your thumb against her clit.

"Uh huh," she says, weak and needy. She picks her head up again and there's a lost, fogged look of pleasure on her face as she meets your eyes.

You hold her gaze. "Tell me when you're there," you say. "When you're right there. Okay?"

Her brow creases as she tries to focus. You wonder if she's ever tried to do this before, parsing out stages to her pleasure, or if she's always just gone up and over, never thinking about how she got there.

"I--I--I think I'm--" her voice is wobbly.

You pull your hand away. She whines and her hips jab down toward your lap, seeking a touch that isn't there. You rub her thigh, slide your hand up, over the soft curve of her belly and down to press against her mons; her hips jolt again.

"Fuck you," she says feebly.

You rub your thumb back and forth, far above where she wants it. You know she can feel the contact here in her cunt, a phantom pressure to remind her how empty she is, how close she was.

"More?" you ask.

She squirms and nods. When you give her no response, she huffs a sigh, rolls her eyes, and says, "Yes, fine, yes, more, oh--shit--"

You've found her clit again. You know this time she'll already be sensitive, and she might not be able to tell you when you need to stop. You focus on watching her: the glazed look in her eyes before she shuts them, her parted lips, her frantic breaths, her rocking hips.

You time it; you pull your thumb away. She gives a frustrated cry and squirms in your lap. You take pity and give her a distraction, rubbing your cheek against her breast, finding the hint of her pebbled nipple, the one you neglected before, and biting hard. You feel the elasticity of her bra's cup more than you feel her flesh, muting the sting of your teeth, but it makes her keen.

"You've got no fucking clue how hot you are," you tell her. You bite again and tug, drawing out another delicious sound. "I haven't even taken your clothes off. Look at you. I want to do this to you forever."

Your thumb at her clit again, this time so lightly it barely counts. "You want to come, don't you?"

Her wrists twist in your grasp, but don't pull away. She says, all breathless, angry bravado, "What do you think?"

"I think I could stop right now." She gasps, though you don't stop gently rubbing her clit. "Even though I want to make you come. And after that, I want to take you upstairs and eat you out. I want to suck on you and get you all over my face. I want--"

"Oh, shit, I," she says weakly, her hips starting to twitch.

Realizing, you say, "Just from this?" She's really almost there again? "Fuck, you're incredible. Should I stop?"

"No," she whines.

"You want it harder?"

"Yes!"

You give her what she wants. Finally, she pulls her wrists out of your grip so she can grab your hand and shove it fully against her cunt, letting her ride your palm to her orgasm. Melissa's always noisy, but this time, she's loud, the sound of her desperate cry huge in the living room.

"Oh, fuck," she says faintly as she sags down onto your lap. "I, oh..."

"You did so good," you murmur to her and rub her back, grateful to have both hands again. She buries her face in your neck and clings to you, breathing hard. She mumbles something. "What, baby?"

She picks up her head a little. "I said, 'yeah, you too.'"

It makes you snort. It's a funny mix of tenderness, affection, and gratitude you feel, knowing that even after an orgasm that took her like a runaway train, she'll still make sure to remind you of your place. Can't ever get too smug around Melissa.

You trace a hand up and down her back, finding the hem of her blouse and rucking it up so you can touch her bare skin underneath. She's hot against your palm and it makes you sigh.

"You want to go upstairs and keep going?" you ask, mouth against her ear.

"I wanna recover first," she says blearily. "What the hell was that?" She sits up a bit in your lap and you have room to reach around her and pick up her water from the table.

"A little taste," you say.

She brings the glass to her lips and sips, eyes narrowed, watching you the way kung fu heroines watch their enemies, prepared to bust out their fists at any moment.

"Of what I've been thinking about," you add. You rub her lower back. "I think you liked it."

"I think you gotta be crazy to get off on somebody not letting you come," she says, then scowls. "Which I guess makes me crazy."

"I guess it does." You can't smother your smile. "You're okay, though?"

"What do you mean? I came, didn't I?"

"I mean, sometimes emotions can get weird," you say, "after doing that kind of stuff. You get a lot of hormones and chemicals in you and they can make you feel..." You shrug.

"You got a lot of experience with 'this kind of stuff'?" Now her gaze is accusing. "You been holdin' out on me?"

"No, not a lot of experience. A little, maybe." You hold her hips, rubbing your thumbs over their soft curves. "A little experience. And a lot of things I want to do to you."

Her whole body shudders. She reaches back to put her water down, then loops her arms around your neck and kisses you. It's her post-coital kiss, lazy and loving, the hunger more muted.

"Gee," she says breathlessly when you part, and repeats herself, a grin curving her lips: "Lucky me."

[hayaku14]

thinking about this kaishin magazine cover like

kaishin dressing up together. kaishin naked together. (they could've dressed up in different rooms tho? IDC THEY DRESSED UP TOGETHER)

kaito in the kid suit but without the hat and monocle like that's really all just kaito there and similarly shinichi putting on the bowtie reminiscent of conan but it's all just shinichi there. then again it could also mean kid and conan will always be part of who they are

KAITO WITH NO GLOVES OH GOD OH FUCK

KAITO LEANING ON SHINICHI??? WHAT THE FUCK

KAITO LEANING ON SHINICHI WITH NO GLOVES????? OH FUCK WHAT THE GOD OH FUCK

that shinichi fit, the toned down blue and red from his originally bright colored suit and bowtie......😳

kaito with his hip jutted out like that??? SIR.

shinichi's background are books and kaito's is what seems to be a jewelry box oooohh the big brainery happening behind them

me seeing their reflection on the mirror thinking about how easy it would be for kaito to just slip his hand around shinichi's waist and tuck his chin on shinichi's shoulder, watch shinichi attempt to fix his bow on the mirror and kaito inevitably fixing it for him, looking up at shinichi with the biggest grin and shinichi pressing his lips against his as a thank you

me seeing the inside of kaito's suit thinking how easy it would be for shinichi to let his hand slip and explore around kaito's body, trying to avoid activating his little gadgets like it's a game, holding kaito's gaze with a smirk on his face, moving forward to carefully remove kaito's suit jacket off, his neck right in front of kaito who licks and leaves a mark on his bare skin just cause he can

also maybe the mirror symbolizes that they're mirror images of each other?????

KAITO AND SHINICHI. IN ONE FRAME. TOGETHER. RAAAAHHHHHH

implied, they've seen each other's face. implied, they're not hostile therefore they must have talked and have come to an understanding. implied, they know each other's identity. implied, inevitably they will be making out after this i don't make the rules they just will.

[zoroslost]

I can’t stop thinking about Lawlu being in a relationship where no one can figure out what the relationship is and everyone has a different opinion

Like Jimbe joining the crew and having to figure out what’s going on with them but not wanting to seem nosy so he goes to everyone else to ask them.

He goes to Zoro first, who only stops his exercise for a moment to tell him that he doesn’t know and he doesn’t care. And Chopper, trying to be cool like Zoro, saying the same thing even though he really wants to know because actually has no idea what their relationship is.

Then Nami and Ussop who are gossiping in the crows nest join the conversation by Nami just saying “oh they've definitely explored each others bodies.” And Ussop disagreeing because Law is just so creepy.

Then Franky popping up and crying about how they’re just such good bros and their friendship is so SUPER. Brook 100% agrees with Nami and the two of them start speculating.

When Sanji eventually joins the conversation he adds that he thinks that they are still pining and haven’t gotten together yet. He's trying to seem nonchalant but internally is very envious over their mutual feelings and thinks its very romantic.

Meanwhile Robin, who is the only person who actually knows what’s going on (and cares because Zoro actually does know he just doesn’t give a shit), refuses to answer because the disagreements are much more entertaining.

Bonus: Law and Luffy also don’t know what’s going on

Luffy thinks they’re married but that Law just isn’t interested in romantic or sexual stuff and that’s fine with him because he isn’t particularly either.

Law thinks his feelings toward Luffy are unrequited and teleports away anytime someone suggests that he might have feelings so he’ll never figure out that most people think otherwise.

(The Heart Pirates just want their captain to admit that he enjoys spending time with Luffy so they can stop having to come up with excuses to run into the Strawhats and just plan meet ups like normal people)

[poisonlove]

Lust +18 | Jenna Ortega

Martina Smith, a university student passionate about soccer and casual encounters, follows an inflexible rule: no emotional commitments. Meanwhile, Jenna Ortega, a writer married to a successful but distant entrepreneur, seeks to revive her creativity by accepting a job as an English literature teacher.

In an intertwining of worlds, both women face the challenge of staying true to their principles, exploring the trials of life, love, and authenticity. On this journey, forbidden feelings might challenge their self-imposed rules, leading them to question the barriers they've set in their hearts.

This is a fanfiction and will have many parts.

"Alright… when do we make things official?"

I look at Jessica with a raised eyebrow, tired of her constant requests. I sigh and light a cigarette, closing my eyes to savor each puff.

"What are you talking about?" I mutter distractedly, letting the smoke slowly escape through my nostrils.

Jessica smiles with a touch of challenge, placing her hand on my abdomen and tracing her finger along my skin to my jaw. Her blue eyes meet mine, and her delicate gestures elicit sighs of pleasure.

"You know…" she whispers, leaning towards me to gently kiss my neck, "we've been seeing each other for a while."

"Jess…" I start with irritation.

Jessica is trying to elevate our casual encounters to a more official level. I don't want to hurt her, but my heart doesn't flutter when I see her, and I don't feel the classic butterflies in my stomach. Jessica only offers me shivers of excitement for her beauty and the extraordinary sex we share.

I extinguish the cigarette on the ashtray on the nightstand.

"Come on, Marty… the sex is fantastic." Jessica interrupts, smiling broadly. The head cheerleader of our school in Miami frees herself from the sheets to straddle my legs.

My eyes burn as I watch her slender figure, biting my lower lip at the perfection of her breasts. Jessica's touch on the rose tattoo on my right arm distracts my attention from her body.

"You said it right…" I begin, smiling slightly. "Sex is fantastic, why ruin it with a relationship?" I ask curiously, biting my lower lip with mischief.

"Because you know I want to be with you…" Jessica looks at me through her long lashes. "Be your girlfriend," she concludes, emphasizing the last word.

I scoff and lean my head against the pillow.

"I love you, okay?" She confesses, and my body tenses hearing these words. Instinctively, I make Jessica slide off my body, her eyes showing a mix of pain and confusion.

I grab my jeans from the floor and put them on quickly, buttoning them before pulling up the zipper. "Jessica, we need to be clear. I don't want anything serious."

"But… I thought there was something more between us." Jessica looked at me with teary eyes. The sheets wrap around her body as she gets off the bed.

"You misunderstood everything. Sex is what I'm looking for, nothing else." I say seriously, putting on the jacket around my shoulders.

"You can't treat people like this, Martina." Jessica looks at me with glassy eyes and trembling lips, her voice broken by my words.

"Sorry if I can't fulfill your romantic dream." I reply with a bitter smile.

Jessica, visibly angry, walks towards me. "Don't talk like that! I love you, and you're just a… a selfish jerk!" My eyes curiously observe her face, and then my face turns to the other side due to the slap I received.

"Screw you," she adds with a broken tone, and I just stay still, sighing loudly for her psychotic crisis.

"Enough," I take her hands and move them away from my body. "My idea won't change," I mutter distractedly.

Jessica lifts her face and looks at me with confusion, blue eyes reddened from crying. My hands rest on the sides of her cheeks, my thumb playing with the entrance of her mouth.

I lean slowly, and my lips brush against her ear, a moan unconsciously escaping from the depth of her throat. "If you can't continue fucking without seeing me as a girlfriend… maybe it's better if you find someone else," I smile against her skin and move away from her body.

Jessica looks at me with fury.

I quickly bend down, seeing a brush flying towards me. "GET OUT," Jessica breathes loudly through her nose, flushed with anger. "Damn daughter of…AHHH" the girl takes a notebook from the desk and throws it at me, but fortunately, it hits the wall.

I pick up the backpack from the floor and open the door.

"So… see you tomorrow?" I say playfully. Jessica opens her mouth in disbelief and grabs the lamp from the desk.

"I think that's a no," I quickly say, closing the door behind me, later hearing the sound of the lamp shattering against it.

"She's crazy," I say, smiling in disbelief. "But she'll change her mind," I say smiling maliciously, walking down the stairs.

I take out my phone and call Jackson, my best friend.

"Hey, sweetheart! How did it go?" Jackson's voice sounds excited, and I smile pleased. "Actually, I got slapped… but it was worth it," I say tilting to the side to let an elderly woman with groceries pass and walk out of the building.

"I called you…" I start hesitantly, "to ask for a ride, I know," Jackson concludes, laughing.

My eyes look at the surrounding environment, the cars passing peacefully on the streets, and the sounds of passersby exploring the city, increasing the lively atmosphere. A smile paints on my lips seeing a child walking hand in hand with his mom.

"Exactly…" I clear my throat and close my eyes, trying to push away the thoughts that were going through my head. "Did you also take the bag? I have practice in a bit," I bite my lower lip nervously.

"Of course, sweetheart," Jackson chuckles, and I roll my eyes at his comment.

"It's a shame you don't like football," I mutter, walking absentmindedly on the sidewalk, occasionally kicking a small pebble that was in the way. "I couldn't play anyway, I'm a man," Jackson laughs. "You have nothing of a man, at most, you like them," I comment, and Jackson sighs slightly.

"Come on! Move it," I smile hearing Jackson curse at someone honking incessantly.

While I walk absentmindedly on the sidewalk, lost in my thoughts, someone bumps into me, making me lose balance.

"Watch where you're going!" I exclaim a bit irritated, clutching the phone tightly. "Sorry, I'm really in a hurry. I hope you're okay," says the woman with a conciliatory tone, her gaze expressing a mix of apologies and concern.

"Okay, no problem," I reply, trying to hide my irritation. The woman quickly moves away. "Bitch," I whisper to myself, shaking my head as I continue my way. The city's frenzy continues around me, and my phone vibrates again, a sign that Jackson might be around the corner for the ride to practice.

After the collision, I sigh lightly, and as I walk away, I notice something on the side of the road, near a small tree.

I squint my eyes, curious, and approach. I bend down to get a better look and discover a bracelet with a heart. "How cute…" I whisper, selfishly thinking it might be a perfect way to make amends with Jessica. Maybe the owner despairs, but in the end, who cares? Life is full of opportunities, and this could be mine.

I casually tuck the bracelet into my hoodie. A car honks, and I smile seeing Jackson's perfectly restored 1976 Ford Torino.

I get into the car, and we start a conversation as we drive through the city streets.

"Do you have any idea how magnificent this Torino is?" I ask, admiring Jackson's car.

"It's a true beauty, I know," he responds proudly. "So, spill… what happened? You have a nasty mark on your cheek." Jackson absentmindedly points his hand towards me, and I nonchalantly fasten my seatbelt.

"I had a little incident with Jessica." I shrug. "She can't accept that I just want sex from her," I confess, and Jackson opens his mouth in surprise. "Well… can't blame her," he comments, raising his eyebrows, starting the car.

"But look what I found along the way." I quickly change the subject and show the bracelet. "Free! Not bad as compensation, huh?" I chuckle. "A girl bumped into me, and she lost it… but who cares," I comment timidly.

Jackson laughs. "Maybe it could be useful to patch things up with Jessica," I add with a smile. "Maybe," he comments absentmindedly, shifting his attention to the car window, admiring the external landscape.

We almost immediately arrive at our university's sports field after the short journey. The 1976 Ford Torino roars to a powerful stop, and I get out of the car thanking Jackson for the ride.

"Good luck with the training," Jackson wishes me with an encouraging smile.

"Thanks, I'll need it," I reply, closing the door. I walk quickly towards the locker rooms, hoping not to attract the coach's attention.

But just when I thought I had gone unnoticed, the coach catches me red-handed. "Smith… you're late," he says with a serious voice, staring at me with a stern look.

"Traffic mystery, coach," I try to joke, but his look clearly indicates that he's not amused. "For this, you'll do 5 extra laps around the field," he decrees, and my smile fades. I start running towards the locker rooms, trying to make up for lost time and prepare for training, now with an extra load of fatigue to face.

A message arrives on my phone, and I smile seeing that it's from Jessica.

"Hey… sorry for earlier…"

The only thing I think is that maybe this whole affair is resolving itself more easily than expected.

JENNA'S POV

My breath is short, recovering after the frantic run to make it to the interview. Anxiety tightens my chest, but there's a particular reason amplifying the tension: I've lost the bracelet my husband gave me for our fifth anniversary.

Harry, though not the most present husband, is a good person. His executive career keeps him away from home most of the time, and this distance reflects on our marital life. His professional commitments often make him an occasional guest in our home.

My mind is torn between interview anxiety and the regret of misplacing such a special gift. Additionally, my shoulder hurts from the encounter with a grumpy girl. As I try to catch my breath, I realize this day didn't start in the best way, but perhaps it will hold unexpected surprises that will change the course of things.

I take a deep breath before knocking on the door labeled "Principal West."

"Come in," the male voice inside calmly calls for me to enter the office.

I step in and look around, noticing the photos and trophies on the shelves. I quickly observe that the man is surprisingly well-dressed.

"Mrs. Robinson!" The man opens his arms with enthusiasm, smiling with all 32 teeth. "Please, have a seat." He gestures towards the empty chair in front of his desk.

I sit down, and the interview begins. "So, Mrs. Robinson…" Principal West starts, picking up my resume.

"I prefer you to call me by my maiden name, Ortega," I correct gently. Principal West nods strangely. "Why is the wife of a prestigious businessman in my school?" he asks with genuine interest.

The issue is that I'm recognized for my status as a wife, not for my skills as a good writer with a master's in literature. I don't bring up this fact, of course. "I desire this job," I murmur distractedly, playing with my fingers.

In reality, writing makes me feel stuck, and I need a break.

Principal West, with a polite smile, looks over my resume. "I must admit, Mrs. Ortega, that your resume is impressive, perhaps even overqualified for the position of English literature teacher at our school."

I genuinely smile, but with a hint of embarrassment. "I appreciate the compliment, Principal West. I'm aware of my academic experience, but I strongly believe in the importance of contributing to students' growth, regardless of my background."

The principal seems to reflect on those words, then changes the subject, asking about my previous experiences in the field of education. The conversation continues, and I try to convey the passion I have for literature and teaching, hoping that it can overcome any doubts about my excessive qualification for the position.

"Alright, you've convinced me," the principal stands up and reaches out his hand to shake mine.

I blink in surprise and reciprocate the handshake. "Does this mean…" I begin, and the principal smiles.

"Yes, you got the job. You can start tomorrow," he announces, and I genuinely smile, happy for the news. A mix of excitement and gratitude fills my heart as I realize that a new chapter of my life is about to begin.

As he's about to leave the office, the principal stops me. "And give my regards to your husband… I'm sure he'll be proud of you," he says with eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "I will, thank you so much, Principal West." With light steps, I leave the office, carrying with me the enthusiasm for the new opportunity and the awareness that even my husband might appreciate this achievement.

I walk through the hallways, looking at various lockers, and sigh for the nostalgic memories those places evoke. I check my phone and decide to inform my husband of the news as I make my way through the corridors.

"Hey, Harry!" I smile hearing that he accepts my call. "Hi, Jen," he responds calmly, his voice distant as if immersed in something.

"I need to tell you something." I bite my lower lip, hiding the excitement. "Is it important? I have a meeting," Harry whispers weakly.

I sigh audibly. "I got the job," I say suddenly, feeling discouraged. "Ah, good," he responds absentmindedly.

My eyes lift from the floor, and I see our car parked at the entrance of the institute. "Did you come to pick me up?" I ask with enthusiasm.

"No, I sent Tom to get you," he answers calmly. "Now I have to go," he mutters weakly.

"I love you," I say with a soft voice and hold back tears as I hear Harry hang up without responding to my statement.

I walk towards the car and sigh audibly, my heart heavy with sadness. "How did it go, Mrs. Ortega?" the driver asks kindly, sensing my melancholy.

"Yeah, good. I got the job," I reply with a faint voice, trying to mask the disappointed tone I feel inside.

The brief conversation with the driver is just background noise as I settle into the seat. I look out of the window, trying to hold back emotions. The landscape passes in front of me, but my mind is lost in thoughts. A single tear wets my face, and I can't help but feel vulnerable. The joy for the new opportunity is overshadowed by the realization of how distant my marriage is.

[tealvenetianmask]

Check out these visual parallels between Blitz and Loona during their fight in Spring Broken. Even early in season 1, the team behind this show wanted us to know that these two characters are very alike- and maybe that's part of why they fight so much but also why they work so well as a family.

I set out to write a much deeper meta about their father-daughter relationship, but I noticed this when I was looking for screenshots and just couldn't let it pass by.

Take this moment where the conflict between Loona and Blitz escalates way beyond the current situation ("Because I adopted you!" ". . . you're not my real dad!").

Their body language is the same when they're yelling at each other. Leaning forward, eyes glaring and strained with sharply angled brows, mouth wide open, teeth showing. A little feral and out of control. Giving the yelling their all, words as weapons and all of that . . . and you know, not in a way where they're wielding power. Unmistakably upset, frustrated, at a loss as to what to do.

And then when they turn away, we see them mirroring each other's body language in real time.

People have said it a lot, but these two are the same. They lash out, but they're not truly mean- they're hurt and afraid of getting even more hurt.

We're also shown here that despite all of this, Loona understands on some fundamental level that, even after they've fought and both behaved badly, Blitz will continue to be the dad she needs.

And I'll explore in a future post at some point how this understanding they have (partly because they're alike, and partly because Blitz is always showing Loona how much he cares) is very powerful in both of their lives.

But for now, enjoy a screenshot where, sure enough, Blitz comes through on "getting over it," and all is forgiven:

"fat fucking car in our fat fucking space"

<3 <3 <3

[heretherebedork]

Joe hung up on Tong and Ming smiled about it and they've both changed and the show knows that they need time to explore this, both of them, to see the new versions of themselves and accept them and it's so good because the show has taken the time to show us how much they've been hurt by their choices, to show us that Ming is hurt and hurt others and that he's actually working to be better makes it so, so beautiful.

Ming taking the time and effort to get himself adopted by Joe's mom because he adopted her first and because he sees how much Joe loves her and wants to prove that he can take care of her and thus take care of Joe because the way to Joe's heart isn't through his own, it's through showing Joe how he's changed and grown.

And that's he does no much face to face. Taking the time to make sure Joe knows this isn't about who his shoulders look like or who he might be. But him. The lines of his new face, the smell of his body. Everything about him.

This is Ming showing Joe that he changed, that the past is what he learned from to enter this new future. That he is not who he was and that they do not have to be who they were but can now be who they are.

(Ming mentions his family's conservative nature and he's talking about his sister but he's also a gay man from a conservative family who cannot ever fulfill their expectations. And he knows that, he knows what he's prepared to lose for the sake of loving Joe and he makes that clear to them both.)

This is everything I wanted. To show that he grew. To show that he learned. And then to let them both see the past and understand each other. To give their own words and explanations to what happened between them. To be able to see their own conclusion to all of it, their own story, not just the story they were in before but the new story

A stolen story can never be fully returned. But sometimes... it can be rewritten into something different, something better, something that is both new and old but takes the best of both parts. Not resurrected but reborn in new ideas and new love and the old is there, written in shadows and nights and stars, but the new takes to the sky as a kite and a cloud, blue and clear and beautiful.

[the-dragon-hearted]

New obsession: Godly Travelers

Okay so the Genshin rabbit hole is deep and I know I'm not the first to explore this but OH, I LOVE IT. I've been devouring genshin fics and everytime I see these things I go a lil feral

Immortal traveler who's seen millions of worlds, who's role is to witness stories and remember - it's why they were created. To travel, to witness, to tell those stories

Celestial body metaphors ARE THE SHIT: Tell me how Aether is a comet and Lumine is a star or how Lumine is the night and Aether is the sun, how they're never one without the other until they are - so the only constant universe they know is disrupted. How they've orbited each other for so long, and now they're wild and lost in a world they cannot leave.

unhealthy sibling codependence? Yep.

A traveler who cannot stay in one place. Yes, they're looking for their sibling but also, staying in one place makes the scars where their wings once were ache. Familiarity scares them. Attachment scares them. How can they be impartial witnesses once they care (but they do. They care. They don't have their sibling who they shower all their affections on, but they do have these people - these kind, wild, heartfelt people).

Tell me about this character who's eyes burn straight through the archon's soul. Who's skills and prowess impress but also terrify all who meet them. Because they may look like they belong but the world screams otherwise. Who else can carry the power of the gods but one who seeks to burn the heavens.

I want dangerous traveler - a part of them lives to fight. There is no innocence here, there's a chosen kindness.

And then give me a traveler torn in two. They want to find their twin and leave this world. They want all their friends to meet their other half. They never want to leave. They need to leave immediately. They've learned love from these people and that terrifies them. They want to attend every birthday party and festival. They know they will watch these people age and die.

They cannot fall in love, they cannot get attached, they will outlive all of these beings. That is the fate of the traveler: it doesn't matter if they choose to stay, they have to move on eventually. They have to.

But maybe for a moment that doesn't matter. Maybe they allow themselves to pretend otherwise, just for a little while... maybe they can pretend just for a little bit...

But they cannot hide the scars where their wings were or the call of the sky. They cannot fight the itch to run or explore. They cannot stop yearning for a fight - a good fight. A challenge. They cannot stop remembering.

Just... ancient-primordial-being Traveler