#I WANT HIM SO BAD I NEED HIM SO BAD I CRAVE HIM SO BAD I DESIRE HIM I REQUIRE HIM I YEARN FOR HIM I WISH FOR HIM I LONG FOR HIM

[jambalaya-enthusiast]

Can I ask for Headcanons/Scenario with the crew members where it's a normal tulpar haul. But the reader is an extremely experienced captain of another ship,and they're older,more built and more strict. Like think 6'7,built like an extreme weightlifter,very classy and formal.

And they're on the tulpar to look after everything because it's an incredibly important shipment? What would the crew members reactions be to the reader appearing very strict,no-nonsense,cold and condescending. But once they get close, the reader is actually very nice.

also can it be a male reader? Thank you! I love your writing. <3

Melting the Ice away.

Crew Members x Male! Older! Strict! Reader. [ Reader is a high ranking captain of another pony express ship ]

a/n; this ask was basically buried deep in my inbox,i was just scrolling through and found it.

Tulpar! Captain,Curly.

Oh boy,and they used to say that curly was the most able employee at pony express. Clearly they lied,Cause LOOK. AT. YOU.

For the first time in his career,he felt intimidated.

The way you basically hovered over him,gave him chills ngl.

He admires you so fucking hard, your efficiency ,your capability, and your experienced nature. you need something? Grant Curly is on it!... He found himself trying to... Impress you???

He was basically always looking for your approval at things,no matter how small or trivial it was. He needed your opinion.

He was also starting to wonder wether or not the feeling of intimidation... was rather something else.

He is definitely feelin a lil somethin somethin.

When he actually got to know you,and saw how kind and sweet you actually were. This guy just fell,he fell guys,he just fell.

Co-Pilot, Jimmy.

Manz is PISSED.

He is freaking LIVID,as if Curly wasn't already enough,bossing him around.

He'll never ever admit it to anyone,but he was basically scared of you,of how... Domineering you were.

He is jealous of how put together you were,always effortlessly classy.

He couldn't decide whether he wanted to be you,or wanted to be with you.

He didn't even notice it,but you found him staring,so intently that it actually concerned you.

Whenever you would try to interact with him he'll make up an excuse and run away.

But he,too wanted to get on your good side.

He'll die before ever admitting it,but he was craving your praise so fucking bad.

He is just dying on the inside,he desperately wants to hear you call him a 'Good Boy'.

Maybe he'll have to impress you some other way,who knows?

Nurse, Anya.

Let's be fr,the first time Anya saw you,her heart skipped a bit. I mean c'mon! Can you blame her? She doesn't see handsome, capable, disciplined male colleagues on the regular,does she?

Cut her some slack for staring! She can't help herself for wanting to admire you!

Like the others,she also tries her best to live up to your expectations,to be on your good list. She tries to make sure all your needs are met,(which aren't even bothersome,you prefer to do things your own anyway) but she always insists upon helping you out!

You began to notice that no matter who else wasn't around,Anya was always there in the corner of your eye. Was she... Following you around?

By Gods,she can't help it! No other person on the ship is as pleasant to be around as you! She feels at ease when she's with you. And you don't mind.

When she finally gets to know the real you, the butterflies in her stomach settle down into something even more soothing and calming.

Her puppy crush is beginning to grow,maybe someday in the near future, she'll ask you for things, beyond the professional limit.

Mechanic, Swansea.

He is just glad that there is someone on this godforsaken ship who has the screws in their head straight.

He does feel a bit relaxed that he doesn't have to worry about things going wrong with you onboard.

He sometimes has you deal with Daisuke instead. More relaxation time for him.

He can count on you. And he likes you the best on the ship.

Doesn't shy away from praising you in front of others.

Intern,Daisuke.

"WOWZER MISTER YOU'RE SO COOL!".

He was a bit scared of you at first,but quickly warmed up to how refreshing you were.

You were strict,yes. But not as much as Swansea. You never scolded him,or complained about him to others.

Instead you always, efficiently taught him how to do things properly.

The way you spoke,the way you presented yourself. He didn't find it strange how his other, older, colleagues were swooning over you either.

Grew to like you the best on the ship as well,always right by your side.

He does think you're hot,but is intimidated pretty easily.

[linopilled]

⟡ cw: church boy innie, talks of sinning, awful dialogue & pacing, softcore degradation, reader has a vag & is lady coded, manipulation but its softcore, male masturbation & wet dreams, dry-humping, one (1) singular spank, cum-shot, implied oral (fem receiving), jeongin Really wants to fuck y/n!

⟡ author's note: hey guys so funny story i- *pushes you and runs away*

church boy!jeongin's first experience with temptation comes in the form of his childhood best friend.

ever since experiencing his first sexual awakening and suddenly realizing how stacked his good friend is, he has purely never been the same again. in fact, he doesn't think he'll ever come back from it. he doesn't know how he can.

jeongin had been going to the same church as you for years, only seeing the picture of perfection in your form, white lacy dresses that make you look like an untouched angel causing his cock to chub up in his slacks. he hears his father in his ear warning him about how he should be lowering his gaze, and you're a lady that should be respected as such, but in the back of his mind, jeongin's just grateful he can't hear his impure thoughts.

his second experience with temptation, of course, involves you, but merely as a figment of his imagination. he wakes up in a cold sweat, dick hard in his trousers and his boxers soaked with precum. in his dreams you'd been shoved face first into his mattress and fucked like a slut. his slut. crying like you'd never taken a dick as big as his before, and as he recants the vision from before, his cock throbs dully in the confines of his bottoms.

"fuuuuck —" he groans, gripping the base of his cock, before laying back in silence. he really needs to get you out of his system. and he does so that same night by rubbing his cock raw, wishing it was your tiny cunt instead of his hand.

the third, and final instance in which jeongin faces temptation in it's most dangerous form, you're kneeling in front of him with the most innocent look on your face. like you didn't just ask him to “show you his if you show him yours.” you're alone with him in his bedroom, both of your parents under the guise that the two of you would be studying for an important test.

“innie, jeonginnie — i just want to see.” you plead with him in that stupid fucking tone — eyes sparkling in a way that's definitely getting him hard again. his father's voice is in his subconscious again, but he doesn't listen to him this time.

“y/n-ah. i can't. but we can do something else okay? do you trust me?” jeongin asks, his palms moving forward to rest on your shoulders. your eager nod almost makes him feel guilty about the way he's about to use you.

almost.

“turn around, a-away from me. hands and knees.” he says, eyes trained carefully on you as you switch your position. his eyes trail downward to your ass, noting the way your skirt hardly covers your anything. if he was bold enough, he'd shove you forward so he could see your panties without that short skirt obstructing his view. instead, his hand trails downward to his cock, palming himself through his slacks at the sight of your ass.

“what are you going to do?” you ask him, turning your head back to look at him through hooded eyes.

jeongin opts not to respond. he lets go of his hard-on, sitting up on his knees and wrapping his hands around your waist in a firm grip. “you've no fucking idea how bad i've been craving this, y/n.” the man begins, pushing his hips forward to meet your ass. a faint gasp leaves your lips, and you wriggle slightly, but jeongin's grasp doesn't let up.

he slowly begins to rock his cock against your ass, a deep growl rumbling in his throat when his cock presses up against your cunt just right. moaning weakly, you jolt forward, panties getting wetter as you let him rub carefully against your backside. “didn't you want this too?” he speaks again, rutting harder into you when he hears you gasp once more and sees your head nodding frantically.

he takes note of your hands gripping his duvet and little choked noises spilling out of your lips in a desperate attempt to stay quiet, and he removes one of his hands from your waist to give your ass a firm slap. he laughs, watching you squirm.

“trying to stay quiet now? after you sauntered your way up into my room and asked to see my dick like a shameless harlot?” jeongin scowls, losing himself a lot quicker than he would've liked to. he's now humping your ass in a tempo that rocks your body forward, and your clit throbs, the dull friction of a hard shaft nudging your cunt through soaked panties.

still with one large hand gripping your waist so tight you're sure it'll bruise, he ever so slightly maneuvers your body, making you rock your hips against his dick. “fuck, angel. you'll make me come just like this.” he moans, mirroring your soft noises. “bet if i held you down and finally fucked you like you'd been begging for, you'd love it.” jeongin smirks, looking down at where the two of you are connected, noticing the wet patch on his front getting larger as he keeps humping your cunt.

you've officially lost it, fucking yourself back into his clothed cock and practically drooling, your mouth open in a cute little "O" shape, that makes jeongin's heart swell up in his chest just like his cock. “f-fuck, ah — innie, please.”

you don't even know what you're begging for, but your core is molten hot, orgasm building rather quickly in your gut and your small noises turning into pathetic whining.

when your noises get too loud, however, his hand comes and presses against your mouth, effectively shutting you up and pressing your cunt harder on his dick. “shhh... we don't want to get caught, don't we? just lay there and take it. let me keep humping this little cunt till i come, okay? and maybe i'll let you come too.”

“innie, innie please —” you slur, but your words are muffled by his palm.

jeongin's pace is akin to one that he know's he'll uphold once he finally gets the chance to feel you squeezing his cock. your pathetic babbles spur him on, and his hips stutter. he's close, but he doesn't want to come in his pants. not like this. you're too fucked out to notice him unzipping and pulling his cock out with his other hand, but you whine at the loss of his iron grip on your tummy.

you look back at him all teary-eyed, and that's what breaks him.

“god you'll fucking — i'm coming, i'm fucking coming doll.” he hisses, pushing your skirt up and jerking his cock to a messy orgasm, tilting his head back and groaning with every spurt of his cum hitting your ass, the back of your thighs, and finally — your covered cunt.

despite coming first and edging you at the brink of your own orgasm, jeongin is ever the gentleman. he takes your cum covered panties off with gentle hands, and pushes your face into his blankets, and makes you come on his tongue, right there on his bed.

that same night, through your window he watches you pray at your bedside, reciting hail-mary's and begging for forgiveness for indulging in sin.

jeongin's cock gets hard again. he really wishes it was you begging him for forgiveness instead.

[milktiicup]

Could you write a fic where we figure out a way to bring Mr Crawling shopping with us? Maybe he could be put in a wheelchair so his height isn't as scary or suspicious to other humans

a day out!

“Junk food,” you explain. “Not good for you.” “Want junk,” he says immediately, reaching for a bag of neon orange cheese puffs. Your resolve crumbles. “Fine. One junk.” You lean down beside his head. He turns to you, a smile of wonder on his face, and you stress, “One.” His giggle rings down the aisle and he places the chips into the basket. 

Leaving Mr. Crawling at home all day left you wondering- does he need fresh air? Does he want fresh air? If you left your old world in the name of romance just to be left inside all day while your partner goes to work and has extra curricular activities at night time- you’d like to think you’d crave being outside, too. 

It gave you the bright idea- why not take Mr. Crawling grocery shopping?

Of course, your roommate-boyfriend-thing couldn’t really walk outside all willy-nilly if he wanted. And yeah, you already knew that he’s not that noticeable to other people- but he’s still noticeable. He needed a makeover, a new wardrobe, and one thing for certain- a wheelchair! 

You felt bad stealing from the hospital, but what could you do? Pay for one? Those things were expensive! You may be a murderer, you may be a monster, but one thing for certain is- you’re not that much of a thief… You paid for his clothes, obviously. A simple oversized black t-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants. You even decided to treat him to a pair of… black socks. 

You were such a good, kind person. 

“Crawlingggg,” you sang, stepping into your apartment. “I have a gift for you!”

He sits there in the hallway, head tilted and a smile that stretches ear to ear. “Gift? You give object?” 

You wave the shopping bags. “I give object! Give you!”

“Give me?” He giggles, and you’re promptly tackled to the floor in a heap of hair and raggy kimono in a hug. 

You don’t know what you were expecting by giving Mr. Crawling a pair of normal human sized pants, but they fit… for the most part. His entire calves were exposed. He was like a fussy baby when you insisted you had to put the socks on his feet, but with a pout, he let you. Mr. Crawling was quick to look at himself in the mirror, and after you changed out of your work clothes, you were ready to go!#

“Ready?” you ask, gripping the handles of the wheelchair with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm. This was, after all, a brilliant idea. Mr. Crawling finally gets to experience the great outdoors. A small trip, sure, but a big leap in the world of integrating your… unique roommate-boyfriend-thing into normal human life.

He glances down at himself, his oversized shirt sagging a little off one shoulder, his sweatpants cinched tight around his too-thin waist. His hair still moves with its own mind, curling around his arms like curious tendrils. Maybe a hair tie would’ve been a good idea. “Look… human?” he asks, poking the fabric of his shirt.

“Close enough,” you say brightly, patting his shoulder. “And trust me, no one will question it. People don’t actually pay attention to other people in public. It’s one of the few perks of modern society.”

He tilts his head, not understanding a word you just said, but he nods anyway. “You push chair. Fast?”

“No,” you say firmly, cutting that idea off before it even starts. You had to be mature, and fight the urges to make him do wheelies down the street. You were an adult. “We’re going normal speed, like normal people, doing normal grocery shopping. Normal.” You give him a pointed look, and he grins wide.

You manoeuvre him out of the apartment and down the hall, the wheelchair gliding smoothly. His fingers twitch as he grips the armrests. “This… fun,” he murmurs, glancing up at you. “You like push?”

“It’s like pushing a very large, very creepy man,” you mutter, though there’s no real malice in your tone. “But yeah, it’s kind of fun.”

The trip down to the street is uneventful. Nobody spares you a second glance, save for one elderly woman who frowns a little at Mr. Crawling’s hair. Damn… Men can’t have long hair these days, apparently. You quickly steer him away before she can get a closer look, and see the fact he quite literally has no eyeballs.

“Outside,” he whispers in awe as you roll him onto the sidewalk. His fingers tap the armrests excitedly, his head swivelling to take in the towering buildings, the cars, the smoggy sky. “Big.”

“Yeah, welcome to the human world,” you say. “It’s not all bad, though. See those pigeons? They’re kind of cute, right?”

He stares at the birds for a long moment, then tilts his head. “Consume?”

“No!” you hiss, your voice a little louder than intended. A couple walking past gives you a strange look, but you wave them off. “We do not eat the pigeons. We buy food from inside the store. That’s the whole point of this trip, remember?”

Mr. Crawling frowns, but his smile returns as fast as it left. “I understand!”

“Good. Great. Let’s go.”

The grocery store is just a few blocks away, and you’re relieved when the automatic doors slide open. The bright fluorescent lights and neatly stacked shelves feel almost comforting in their mundanity. It’s a sense of normalcy that you… kind of, but only kind of have at home. Your roommate-boyfriend-thing is a monster from another realm. 

Mr. Crawling, on the other hand, looks like a kid in a candy store. “Many object…” he murmurs, his head swivelling in every direction. “Human eat this?”

“Yeah,” you say, grabbing a basket. “You’re about to see how humans stock up for the week. Ready?”

He nods, his grin widening. You just hope the poor cashier is ready for whatever this trip is about to become. You let Mr. Crawling hold the shopping basket in his lap, and push him down the first aisle. 

You knew Mr. Crawling wasn’t dumb by any means. He’s smart enough to pick up things from the TV, understands a majority of the stuff you say in your own language, but you’d never imagine that the day would come that you had to explain what broccoli was to him. 

“What this?”

“Little tree. You know tree?”

“Know tree… Little tree… Healthy?”

“Healthy. If you cook it.”

“Cook little tree…” 

You’ve mystified him. 

Your next aisle - the snack aisle - has Mr. Crawling enamoured. “What this?” he asks, picking up colourful chip bag after chip bag. If he had eyes, you knew he would be eyeing up those boxes of cookies like no tomorrow. 

“Junk food,” you explain. “Not good for you.”

“Want junk,” he says immediately, reaching for a bag of neon orange cheese puffs.

Your resolve crumbles. “Fine. One junk.” You lean down beside his head. He turns to you, a smile of wonder on his face, and you stress, “One.” His giggle rings down the aisle and he places the chips into the basket. 

By the time you reach the checkout, the basket is loaded with a mix of essentials and Mr. Crawling’s curious additions- things like canned soup, frozen potato waffles, and a box of pudding cups that he grabbed without even asking. And of course, the box of cookies that you knew he would eye up eventually. 

The cashier barely glances at the two of you, though she does raise an eyebrow at Mr. Crawling’s hair. You pay quickly, and wheel him outside with your bags of groceries in tow.

As you head back home, he turns to you, clutching the bag of cheese puffs in his lap. “Shopping fun,” he declares, beaming. “Human smart.”

“Yeah, well, let’s see if you feel the same after cooking some of this stuff,” you reply, shaking your head with a smile. “Ready for that adventure next?”

He nods, munching a cheese puff as if it’s the greatest thing he’s ever tasted. “Cook tiny tree.”

You laugh. “Okay, Crawling. We can cook the broccoli together.”

[razrbladekiss]

CRAVE | Joel Miller

SUMMARY: there’s only one thing that joel craves, and it isn’t the mental fucking torture of an overly stubborn twenty-something teasing him ‘til he’s blue in the face. and balls.

PAIRING: dbf!joel miller x afab!reader. legal unspecified age gap.

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI, 18+ CONTENT BELOW THE CUT. alcohol consumption. pervy old man joel. reader’s dad (i’ve named him sorrrry) is there before joel gets pervy. some religious themes and also descriptions of religion in a negative light (this is MY experience with christianity, if you do not agree then please don’t read), no explicit smut but descriptions of what joel wants to do to youuuu so: mentions of piv, cock-riding, oral f!receiving, choking if you squint, dirty talk asf, joel being cocky which leads to his cock being sad and alone. reader is cunty. not proof-read ‘cus, once again, i’m a lazy bitch and i don’t have time for that. enjoy. 🫶🏻

An end to craving is an end to suffering.

Today’s last stream of sunlight fulgurates through the branches of your father’s prized Texas Ash, hitting perfectly the dime-sized crucifix situated comfortably between two pert tits sheathed in sheer black cotton.

Joel tries not to stare, but it’s impossible. He’s been watching you all fucking night. Every time you get up, he’s been glued to your ass. Whenever you lean over, Joel can’t seem to pry his eyes away from your cleavage. The more he’s been drinking, the more brazen he’s been with his stolen glances.

When your father rambles about some work-related spiel—and you’re sitting so innocently across the way—he can’t help affixing his eyes to the swell of your breasts. Wondering what it’d be like to touch, and grope, and suck on them.

Your mother was right about him. For all of the years that she knew Joel while your parents were together, she’d always say that he was trouble. A good-for-nothing, splenetic, perverted old-man who was but a bad influence. And you never noticed, never cared. You always thought that he was a great friend, and a stand-up guy.

Until today. Until you saw him scrutinizing your form—in front of your dad—you had a lot more respect for Joel. But now you realize that your mother was right. He is a perv. But—fuck—do you love that.

You’re not sure what you enjoy more—disrespecting your insane Catholic mother, or knowing that Joel is undressing you with his eyes—but you can’t help yourself feeding into his fantasy.

“Daddy?” Your father hums, not entirely bothered by the fact that you’ve just interrupted his conversation. He smiles. “Do you want another beer?”

“Please, hon.” He hands you his empty bottle, mumbling something about how he was going to get himself one and that you don’t need to. But you insist.

The blanket over your thighs is being discarded, hiking your dress up with it. Joel gets a glimpse of your lace panties that he likes to imagine you wore just for him, and shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

Bare, supple skin is on display as you get up from the deck chair. You turn to him with a prurient twinkle in your eye, and ask if he wants a drink too. “Yeah, another won’t hurt. I’m already pretty—“ he hiccups, “pretty far gone, anyway.”

Dad laughs while you saunter to the cooler and make a big show of bending over, completely unaware of the way Joel is trying to conjure up a plan to get you alone tonight. But then…

“Same ‘ere, bud.” He laughs before he’s nodding toward Joel. “Stay the night, if ‘ya wanna. I mean, you’re in no fit state to drive—none of us are—and I got a spare bedroom.”

His nose scrunches up, as if to decline, before you’re turning around with two unopened beers and a small bottle of wine. Your hand wraps around the neck almost romantically, leaving very little to his imagination.

“Yeah, you might as well stay, Miller.” You put down the beers on the table, still holding firmly the Merlot. “I’m stayin’. I got nowhere to be in the mornin’, and dad bought breakfast stuff.”

Two brown eyes are latched to each of yours, and you feel beads of perspiration roll through the valley of your breasts. Despite the evening cooling down, you’re stifling beneath his unyielding gaze.

“Alright, I’ll stay.” Joel concedes. He takes his can and cracks it open, lifting it up to cheers your father. “S’long as you’re makin’ me breakfast, Gary.”

Dad salutes and you smile, sinking into the purple cushion with a satisfied hum. You ogle Joel, biting fiercely the skin of your bottom lip. And it doesn’t go unnoticed.

Joel swigs his beer—letting your dad drunkenly ramble—and doesn’t take his eyes off of you. Wondering how he’s going to make you pay for torturing him like this.

But this hadn’t been your intention when Joel showed up to watch the Cowboys v Browns game this afternoon. In fact, him staying past nine o’clock was completely unintentional and if it weren’t for your dad pumping him full of Coors and Old Milwaukee, he’d be fast asleep at this very moment.

He supposes that he doesn’t mind, being here. Especially because he’s buzzed—still able to speak and think coherently, which is surprising—and gets to spend some rare time with you. Even if it is with your dad.

You watch them converse—the way that friends do—admiring how patient Joel is with him despite him being a little bit too inebriated for his own good. He’s the kind of friend that your old man needs; understanding, forbearing. And it baffles you that they’ve not known one another for longer than seven years, but surmise that they’d definitely be best friends in every other timeline because they just work so well.

But it’s the thought of them being friends—brothers—that urges feelings of unease. Trepidation. Gary’ll have a cow if he finds out the way that his so called buddy has been making googly eyes at his little girl’s titties for the last eight hours.

Joel senses the shift in attitude—you’re not teasing him now—and turns the topic of conversation to you. Dad doesn’t mind, though. Never minds talking to—or about—his kid.

“What made you stay in with us oldies tonight, huh?”

Wine is being swiveled around the glass before you take it back in one swig. A grimace flits over your features, but they both catch it.

“Didn’t feel like hittin’ the bars.” Candidly, you say. It’s refreshing. “Can’t be dealin’ with pervy old men tryna touch me.”

Less refreshing.

Joel’s blood runs cold, and you smirk. He swallows thickly the liquid acrimony bubbling from the chasms of his throat. He wants to screw that stupid grin off of your face—stuff his cock straight between those plush lips and throat fuck you ‘til you’re crying and gasping for air.

He just nods instead of saying anything.

“I’ll kill anyone that touches you.” Dad says, not sensing Joel’s sudden frigid state. “Seriously. ‘Specially if it’s an old fuckin’ degenerate asshole—“

“Alright, Gary.” You halt the hate train, pouring the last few dregs of wine into your glass. “No need to get all protective. No old coot is comin’ anywhere near me.”

You look directly at Joel when you say; “old men can’t do what guys my age can, anyway.”

Dad grimaces. Joel scoffs. You can’t help smiling, feeling very proud of yourself.

“Y’know, you’re still my kid? And hearing this shit is nasty.” Your father tells you around a burp, and realizes that this might be the time to call it a night.

He’s never been able to handle his alcohol, especially after being married to your psychotic beer-loathing, hymn-signing, prayer-group-leading, holier-than-though moronic fucking mother.

He lets himself get too drunk too fast, now. Ever since she went back to Kansas—which was totally code for I fucked the priest and got extradited from the church—he’s really let his hair down, and you’d be lying if you said this version of your old man wasn’t the very best. Because he’s living his life the way that he wants to, now.

It’s nice.

“It might be nasty, but ‘least you don’t have to worry about me bringing home a man your age. Or even worse; older.”

Gary gets to his feet—knees clicking and cracking as he does so—and nods. “‘Spose that’s true, kid.”

Joel. Is. So. Fucking. Pissed.

As you say your goodnights—and put on a few lights so that your dad doesn’t trip over his own feet—Joel is mentally counting down the minutes until he gets you alone on this damn patio. He’s determined to make you regret the few little comments that you’ve made tonight.

“Don’t stay up too late. Y’know how cranky ‘ya get with no sleep.” Dad reminds you. “You too, Miller.”

You hum your response, lifting your empty glass and indicating that you’ll be retiring to your room soon, too.

“Night dad.”

“Night, pumpkin.” He turns to Joel. “Make sure she ain’t up too late.”

He nods and shifts his gaze to you, eyes darkening. “Yessir. I’ll put her to sleep.”

Your father grunts and slides the patio door to close. Leaving his daughter and best friend alone together might be the biggest mistake that he’s ever going to make.

Joel watches him intently behind the glass door, heeding him stumble across the tile. He might be about to rearrange your guts, but he at least wants to be courteous.

Your legs squeeze together, for the only sound you hear is the reverberation of Joel’s I’ll put her to sleep in that sexy, beer-slick tone.

He sees it.

“She makin’ ‘ya squirm?”

You blink at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your pussy.” Joel—as candid as ever—elaborates. “Is she flutterin’ ‘cus ‘a me?”

The fallout of a chemical bomb would be much more appealing than having to look Joel in the eye after such a lewd statement.

“Don’t worry if so. I have that effect on the ladies.”

“Makin’ yourself sound like a slut, Miller.” Coolly, you respond. Your hand is reaching for a can of beer, twining fingertips around the base while another pulls the tab.

Two eyes screw shut when a spritz of alcohol is flushing over your face, neck and chest. Droplets of Bud trickle between those perfect tits that Joel’s eyes have almost burned fucking holes into; forcing even the horniest man on planet earth to render himself utterly speechless.

You trail a finger through the valley of your breasts, collecting the sticky liquid before you’re putting it straight into your mouth; sucking it clean. Your eyes are locked on Joel’s.

“What? Cat got your tongue?”

Slowly, he shakes his head. The sight before him is truly one to behold; his friend’s sweet daughter with her fingers between her tits out in the patio. Nobody’d ever believe him if he told them this. Joel probably wouldn’t even fucking believe himself.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t ’ya?” Is what he says in response. He’s quick witted, you’ll give him that. “My tongue stuck in your pretty little pussy—“

Heat flashes over you.

“You’re fucking vile.”

“Ain’t that the way it’s meant’a be?” He lurches forward, and your eyes travel to the small opening of his shirt’s midsection that highlights perfectly the fact that he hasn’t a base layer beneath the flannel.

You see a small patch of hair; brown, and gray and seems a little fuzzy. It’s a sudden reminder that this man is a smidge too old for you. But you can’t find it in yourself to care very much.

“Don’t think so.” Trying to out-douche him, you respond. Joel’s thick fingers are twined together, hands resting over the peaks of his knees. “Think youre meant’a have some kinda respect for me. Y’know, as my dad’s buddy, ‘n all.”

Joel snorts a laugh.

“I’d have respect for ‘ya, but the way that peachy fuckin’ ass was in the air when ‘ya bent over the cooler tells me that daddy’s ’lil girl is more of a slut than me.”

Your jaw rolls. Reaction: gauged.

He inches nearer to you; slimy grin plastered across rough, rugged features. “Only pullin’ your leg, hon. I know you’re no slut. Too much of a prissy bitch—“

“Oh, really?” Irked, you spit.

Joel nods. Pushing at your buttons has never been much of a difficult feat. It’s something that he quite enjoys, actually.

“Mhm, yeah.” The man is leaning backwards in his chair, now. Arms folded behind his head; hands pressed against his dark curls. “Gonna have to prove that you ain’t like your mama.”

Your blood boils. And then it runs cold.

“Don’t gotta prove shit to you.” You defend. Very defensively.

“No, that’s right. Don’t gotta do nothin’, kiddo.”

You see the outline of his dick as it stiffens within the confines of his dark, navy-denim jeans. He’s actually getting off on this.

“Unless you want to—“

“Nah, I’m good.” You’re leaning back, now, lifting your legs to sit criss cross applesauce. The barely-covering-your-crotch sheer fabric of your thong catches his eye; a glint of something wicked flickers through them as he clears his throat.

If you’re playing the long game, then so is he. He can out-stubborn anybody.

“So I’ve heard.” He jabs, insinuating that you’re a prude. Again. “Can prove ‘em all wrong, if ‘ya wanna.”

It’s killing him, this. It’s torture. But he’s strong. Ish.

You shake your head, reaching for your almost-empty can of beer. You’re taking another long pull, making a dramatic show of tilting your head back and puffing out your chest as you do so. His lips purse.

“I’m good.” You tell him again with a syrupy smile. “Rather we just talk. Y’know—be civilized, ‘n all.”

His arms are moving to the sides of his deck chair, now. Joel’s tongue runs along his bottom lip. He gives a quick bob of his head.

“Yeah, we can talk.” His eyes zone in on your pussy; the engorged wet patch situated on the part of fabric that kind-of clothes your cunt. His mouth waters. “But what’ll we talk about, baby girl?”

Another surge of pleasure oozes out from between your thighs, turning what was once a purple thong into a jet-black one. Joel doesn’t mind, though. The sight is sweet; it’s prurient, in some sick way.

“Hm.” You pretend to think, all the while spreading your legs a little bit more. He sees perfectly the outline of your folds as fabric hugs and highlights the inner workings of your beautiful anatomy. “Why don’t we start with what you’re thinkin’ about, Mr. Miller?”

A weakness of his, that is. You referring to him as Mr. Miller has always gotten him hot. It’s innocent, almost. It’s like that’d been engrained into your brain by the god-fearing fruit-loop that brought you up, and you can’t quit saying it in these situations.

“Oh, doll. Not sure you’ll wanna hear what I’m thinkin’ of.” His tone is rough, now. Like 180 grit sandpaper against the wooden walls inside of your fucking brain. You hum.

Mentally, Joel’s cock is spearing open the tight hole between your legs; making you scream his name. He’s thrusting his prick up into your cervix while you ride him like he’s the last cowboy on earth, desperate to feel a kind of pleasure that no man your age could ever bestow upon you.

In his head, he’s picturing your crucifix dangling in his face while you’re pleasuring yourself on his length; glistening with sweat, and cum, and Sierra Nevada. Howling at his girth, speechless at the size of him.

He wants nothing more than to wrap a hand around the base of your throat and fuck you into next week; feeling damp walls contract and seize around his cock—

“No.” You snap him back to reality; halting his train of thought. “No, you can tell me. I’m a big girl, I can take it.”

Oh, I’m fuckin’ sure she can.

“Fine.” He clears his throat. “Just thinkin’ of stufin’ that warm ‘lil cunt with my big ‘ol cock, ‘s’all.”

“Oh, is that all?” Your tone is teasing.

Joel does not like to be teased.

“If you’d shut your fuckin’ mouth, I’d be able to finish.”

In a moment of pure, unapologetic submission, you nod. The skin of your bottom lip is getting fucking gnawed at by your teeth in an attempt to conceal a moan.

It works. Kind of.

“What was I sayin’…” He strives to recall his last few words; and then he remembers. “Oh, yeah. Stretchin’ out that cute pussy ‘a yours.”

That cute pussy ‘a yours, is twitching. Fuck that, it’s pulsating.

“And you’re so sure of that? You being able to stretch me out, I mean.”

“Dead sure, angel face.” He quips. “I know for a damn fact that you’d be havin’ trouble takin’ my fat cock all in one go; be cryin’ for everyone to hear.”

Through long, thick lashes, you stare at him.

“You’d be seein’ stars; and not just the ones above us right now.”

You look up to the sky and hope to alleviate some of the mental pain being bestowed upon you right now. Which is entirely your own doing, of course.

Joel shifts in his seat so that he’s a little bit more sunken, able to heed clearly the sickly sweetness blanketing the chair you’re on.

“I’ll eat your pussy, too.”

Your attention is snapped back down to Joel, now. Your brows raise.

“Suck your soul right out from between your legs.”

“Oh, Joel.” You moan, a little. He lets his eyes shut for a brief moment, only to open them again to find you taking off your panties.

It’s like Christmas fucking day, this.

“I’d love for you to take me right here; fill me up on one ‘a the sunloungers.” You’re getting off your chair, and Joel’s heart is starting to pound within the chasms of his chest.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

You’re walking toward him; thong in hand. Fingers wreathed through soaked purple cotton.

“Can’t think of anything that’ll bring me more pleasure than you fuckin’ me ‘til I’m crying. Or gasping for air.”

“You ‘n me both, beautiful.”

You smile. You give Joel your underwear, before you’re running your fingers through his hair and he’s letting a hand glide up the meat of your thigh and beneath your skirt.

“Just a shame, ain’t it.”

“What’s a shame, sugar?”

The feeling of his fingertips—calloused and covered in rough skin—is almost orgasmic. But you’re stronger than what he is. So you pull yourself away from his hold, and begin to feel an unwavering sense of need. You shirk it, though.

You’re leaning into him now, breasts pressed against his shoulder, lips touching the shell of his ear. Goosebumps prickle over his neck and you assume that they’re making their way down south, too.

“Huh?” He says to get your attention, for you still haven’t answered. “What’s a shame?”

Fingertips trace over broad shoulders enveloped in soft, warm flannel. You’re leaning closer; hot breath on his skin. Your lips part to whisper:

“If daddy ever found out about this, he’d kill ‘ya.”

“Baby—“

You’re taking the panties from his hand, and tucking them into the breast pocket of his shirt. Fighting a blush—feeling very proud of yourself—your face remains straight.

You tap at his chest and walk away, but not before throwing a “night, Miller” over your shoulder.

Joel looks down at the ground, presently wallowing in some sort of self-pity. But then remembers the visible effect that his words had—and the way he looked at—you, and he can’t fight the stupid fucking grin pushing its way onto his face.

He might’ve just experienced blue-balls at his big age, but to see you submit to his gaze was absolutely worth it.

He just hopes you’ll never tell a soul about his dirty-talk. He has a reputation to uphold, these days.

[kindred-spirit-93]

ASDFGHJKLKJHGFDSFGHJK TYSM :D!!!

i will draw u all the achilleses (achilli lmao??) i promise hehe. i want to practice anatomy very much and who better to have as a muse lol. also itll help me figure out a neo design so win win >:3

some of you may know that i’m about 22k words into an enemies to lovers telemachus/neoptolemus fic rn and for those of you don’t know that, hi, i am in fact writing that.

their dynamic is very special to me (especially the version in my head where they attempt to kill each other on multiple occasions but it only causes them to fall more in love with each other) but genuinely the way i came to the idea of shipping them was literally just bc i was thinking “odysseus and achilles would HATE to be in-laws”

like you cannot tell me that achilles wouldn’t be spinning in his grave at the idea of his son dating the son of odysseus. his ass could NOT handle having to see odysseus at family gatherings. and odysseus would find it all so fucking funny. like on principle he would not approve of his son dating achilles’ son, but he’d also see achilles bursting a blood vessel trying to be diplomatic and he’d decide that it’s all worth it.

and in my head there’s this modern au where like achilles is alive and neo, his estranged son who he doesn’t have a good relationship with, comes to him like “father i want to get your blessing on my relationship” and achilles is thinking “ok let’s not fuck this up this is my chance to rekindle my relationship with my son” but then when neo says “i am gay. i am dating odysseus’ son” achilles has a fucking panic attack and neo assumes it’s bc achilles is homophobic and he’s like “father i cannot change who i am. i am gay” and achilles is frantically like “NO IDC THAT UR GAY BUT CAN YOU PLEASE BE GAY WITH LITERALLY ANYBODY ELSE??????”

it’s romeo and juliet core if you think abt it. the feud is achilles hating odysseus and odysseus thinking it’s the funniest thing ever

ofc i actually do really like neo and telemachus’ potential dynamic and i have a lot a lot of thoughts on it but i just think it’s so funny to look at achilles and odysseus’ perspective on this

[aychama]

G: YOU MOTHER FUCKER

The goat punched the other again. They were already bloody and bruised from fighting. Lambert backed, coughing up the blood.

G: What the FUCK were you thinking!? They gave you a purpose, a new start at life, you ungrateful piece of SHIT!

L: I know! And I also know that it would all end when they no longer needed us or found someone stupider to their work!

G: Bullshit. They promised-

L: PROMISED? Pfft ha-! Hahahaha!

Lambert laughed. They were laughing at the stupidity of the situation. Other one gritted their teeth, clenching their blood stained fists.

L: And you believed that? What did they promise you huh?

G: None of your business! Shamura proposed stuff they never did to other people! Once I get your head to him for what you did to them, to me, I'll have everything I want!

Goat tried to punch him again. This time, his wrist was caught by Lambert painfully, twisted and forced to get on the ground.

G: Gah-!

L: What did they promise you? Your safety? No longer having to worry about being hunted down? Or is the promise of giving you the crown once their times up? Come on... We're better than this!

The lamb said harshly. They knew every one of those lies. They weren't dumb.

L: You think someone as knowledgeable as Shamura doesn't know how to manipulate people like you? People like us? They are good at taking from the vulnerable, giving empty hopes with eye catching promises.

G: Fuck you.

Lambert let go of his wrist and took a few steps back. Goat looked at them curious and judgmentally

G: I don't believe you. You yourself are a manipulator. How the hell did you convince the red crown to lend you power?

L: I didn't... He gave it to me himself. But I'm not trying to convince you anyway. You don't have to believe me, follow me, help me... But to think I'd let you come in here and kill me is just ridiculous.

G: So what now? Do you expect me to just stop coming after you after what you did? People know me as someone that never let their prey ran off, can't risk that reputation.

L: No, I'm expecting anything from you. (It's a waste of time anyway) All I need is for you to think about this, make a choice and understand. Shamura is not someone you can trust.

G: I don't need to understand. Nor do I care if you can or not trust Shamura. In this world, people like you and me either do as told or become dinner. And, you're the main dinner they crave. Don't be stupid, Lambert.

L: (That's quite poetic actually) If Shamura wants to kill me, they can come and try for themselves, no need to get YOU involved. Tho, you said it yourself that you're doing this to be not on their bad side. If you're tired of being a vessel for their needs, this isn't the way to freedom... You will, NEVER get that by simply doing what they want.

G: Freedom? Ha! It's rich coming from you. Like you did any better! You betrayed Shamura for what? To be that damned cat's lap dog, to sit when says and stand when he wants. (Or maybe things I don't want to mentally imagine) You, put all your self respect, dignity and name aside to get toyed around by someone like him. Is this what you call "freedom"?

Goat walked towards them, making Lambert take a few steps back.

G: That's not freedom. Or maybe you want that. Maybe you make him think that he's in control to betray him later on. He was being nice after all. You love hurting the ones that help you the most, right?

L: Now you're just saying random words What? Is this some kind of way to make me feel bad? If there's a lap dog here, it's you. You don't get to act like you didn't do what ANYONE asked of you just to feel like you accomplished something worth mentioning! You can continue to obey Shamura and beg them to keep you afterwards but be aware that they'll put you back where they found you! I'm gonna do what I need to do to live my way, either with you or without you! So don't- ACK!

The goat launched at them, their hands around the other's throat. Goat didn't like those words, at all. The lamb choked, scratching the hands on their throat. Goat was angry, shaking as they watched the other struggle.

G: You think you can just backstab everyone who trusts you and don't face the consequences of it!? Like how you thought I'd forgive you, after you left me in that prison!? They caught you and I did everything to help you! And I waited, waited and waited for MONTHS! IS THAT YOUR FREEDOM!? You... Selfish... Ignorant... BASTARD!

Their heartbeat filled their ears, anger consuming the goat. The blood dripping from their nose hit Lambert's wool, joining the other's own stains.

G: You left me to die. And you dare to criticize what I do to survive!? If it wasn't for me, you'd be devoured whole in a feast! We did everything together! We helped each other out! But you!? It's only you! I trusted you!

Lambert stopped his struggle, instead looking up to their... friend. Maybe one of the worst things they've done. The only thing they regretted so far.

G: What did I ever do to you!?

The goat punched them again and again. But when they got no response, they let go

G: Answer me. Don't you have a snarky come back to that? Can't even deny that you are the worst fucking friend?

L: ...

They sat up, their lip busted and nose broken. The tension and the eye contact was too uncomfortable.

L: You're right. I did that. I am, a bad friend.

G: ...

L: You're not just here because of Shamura are you? You don't care about what they want or what they told you at all.

G: Yeah. I'm here because you're a piece of shit, a backstabbing manipulator and you owe me. Did you even tried to-

L: I did... I tried to help you out.

Upcoming tears already burned his eyes. Lambert took a deep breath.

L: Maybe I didn't try hard enough. I-I know it's no excuse but, but I tried... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry... I know, I know it means so little to you and I know you don't want to hear me say it. With all this shit going on... When Shamura started to go out their way and what happened between me and the king... The things I felt and couldn't even understand at the Festival... What I had to do to prove myself, my worth and all the thoughts about not being good enough... for anyone. These aren't excuses. They shouldn't be... I was supposed to be there for you. But please believe me when I say this, I never wanted to hurt you. And if I loose you now, or already did, I would never forgive myself for making you feel like I didn't care...

Lambert was crying when he finished talking. They couldn't face the goat anymore. Years of friendship and they ruined it. The goat took a step forward. And another. Lambert assumed they'd left but...

G: (You crybaby)

The goat hugged them. So they hugged back. It was quiet for a moment... The the goat backed away.

G: If I knew you were this much of a loser... But hey. Neither of us are made in heaven. We're both shitty. And I rather be shitty with you.

L: You...

G: I'm still angry and fuck you, you know.

They smiled at Lambert, then sighed.

G: But who else do we have other than each other? So stop crying! (It makes you look uglier than you already are.) I'll forgive you for a while, aight? Cuz I know you'd miss me

L: Fuck you... Heh...

G: Same to you. So-!

The goat pulled the lamb to their feet

G: When are we killing this giant spider?

Awwww this is adorable!

Thank you for writing this it actually shows me how much I have or haven't shared about my story so far and gosh its a lot djkfllf

And gosh Lambert just taking the punches from Goat, ouch

I love the back and forth the two have here and Goat being promised stuff from Shamura is a nice touch!

Goat calling Lambert a crybaby is so cute xD and I adore the hug ❤️

[critter-wizard]

ep 43 had me tearing up in a fucking shopping centre ‼️‼️

b+w alt version that I truly couldn't decide if I liked it more . Also I included a lot of thoughts in the tags but they're somewhat incoherent<3

[hom3land3r]

James was the support, the rock that John needed. He always knew what to say, what to do to keep the Supe calm. He wanted to be strong for James too, wanted to be there if the vampire needed support. Encouragement. Reassurance. However, his lover was definitely better at this sort of thing than he was. Right now, he was the one needing that comfort, and despite the pair of them reliving bad memories and reopening old wounds, James didn’t complain and was right there.

John didn’t know how he got so lucky, how he found someone that truly cared about him and wanted to help him. He held onto James, buried against that cool neck as if he was terrified his lover would disappear. That he’d wake up and realise all this had been a dream. However, that sweet whisper of i love you grounded him, as did those gentle dotes of affection. No, this was real. Very real. There was no reason to be all doom and gloom anymore. John had everything he ever wanted, all thanks to James.

His eyes closed as he listened to James sing once more, falling in love all over again at the sound. That voice…the voice of home. The sound of a brighter and happier future where they’d be together, able to face anything life threw at them. John smiled as he nuzzled against his lover, humming softly as pictures of them together on the ship filled his mind. Just the two of them and the open sea, wind in their hair and peace in their hearts.

John stayed nestled against James even after he’d finished singing. He only shifted when he felt James ease back, blue eyes looking into green. The softest, most warmest smile formed on the Supe’s face at James’ suggestion as he leaned into that touch, lips grazing against cool fingers. “I’d like that a lot.” He replied, craving that skin on skin contact. To hold and be held, all tangled up together where it was impossible to tell where one of them ended and the other began. “Just the two of us. No interruptions. Just us.”

John has grown used to showing his vulnerable side to James. Hell, he was the only one who got to see it. James was the only one who understood and didn’t judge him for it. There was never any need to put on a mask around his lover, and it was refreshing. He was more than happy for James to lead tonight, and for him to be the one to follow. Knowing James, he was well aware that’s what John needed.

It was James’ turn to be the strong one. Despite both of them bearing their wounds to one another, James was the stronger of them both when it came to this sort of thing. John was used to hiding it, locking it all away in a room in the back of his mind, never to be opened. But when it did, it shook him to his core, the scars fresh even after all this time.

Yet they were starting to heal, slowly, a bit at a time. And it was all thanks to James. The Supe sought comfort, and was given it tenfold. He clung to the vampire, his rock, his everything. The one person who truly did know everything there was to know about him. There were no secrets. Not anymore. And still…James stayed. Still, he loved. And that meant everything to John.

He nuzzled in, buried against that cool neck as tried to calm back down. His ears instantly perked as he heard James sing, his voice soothing. Relaxing. John had heard James sing before and loved it whenever he did, but he especially loved it now. It’s what he needed in this moment, almost like James knew. …Well, of course he did. However, it didn’t make it any less special nor meaningful. No one ever sang for John growing up. He was shook the first time James did it. But now…now he felt the stress and anxiety ebb, felt himself ease and relax and melt into his lover.

His eyes closed as he focused on this moment, here and now. Focused on the comforting whisper of James’ voice, his light in the dark. He’d truly found his home, his forever home within the vampire, and he’d never ever let that go. John remained silent, yet had been hooked on every word sung. He curled up and around his lover, just needing and wanting to hold on. He wanted to provide comfort as well, wanted James to know how much he was loved. Wanted. Needed. How devoted John was to him. And how they were both a promise to each other, that their pasts would stay there and never be repeated.

“I love you.” John finally broke his silence with barely a whisper. He’d relaxed once more, breathing steady and calm washing over him. Nothing more needed to be said about their pasts. They knew all. It would hopefully give them both some closure, enough to move on. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. There’s no me without you.” He muttered, the confidence and arrogance stripped away as John lay bare for James to see.

[soup-is-here]

Mouthwashing Spoilers

TW: Addiction and Self Harm

I wanna go on about Swansea's final monologue but it's hard to put into words, but I'm gonna try anyways cause it's a short, but strong story about autonomy again. This post ended up significantly longer than I wanted though

It's the autonomy to choose the "less healthy" option because it's appealing to you. It's the moral assignment to normality and stability. An alcoholic is an alcoholic by choice, technically, but do they owe us otherwise? Is it morally reprehensible to enjoy taking LSD at a party? Should we see someone as less than because they relax with a xanax instead of a hot shower? It's not healthy. We know that. We've seen anti-drug ad after ad after ad. But is that the part that's morally wrong, in and of itself? Does enjoying the drugs and chaos make Swansea a worse person?

Like him talking about his entire life and ending it by saying between the "stable" "normal" life and him waking up every morning with a new hangover, he preferred the latter. People always talk about getting clean and fixing their lives and Swansea did it! He did the thing "good men" do! A wife and kids and a trade job and sobriety! He was doing it! He was finally "worth" something!

And he hated it! I mean I don't know if he actually hated/despised it, but he misses his previous life. He misses drugs and partying and living like you might not wake up the next day. He said the thing that changed him was seeing himself dead in a ditch under the bright beam of a streetlight. Now he's looking down the barrel of a gun. And as he looks down it, he looks back. That was his preference. It felt good to be like that. And he wouldn't be here if he stayed there

We always have a narrative about drugs or gambling or sleeping around where a person suddenly realizes that they aren't "doing anything" with their life and becomes stable and it's always played like addiction is a false pleasure. Swansea got to the stability people said would be the real pleasure of life and that just wasn't true for him. One bad paycheck could've been the difference between his stable life and falling apart anyways. His lifestyle was going to kill him someday apparently, yet he's staring down the barrel of a gun at his steady trade job to feed his wife and kids.

I don't know quite how to word it but Swansea is the poster child for rehabilitation. There's this weight to him saying his alcoholic period was the best time of his life. Like it just hits at that pang that makes people wear DARE shirts while smoking weed and post those videos of smoking 100 cigarettes at once. Anti-vaping ads tell you about the damage they do to your body but everyone knows that already. Everyone knows "this is what your brain looks like on drugs." I smoke medical marijuana and it isn't good for my lungs but it's good for my pain. Doing drugs isn't good for me and I know that and that's sorta the point sometimes.

I don't know it's just this weird pang where I know what Swansea means, just not to nearly the same extent. I don't have an addiction so I don't think I could fully understand it. Maybe a better thing I could relate it to for myself is self harm. It's not healthy sure, but who do I owe health? Myself? Other people? And what is healthy? Is it feeling better now? Is it resisting now and feeling worse for it until it stops? What if the coping skills I learn make it worse? What if they make it better? Do I want it to get better? Does Swansea want to get better? What would better feel like to either of us?

Who knows until you try. Swansea got a collared shirt, a mortgage, and a credit card. He got a job and a wife and kids. He got sober. He got healthier, depending on your definition.

But did he feel better? He's looking down a barrel of a gun and he has to decide if he feels better. It doesn't seem like he regrets his new life. He says he wants his kids to be better than him. He wants good things to happen for them. He saw himself as one bad slip away from falling again. I don't think he felt better though. I think he got healthier. He likely would've ended up in the ditch he dreamt about, but we don't know that. We also don't know if that's what he'd prefer. But, we do know he got healthier, depending on your definition.

[autieofthevalley]

Oh, that's so real, i need his face between my thighs, too 😔 like imagine him eating you out, making little satisfaction noises, and he's looking up at you like that while burying his face in your pussy 😩🫦 i crave him, need him, want him so bad... i could be having the best of my life being eaten out by him 😩

I know i would never be bored of him between my thighs, even if he's not eating me out, just him resting his head on my stomach, placing soft kisses on it from time to time or nuzzling against my thigh, sighing softly, as he look at me with a soft gaze...

Oh the dream!! (Like i wasn't a reality shifter, bffr Nyxie... 😒🙄)

need to have his face between my thighs or I'm gonna tweak

[gifti3]

Im in such an obey me mood today haha

other than "pls dont tell asmo about that",,,, i have questions about these freaking vegetables (im putting under the cut since im talking about food and bad eating habits/diet related stuff)

im assuming they would have to be mixed with other regular ingredients to prevent the hunger but it sounds like ppl would use them as the main component in a dish or just eat them by themselves

So does all of it get digested? No leftovers (waste) comes out the other end im guessing? is it like a magic type thing?? it has to be right? Cause if not...ur body will take the calories needed to replace the ones burnt, take the nutrients, and the rest will just get tossed out

And since it doesnt make you full, like wouldnt it be way too easy to overeat this type of thing? so you could accidentally end up making urself go to the restroom more often :/

Ig if it gives u the nutrients u need that itll be useful then. So maybe its a 'heres ur macros for the day' type dealo? but u still have to go eat an actual meal or make sure u mix it with other stuff tho

[biceratops7]

So what is up with “Edward better watch his step”?

This post by @asneakyfox really forced me to actually put into words how I interpreted the implicit meaning of this line. Cause when you think about it, it can get real abstract, a one to one… well anything involving this line I think is too simplistic. Interpersonal interaction of any sort really boils down to a tangled web of intention, interpretation, past experiences, hidden fears, hidden desires, etc etc the list goes on.

Ed becoming the kraken is a result of trauma, and although as omniscient viewers we may see this an overreaction (I think we can at least mostly agree it’s maladaptive and he Should Not’ve Done It), Edward has literally every reason to believe the opposite. We know Ed is the protagonist of a romantic comedy. He does not. This man was reared in two very physically abusive environments, with peers that were all “in various stages of fucking each other over”. Any threat by someone capable was likely acknowledged and heeded in one way or another. As the original post pointed out, Izzy has already proven willing and capable with the whole navy stunt. It’s not that Ed is being overly paranoid, it’s that assuming safety is not the done thing.

And I think a lot of times people get caught up on the details of it, like what specifically Izzy would do, how he’d logically be able to execute it, etc. As if the actual logistics of it being mulled over and proven unrealistic (which again we can only know with audience clairvoyance) would immediately deem Ed irrational. I just don’t think that’s the point. The threat can be any number of thing, it doesn’t necessarily have to be physical violence enacted by Izzy, fuck, Ed doesn’t even need to have a clear idea of what it means. He’s already playing with uncharted territory, trying for the first time to concretely initiate a way of life he’s never known before. And while it makes him happy, it does naturally erode the only defenses he’s learned. Ed’s strange look up towards the deck while the crew shouts for another song? That’s fear of the unknown. If his own crew thinks of him as a silly novelty now… then how will the rest of the world see him? What does Ed think will happen to him in a vulnerable state without the bloodthirsty legend he’s carefully armed himself with piece by piece for decades?

I think we already know.

Izzy’s threat was probably not consciously interpreted as intent to hurt, definitely not to kill. But if Izzy’s idea of “loyalty” to Ed was getting the British to rip his closest loved one from him one way or another… yah man not a good look. If I was Ed I wouldn’t know what the fuck was about to happen, and I wouldn’t be in any state to fuck around and find out. In terms of what Izzy actually meant, I think he truly believes Ed needing to “watch his step” is a natural consequence of what’s taking place. We consistently see him in that toxic and self-centered mindset of “I need to hurt you to save you from a worse fate. I don’t want to, but you leave me no choice.” In an uncertain state where both men are trained in an environment of caution, I honestly don’t think either of them know what Izzy really intends, or what he’s trying to warn. Izzy just believes danger is either inevitable or necessary, and Ed has no reason to doubt him.

[ukulelegodparent]

It's so weird growing up how fast you get disinterested in eating sweet food. Like I've gone from 'I can eat a bag of Gummi Bears and drink a liter of coke and have a big bar of chocolate in one evening' to 'i'll have sweet things sometimes but I get so sick of like eg Gummi Bears so quickly. A handful is really on the verge of too much sometimes' in so little time.

[sensitivegoblin]

I'd do anything to have a teasing voice in my ear

[nsfw-godcomplex]

Have you ever been so heartsick that it literally felt like a pit in your stomach

Recalling all the things that could have been done differently to make that singular encounter better and more memorable

Bc you know you're never going to see them again

Sigh

Anyway

[heavierthanlaila]

the solidarity stage of my life's game is super boring i can't wait to get to the next level.