#I love him Your Honor

[cameronsprincess]

this is so cute 😂🤍

[landomeowrris]

orange cats + lando norris (pt. 2)

[wanderneverlost]

Awwww!!! So cute! And very shiny!

drew my boi !!

[vanishingstarrs]

green bean casserole ( izuku midoriya x teacher!reader OR your coworker is a terrible cook and you take it upon yourself to give him a lesson or two so he doesn’t embarrass himself at the work potluck ) ( lately my bf and i have been really hooked on abbott elementary and although i v much strongly dislike thanksgiving, i wanted to do a little teaser for this izuku x ua teacher trope since i’m much more warmed up to the idea of him now than i initially was, like that’s actually MY baby and i’m proud, also strong believer in izuku can’t cook trope !! )

p.s. your next text was risky, something along the lines of cooking both your dishes for the next event while he sat and looked pretty in your kitchen, you looked up and briefly made eye contact from across the room, finding your coworker blushing madly, he sent back a question, you find me pretty?, and then you were the one blushing while you furiously typed, faking that your stomach was suddenly acting up too and how it must’ve been those lumpy mashed potatoes you had earlier, before ducking out of the room like a coward, did you really just say that to him?

[sdrose93]

Pete Maverick 😍❤

[rossary-of-the-rose]

someone sedate this man.

[navybrat817]

This is Tumblr. I'm always thirsty. 🫠

@graphicsmetropolis: Leading Man @imsebastianstan for @lamag's November 2024 Issue⁠ ⁠ In Newsstands and Bookstores now!⁠ ⁠ 📸 Photographed by: Irvin Rivera @graphicsmetropolis⁠ ⁠ 🎨 Creative Direction by: Ada Guerin @guerin_ad⁠ ⁠ ✍️ Cover Story by: Jasmin Rosemberg @jasminrosemberg⁠ ⁠ 📱 Digital/Social Media: Andrew Curry @andrewcurryla⁠ ⁠ 👔 Styled by: Joshua Alan Clark @joshualanclark⁠ ⁠ 👔 Styling Asst: Erick Garnica @erickgarnicax⁠ ⁠ 💇 Hair by: Erica Adams @ericaerk⁠ ⁠ 💄 Grooming by: KC Fee @kcfee⁠ ⁠ 💻 Digitech: Phil Limprasertwong @philteredphoto⁠ ⁠ 📸 Photo Asst: Andrew Lopez @photosbyalopez⁠ ⁠ 🎥 Video: Matthew Gerety @d1gitalfacelift⁠ ⁠ 📍 Location: Graphics Metropolis Studios @gmstudiodtla⁠ ⁠

[theorist-fox]

Some more insecure Simon Riley talk, because he's precious.

18+

Word count: 1.4k

CW: nothing, just smut. Simon finds you in lingerie and has a stroke. I love him your honor.

Masterlist 🦊

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

Simon, who is not sure what to do with himself the first time you welcome him home in nothing but lingerie.

He’s so unbelievably tired, dropping his clothes on the floor of the bedroom without even lifting his head. Mumbling apologies to you—how he’ll clean tomorrow, how he just wants to go to bed and sleep fourteen hours straight, right now. Bonus points if you hold him through the night, too.

Yet you’re not replying, but he’s seen your silhouette in the darkness; he knows you’re awake because you whispered a soft “Welcome back” when he walked in the room. His heart pounds in his chest, his palms get clammy—he thinks he’s overstepping lines by not giving you the attention he thinks you deserve.

So, as he unzips his pants, he lifts his eyes to look at you, and fuck—

You’re lying on your side, propped on your elbow, chin tucked in your palm. Perfect tits covered in sheer fabric, burgundy and black, your nipples peeking through. The soft line of your waist is bare—he follows it with his eyes until they land on your hips. Ornated lace curves around your hipbone and thins into see-through, dark fabric over your mound. Two strips of silk clasp your knickers to a pair of thin stockings that cinch the fat of your thighs, and the sight makes his mouth water.

“Welcome back,” you say once again, this time with soft amusement.

He looks like a proper idiot. Hand still on his crotch, practically feeling how his cock comes to a stand at the mere sight of you.

He gulps. Feels a little lightheaded. “F’ me?”

You smile, chuckling softly but not derisively. Simon follows your hand as you guide it over your belly, up to the valley of your breast, as if you’re there, showing the goods he can pick and taste.

“For you.”

Simon is stunned into silence again.

Fuck is he supposed to do, uh? He’d be content just looking at you lying there and looking like you came out of a magazine, instead of touching you and potentially ruining what you did just for—for him?

He must not have noticed how his whole body (aside from his cock) has gone into standby—entered sniper mode. He's quiet, breaths reduced and silent, eyes attentive and narrowed.

It's a handful of seconds that leave you uncomfortable, as your plastic pose softens, your smile faltering at the corners.

“You don’t like it?” You ask, trying to sound steady, but he picks up the nervousness in your tone right away.

He won’t let you have it, obviously. He snaps out of it and takes you in for what you are: a fucking present, on his bed, wrapped in strings and bows and lace like gift wrap.

“Shoulda guessed it was too much, maybe. Should’ve gone for somethin’ soft—"

Simon is on you in seconds. Grabs your face in his hands and smashes his lips to yours something fierce, nothing like you’ve ever experienced before. No hesitation. Simple, tangible desire. Scorching lust. Want. Need—fuck, he’s never kissed you like this.

Your eyes lose their surprise, and they slowly surrender to him—hands wandering down to help him out of his pants and briefs. And then you wrap your arms around his neck, grazing his scalp with your nails until he shivers.

Simon thought there was nothing comparable to the softness of your skin against the harder patches of scars freckling his abdomen. But he’s proved wrong when he feels the rough texture of your lace scratch his chest and his hips—it has him leaking embarrassingly quick.

He’s all lips and tongue as he races down your chest, sloppy kisses leaving a burning trail between your tits, down your belly, settling on your cunt covered by thin mesh.

Simon looks up at you, holding your thighs between thick fingers, smushing them against his cheeks. His eyes are hooded, dark, different. He tilts his head and bites into the plump flesh within reach—not enough to hurt, but sure enough to taste. Mercifully passes his tongue over the teeth marks before biting into it again, until the sting has you arching your back off the bed.

And he never breaks eye contact, which leaves you dumbfounded and flustered to the bone—because where is this confidence coming from? You’re wide-eyed and biting your own teeth in anticipation—this is all new and all the more exciting.

His kisses travel from the lines of your stretch marks up to your sex, where he doesn’t even bother moving the gusset of your knickers, and he just dives in.

Tongue flat against your cunt, drenching the sheer fabric with his spit and your moisture. Your moans are so soft compared to the sloppy mess he’s making of you down there, his insecurity blessed by a sort of beginner’s luck. Or maybe he’s just that hungry, and that is enough for your cunt flutter around nothing anyway.

You’re speechless when he finally lifts himself up, slotting his hips between your kiss-bitten thighs. His cock lands heavy on your pelvis, painting your lower belly with speckles of sheer precum. Head swollen and red right above your belly button.

You look at him wide-eyed, on your back, stock-still—anticipating his next move with your heart rate spiking.

He takes you completely by surprise (once again? In one night? Who is this man?), when he moves your knickers to the side, and instead of plunging in, he slides his cock between your folds and snaps the lace back above it. And then he starts rutting in shameless abandon, holding you steady by your thighs, letting the sheer fabric of your panties cover his tip and half of his shaft, as he runs himself back and forth over the surface of your pussy.

“M’gonna ruin it, sorry.” He croaks, as one of his hands comes to clumsily grab your tits through the lace. “So fuckin’ pretty—fuck—bloody hell, you—”

You coax him to go on with breathless moans because he’s never looked more breathtaking than he does now. Tiny drops of sweat drip from his forehead onto your belly, cheeks flushed and long lashes fanning his cheekbones. His lips yield a grunt each time the lace scratches his shaft. Your breath hitches each time the head of his cock catches your clit.

“Gonna buy ya a new one, yeah?” He grunts, looking down at the wet patch his cock is making through the lace. “Gonna buy ya fuckin’ ten.”

He’s never been this vocal, and you don’t dare to mouth a whisper in case he catches himself in the act. Not even when you cum, a short and stinging orgasm that makes your clit burn at the friction, do you dare to moan. You tilt your head back and shut your eyes, neck corded in the strain to keep it in, flushing with warmth in unbearable silence.

You think you hear his voice crack through the cotton in your ears when you come back down from your high. “Fuck—God, fuck. Wha’ a gift, eh? F’ me. All f’me.”

He pulls back a few moments later, taking his cock out of your panties and into a thick hand. A few pumps, and he cums on your lace, painting your belly and your cunt in glistening white.

He’s panting as his hand languidly comes to a halt. Chest flushed and with a thin layer of sweat over it.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, clearly dizzy—as if he needs to apologize for this. “I ruined it. I—just—gonna go grab somethin’ to—to clean y'up, wait 'ere—Jesus Christ.”

He slowly comes to stand, knees popping and legs shaking as he stumbles to the bathroom.

You look down at the spurts of cum covering your stomach and staining the lace of your panties, and then you flop your head back onto the mattress, wide eyes locked to the ceiling.

A chuckle of disbelief escapes you, still in shock from the sudden switch in behavior. And you think, when he comes back with a towel to clean the mess he’s made on your skin, that you might have to take another trip to the shop this weekend—buy yourself a new little piece.

But later, then, he falls asleep with his head on your chest, fingers lazily toying with the lace of your bra (because he’s asked you to keep it on, you know—“Like how 't feels”), and so you move up your shopping a little—already on your phone, running your thumb to skim through pinks and blues, laces and silks.

You might just order a new one right now.

It’s at that moment that he shifts in his sleep, slipping his hand under the band of your lacy bra and curling his fingers around your breast.

You change your mind.

You might just order ten.

[dekariosclan]

Reactions to Astarion’s siblings attacking the camp

— — —

Everyone: Thank goodness we’re okay and that’s over with

Gale: This should’ve been sex :(

[niby-skaje]

Okay but why is he laughing SO HARD at this. Also why do these two have the best banter with most insight into his life?

Cassandra mention! And Emmrich laughing!! 🥹

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Vincent Price being bitten by Kermit -

THE MUPPET SHOW (1977)

[blanchebees]

POV you've been hunted down :^)

Tip jar

[bluestrawberry7]

stupid dbd textpost pt 2 but it's oops all charles

[kitkatcreampuff]

The creechor feature. Featuring the creature

The creachure

[sunriseabram]

I think Andrew's desperation to live is a little overlooked in the fandom. It's not explicitly stated in the books, other than his SH scars, but I honestly think it is so important to understanding him and his motivations.

Did Andrew ever plan to live past graduation? Before Kevin came along and promised his life would have worth? Did he plan on disappearing when Aaron eventually walked away from him? Believing nobody would notice if he was gone?

He clung on purely for Aaron, to make sure Aaron had a bright future ahead and could go live without him. To make sure that Nicky could go back to Erik without worry.

Before Neil, Andrew didn't believe he had anything to live for. He made a very one sided deal with Kevin to find something, anything, to build his life around after graduation, believing his brother would leave him alone once again.

Because at the heart of it all, Andrew doesn't want to die. Not really.

Andrew has chronic depression and he is suicidal. He sits on the edges of roof tops to feel. He puts his life on the line again and again with little regard for his own safety. He makes promises that put him at a severe disadvantage.

His promises are what keeps him alive, what forces him to live. Dying would break his promise, and Andrew has suffered enough from broken promises.

He doesn't want to die. He wants to survive those who beat him down. He wants to move on. He wants to get better. He wants to live.

He just doesn't know how.

[sheisraging]

Jacob Anderson being 300% relatable.