#fuck him dumb reader

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

katsuki hides his face in your neck when he gets embarrassed. that’s it send tweet.

[chuuniversal]

cw: rough sex after an argument, brat taming, bratty! fem!reader, maybe ooc zayne, mentions of spanking, not really proof read thoroughly. i was hacked idk this is straight up smut…. @zehrbear <3

thinking about being fucked by zayne after a heated argument, his papers and notes scattered on the floor along with your panties and his black tie and slacks. it’s been non stop with you today, distracting him at work, picking unnecessary fights, and the worst offense being eating his parfait in front of him. he’s fucking had enough.

he has you bent over the desk, pretty fucked out face pushed against the cool surface while he pounds into you mercilessly. he’s tired of your fucking mouth, sassing him non stop and being catty. if you’re gonna talk the least you can do is moan his name, and that you do.

oh f-fuck! zayne! z-zayne please! s’too much- oooo!!

the grip he has on your doughy hips is lethal, fingers sinking into your skin as his hips collide with your ass. it’s embarrassing how wet you are, slick coating the length of his dick as it pushes in and out of your greedy pussy. and fuck you’re tight too, warm soft walls squeezing him tight every time he lands a smack on your ass. you can feel him so deep it makes your mind numb, you can’t help but inch away any chance you get. unfortunately for you though he’s not letting that shit slide, pulling you closer to him as he fucks you deeper.

mm no, angel. don’t run from it now, what happened to that fight you had earlier? don’t tell me you can’t take it?

his thrusts become thunderous and the desk you’re being fucked against bangs against the wall, loud thuds in rhythm with your cries and his strokes. you swear you’re gonna cum, all you can think about is zayne’s dick hitting that spot over and over and it’s making you go crazy!! your cunt flutters around him and you grab onto the desk for dear life as you try to ground yourself, your thighs uncontrollably shaking from your orgasm.

you’re such a fucking mess after too, pretty lashes wet and mascara smeared and runny, your cunt leaking a mix his and your cum down your thighs. you just wanna catch your breath and regroup…. that is until zayne turns you around and lifts you up so that you’re sat on the desk he just fucked you against. he grabs your chin and shoves his tongue in your mouth and a sloppy kiss, and you can’t help but whine against his lips. he hooks his arms under the backs of your legs and lets his throbbing cock rub against your puffy cunt, the tip bumping against your clit hungrily.

since you have so much to say, say it to my face, yeah?

he continues rubbing in between your sticky cunt as he taunts you, it’s so twisted how he’s taking joy in the fact that you can’t even speak or form a thought. only worried about having your greedy cunt filled full and getting what you want. it’s not long before he slides his dick into you again, eyes never breaking contact with your teary ones as he fucks into you slowly, each stroke hitting deeper and deeper until he quickens his pace again.

nothing to say now, right?

[monalisahyperdrive]

Primarch names from least moanable to the most moanable - entirely subjective.

Factors taken into account:

Name length

How easy it is to say

General vibes ('imagine having sex with a guy and having to moan gilbert')

I wrote this instead of sleeping. I don't know either. This is getting posted and I will probably never address it again if I don't delete it during my break tomorrow. I should not be given internet access past 11pm.

Perturabo

It pained me to put him all the way down (up?) here at the least moanable as I fear he may actually be one of my favourites, however... I am not delusional enough to ignore that not only is this a pretty long name, a good amount of people struggle not only to say it but to even spell it. Not at all dyslexia friendly. I would give it a good go but I feel like in order to enjoy yourself you kind of have to accept you will be calling him 'Perty' or 'Bo' or whatever you prefer.

Sanguinius

Sanguinius fans please spare me but this is a long ass name at 3? 4? syllables. I don't even know what you could call him for short instead. However, I don't doubt that it's entirely possible, I just think it would take a while to stop stuttering through.

Mortarion

Another long name. Are you sensing a pattern yet? I am. More moanable due to having less vowels than Sanguinius and less harsher (?) consonants like in Perturabo. Pretty middle of the road, easy to pronounce, could probably be easier if you just start calling him 'Morty' instead.

Alpharius / Omegon

Alpharius is again another longer name that I feel like I would trip over for a good couple weeks. I am NOT shorting it to Alpha. I must maintain my dignity, whatever crumbs of it remain. Omegon is an easier name - likely due to it having less syllables (3 rather than 4). However, I feel like the only way to shorten it would be 'Meg' and that would make me laugh and I would get distracted. Remember how I said this is subjective? This is why.

Jaghatai

3 syllables, easy enough to say, not a lot of vowels or harsher consonants to trip over. Incredibly doable, and I'm sure many have tried it. Hell, I'd certainly take a good stab at it.

Angron

Harsh G right in the middle, otherwise no complaints really. 2 syllables. Straight forward. You could certainly give it a good go.

Rogal

2 syllables - easy right? Wrong. Evil G right there in the middle again. Probably would have been higher (lower?) on the list if it was softened with maybe an H right after. Alas, it is not so.

Corvus

2 incredibly easy syllables. The V is a little evil (harsh) but with a relatively short name and a soft starting consonant I'm sure it's manageable. Best bird boy. Not much else to say.

Fulgrim

Although apparently a good chunk of people have given it a go - or at least his wives have - we're back to the G dilemma. Personally I'd suggest calling him 'Fulgie' - like Fergie but worse.

Konrad

Quite possibly the most normal name on the whole list. Konrad. Everyone can say Konrad. An easy two syllables with the harshest letter right at the start. Easy peasy.

Roboute

I actually don't know if this is 2 syllables or 3. I even went and looked on Reddit. Some people are saying Ro-Bou-Te, I've been reading it Ro-Boot. Either way these are easy, with the harshest sound being the T of all things. Either way I don't think moaning for poor long suffering Robert is too tricky.

Vulkan

Deceptively soft V and K. What a pleasant surprise. Anyone could moan this easily, and he'd probably be delighted.

Lion

Objectively this is incredibly easy, which is why it made it so high (low?) on the scale. However, I would argue moaning 'Lion' in full sincerity is somewhat hilarious. That sure is the name of an incredibly powerful (and unfortunately incredibly sexy) man.

Magnus

Easy to moan. Probably wouldn't mind if you gave it a go. Again, one of the easier names. I'm sure he'd be happy to tutor you on the subject.

Lorgar

Flows nicely, 2 short syllables, incredibly straight forward. Started mentally calling him 'Lorgie', never recovered.

Ferrus

Incredibly straight forward name. Ferrus, pronounced the same as Ferrous, like the iron tablets. Something something you should do it, it's medicinal.

Leman

Not at the top due to the time it took to decide whether it was Lee-man or Le-man (like lemon). Personal gripe, but if you've gotten this far down without understanding that I don't know what to tell you. Quick, easy, sure why not.

Horus

As much as I wish to be deeply spiteful and shove him somewhere unremarkable in the middle, I just can't do it. This is an easy name. Don't worry, if you struggle at all I'm sure he'd be willing to let you keep trying until you figure it out. Bastard.

[ghost-proofbaby]

can y'all please come into my humble abode and imagine something with me i don't yet have the wits to write a full fledged fic out of (yet)?

so, everyone knows how when you get a tattoo, part of the healing process is the itchy phase, right? and for obvious reasons, you can't scratch it. favored method, in my experience and fellow tatted friends, is to just give it a good old slap.

perfect. so now, with this in mind, can you imagine having gotten a large hip/ass piece, and how mortifying it would be to smack your own ass to soothe that itch? and it's just plain painful. you want your new ink to heal properly - it's gorgeous and you put a lot of time, pain, and money into that damn thing - but it just sucks.

enter best friend eddie.

he loves your new ink. thinks it's fucking sick. nearly creamed his damn pants when he found out you were doing a hip/ass tatt (because how can he ask to see it without being weird? how can he react to that without being weird when he's spent the last several years with the world's most pathetic crush on you?) at first, it's fine. you show him the tattoo in a totally friendly, totally platonic way. he hypes you up, he calls you 'the most metal person he knows'. flourishes you with all the compliments and looks at you with starry eyes out of sheer awe at the way he's managed to snag a person into his life who is just so. damn. cool.

but the days pass by, that new ink begins to heal, and it fucking itches.

when you first proposition him, you're even more embarrassed than he is. stumbling over all your words, the request coming out contorted every wrong way. you don't want to make things weird, but is it really that weird for a friend to help a friend? it is really that weird to ask your best friend to smack your tattoo to help with that itch you can't even really properly reach?

it's just friends helping friends.

and that's the mantra you both repeat to yourselves - as you request the embarrassing favor of him, as he agrees almost too eagerly, as you find yourself face-planted in your bed wondering how deeply you can bury down your shame as he tries to make jokes to make it all a bit less awkward.

it's just friends helping friends, until eddie's hand lands down on your ass with a resounding smack, and that first little whimper escapes your lips.

[bottombaron]

So, I'm going to either make this joke more or less funny by explaining it, Colin Robinson-style:

Nandor isn't being an idiot by misspelling 'knowledge', he's spelling it phonetically.

Why? Well, it's probably not just that English is a horrendous abomination sent by god to punish us and an even worse trail for English learners either, but Persain is a (mostly) phonetic language!

This means each letter has a corresponding sound and words are phonetic in spelling (again, for the most part), unlike 'knowledge' in English where there are like...at least three?? unnecessary extra letters.

So, what's the phonetic spelling of 'knowledge' look like?

nolij

[macfrog]

wish you were here | one shot

thank you lovely anon for this gorgeous request which felt like a huge mug of hot chocolate and a pair of socks fresh from the dryer to write. i hope you enjoy.

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you and joel skip jackson’s annual holiday party in favor of some alone time. (not that kind you filthy animals it’s the HOLIDAYS)

warnings: fluff lmao, thirty-year age gap and u can stay mad, set around the holidays but no mention of christmas etc, nothing but love and two hints of sex. that's all. oh and no guitars were harmed in the making of this - joel canonically goes and gets the guitar after the fic ends. dw.

word count: 1.9k 

main masterlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🤎

Jackson is alive with a thrumming heartbeat. Pulsing through the air, bumping gently against the quick-lying snow and filling the otherwise silent night. A steady, rhythmic heartbeat.  

A heartbeat which sounds a lot like Blue Monday, but a heartbeat nonetheless.

The holiday party is in full swing down in the Tipsy Bison. Seven o’clock ‘til late! on flyers plastered all over the commune for the last month. Tommy had tried relentlessly to convince Joel this morning on patrol – It’ll be a good night; You oughta come along, show face at least. At the same time, Maria was on your back about it in the stables.

Y’all hardly come to anything fun, she’d argued.

We come to stuff.

When’s the last time you came to anythin’?

We were – we were at Mike’s birthday dinner.

What – five months ago?

We like alone time.

Alone time? You’re never apart from one another.

Alone time – together.

Neither attempt had been successful. Tommy and Maria had exchanged a disheartened glance as the two brothers passed their horses to you on their return. Joel clipped your cheek, took his gloves off and fixed them onto your frozen hands before making off for home, a proud grin on his face. You’d held your own as well as he had: you two had a clear evening ahead.

He had lit and nurtured a fire, had made himself a coffee and heaped half a damn bag of tiny marshmallows into a hot chocolate for you, but when he’d come through to take his place on the couch, you were already stood out front.

It’s bitter out – a soft breeze, but a thick chill on its wings. The sky a washed gray, heavy clouds overhead. He slips outside, setting the mugs down on the table, and slings a blanket over your shoulders. Kisses the curve of your neck, scruff of his beard tickling your skin.

‘s freezing, pretty bird.

Then keep me warm, you whisper, turning into his arms. He steps back, settling into his chair, flicking his fingers for you to fall down into his wide lap.

You curl up against his torso, your head hooked beneath his jaw. Wonder how drunk Tommy is by now. What is it – nine?

His wrist lifts, moonlight gleaming in the reflection of his broken watch face. Just gone ten. I bet he’s on his ass already.

You giggle into his shirt, breathing in the scent of the pine trees, the smoke from stoking the fire inside, the bite of hot coffee. The echo of voices swelling in merry song turns your attention down the street – two figures hooked onto one another, stumbling through the powdered snow. Some slurred rendition of September melting into All Night Long before the smaller of the two tugs their partner off into a darkened house.

Joel laughs to himself, the bristle of his beard catching on your hair as he shakes his head.

You ask him softly, Will you play me something?

His breath soars, a cloud hot and pale white, past your temple and up into the pastel sky. Gets swallowed somewhere overhead by the wash of warmth from the porch light. He turns his mug until the owl faces the street, the bottom gnawing against the wooden armrest of his chair.

I’m serious.

What do you wanna hear?

That one you’re always practicin’. The plucking one.

Another rumble between your shoulder blades. His chest jolts with a solid laugh. The pluckin’ one.

You know the one.

I know the one.

Will you play it, if I go get the guitar?

Baby, his lungs nudge on your back as they fill, it’s late. We’ll wake the neighbors.

Everyone’s at the dance. C’mon.

And he can’t argue with that. The entire street lies dark, vacant. Yours is the only house with soft-glowing eyes, the muted orange of the fire flickering behind closed blinds. Two figures, tangled in a chair on the dim front porch; a hunting jacket around his shoulders, and his body around yours.

You tug on the blanket, wrapping it around your elbows as you stand. Just once. Play me it once.

Joel’s looking up at you, setting his mug down on the table. Play you it as many times as you want, pretty bird. Just – quietly.

There’s a spring in your step that drags another chuckle from Joel’s lips: the kind that drips like honey down your throat and warms the pit of your stomach – a sweet, comforting thing, a sound you swear was made purposefully for you. Divine and deliberate.

Like – all of him. Like the shape of your name in his mouth, the curl of his tongue as the sound surfs over it. Like the curve of his hand and the way yours so neatly molds into it.

The way it did the day he found you, crouched in the gray backroom of some butchers deep in the city, and took you all the way back to Jackson. Let you cling to him on the back of his horse; your weak arms around his waist, anchored by the heavy jacket he’d thrown over your back. Your ear between his shoulder blades. And that was that.

Fifty-six. One brown-turned-silver hair away from thirty years your senior. He still remembers before. Talks about movies, talks about computers. Talks about Sarah, when the sun hits the wall at a certain angle and he reckons he could see her standing right there, the soft shadow of her hair dark against the golden wall. When you make a joke and he laughs a ghostly sort of laugh, like he’s hearing the echo of her voice make the same quip three decades ago. He always says she would’ve loved you; you like to think he’s right.

He found you: a lonely little broken heart, and he pulled you to your feet with a rough palm against your own. Hands calloused only from years spent carving wood and pressing the hard strings of his guitar into the fretboard, and nothing else. No violence and no bloodshed; no survival or threat. Music, and patience, and kindness.

And maybe you found him, too, in the same sort of way: roughened up, awkward and messy stitches holding him together. Maybe the two of you nursed one another back to life; each brush of your hands in the dining hall and each meaningful glance while out on patrol sewing those wounds up a little tighter, a little safer.

He sits forward when you hold the instrument out, sweeping a broad palm down the slope of the body. Pinches the pegs one by one, twisting them while his thumb taps on each string.

Come here, he says, beckoning you forward with a flick of his chin. He taps on the seam of his jeans, widens his legs for you to curl up between them at his feet – the way you always do.

Your elbows hook over his thigh, ear pressed against the inside of his knee. Staring up, blinking slowly, eyes glazed with the cold and with the light and with love.

He plucks gently, slow at first. Letting the strings snap with a twang, vibrating enough that you feel the small rattle in your jaw. Your eyes fall closed, head rocking with the light tap of his heel on the porch. When you peer at him through your lashes, he’s watching the skilled movements of his fingers intently; as if he’s as much a spectator as you are – his body doing all of the thinking and working for him.

 So, he sings, and your stomach melts to a puddle, so you think you can tell –

Your eyes close again, the low rumble of his voice crisp in your ears. Like thunder, like the promise of something great and mighty. Something moving, something rolling and changing the landscape of your body, your mind and your soul. The lines between living and dying begin to blur, the seam tearing between this plain and the next.

Did they get you to trade – your lips parting to whisper the words with him – your heroes for ghosts?

His thumbnail dragging down the strings, his strong fingers flitting between chords. Like he was made to sit here, in the dead of night, and carve a space in the world for himself and his voice and for you – lain in the safe scope of his body, protected by his breadth and brawn and lulled by his sweet song.

His breadth and brawn – the parts of him which have kept him standing here. His skeleton, his muscle. But the thing that keeps you warm at night, buried side by side under a threadbare woolen sheet together, the thing that you link your arms around as he leads you home from the nights you dare to visit the Tipsy Bison: are his heart, his flesh, the gray-singed hair which falls in a featherlight wave over his forehead. The hair you sweep from his eyes when he’s on top of you, his hips cradled in yours, that all-encompassing feeling of every part of him filling every part of you.

It all feels that way. The warmth of him, the feeling of being wrapped around him. Hooked around his body, bones intertwined. Absorbing one another, his words breathing life into yours, slowly growing louder and braver with each pluck and strum of music.

We’re just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year.

Your makeups entangling, ribcages locking together, flesh meeting flesh and hair twisting until one day, Tommy will come looking for his brother and find the two of you here on your porch, your arms still draped over Joel’s thigh and his fingers still mid-song. Stuck, alone, together.

What have we found? Joel looks down to you as though asking the question – his eyebrows raised – and you reply, a dumb smile across your lips, The same old fears, and then, together –

Wish you were here.

He plays until his fingers must start to hurt, the way he clenches and loosens his fist. Setting the guitar against your chair, hands hooking under your arms to pull you back up to him.

That one your favorite? he asks, the cold tip of his nose circling yours.

You nod. Only when you sing it.

I like the way we sound together.

You smile, shrinking into his chest again, your fingers surfing back and forth on the worn shirt. I like the way we do a lot of things together.

His hands slip beneath the fabric of your shirt, massaging your waist. He dots a trail of light, damp kisses along your forehead, dipping to your temple, the angle of your cheek until your jaw lifts and his lips are against yours, his tongue parting to lick purposefully at yours.

I love you, pretty bird, he whispers, the words falling sweet and fair on your tongue.

You take a moment to let them seep into your skin. ‘s the first time you’ve ever said that, you tell him.

Joel smiles. He knows. But you knew it already, he counters.

You know, too. Mhm.

Alright, he groans, slipping his hands under your thighs and hoisting you up to his height, bedtime.

It’s only ten, you complain, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders as he carries you inside. It’s too early to sleep – Joel.

Didn’t say we were goin’ to sleep, he mumbles, kicking the door shut.

[boiled-cats]

Thinking abt screen proportionate sahsrau + my winged Aventurine thoughts…

Aventurine: I’m not dumb enough to fly into a window like a bird

Also Aventurine: *forgets how to land and crashes face first into your desk* *crashes into a wall while practicing tight turns* *misses your shoulder and crashes into your computer monitor*

Imagine once he gets the hang of it tho and uses you as a perch…

Just a lil bird guy… sitting on your head or shoulder…

[rikupid]

sub!jenn who has the biggest breeding kink and loves puppy play makes my brain go brrrr. he’d sit so pretty on the floor beside you while he whines and humps your leg pathetically.

once you finally let him use your cunt, he’s drooling and crying, begging to cum inside. he has you in a mating press because he can’t waste his cum!! he has to give you pups so bad and he needs his mommy to carry them!!

he’d be so sweet once you let him cum. whimpering and nudging into your neck. he’d stay inside, going soft as your pet him lovingly. once he pulls out, he laps at your messy cunt, making sure you’re clean. grabbing his head and using him to get off is one of his favorite things.

he’d let you use him as long as you need. he loves his mommy’s cunt! face covered in your sweet release, he looks up at you with his sweet eyes, silently thanking you for being so good to him.

when all is said and done, he just wants to be held and praised. he’d curl up in your arms while you rock him, giving him the sweetest of praise. you’d clean up the both of you once he falls asleep, a soft smile left on his face. your puppy is the best in the world.

ANON OH MY GOD. ur mind is AMAZING i started drooling while reading this.

sub!jeno is the sweetest puppy ever and i so badly want to fuck him!! i can just picture his pathetic whining while he begs to cum inside you and it’s so !! he’s just so obsessed with your cunt that all he can think about is breeding you.

if i could pin any ask it would be this one i NEED more sub!jeno content thank u for blessing my inbox anon <3

[queenerdloser]

i just finished dark heir

[atinycafe]

I NEED HONGJOONG AND A READER WHO'S IN SUBPSACE FOR THE FIRST TIME, HOW WOULD THE AFTERCARE GO (its okay if u dont write for that, you can just ignore my request <3)

warnings: nsfw under the cut, dom!hongjoong, slight dumbification, sub space, use of pet names (pretty, baby, babydoll, sweet girl), protected sex (yay!!!), soft sex, doggy style, 0.9k wrds author's notes: im not uncomfy but im just not very into it so i have no idea if what i wrote acc is enjoyable to people j,ndfcgvh, and also the fact that idk anything about the kink, so this whole thing might be wayyy off topic masterlist

the sea sparkles brightly as the waves sway in a mesmerizing dance. you can hear the gentle sounds of the sea ebbing and flowing against the sandy shore. soft light spills into your summer house, illuminating it, while the balcony is open, allowing the ethereal white curtains to sway in the breeze.

you would coo at the little crabs if you could, as they reveal themselves on the shore. however, the insistent pounding noise behind you forces you to roll your eyes, blurring your vision. cries escape your lips as his hands settle on the small of your back, causing you to arch involuntarily. pressed onto the bed, your hands stretch out in front of you, grasping at nothing, your forearms hovering out of the mattress.

hongjoong's thighs slap against yours, propelling you forward with each motion. he's intense, his painted fingertips exerting firm pressure on your skin, leaving marks behind.

"my pretty baby," he sighs, a bead of sweat trickling down the side of his face. his gaze remains fixated on the way your ass moves on his. biting his bottom lip, he suppresses his moans, not wanting to drown out your sweet whimpers. those whimpers, so delightful, drive him to thrust harder, fueled by pure desire. "you're so good for me, so adorable. i love you so, so much. do you love me, babydoll?"

it takes a moment for the question to register as you melt under his touch, but you manage to slurr out a response, "love you too," causing him to moan aloud. he smiles, enchanted by the slow pitch of your voice, finding you utterly endearing.

"good girl, always listening to me, takin' me so well, so good," he mumbles, feeling his climax building. he senses yours approaching too, as you tremble and writhe, succumbing to a mere state of wet neediness beneath him. "are you close, pretty? i can feel your pussy suckin' me in. such a greedy girl."

simultaneously, you both reach the peak of pleasure, your bodies giving in to exhaustion. you would slump onto the bed, were it not for hongjoong's strong hold on your waist. he withdraws, quickly discarding the condom, tying it off and tossing it aside. he turns you around, carefully examining your face with tender concern shining in his eyes.

immediately, he notices the dazed look in your eyes, your pupils fully dilated, and the post-orgasmic haze reminds him of his past experiences with ex-partners and their subdrop. he never expected it from you. your relationship has been going well for the past six months, the sex relatively vanilla, but hongjoong doesn't mind. not when you look so irresistibly cute beneath him. your inexperience led him to tread lightly with his more dominant side, but it came naturally to him, and unconsciously, you submit to him during intimacy. so, when he sees that familiar unfocused gaze, his body instinctively reacts.

"baby, look at me," he leans in, positioning his face right in front of yours. you offer him a lazy smile, playfully scrunching your nose, and he reciprocates with a gentle smile. "how do you feel, babydoll?"

you mumble something inaudible, attempting to provide an answer. anything will do when your tongue feels too heavy, too clumsy, too uncoordinated in your mouth. you blink slowly, the contact of his hand against your forehead creating a warm, fuzzy sensation in your brain. it blurs the periphery of your vision, allowing you to focus solely on his pretty face.

he's smiling, his teeth gleaming brightly. they seem sharp in the golden light. you feel like you're floating, detached from your own body, much like when the alcohol becomes too much. in both scenarios, hongjoong is always there to ground you.

"can't use your voice right now mmh pretty, tongue feels heavy huh," he remarks knowingly, and your eyes gradually widen as the information seeps into your brain, wondering how he knows. he smiles at your expression and murmurs a soft "cute."

"baby i need to clean you up, can i go get the towels," he asks, adjusting the pace of his words, ensuring they align with your clouded mind's comprehension. you take your time to process, your thoughts still hazy and elusive. but when you realize that his suggestion involves him leaving you alone, even for a minute, a visible sadness etches itself onto your face. you manage to release a small whimper before he soothes you with a hushing sound.

his voice lowers, deep and resonant, as he whispers promises of not leaving you alone. he settles down beside you, his arm forming a comfortable support under his head, and draws you into his embrace for cuddling. he guides your head to rest on his bare chest, the stickiness of your sweaty skin unimportant to either of you. you begin to feel drowsy, but you still crave his attention. so, you maneuver your head to get a glimpse of his face, only to find his chin in your view.

sensing your gaze on him, he tilts his head down until your droopy eyes meet his, shimmering with light. a smile forms on his lips as he raises his eyebrows, questioning you wordlessly. he runs his free hand through your hair, gently massaging your scalp, as if coaxing your brain back into action.

you open your mouth, but no words emerge, and hongjoong can't help but coo at your slightly frustrated expression. he leans closer, his lips descending upon yours, delivering a tender kiss, while softly suckling your bottom lip.

"my sweet girl, fucked you so hard you forgot how to speak."

[they-didnt-last]

anyone interested in talking about the iconic 2000's middle-grade-bordering-on-ya book series gallagher girls??

[celestie0]

yall i think im gonna make “in holy matriphony” hella sex driven bc the edging in kickoff is starting to drive ME crazy like i need at least one of my fics to just be gojo sluttin the reader out constantly 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

[nekrosmos]

i have hired this nik to stare at u (appreciatively)

Oliv this is so funny because I have scopophobia (fear of being watched) and hate being stared at even by pictures and stuff OGNZPFNZPF

He's so handsome though I want to lay on the floor and look at him while kicking my feet teehee

[thirstforhelmets]

Ganondorf x F!Reader: After your life! I’m -not- your wife AU

Ganondorf: How many times does this make it, Assassin? Four losses?

F!reader: *Beat up and nearly unconscious on the ground* 

F!Reader/Assassin/Future!Wife: *Has barely enough strength to flip him the bird before fully collapsing in exhaustion*

Ganondorf: *Smirks before eyeing the stolen Master Sword embedded in the ground nearby* 

Ganondorf: You’re lucky your tenacity for humiliation has kept that sword out of the whelp’s hands for this long.

Ganondorf: *Kneels down next to your head* 

Ganondorf: Expect me to visit your village next month.

Assassin: Urgh...

Ganondorf: I’ll be staying in your room the whole time as well.

Assassin: Fuck you, Gaan...

Ganondorf: *pauses for a moment*

Ganondorf: Our daughter still likes blue, right?

Assassin: *deep sighs*

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

okay so. does rin know isagi and fujoneet reader have done it? does isagi tease rin about it bc he knows rin's a sick freak that needs a little prodding? does rin jack it to the thought of them together? or maybe just her? does f

rin knows because isagi tells him LOL. isagi sucks but he gets off on pissing rin off and rin in this context uses isagi as like. a buffer for his own lust towards you. its soooo weird LMAO. rin jacks it to the thought of readers pleasure specific and feels such crazy shame. they are so prime for cucking

but really in this universe it's like ohh. reader is so inexperienced and rin knows it though he doesn't do anything about himself just yet. and he just. nonstop thinks about her. thinks about her with a hand in her torn-up shorts and her face buried in pillows while isagi is plowing her, how good she must feel, how sensitive and uselessly wet she is. and it makes him angry but the thought of it makes him so hard

i think isagis torment is probably because he can tell how much rin seems to refuse to acknowledge his obvious want for her. fujoneet reader is really oblivious but isagi knows rin veryyy well and he knows all that bully is like a shoddy coverup to his desire about her. rin does jack off to the thought of them but it also makes him so viscerally angry to think of her weeping on anyones cock but his lol

[imrllytootiredforthis]

Miguel O'Hara needs to be topped so badly it makes him look STUPID. I saw fanart of him in a muzzle and have not been the same since

FOR FUCKING REAL. he just gives me the vibes of "he's so big and so dumb and one day i'm gonna top him"

imma need you to send in the muzzle one for...research purposes, but i have seen the one where he's tied up in webs...🥴, also the one in a crop top or...the watermelon one...i'm not okay😁

he's really angry the entire movie and i think he just needs a good hard fuck until he's dumb and can't remember his own name and everything will be fine😇