#insert your fave

[joannasteez]

spread

pairing: reader x (whoever they please) warning: descriptions of sex. minors dni please. authors note: kinda liking these little insertable, one off drabbles so here you go. wrote this with my faves in mind and the beauty of it, is that you can read it with your faves in mind as well! word count: 500 beans inspo : "spread" by outkast

willingness is enticing. sexy. the body opening like a flower in bloom. like the sun as it breaks against the horizon. that last shudder of breath before lips meet for something more. tension ripping at the seams. words hung up strange in the throat, before they flow bold to cut thick air. "i know who you are". but the usual blemish that little line makes never covers the skin, not now. never stalemates his urges the way it's always prided itself in doing, rushing an attempt in him to run from the expectations of 'fan behavior'. no, this is different. 

your surety, like the filling to the brim of a well without any sense of some nasty overflow. enough to pique interest. to finely stroke his ego without the break in surface tension. 

readiness wrapping about the body. a tucked lip under your teeth, suffering prettily from anticipation. arched and nestled against some soon to be tainted hotel sheets. and sometimes the ego peaks from behind the curtain, measures the eagerness of the audience before a great little tour de force. the curt unzip of his pants and the cold of a ring nestling into your hips. mushy brained but yet to be sated still. the flutter of your clit still rippling something dangerous under the skin. a wave and a rush. trailing slow down from the cliff he'd thrown you off of. lips tucked in and suckling firm. on a mission to do something worth staining your memory. 

"spread for me". 

a mellow bass silhouetting words to rattle your bones. it works. he's high. off the sweet smell from not so cheap perfume and the light sheen of sweat that makes you feel supple to the touch. hips and thighs shifting apart, knees pressing in to move away and the arch driven in deeper. messy from former pleasures and the mean swipe of his tongue. thumb fitting in gentle, teasing. a soft swirl at your clit to test more of that readiness. 

"please". 

fragile, like your lungs haven't made any new attempts at breathing. broken and needful. 

surely this'll help won't it? a sudden, sharp, in take as your body hitches. adjustments and such, before that faithful melt into the sheets. a hiss of a "yesss", stretching into a moan. your lips parted against the sheets as he makes to drag in sweet. shallow but a little thick and persistent. because theres a dangerous patience in the ego sometimes isn't there? the outer admirations that slowly but steadily feed the inner ones. so when his leg, after toying and delay, finally lifts to plant a foot on the bed, hips rocking to stroke deeper, he knows it's not all for naught. 

"so good", lifting off your tongue. 

a gratification that fills in neither instant or weak. 

fingers tucked in your hips to guide and direct. a groan toughing out slow and satisfied. feeling you throb and cling tenderly. a slight dance in where he holds you tight. feening for more. 

...don't want to come on too strong but, i'll play in you all day long, just spread, spread for me... 

[zorosdimples]

a little hurt/comfort. angsty at first.

sadness.

it slowly seeps, at first. from your heart—always from that fragile spot beneath your breast—too soft to do any good. blue bleeds until it settles in your bones, clouds your mind, wearies your soul. until it wholly consumes.

it’s painful to watch. it doesn’t matter how many times he sees you crumble into dust; each and every instance is no less devastating than the last.

“it’s just one of those days,” you said in the morning, eyes devoid of the brightness that should have accompanied your smile. he knew something was wrong. but he can’t force you to share your burdens.

now, he is witnessing the life leave your body.

you close and curl in on yourself, shrinking, wishing to disappear before him. as if he would let you.

the warmth of his skin against yours makes your eyes sting. he can’t see the tears that sparkle as they wet his shirt—your face is buried in the soft fabric, fingers gripping the garment like a lifeline.

words of comfort light as air leave his lips, but most don’t reach your burning ears. the sentiment is what counts. and the hand that soothes up and down your back is all you can really focus on, anyway.

he never tells you to stop crying. he lets you have your way, shifting to pull you into his lap, palm moving up to smooth over your hair. his chest is damp with your sadness, aches in tune with your own.

how long you stay like that doesn’t matter; it always ends the same. you come up for air, face a mess (your words, not his). your gaze is puffy and your voice is thick as you whisper, “sorry.”

“don’t apologize,” is his reply, kisses dotted on your eyelids and cheeks and nose for good measure.

sadness comes and goes. but the two of you always remain.

[luxesiren]

jealous sex with your fave. they catch someone trying to flirt with you and they would instantly get jealous (maybe your fave would be silently jealous and deal with it later) but they would fake smile their way through the whole interaction but when you guys get back home? oh they would show you that the other guy can’t fuck you the way they can.

they would lay you out on your bed, pinning your hands above your head and fucking into you roughly, practically seeing red. the thought of someone else doing this to you makes them angry, thrusting into you even harder, “they can’t fuck you the way i can. remember how i make you feel, i’m gonna make sure you feel it every time i fuck you.”

a/n : something i wrote awhile back for my discord girlies but i wanted to post it on here as well

[cruel-hiraeth]

it’s impolite, you’re well aware, to sit out every dance at a ball.

but an abrupt end to a lengthy engagement sours one’s mood—almost as much as catching one’s betrothed in a filthy alley with a mystery woman, trousers at his ankles and prick at attention. however, social obligations stop for no one. so you’re here: sipping wine from a gaudy crystal goblet, sulking the night away. after the fourth musical number or so (you haven’t paid the slightest attention, truthfully), you slip out to the garden to clear your mind.

the spring air nips at the bare flesh of your arms, though the feeling isn’t unwelcome. getting accustomed to numbness is never a good habit. you wander along the dusky trails, pointedly ignoring the whispers and giggles that float through the foliage and tickle your ears. youth will be youth; for a moment, you wish you could go back in time and shake your younger self by the shoulders. but the thought disappears just as quickly as it materializes, and you halt when you happen upon a stone bench, occupied by a man.

his gaze doesn’t meet yours—not immediately. he’s reclined on the bench, face lifted toward the emerging stars. there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s handsome with the fit of his suit and the cut of his hair and the slant of his jaw. but what you find yourself drawn to, as you take a step closer, isn’t his face, but rather his hands. they fidget in his broad lap, absentmindedly twirling a freshly-plucked rose. and—most intriguing to you—are the gloves he dons.

you can tell the leather is supple from his fluid movements, likely lambskin. the material perfectly fits the curves of his palms, ending just a centimeter or so below the heels. fleetingly, you wonder what his hands look like, laid flat and bare before flickering candlelight. are they calloused from manual labor? scarred from hard-won battles? disfigured from an unfortunate accident? marked since his birth? you haven’t spoken a word to the man, but already, you want to see the skin that his gloves mask.

after several moments of silence, he finally looks at you, moonlight dancing in his irises. “are you going to join me? or shall i sit here for you to observe all night?” his voice is warm, full of mirth.

for the first time in weeks, a smile blooms on your petal-soft lips, and you beam at the stranger. you sit beside him, uncaring of impropriety or tradition. at long last, your apathy has been forgotten.

[sparsilees]

‘dumb jock’

‘rubbish liar’

‘hair-trigger temper’

‘spineless pushover’

‘poor table manners’

‘illegible penmanship’

‘unintelligible speech’

‘gauche and uncouth’

‘bit of a blundering buffoon’

‘wears his emotions like a traffic cone’

‘so oblivious he can’t see his own nose’

‘couldn’t organise a piss-up in a brewery’

‘brute forces his way without a semblance of plan’

— harry james potter, as wonderfully depicted by the fandom at large but entirely, fundamentally, unfortunately, out of character

pardon me, but is that an oc born of your poor comprehension and fevered imaginations?

what’s wrong with harry as he is? don’t demean him just to elevate your favourites. if you don’t genuinely appreciate him or his canon characteristics, his actual flaws and strengths—not ones you must exaggerate or fabricate—then why waste your time focusing on him?

[mythicalmage]

All this time, Rayla was reading smutty self-insert fix-it Conrad/Esmerelda RPF (and thinking about Callum).

[arttrampbelle]

Why ship canon x canon when you can just ship yourself with canon character?

It's 2023 get over yourself. Self ship. You self ship with that character rn!

Make an oc. Make a self insert. Make yourself love that blorbo. Ffs!

Fuck what people think. Stop being a bitch and do it! You go fucking love that character!!!

I am being aggressively self ship positive.

If anyone gives you flack for self shipping. I will find them and throw hands!

Like srsly cringe culture is dead. It's time to be clown!

[owchie-wowchie]

Holloway deserves to fucking kill someone while someone watches with starry eyes. Who, you may ask? Whoever you want, baby

[onesnoopyaday]

snoopy blue-eyed person stare

Snoopy #87

27/12/2024

[astralselfships]

🌸 But just imagine your F/O reacting to you being timid/ a timid S/I.

Timid- shy and modest, easily frightened

If your F/O is the confident, cocky type, imagine the amount of teasing: never to make you feel bad, not for them to laugh at you but you two to end up laughing together. They'll ease every situation you encounter. This F/O will be your voice: imagine how they show you off to everyone, complimenting you tirelessly and loudly.

However, if your F/O is more introverted, PDA might not be a big thing, but you know that once a bad word about you escapes someone's mouth, they're dead (either metaphorically or literally 🤭)

Oh what a slow ride you two have! Lazy and wholesome moments, quiet times and the cutest dates ever!!!

Imagine how, for you, they will make exceptions to their introversion and hold you hand in public if they feel you overwhelmed. 🫶

[urfavegetscalledbbygirl]

Ken from The Barbie Movie gets called Babygirl!

[yourfaveneedsakiss]

Topper from NU: Carnival needs a kiss! 💋

Requested by Anonymous

[cmdrfupa]

My agenda is simple:

Domesticate every man so you can buy them cute little, multipocket waist aprons to where around the home.

Embrace the change, allow them free will in the kitchen.

Adopt 2 animals.

Watch him expertly fold the fitted sheets and organize the linens closet.

Rejoice.

[ambernotember]

I just know @cjlouwho and @louvemeanyway are on Kinley cafe’s Naughty list

y’all are mean

[starg0ld]

imagine to misbehave with your f/o.

did they carried you along? or was it you?

if so, imagine them exclaiming exhausted "ah, the things I do for you..."

imagine your f/o giggling along your quiet laughter, you have to stay silent or you'll get caught, your hands covering your mouth, giving them glances of pure complicity. they looks at you with a lovestruck gaze, like they find you so beautiful right there and now and their desire to kiss you is unstoppable.

then someone catch you before your f/o even leans in, and you have to run.

ah, you have some much fun...

[your-fave-isdoomedbythenarrative]

Ethan Green from Hatchetfield is doomed by the narrative

Ethan Green from Nightmare Time is doomed by the narrative and trying to escape.