#k writes and stuff!

[lunaraeduvallthrillers]

It's too damn hot. I'll stay inside with my Lil demons instead 🥵

[jake-is-screaming-in-tune]

Luffy: If you don’t like your surname, you should take Zoro’s. It would suit you.

Ussop: Yeah.

Sanji: *sputtering* That’s not how it works.

Nami: Roronoa Sanji sounds good.

Zoro: It does sound good. You should keep it.

[troythecatfish]

[fir-fireweed]

HAVE U SEEN KPOP DELON HUBTERS???????

If yes, the Zoey Scene with her "hehe~ haha~ Whass suuuuuup 🥴" is my MC to Bayram in that mini-scene u showed!!! It was the first thought in my head and made me crack up.

If no, please watch it. It's so good and beautiful ending. Could be more fleshed out but overall a fun time!

Thank you for your work!! Have a great summer!!!!!

I just watched this with my daughter today and I loved everything about it!

K-pop? Check!

Animation? Check!

Music? Check!

Using song as a weapon while battling the forces of evil??? Hello?! CHECK!

And I can totally see your MC reacting to Bayram like that, lol.

I tell y’all what, I cannot WAIT till your secret is out and the MC sings in battle like this. I mean, probably with less catchy lyrics, but still. 😆

[inthehouseoffinwe]

Y’know when you’re tired and come across the wrong post at the wrong time and just. Pure rage. For no reason whatsoever.

I’m feeling rather bitter at Elwing rn (it was a very well written ficlet and I admire the writer, I’m just tired and unwell 😂) so you get a little fic of me getting that out. Content warning done.

Here we go!

Elrond and Elros can’t stand most depictions of their mother.

White feathered wings, plain white gown billowing in the sea breeze around her slight figure, two dark shapes reaching taloned hands for the brilliant gem around her neck. Desperate expression on a too round face with wide eyes looking towards her sons. It makes them sick.

Because Elwing wasn’t soft and innocent. Elwing wasn’t like that at all.

Sharp, angular features. Grey slivers for eyes more often clouded than not. White? Yes she wore white. But it was the white of a desert sun, the white of cold starlight, merciless and unfeeling as elves were dragged to the darkness.

And she’d loved her sons, yes, but it was the love of an ideal. Elwing was young and far from ready for the burdens of motherhood alongside ruling a city in her husband’s ever growing absences. And the gem-

Well. The less said about the silmaril, the better.

The Sindar more than others remain desperate for a symbol of innocence, a sign of their claim to the stolen jewel over the sons of it’s creator. So they present their winged princess bathed in holy light whilst the sons of Fëanor cower from it’s brilliant glow.

But Elrond and Elros remember how the stone sang when Maedhros and Maglor arrived, just as they remember their mother’s fury at its song.

You see, Elwing loved her sons. But she didn’t jump to save them.

Elrond and Elros saw the beginnings of regret, but they also remember her steadfast determination to keep what was never hers, cold starlight and unyielding sun meshing to cruel pride as she fell. It wasn’t holy light but white hot fire that clashed with the silmaril to send her screaming as the stone rejected her grasp, burning brighter than ever as she flew to her husband.

Elrond’s arrival to Valinor and the white scars radiating from Elwing’s hand to her chest confirm what he knew all along.

It wasn’t innocence that crowned her the day Sirion fell.

Because years before Maedhros and Maglor had fallen victim to the Silmaril’s hallowing, Elwing the White had paid the price for her false claim. And no matter how they tried to hide it, the consequences of that pride marked her to this day.

[theotherwoman-emily]

🫀Smut Dialogue Prompts-Mens POV🫀

1. “You feel so good around my cock.”

2. “You’re so fucking wet.”

3. “So fucking tight.”

4. “So fucking perfect.”

5. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

5. “It feels so fucking good.”

6. “Let me cum.”

7. “Make me cum for you.”

8. “Please let me cum.”

9. “Fuck baby. I’m so close.”

10. “Please. Please.”

11. “Fuck. Fuck.”

12. “Just like that baby. Move. Just. like…”

13. “Please. Fuck. Yes. Make me cum. Make me cum deep inside you.”

14. “Your turn.”

15. “I want to make you cum baby.”

16. “Your cunt is such a perfect fit for my cock.”

17. “Cum for me. Cum on my cock.”

18. “I love it when you whimper my name.”

19. “Oh, you like that?”

20. “I love watching you take in every inch of my cock into that perfect body.”

21. “I love the sight of you on your knees for me.”

22. “That’s it baby, take my length all the down that deep throat.”

23. “Fuck. You’re unmanning me.”

24. “Fuck. Deeper baby.”

25. “Keep going baby. Cum all over me.”

26. “That’s it baby.”

27. “Use your voice.”

28. “Use your words.”

29. “Good girl.”

31. “You’re such a whore for me.”

32. “You’re soaked baby.”

33. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll always feel me inside you no matter where you go, or what you do, you’ll feel me.”

34. “I’ll fuck you anywhere, and everywhere. In front of anyone, and everyone.”

35. “Everyone will know who you belong to baby.”

36. “Get on your knees and beg for it baby.”

37. “Beg for me pretty baby.”

38. “Don’t tease me baby.”

39. “Don’t fucking stop.”

40. “Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

41. “Desperate little thing aren’t you baby?”

42. “How does that big cock make that tight pussy stretching those walls?”

43. “Take it baby.”

44. “I can feel you stretching to take my cock baby.”

45. “You take it so good baby.”

[xo-myloves]

Pleaseee I’m begging for a Peter Steele smut🙏

𝕊𝕌𝕄𝕄𝔸ℝ𝕐: 𝚙𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚕𝚊��𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚎, 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐... 𝙲𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚗.

༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞𝙸 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚗'༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞

The bassline from Christian Woman still pulsed in your veins long after the show ended. The club was dim, the scent of sweat, smoke, and something primal hanging heavy in the air. You leaned against the bar, trying to calm your racing heart, still feeling the way Peter Steele’s deep voice had curled around every nerve in your body.

You hadn’t planned on staying late, but when Peter’s green eyes locked on you from across the room, you felt rooted to the spot. He was watching you like a predator, his tall frame imposing even in the dim lighting. When he finally made his way over, you barely managed to breathe.

“Enjoy the show?” His voice was a slow rumble, thick with amusement.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. You were… incredible.”

A smirk curled his lips. “Yeah?” His fingers traced your wrist, barely touching, but enough to send a shiver down your spine. “You got somewhere to be?”

You knew exactly what he meant. And you weren’t about to say no.

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

The hotel room door barely clicked shut before you were pressed against it, Peter’s massive body caging you in. His scent—leather, sweat, and something darkly masculine—invaded your senses as his hands gripped your waist, pinning you in place.

“You’ve been teasing me all night,” he murmured, his breath hot against your neck. “Standing there, looking at me like that. You knew what you were doing, didn’t you?”

Your lips parted, but before you could answer, his mouth crashed against yours—hungry, demanding, full of the tension that had been building between you. His tongue swept over yours, claiming you, making your knees weak as his hands slid down to grip your ass.

Peter Steele was huge—everywhere. His towering frame swallowed yours as he lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the bed and dropping you onto the mattress. His eyes burned into you as he pulled his shirt over his head, revealing those sharp muscles, the ink on his biceps flexing as he ran a hand through his thick black hair.

“You gonna be good for me?” he asked, voice thick with lust.

You nodded, breathless.

“Say it.”

“Yes, Peter. I’ll be good.”

He smirked. “That’s my girl.”

His hands made quick work of your clothes, pulling them from your body as his lips explored every inch of newly exposed skin. His teeth scraped your throat, sucking bruises into your flesh as his fingers slid between your thighs, teasing, tormenting, until you were begging for him.

“You’re soaked,” he groaned, sliding a thick finger inside you, curling it just right. “Fuck, you feel good.”

Your back arched, nails digging into his shoulders, but he wasn’t done with you yet. He pulled away just enough to shove his jeans down, and your breath hitched at the sheer size of him.

“You sure you can take me, sweetheart?” His voice was teasing, but his eyes were dark with need.

“Yes,” you gasped. “Please.”

“Good girl.”

He lined himself up and pushed inside, stretching you inch by inch, making you feel every thick, pulsing inch of him. The burn was exquisite, and when he bottomed out, you felt completely, utterly full.

Peter groaned, dropping his forehead to yours. “Fuck, you’re tight.” He pulled out slowly, then slammed back in, setting a pace that left you gasping, moaning his name like a prayer.

His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he fucked you deep and hard, every thrust sending pleasure sparking through your body. His teeth found your shoulder, biting just enough to leave a mark as he growled, “Mine.”

You shattered around him, crying out his name as waves of pleasure crashed over you, and the feeling of you tightening around him sent him over the edge, groaning as he spilled inside you.

For a moment, all you could do was breathe, his weight a comforting presence above you. Then he smirked, pressing a lazy kiss to your lips.

“Hope you don’t have plans,” he murmured. “Because I’m nowhere near done with you.”



[lila-ladybug23]

Stomach has its own mind, maybe that's what makes this kink interesting for most of us ...

There isn't any other organ, that would audibly draw attention to its needs.

And it does it against our will. Of course, there are some methods of muffling and cancelling the sounds … but the stomach doesn't care…

That moment, when you sit in the class, an hour before the lunch time, starting to feel the strange, empty feeling. You haven't eaten in a while, and it's still like 40 minutes left … Your stomach is knotted and it is the only thing that you can pay attention to. Because you know, that it will probably rumble away, to relieve these hunger pangs. And the people near you will probably hear it.

You try to distract your mind and listen to the lecture, but you feel the growl coming. The place under your ribs feels tight. And you really don't want any sound to happen. But the only thing that your stomach wants, is to be filled with food, because it knows that normally during this time, you're mostly already full. But now, it's empty and it will demand on digesting the emptiness, since you didn't feed it.

The ache is interrupted with a loud, deep growl, vibrations of the walls of your stomach producing it. It lasts like 5 seconds already and the only think you want is to make it stop.

Your cheeks are quite red and you know that it will continue, because your stomach seems really pissed off. You try to drink a bit of water, make some sound with opening your pencil case, coughing, then pushing your stomach in, however, it still answers with a growl, that is now a bit louder and longer, than the last one.

It doesn't make just a constant noise. It produces lower tones, combined with louder and higher sounding groans, as your stomach moves inside you. You push your fingers into your navel, as it keeps producing intense deep rumbles. The friend sitting next to you keeps paying attention to the lesson, but you're sure they've heard it, but don't want you to feel embarassed.

You keep fidgeting around, coughing, muffling the sound with your hands. Your friend can see, how you try to attack this monster laying inside you, silently punishing it. Still … they see you losing the battle, as your belly makes the sound again. So you just loudly sigh as it growls furiosly. There's nothing you can do.

That's why is it so damn hot. It will loudly demand the need you have, even though you try the best to ignore it. People will hear, that your insides are dying for something to digest. And the only thing you can do, is to feel it, listen to it and just own it.

Seeing a person being defeated with their own growling gut is sooo… That kinky part deep inside of me is so excited to see it, because I cannot anticipate their grumbles, I don't know, when exactly it will make the sound, so it is a bit more surprising. And seeing their reaction to these furious sounds … even if there isn't any visible reaction, there is definitely something happening inside their own head…

[silversinfinity]

Taste Of Your Own Medicine

*this is a fetish blog- non-fet blogs and minors DNI (no age in bio -> blocked)*

Fandom: J/ujutsu K/aisen

Spoilers: None

Pairing/AU: N/anaG/o, normal universe set during N/anami's Salary Man Era TM

Length: ~2k

Tags: sneeze fetish content, sickfic, sneezing via flu swab test, inducing, light contagion themes, mess

ANON, IT'S BEEN 84 BILLION YEARS... ARE YOU STILL OUT THERE 😭😭😭

It’s 5/7 for a few more hours here still, aka n/anag/o day!! So I’m taking it as a sign to kick myself in the ass and drop a little n/anag/o treat for you all 🤑 I loved writing this when I first started it, and then I lowkey forgot about it, and THEN couldn't find the document when I remembered it existed... 😭 it’s been a long journey for a mere 2k words, woof!

Fanfic Masterlist

It’s surely the flu. Surely. Anything else would feel far better than this. 

Far better than the brain fog, the lethargy, the massive pressure behind his eyes and sinuses. 

Far better than the fever that stole his sleep last night, left only to shiver, sweat. Too hot with a blanket, too cold without. 

And anything else would be far, far better than the body aches. That was the worst of all, the thing that dug the last nail into Nanami's personal coffin. Everything hurt, dull yet wickedly persistent- even the very hairs on his head weren't an exception. He didn't know hair was capable of hurting, and boy, he's finding it out the hard way.

And maybe, maybe, despite all that, it would all be far better, if not for the annoying weight currently clinging to Nanami’s shoulders.

“Get off of me.” Gojo only presses into him heavier, mocking the few inches of height he has on him.

“Come back to bed then,” Gojo whines in his ear. Nanami’s headache squeezes tighter at his temples.

He sighs, breath crackling unpleasantly in the lower depths of his lungs. Though grating, Gojo’s voice has never sounded so convincing. “Trust me, I wish I hadn’t left.” The misconduct in his lungs catches on the end of his words with a weak, wheezing cough.

It should motivate him, at least. The sooner he gets this done, the sooner he can go back to bed, and hopefully, sleep.

Gojo rests his head on Nanami’s shoulder, idly watching him tear open the plastic wrapping in his hands. “Why even bother testing?” he mumbles, cheek squished against him.

“I need proof to get time off.”

“Man, your job sucks.” 

“Thangks, Captain Obvious.” Nanami wishes again that he would stop talking, just so he didn’t have to hear himself reply. The congestion dragging his consonants down is unpleasant to his ears, only worse layered over the roughness of a sore throat.

While Gojo manages to hold his tongue, Nanami assesses the items below him. He hovers his hand above the test kit on the counter, with a long q-tip lazingly perched between two fingers. His eyes glaze over the instructions; this isn't the first time he’s ever taken such a test, but a refresher never hurts. 

… Whether looking at it actually helped refresh anything was contentious, however. The font and diagrams were muddy where they lay, only legible enough to jog his memory.

15 seconds in both sides, mix the end into the tube of fluid, place a few drops into the test strip, and then wait for the result that wouldn't surprise anyone with an ounce of common sense.

Easy enough.

…Sort of. Nanami’s eyes water the instant the cotton swab touches just inside one nostril. A sharp tingle radiates up into his sinuses and lingers. He dreads actually moving the thing, knowing it will only prod and tease at each swollen, sensitive nerve within. 

Simply holding it in place won't do him any good either, though. He does as instructed, swirling the cotton tip along the walls of his nasal passages in a circular motion. The urge to sneeze increases tenfold. Nanami scrunches the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed in a tight, focused squint.

Gojo notices all of this, much to his dismay. “Don’t sneeze…” he sings into his ear. 

And Nanami nearly does. “HHdt-!” Tongue smacked to the roof of his mouth, he manages to withhold the urge from completely seizing him. But just barely. He blinks tears from his eyes. 

“Cand you please nod- guh…” Nanami is left with a lingering, even thicker congestion, if that's even possible. He should really blow his nose, except that he also really shouldn't, not until this test was over. 

The cotton swab dips into his other nostril- the one that's more sensitive of the two, because of course one of them has to be. It's the one Gojo has a better view of, too. Oh, joy.

Nanami’s breath catches almost instantly, only to release in an uncertain, tight exhale. “...hehh…” Gojo sees his abused nostril flare up and twitch, hiking upward as the entire bridge of his nose crinkled. Torturously, he swirls the cotton swab once, twice, three times. Hand trembling, breath shaking. The natural lines of his face turn more rigid to match his expression, barely holding it together. 

Don’t sneeze. Don't sneeze. Gojo’s earlier advice echoes in his head, much as he loathed it at the time. Just a few more seconds…

“That looks like it really tickles…”

It's a few more seconds too long, and Gojo’s urging is the final straw. “hhuH-!” Nanami gasps loudly, urgently, shuddering under the other sorcerer’s still incessantly pressed weight on him. That inward breath messily crashes into the main production- “hEHH’SHIEhh-! hEHHH’ZSHHieh-!” His shoulders jostle violently. His throat barks through the deepest parts of it, fully exposing the flu-centered trauma his vocal cords carry.

Spray sprinkles wet, grey dots in a random pattern on his shirt, baggy and soft to the touch. Gojo’s weight against him only lightens a little, although Nanami is too distracted to care or notice. “hhdh… hiH-!” Without opening his eyes, he draws up for a precursor to another sneeze. He clumsily grabs the collar of his shirt, ducking down within the fabric this time- “hiehHH’SCHFHH-!”

Oh, God.

“Oh. Bless you.”

Gojo says it like he's surprised to hear him sneeze. Nanami feels a vein threaten to bulge on his temple.

Pinching away any excess evidence with his shirt- he winces when the damp fabric touches back to his chest- Nanami re-emerges with a scowl no less irritated than before. In his other hand hovers the soiled cotton swab, having been yanked from his nose the second before disaster. 

He blinks away the stars that dance in his vision, wondering if it's possible to actually sneeze his brains out. The pain behind his eyes swells significantly, heightening his suspicions. Ugh.

He glances back down at the instructions. Right, next step. Into the tube the cotton swab goes, and Nanami swirls it, pushing against the sides of it. Just watching the motion stirs a tingle high in his sinuses, having not quite abandoned the sensation of the swirling motion.

Nanami glances at his watch after applying a few drops to the test strip. 6:51. He'd know by 7:06, then. 

Gojo watches him set his watch, cheek pressed into his shoulder. “Hm… I don’t see anything in those instructions about sneezing all over yourself?” he teases.

The vein from before does finally bulge on his temple. He’s almost- almost- exhausted enough to sigh another sigh and let it go. But there’s fifteen minutes he needs to kill before he can send his halfwitted boss a picture of this stupid test, and Gojo doesn’t sound like he’s going to become any less insufferable in that time. 

A taste of his own medicine might shut him up, or at the very least dent his pride. The unopened test kit resting on the counter is snatched into Nanami’s hand. He pauses for a dreadfully damp sniffle. “Gojo, I don't suppose you'd like to show me how to do this properly, then?”

Silence. Then, the other man tilts his head. “That’d be a waste of a good test, wouldn't it?”

“Haven't you considered that I might be contagious?” Might be, he says- more like definitely, absolutely. “Antivirals work better if you catch it early, you know.” Nanami maintains an even tone under the blanketing congestion.

“ …My Infinity protects me.”

Nanami pulls the new, fresh cotton swab from its packaging, careful not to touch the soft end. “You’re touching me right now, though.” And all this morning. And all last night. Satoru Gojo, the Strongest, Clingiest, Sorcerer in the world.

Said Sorcerer finds nothing to argue back with, instead speaking a short, “Fine.” Though his blindfold conceals his eyes, the pout on his lips is enough for Nanami to imagine the faux, pity-seeking look they’re wearing. Good thing he knows better than to fall for it.

Quicker than before, Nanami arranges the test tube and test strip on the counter top. Fresh cotton swab still in hand, Gojo actually steps back an inch when he faces him, showing reluctance. It's a rare emotion for him to express so physically.

He takes Gojo’s chin in one hand, holding him in place. The other man grimaces. “Hey, I can do it- myself, ya know…!”

”This is how Shoko would do it, and a doctor knows best. Chin up.” His hand grips a little firmer, and he tilts Gojo’s head up and towards himself. It’s an angle suited to expose his- and he hates to admit it- absolutely perfect nose. A straight, long bridge complimented by a set of narrow, symmetrical nostrils, all aesthetically framed by the dark fabric of his blindfold. 

Given a few minutes though, it won't look nearly as composed.

Nanami doesn’t bother to warn Gojo when he slips the cotton swab into his nose. The other man gasps reflexively, and the bridge shivers in protest. Nanami’s hold on his chin keeps him steady though. 

Any other day and he certainly wouldn't tolerate getting sneezed on- especially by someone who got on his nerves so regularly. But considering current circumstances, he can't find it in himself to care. He fully intends to change into a fresh pair of sweats after this test, not to mention that he's already dealt with enough of his own outbursts and fluids in the last 24 hours- what's a little more?

It would be worth the brief euphoria that came with getting payback, until his headache along with all the other bits of his misery tugged him out of that moment.

He changes the angle of the swab just slightly, softly bumping the shallow top wall of his nasal passages. Gojo swallows under Nanami’s palm. A circle is drawn along the rims of one nostril, and then another. His lips part to whine, but the sound melts into a telltale hitch.

“Nanhha- Nanami, whhait-hih-hihHH’SHIhh-!” Nanami doesn’t stop, nor does Gojo. “hyH’SHh-! ihhk‘SHieh-!” They’re fittish, rapid, and yet they drag out of him, like the last bit of juice squeezed from a lemon. He's trying to hold them back, but his willpower is faltering under Nanami's efforts and hurling out his throat instead.

A few more sneezes later, and Nanami gauges it's been long enough. He wordlessly removes the torture device from Gojo’s nose, and he sighs something between relief, exasperation, and another sneeze stopped in its tracks. He sniffles and tries to pull away, but Nanami tuts his disapproval.

“Still need to do the other side.” He doesn't allow Gojo so much as a spare breath to fight him on it. The nasal swab is already pressed to his septum, just inside the other nostril.

The tighter, desperate pinch of his eyebrows is visible even through his blindfold. Gojo’s lip quivers. He actually manages to hold it together this time- for the first five seconds.

Then…

“hih…hh, hihH-! hh…ghh-hiHH-! Hhp’TSHhh-! hihT’SHh-! Hh-hhH… HH’TShiew-! hY’ISHH-!”

His nostrils turn pink, shiny at the rims. Nanami ignores the mist settling on his wrist in progressively wetter qualities. It's generously soaking him when he decides again that he's done enough again, and he promptly wipes his hand on the leg of his sweatpants.

Gojo’s repeated sniffling, panting, and whining is mere background noise as he goes through the motions of this test.

“Nanamiiii… you're so meannn…”

Without taking his eyes off his watch to acknowledge Gojo’s Man-Child-like behavior, Nanami hands him a tissue. He always keeps a box close at a time like this. “Blow your nose, Gojo.”

There's still about 10 minutes left until he can actually consider this hassle taken care of. 

Well, one hassle taken care of, anyway. Gojo has regrettably pressed himself back against him, sinuses cleared into a now crumpled tissue. “Can we please just go lay back down now?”

That, Nanami could seriously consider. A dull throb trickles back up into his head, coupled with a growing feeling he'd swallowed glass in his throat. He may as well take Gojo up on this- standing here isn't doing him any good.

A fresh change of clothes and a new dose of ibuprofen later, and enough time has passed that Nanami’s watch goes off, once for his test, which he snapped a picture of, and then again a few minutes later.

Test results on Nanami’s read positive- no surprise. Test results on Gojo’s read negative- for now, at least.

[kirishwima]

Random Boyfriend Texts w. Gojo

(Pt.2 coming soon because the boy's a MEME. A meme i tell u)

[millerstolemyheart]

Mornings Like These | Drabble

Summary: Joel wakes you up for your morning shift at the stables.

WC: 1,253

Pairing: Joel Miller x M!Reader

Warnings: Smut, brief mention of daddy kink, no proofread

Notes: I dunno I just really needed to get this out of my head guyssss

Mornings with Joel are anything but restful.

Within seconds of stirring, his lips are typically dancing along the shell of your ear, whispering sweet nothings and the occasional breathy swear word while his morning wood swells against the soft curve of your ass. Rough, callused hands caress and grope you awake with a tenderness that surprised you the first time it happened.

“Baby boy… sweetheart… darlin’...”

Each pet name falls as sweet as honey from his lips.

“Sunshine… my love… angel…”

Joel’s list of pet names for you is vast, as he likes to keep a repertoire. It gives him lots of options, depending on what mood he’s in.

“Sugar…”

That’s the one that finally stirs you awake today.

When your eyes finally flutter open, you spot Joel peering down at you with a sleepy expression. Those deep brown eyes of his look tired, but they crinkle at the edge when your gazes meet. His graying hair is tousled from sleep, and it makes you think of that time you towel-dried your cat after a particularly difficult bath. A smile tugs at the corner of your lip, and you bring your hand up to tangle in the soft curls that kiss the nape of his neck.

“G’morning…” You whisper, voice raspy from sleep.

Joel silently presses a kiss to your forehead, and you close your eyes to enjoy the familiar scratch of his whiskered jaw.. Tilting your head up, you capture his lips in a quick kiss. The movement doesn’t faze Joel. He simply slips his hands up to cradle your head in his hands as if it’s second nature.

“Mornin’, sweet boy…” Joel finally rumbles against your lips. He pulls back long enough to study your face. “Sorry to wake you so early. You did say six o’ clock, right?”

Oh, right. Your shift at the stables. No wonder you weren’t feeling his arousal pressing against you.

“Yeah,” You yawn and reach to give his scruffy cheek a reassuring scratch. “Gotta get home and change before I go. Didn’t bring any clothes with me last night.”

In your haste to see Joel after he returned from a late patrol, you’d forgotten to pack any clothes. In your defense, he was wearing that damn green flannel of his that drove you crazy, so you weren’t really thinking of much other than dragging him from the front gate of Jackson back to his own home in record time. The late evening hours turned into a sweaty, sticky blur that didn’t end until Joel had coaxed at least three orgasms out of your spent body.

“Christ, darlin’... just look at you… practically droolin’ for it, ain’t ya?”

“C’mon, baby boy… know you can do it… gimme another. I want it.”

“I know, baby, I know… just one more… do it for me… be a good boy…”

Your cock gave one final weak twitch before your mouth parted in a silent scream, your entire body jolting once, twice, three times before finally giving out and collapsing into the sheets. Joel’s satisfied smirk danced behind your eyelids all night long, along with the gentle praises he murmured into your ear as you succumbed to sleep.

“Such a good boy f’me… can’t believe you’re mine, darlin’...”

Joel gives a soft snort and suddenly peels himself away to reach over the side of the bed with a faint grunt, a product of his aging back. He picks up the very same flannel from the floor and tosses it over to you. “There.” Wearing a satisfied expression, he reclines back against the pillows, head propped up on his arm. “Just wear that. Stay here and have some coffee with me instead before you go.” His voice is low and gravelly, eyes flitting down to the shirt and back up to your eyes. It’s less of a suggestion and more of a declaration.

He knows what you’ll say.

The faintest blush colors your cheeks as you catch the shirt. You give him a careful look and slip it on over your bare torso. Immediately his scent floods your nose with a warm, woodsy aroma reminiscent of wet trees, wood shavings, and the natural musk you’ve grown addicted to. The sleeves hang just past the tips of your fingers, and you shoot Joel an amused look.

“You think anyone’ll notice?”

Not that you would mind…

“Fuck, I hope so,” he grumbles, reaching out to adjust the collar for you. “Want everybody knowin’ you’re mine…” His voice carries a distinct possessive tone, already imagining you going around wearing his scent all day long as you work at the stables. It’s enough to make him want to rip it right back off of you and coax more sweet sounds out of you.

You roll the sleeve back up to your elbows, showing off some of your bare arms. "I'll wear it your way then." You shimmy closer, nuzzling into warm crook of his neck. It’s your favorite place in the world. “Thanks, Joel.”

Joel stretches his arm around you, holding you close to his body, your head still resting against his neck. "Good," His voice is a low rumble, and his free hand reaches to stroke the short hair at the nape of your neck. It sends a delightful shiver down your spine, and Joel responds with a soft hmph, continuing his action and studying your body for any more reactions.

“You doin’ anything tonight, darlin’?” Joel asks after a few moments of silence. His eyes study you closely, though once again he’s sure he knows your answer.

He does.

You give a coy smile. “Seems like I am now.”

"That's a relief," Joel remarks with a wry smile, his free hand moving to your waist, his gaze on your face. "Wouldn't want you spendin' your evenings with anyone else."

“Getting possessive, are we?” You tease him. Your voice comes out muffled from where your face is smushed under his jawline.

“I'm not gettin' possessive, I'm marking what's mine," he counters in a grunt, his tone still low and gravelly. There’s a familiar glint in his eye that promises deliverance.

Mine.

A wave of heat flushes through your body, unable to contain your own growing desire for him. "Well in that case..." You lean up, capturing his lips in a kiss.

Joel immediately groans into your mouth, his breath hot against your lips. His warm hands snake their way back around your middle, one slipping up so he can tweak your nipple with the rough pads of his fingers. “Christ, baby boy…” He mutters, nose squashed against your cheekbone. “Just look at ya… wearin’ my dirty shirt… don’t know what you do to me, do ya?”

You can’t stop your body from trembling as he wraps himself back around you. Everything about him radiates power… strength… safety… His warmth shields you from the chilly morning air of the bedroom. It’s as if nothing else could matter at the moment. Just him. Just Joel.

“J-Joel…” You giggle, your nose nuzzling the warm crook of his neck and breathing in his scent straight from the source. “Not gonna have any time for coffee…”

“Screw the damn coffee,” he snarls, already shifting his body to hover over your own. His weight pins you to the mattress, and there’s a knot that keeps growing bigger and bigger in your gut when you feel just how hard he really is. His cock gives a firm twitch against your thigh.

“I got a better way for us to wake up.”

[charlesemersonwinchesteriii]

One fascinating thing about "You Must Unload" is how thematically relevant it is for all the characters on the show, especially Irving himself. The Terror is a story about progressively giving things up and leaving things behind, what you choose to unload and when. (Boats? Curtain rods? Books? Your only clothing, useless in this cold weather? Your only food, poisoned? Your only companions, sick and dying and unable to walk?) Trying in vain to haul things with you that you cannot carry, both metaphorically and literally.

And Irving is at the center of all of it. As discussed in this post, after Crozier declares at Carnivale that they will abandon the ships, Irving stops referencing religion, a turning point for his character. And he is the one call "Forward, men!", the final decision to leave everything they've known behind. You must unload!

He is also the one whose reaction we focus on when Crozier tells them that even the food they're carrying with them is killing them. Which makes sense, of course: Irving is the one we have seen keeping careful inventory of these supplies, trying to make them last as long as possible. Revealed to have been a futile effort the entire time. You must unload!

And then finally, he goes on the hunting trip, making the call first to split off into a smaller party, then to go all alone to meet the Netsilik. At last, he gives up his spyglass, the only prized possession he has left, something stated textually in the book and implied in the show to be important to him personally. And at the same time, he gives up the symbols of his imperialist existence: rank, class, national identity, all of it, because these things have, quite literally, no meaning in this situation. He's left with nothing but his Christian name.

And when he goes back to try to bring the rest of the expedition with him to salvation, that's what kills him. You must unload!

[pinetreesreblogs]

Been thinking about a Saiki k au where he does turn evil. He says that his mom really encourages him to be a good person, but what if he didn’t have that positive influence? What if she died. And Saiki didn’t foresee it and wasn’t there to prevent it. What if that’s the thing that finally pushed him off the edge. What if he hated god because of it. What if he usurped Him.

[novlr]

“The story is not in the plot but in the telling.” — Ursula K. Le Guin

[vacz]

Hear me out...

Bad End Friends Boy Band

"Watch me set your world on fire" 🎶