#mushis journalling

[dazzelmethat]

Some messy Mushishi fanart. Ginko could be a microbiologist.

I'm still sad that 'journey to the microcosmos' the youtube channel is ending. If you are a mushishi fan of the surreal mushi I recommend watching their hd videos on microbes.

[piscesbxnny]

a few little journal doodles 🍄‍🟫❣️🫐

[boyc0tt-l0ve]

brb gotta use a very public social media platform like it’s my own personal diary that no one will ever read again

[yuukimiyas]

3 beers deep from dinner & ily all so so SO MUCH!! (੭ु ›ω‹ )੭ु⁾⁾♡

[onlinebimbo333]

Found some mushiesss

[crocodilejames]

Well, the shrooms are hitting. I’m working through some stuff. I’m thankful. Here’s what I just wrote in my notes app. It’s good to have it here as well, to always remember it. I love myself and the way my brain works through things, and I’m so proud of myself too. It feels so good to say all that, and to really believe it, you know? I’m so thankful.

Anyways here's a blurb from my processing about love.

“I love you”

I mouth the words against your skin

“I love you, I love you.”

I’m afraid to say it out loud because I don’t know what it means for you.

I don’t know how you’ll feel about it, and that scares me.

The unknown scares me.

I’m also afraid that I will tell you, and it will make you think I’m immature. That it will somehow be a sign to you that I’m not ready for this.

I could trust you, you deserve as much as that from me. You deserve more.

I thought I was special, and that gave me a sense of security. But I am! YOU are special and I want everything for you, everything that will make you happy. And I worry that our relationship is too simple, too easy, and that you will get bored. But I’M not getting bored, how could I? So how could you?

I love you, and I’m afraid to tell you because I’m afraid it will change some things. How you see me, how you feel about me, what you want with me. I’m afraid all of that will change. But that’s okay, things change and relationships change and that’s how they’re meant to be. I shouldn't assume that you will act or feel any way about it at all. I shouldn't assume anything.

I love you and I’m afraid that you won’t say it back. And if you don’t then I will be afraid that you never will. And that is something to be afraid of, of course it is. I want to be loved back and it’s okay to want that. It’s actually completely normal and healthy to want that. Of course I want to be loved as I love. That’s our nature. It’s our nature. This is our nature.

I’m afraid that if I don’t tell you now, I will never get a chance. You might die tomorrow or the next day, and I might never get to tell you. And I’m worried that this means I would be telling you out of fear, and I don’t want to make the decision out of fear.

But I already HAVE made the decision. It was made before I even knew there was one. I love you, I love you, I love you and there’s nothing. I love you and there’s everything. I love and love and love and it doesn't hurt and it doesn't make me tired, and it doesn't run out. It never runs out. And it doesn't HURT. Sure I am scared, but I am not hurting. You are not hurting me, you don’t want to hurt me. You want me to be happy. You think I deserve every good and beautiful thing, and that’s what I think YOU deserve! Is that not love? What do I even have to be afraid of, what is there? There is no "should", there is no "supposed to", there is nothing and there is everything and I love you.

Maybe telling you I love you makes me seem unbalanced, or crass, or immature. But it isn't crass, it isn't an impulse. I love you because you are good for me, and because you are beautiful, and you want the world to be safe and you want it to be happy and YOU want to be happy. And everything ordinary is a miracle including you. There is nothing ordinary about you and yet you belong right where you are and the earth holds you like a stone, and you have always been there and you are beautiful and ordinary and not ordinary and something that words aren’t for, they have no business trying to be about you. You are everything and nothing and ordinary and not, and I love you. But anyway,

It isn't immature either. I've thought about it, made sure I mean it before ever saying it. And that’s what’s important, much more than a timeline. Time isn’t real anyway. The point is, I’m being responsible. I’m not being impulsive and I’m not going to hold it over you and I’m not going to use it to hurt you, I don’t ever want my love to be used as a tool to hurt you. I’m scared of getting hurt as well, but I’m much more scared of being the one doing the hurting.

I know myself. And I know that I don’t subscribe to the “should”s and “shouldn't”s of the world, and that is not going to change. I will not change it out of the fear that you see it that way. Part of what I love about you is that you don’t. I have to trust you on that. It all comes back to trust.

I was afraid. I was afraid that my feelings mean something about me. Something bad.

But they don’t. They are just feelings, and they just exist and they’re my nature! I have to stop fighting against my nature, I WANT to stop fighting against my nature. I’ve always said it’s beautiful that I can love the way I love, that I know how to, that I even have the ability and that the feelings even come as they do. It’s a miracle, I am a miracle. And I love myself and I am afraid that Sam does not love me. But doesn’t he? Is that not what I feel from him all the time? Is that not what he’s giving me, what he has given and what he continues to give? Is that not love? Of course it is love! There is nothing else it could be. In whatever way he wants to define it, how I define it is love. I was afraid that he would not love me, in the way I define love. But there you go. He does. He already does.

This is what people mean when they say love is a verb.

It feels god to say it, it feels natural, it feels easy. I love you. But not just saying it. It feels good to do. It feels natural to love you, Sam. It is natural. I love you. And it’s okay to say it, and I’m not afraid.

[myheartismushy]

In another universe;

we aren’t apart. We’re sitting by the ocean and unwinding as the sun sets. You’re not facing the water, you’re facing me. In another universe we don’t have to vacate the homes that we made of each other <3

[roadkillsacrament]

:,)

[mushywriting]

[dottysdokis]

The missing Journal 3 pages in TBOB are so interesting to me in further contextualizing Ford's mindset of shame regarding Bill. We'd gotten a snippet of it in the original J3 release:

But Bill shows us the less pragmatic motivations behind his actions, the mushy feely stuff he was too embarrassed to properly journal, putting certain series events into new context. Particularly this scene where after a whole episode of dancing around it, he finally opens up to Dipper about the nature of their relationship:

"Bill wasn't always my enemy, Dipper. I used to think he was my friend, long long ago..."

But does he really tell the full truth here? The cat's out of the bag, Dipper knows they had a deal, there's no reason not to tell everything. But Ford proceeds to explain his reasoning for summoning Bill as a purely practical, scientifically-driven one.

"I had hit a roadblock on my investigation of Gravity Falls. Until I found some mysterious writing in a cave. Ancient incantations about a being with answers. It warned me not to read them, but I was desperate."

Desperate...for what? Ford would have us believe it was for the sake of knowledge. Yet TBOB shows us that this is the entry immediately preceding his and Bill's first meeting.

Ford isn't some unfeeling robot powered solely by knowledge, he has human needs. He was lonely, lonely enough to summon a demon for companionship. A companionship so intimate, he describes his meeting Bill as the best day of his life, and laments the periods of absence from him.

That desire for intimacy is ultimately what drove him, and even with all his dirty laundry laid out he can't admit that part to Dipper. Maybe he doesn't even realize it himself, at least not until the post-Weirdmaggedon sections of TBOB:

Under the shame of unleashing Bill Cipher's destruction on the world, there's a much deeper shame: that Stanford Pines is not a lone-wolf, unfeeling sci-fi hero, but a fallible human being, capable of illogical sentimentality and longing for approval and (in)human connection. The exact nature of this sentimentality and longing is left to interpretation, but the efforts he goes to to conceal it make me lean towards something beyond platonic. Alex Hirsch's own words might support this:

"I think he is deeply, deeply hiding from his real feelings about things, because at some point early on, he decided that he could run from hurt by achievement and by creation, and has dug that hole so deep that he has no relationships. He doesn't have friendships, he doesn't have romantic relationships, he is someone trapped in a tower of his own mind and estranged. Ford shows none of that. He has sublimated himself romantically so, so deeply. (…) I really thought of Ford kind of like Tesla in that realm.”

TL;DR Ford is up in his feelings about Bill and repressing hard. This is also eerily reminiscent of the self-blame abuse survivors engage in, the hesitance to tell others, and shame over persisting feelings for their abuser.

[j0shuahongs]

Say It Again

summary: just mark malfunctioning

pairing: mark lee x female reader

genre / tags: fluff, smut, slight humor, established relationship

warnings: explicit sexual content, fingering, soft dom!mark, praise kink / pet name kink, lots of pet names, and overuse of the word "baby". (please tell me if i missed some!)

wc: 2.7k

a/n: this was supposed to be a very cute and fluffy fic but I got carried away (whoops) 🤭

You’re not a pet name type of person. You tease him for using them. Roll your eyes every time he says babygirl or sweetheart or honey. Always hit him with:

— “Okay, Romeo. Relax.” — or a dry “Gross.”

You’re smiling, though. Every single time.

He knows you are. Doesn’t even need to look up anymore — just hears the edge of your voice, catches the tiniest upturn in your mouth, and it makes his chest ache. This is just who you are. You love him with your whole heart. But anything too mushy? Too sweet? Makes you squirm. Too cheesy? Too sentimental? You’d rather set yourself on fire.

You fold his laundry, steal his hoodies, and kiss his forehead every morning— but call him baby? God forbid.

So he gave up on expecting anything back. Not in a sad way — more like muscle memory now. A quiet acceptance.

Mark knows his role — he’s the nickname guy, you’re the pet-name grump.

He calls you angel when you look sleepy. Pretty girl when you’re mad at him. Darling when you’re sick and curled up in bed, nose pink and pouty.

You just shake your head and mutter, “You’re so embarrassing.” But you never tell him to stop.

He’s accepted it. Doesn’t need the words. He has all the proof he needs in the way you touch him, look at him, reach for his hand under the table even when you're pretending to be annoyed. He’s already so gone for you, it’s pathetic.

But then.

One day.  

No warning.  

You're in the middle of conversation, half-distracted, elbow-deep in a crinkly paper bag of fries, when you say it.

“Wait, can you pass me that? Thanks, baby.”

Just like that. Casual. Offhanded. As if you didn’t just drop a nuclear bomb onto his entire existence.

Silence.

You don’t even register it. Just keep rustling through your food, completely unaware of the spiritual event you’ve triggered behind you.

Mark freezes.

Hand halfway extended, holding the takeout container like it’s sacred scripture.

His whole body stills. Eyes wide. Jaw slack.

Soul... buffering.

“...What,” he breathes. “What did you just call me?”

You glance over your shoulder, chewing.

“Huh?”

He blinks. Slowly. Like he’s trying to reboot.

“You said—”

His voice cracks. “You said baby.”’

You shrug, lips full of noodles.

“Oh. Did I?”

“Did I??” he echoes, horrified. “Do you even understand what you’ve done?!”

You pop a spring roll into your mouth, already focused on unsealing the dipping sauce.

“Relax, Mark. It just slipped out.”

And that’s when he absolutely short-circuits.

“SLIPPED OUT?!”

He clutches his chest like he’s been mortally wounded. Slumps against the back of the chair with the drama of a soap opera lead.

“I need to sit down—wait, I am sitting. Then why do I feel like I’m gonna faint?”

You snort into your drink, nearly choking on a sip of iced tea.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m writing this down,” he rambles, hand now scrabbling blindly for his phone. “I’m journaling this. This is the highlight of my fucking life. Our future kids are hearing this story.”

“Mark. You’re crying.”

“I’M NOT—crying—I’m just—emotionally compromised.”

You shake your head, grinning into your food like an idiot, while across from you Mark stares at the ceiling in silent, reverent awe. Like he’s just heard the voice of God.

Later that night, you’re sprawled on the couch, stomach full, brain slow. Wrapped in post-dinner haze and the sound of the TV droning low in the background. One leg draped over the armrest, your hand resting lazily on your belly like a satisfied cat.

Mark’s on the other end, curled into himself, hoodie wrinkled, sleeves shoved up to his elbows as he wages war with a stubborn snack bag. His tongue pokes out in concentration, brows furrowed, completely unaware that you’re watching him like he’s the most endearing thing you’ve ever seen.

You pass behind the couch to grab your drink, then pause —

just long enough to lean down, press a soft kiss to the crown of his head, and murmur:

“Thanks, baby.”

You don’t even look back. Just grab your drink like it’s nothing.

But behind you—something shifts.

You make it three steps before it hits you.

Mark hasn’t moved.

You glance back.

He’s frozen. Snack bag in hand, half-open, arms slack. He’s staring ahead, not blinking—like someone just whispered the secrets of the universe in his ear and he’s trying to process them.

“…Mark?”

He turns to look at you, slow and awestruck. Like you just performed a miracle in front of him.

“You just—” He swallows hard. “You said it again.”

You tilt your head, one brow lifting.

“Said what?”

He gasps. Full gasp.

“Said what?! Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what you said.”

You rest your elbows against the back of the couch, watching him with a smirk that’s far too satisfied.

“You mean baby?”

Mark doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe. The TV hums in the background. Somewhere outside, a car drives by.

Then it hits him. Again.

The snack bag falls from his hand with a soft crinkle. He recoils, clutching his chest like he’s trying to physically contain his heart.

“I’m sweating,” he mutters, fanning himself. “Do you feel that? That’s my soul leaving my body. You just—casually—called me baby like it was nothing. Like you didn’t just rewrite my entire DNA.”

You laugh so hard your knees buckle. You have to grab the couch just to stay upright.

“No, because what do I do now?!” he groans, sliding dramatically down into the cushions. “Do I sit normally? Offer you a ring? Should I faint? Do people faint romantically anymore?!”

“Mark—”

“I’m spiraling,” he moans, draping his arm over his face like he’s in the final scene of a tragic play. “You said it so casually. That was so unfair.”

You circle around to the front of the couch and settle yourself into his lap, straddling him like it’s second nature. He stiffens beneath you, lips parting slightly—like your weight on him just activated some buried instinct.

You tilt your head, playful. “If I said it again… would you survive?”

“Absolutely not.”

You lean in, close enough to feel his breath catch, your mouth brushing the shell of his ear.

“Thanks, baby.”

Mark’s brain stopped working.

His body locks up. Shoulders tense. Jaw slack. You swear you can hear his heartbeat from across the room.

His hands grips your waist, hard and instinctive, like he’s afraid the moment will vanish if he doesn’t hold onto it. His head drops back with a soft, helpless whimper — the kind he’d deny with every breath in his body later, but can’t suppress now.

“I’m not okay,” he breathes, eyes fluttering shut. “You’ve ruined me. Say it again.”

You’re still laughing, shoulders shaking, when his hand comes up and gently wraps around your wrist, pulling you closer— not rough, not demanding, just desperate.

Like he doesn’t even know what he’s doing. Like he just needs to feel you to know this is real.

“Say it again,” he pants, pupils blown wide. “I need to know it wasn’t an accident.”

You shrug, smirk curling at your lips. “It was an accident.”

“Liar,” he whispers.

His arms wrap around you tight, locking you in place. “You said it like you meant it.”

You pause. The laugh dies in your throat. Because something about the way he says it—quiet. steady. awestruck—makes your pulse stutter.

You drop your eyes to his lips. Your fingers are on his chest now, feeling the rapid thrum of his heart under your palm.

“You like it when I call you that, baby?”

His breath shudders. His grip on your waist tightens— like he can barely hold himself back.

You see the shift in his eyes. The air between you shifts—turns weighty, electric. Mark leans in, just enough that his nose brushes yours. He breathes you in.

The room suddenly feels warmer, your clothes feel suffocating.  

“Don’t say that,” he warns, voice rough. “Unless you want me to lose control.”

You grin, tilting your hips against his.  

“Maybe I do want you to lose control.”

That undoes him.

He grips your thighs, hard, and flips you underneath him in one swift, desperate motion. Your back hits the cushions with a soft thump, stealing your breath before you can even think.  

His body hovers above yours, warm and tense and trembling.

He moves before he even thinks—

No more softness. No teasing.  

His mouth crashes into yours like he needs to consume you— tongue licking into your mouth like he needs to taste the word baby right off your tongue.

His hands are already under your shirt, sliding up your stomach, dragging the fabric with them.

He groans into your mouth when he feels your bare skin— feels you tremble.

His lips leave yours, trailing down your jaw to the curve of your neck to your collarbone.

“You don’t get to say that and act innocent,” he growls, nipping at your skin.

His fingers slide down, skimming just above the waistband of your shorts— not quite dipping beneath, just teasing the edge.

“You’re fucking soaked through your shorts and I haven’t even touched you.”

You gasp, hips jerking.

“Want me to behave?” he hisses. “When you’re like this?”

You whimper.

He pulls back just enough to look at you—his hair falling into his eyes, lips flushed, chest rising and falling like he just ran a mile.

“You trust me?” he asks again, but this time it’s a whisper against your lips.

His fingers pause at the waistband of your shorts.

You nod, breathless. “Yes.”

You shift against him, guiding his hand lower. “I want this.”

He shoves your shorts down with one rough tug— underwear too— not even bothering to fully take them off.

He slides his hand between your legs, fingers slipping through your folds, achingly slow.

He groans the second he feels it.

“Jesus fuck,” he breathes.

His eyes flick up to yours, hazy and dazed.

“You’re dripping. Did that word really get you this wet, baby?”

You can’t answer. Can’t even think.

Your head drops back, and your hips lift instinctively into his hand.

He doesn’t rush.

He takes his time with you— running his fingers along your slit, collecting your slick and dragging it up in slow, lazy circles around your clit.

You jolt beneath him, letting out a broken noise. Somewhere between a gasp and a whimper.

“Greedy already?” he murmurs, voice hot against your skin. “Thought you didn’t do pet names.”

“Mark—fuck—please—”

“Oh, please now?” he teases. “Begging so sweet already. What if I make you say it again?”

He leans in, lips brushing your ear. “Say it.”

You gasp.

“Baby.”

He groans—deep and guttural—like he’s unraveling from the inside out.

Then he sinks one finger into you.

Your back arches. Your walls clench instantly, the stretch rips a cry from your lips, and he watches—entranced.

His eyes are dark, locked on the way your body opens up for him, your mouth parting, breath stuttering.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he murmurs, his mouth brushing your pulse. “Say it when I’m inside you.”  

He starts to move—slow thrusts, deep and rhythmic. Each push of his finger drags a little moan out of you.

He curls his finger just right—presses deep and up—

and you gasp, hands scramble at his hoodie, digging into the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

His second finger slides in beside the first. He drags his fingers just right, slow and deliberate, making your stomach clench. His palm grinds against your clit every time he thrusts.

The wet sounds of your pussy echo with every stroke.  

“You hear that?” he growls. “You’re so wet I can fucking hear it, baby. That’s all you. All for me.”  

You cry out, hips lifting to grind into his hand.  

Mark’s eyes are wild. Possessive.  

He watches you like you’re unraveling just for him— like your pleasure is the only thing that exists.  

“Mark—oh my god—don’t stop—”  

He doesn’t. His fingers move faster now, smoother. Purposeful. Pressing again at that spot.

Your thighs tremble. Your breath comes in shallow gasps. Every nerve feels tight, like a bowstring ready to snap.

He laughs, low and breathless, and kisses your neck, open-mouthed and hungry. 

“Gonna cum on my fingers?” he breathes, curling them again. Dragging his palm over your clit in steady circles as his fingers fuck you deep. “Gonna fall apart just from my hand?”

You can’t answer. You’re too close. Too far gone.

“Say it again,” he breathes, lips brushing your jaw. “Let me hear it.”

“Baby—fuck, I’m—”  

He groans, deep and broken, like it cracked something open inside him.

He’s gone. No hesitation. No holding back—just raw, hungry need as his fingers move faster.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Just like that—baby, fuck—cum for me— let me feel it.”

Your breath catches.

One more stroke like and—

You break.

The orgasm hits so hard it steals the breath from your lungs. Your whole body jolts—back arching, legs locking around his hand. A cry rips from your throat, loud and raw.

Your walls pulse around his fingers as he fucks you through it, stroking you with deep, steady thrusts—like he wants to memorize every twitch, every moan.

“Holy fuck,” he whispers.

“That’s so fucking hot—baby, fuck,” he moans, like he feels it in his soul.  

He doesn’t stop until your hips twitch and you go soft beneath him, whimpering from the sensitivity.

Then he slows, easing out of you with soaked fingers, his eyes drinking you in like he’s never seen anything more divine.  

He sits back on his knees, eyes raking over you like he can’t believe what just happened. You’re a mess—hair damp, skin flushed, eyes glassy. Your chest rises and falls in shallow, shaky breaths — like your body’s still chasing the echo of his touch.

Mark exhales hard, staring at his wet fingers, trembling slightly — Then at you. Then—

without a word he brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean

One by one. Slow. Obscene. Eyes never leaving yours.

You make a sound you didn’t know you were capable of, and he smirks.

He leans in, presses a kiss to your temple.

Then one to your cheek.  

Then your lips—soft now, careful.  

“You have no idea what you just did to me,” he breathes.  

You smile, dazed and wrecked. “You’re dramatic.”  

He shakes his head slowly, eyes locked on yours.  

“No. I’m obsessed.”

You groan, hiding your face in his hoodie. He laughs, warm and breathless, as he leans down and presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

He lowers himself beside you on the couch, pulling you into his chest like something precious. Like he’s afraid if he lets go, this whole night will vanish into smoke.

The silence between you now isn’t awkward. It’s heavy in a good way. Thick with something neither of you wants to say out loud yet. So instead, he just holds you.

For a long moment, the only sound is the soft thrum of the TV. Your breathing syncs with his.

Then — quietly, tentatively — he speaks again.

“Baby,” he says again, like a prayer. Like a confession. “I’m gonna make you say that every time I touch you.”  

You bury your face in his neck, body still tingling.  

“You broke me. I’m changed. That word will haunt me—in the best way,” he says, grinning.  

You curl into his chest, breath syncing with his, safe in the warmth of his arms. Your fingers trace idle circles over his chest, hidden beneath the cotton of his hoodie. Slow and aimless. He holds you tighter and breathes you in, like he doesn’t want to let go.

“Say it again,” he whispers into your hair.

You blink. Look up.

“Not for sex,” he murmurs. “Not to mess with me. Just… say it.”

He looks at you like he’s holding his breath. Like he’s asking for a secret. A promise.

You lift your hand to his face, fingers brushing his jaw, gentle. He turns into your touch instinctively.

And you say it.

Soft. Sure. No teasing this time.

“I love you, baby.”  

Mark exhales — a sound that’s almost a laugh, almost a sob. Like relief, like peace.  

Like he can’t believe you’re real.  

Like you just gave him the world with one small word—

The one word he thought he’d never hear.

Baby.

[yuukimiyas]

wishing a very happy birthday to my best cryo boy!! ໒꒰ྀི∩˃ ᵕ ˂∩꒱ྀི১ my whole heart yearns for him each & everyday!! i’m sending you & your faves only the fanciest of invitations for a lil party to honor the birthday boy!! ໒꒰ྀིㅅ´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა we hope you can make it!! <33 hehee!!

[onlinebimbo333]

[rhaeheartzsquirrelz]

Ellie Williams x Female Reader Headcannons

Only women can interact, sorry not sorry 😝

A/N: idk i got bored and just yapped (I use these for my fics btw, expect to see some of these being implemented).

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Fluff .☘︎ ݁˖

Keeps everything you give her. That includes gum and candy wrappers, unopened chocolates (it’s expired and probably molding), stuffed animals, tickets, and even pencils that she accidentally ended up breaking.

She keeps a box specifically for those things.

She’s definitely a hourder. Every little trinket she sees will be hers. On the ground or not, she’ll stuff it in her pockets, bring it home, and display it on her desk for you to see. Even though she tries to be nonchalant about it.

Loves when you cook, not because she can’t but because she claims that she food tastes a thousand times better when it’s made from your hands. Also because, apparently, your special ingredient is love.

Takes you out on museum dates so she can watch as you look up in curiosity at the display of skeletal remains of a dinosaur. She likes the fact that the two of you share interests, it gives her awkward-self something to talk about.

On the topic of awkward, the first time she’d ever had a conversation with you ended up becoming the most embarrassing thing she’d ever done in her life. Stuttering, pausing inbetween sentences, or just straight up forgetting what she was talking about pretty much sums it all up.

Stuffs her mouth with the sweets you bought. Next thing you know, the whole box is gone.

This woman YELLS when she’s on the game. Cursing every sentence turns into rage quitting and shutting off her console. Afterwards, she’ll immediately come to lay ontop of you and burry her face away into the crook of your neck; patiently leting you work your magic on easing her up.

Tells you that matching is childish but secretly ADORES the idea (Mainly so everyone knows you’re hers). You want matching pajamas? Done, she’s bought the two of you five pairs. Wanna get matching keychains? Ellie will handpick every trinket you like from her collection and grunt through the process of hand-making a one in a million keychain for the two of you.

She wears it everyday.

After her hard work she expects you to take care of her sore and achy fingers with extra love and attention. She’s talkin’ kiss the pain away and smother her with cuddles. Even spoil her with chocolates.

Loves when you call her baby. That special nickname gets her going; it might as well as be her motivation to wake up.

Likes being babied… (She’s not proud of it.)

Finds your weirdness endearing because she’s never been comfortable enough to openly be herself; dorky and cringe. She’d rather be nonchalant and act all tough, even though you see right through her act.

Makes dad jokes.

LOVESSS to hold your hand whenever the two of you are out. Small things like resting your head on her shoulder, giving her arm a squeeze, or even staring at her for a moment too long can get her red.

NSFW ༉‧₊˚.

She’ll memorize ever inch of your body during sex and use it as a reference for her drawings.

Her journal is now full of all the different poses the two of you had tried out.

Every little thing you do gets her giddy: squirming your hips, biting your lip, tugging at her hair, or even moaning her name, those are all the things that get her wet. Drenched even.

PS: she’ll get extra wet if you run your fingers to the back of her neck and hold onto her from there— you can ever grip at her hair and she’ll end up whining for more attention. (Even though YOU’RE the one getting strapped down.)

Likes to have you on your back with your legs spread so she can see just how good she’s doing you.

Loses her shit whenever you praise her. Whether it’s when she’s being ate out or when she’s pounding into you, she’s most likely to cum from just watching and hearing you.

Holds your hands in almost every position because that’s her silent way of showing you how mushy you make her. Also because she likes the idea that you’re still paying attention to her rather than the strap she has around her hip.

Loves how you taste. She could have you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner if she could.

Fav combo: fingering + oral. She swears it gets you (s)creaming.

[wintfleur]

HERE COMES THE SUN !

“you’re just too good to be true, can’t take my eyes off you”

jackson’s sunshine .ᐟᅟ romance books. polaroid pictures. paint stains on jeans. vinyl records. sowing. trading in things for more art supplies. animal whisper. affectionate. handwritten letters. warmth personified.

⠀﹙ 🌻 ﹚

sunshine!reader who’s presence is almost magnetic, she brings a comforting warmth and sweet smile wherever she goes—that makes you just immediately drawn to her. she treats everyone with kindness, helpful as ever. literally the embodiment of sunshine, warm, bright and kind.

sunshine!reader who likes to keep busy. volunteering at the school, daycare, shops, farm/stables, etc. she just wants to help everyone and she loves being social. She prefers helping inside of the community instead of going out on patrols. She only likes going on patrols with Joel, Tommy, and Jesse. feeling the safest with them.

sunshine!reader who appears to be weak and naive from her personality and lack of intimidation, but is far from it. She knows how to defend and protect herself, knowing her way around a gun and knife. She just prefers when others (jesse) takes care of her, not liking to get her hands dirty.

sunshine!reader who likes to trade things for more art supplies, art is like her escape. From painting, drawing, pressing flowers, sowing, and taking pictures with her polaroid camera that her uncle got her. she loves collecting things as well, all of it organized perfectly in her room. Buttons, records/cds, post cards, vintage jewelry, and more.

sunshine!reader who loves to make sure she looks and smells good always. In the hotter weather she loves wearing her short sundresses, shorts/skirts and her pretty tops, in the colder weather she loves wearing her favorite jeans and sweaters. She smells like a mixture of vanilla and sweet flowers, it’s addictive. She loves wearing jewelry, specifically bracelets, some vintage and some homemade that she made with the kids of Jackson.

sunshine!reader who is very expressive with her eyes. many has described her as having ‘doe eyes’

sunshine!reader who has a fear of being alone, so she’s always attached to someone’s hip.

sunshine!reader who is a hopeless romantic. She has read tons of romance books that just made her fall in love with the idea of being in love. And then when she got to Jackson she got to see her first romance movie, she tries to go to as many movies as she can. She cried when she was gifted a tv with a bunch of old movies.

sunshine!reader who loves to go outside the walls with jesse, to pick flowers and fruit. Or to just relax in the field and watch the wild horses. she always brings her pretty basket with her, the two of them having picnics. Or the two of them sneaking off to go take swims in the nearby rivers. Jesse loves watching her press flowers in her journals as they rest on a blanket in the field, or weaving them into her hair.

sunshine!reader who would love to be a mother, whether it’s from her own body or adopting a child. she loves helping take care of the kids, always so attentive to them. Everyone can see it. She would be an amazing mother.

“My gift is my song and this one’s for you”

˗ˏˋ SERIES MASTERLIST MAIN MASTERLIST ´ˎ˗

𝓻oro’s note. OH OUR DARLING GIRL ᐢᗜᐢ please tell me what you think of her ☺️

𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗦 𝗪𝗜𝗟𝗟 𝗕𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗗 𝗢𝗡 @carmysdoll

ᆼᆽᆼ 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝖽𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 & 𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 ！

་ 𝓽aglist : @winterbarnesblog @43hyughes @toasttt11 @mushy-mushroom04 @mihstar @beelee-cotton @hardbeingcasual

send an ask or comment on this post to be added to the taglist!

©️WINTFLEUR ; you can't copy, translate, reproduce, repost my fic, use my plot or layout.

[ruinix]

Can you please write about Quinn writing letter to y/n before he leave for every road trip?

You are making me soft. Heart, mushy. I am officially distracted once again. Also, side note, I just bumped my head while opening a cabinet. I, for some reason, was leaning forward?? Crazy. Natural selection would catch up to me soon if I don't get it together. Anyway...

18+. Fluff thoughts ⬇️⬇️⬇️

Quinn would always take his time to stare at your sleeping form while he did his last-minute packing. Your breaths were heavy and accompanied with soft snores. You looked incredibly content under the heavy blanket with a pillow between your thighs and a plushie in your arms.

Looking at you would make Quinn want to cuddle with you again. He would pay the world millions if he could. You just fit so well between his arms. Your soft scent would easily make him sleep, because it was truly comforting. You were a perfect mix of soft yet firm, delicate but strong. He loved cuddling with you.

However, he got somewhere to be. Somewhere being the away games. He would be so tempted to call in sick but he wanted to play.

So, shaking his head to push away the temptations of you, he finished packing his luggage. Then he would quietly sit on the armchair that was set up in the corner of the room, taking a paper from your stack that you usually used for annotations and journaling.

Quinn would write his letter. It was like his little ritual prior to any away games. It was one of the reasons he woke up earlier. It started because he saw you keep the little sticky notes that he would leave whenever he goes out for a run or for his morning skate. At first, he just wanted to up his game. Just wanted to see how you would react. Oh, you did react. You instantly videocalled him with the prettiest and happiest smile that made his heart beat like thunder that could shake the whole fucking world. He fell in love with you harder when he was already head over heels for you, and all he could think about was seeing you smile like that instead of looking so lonely when you call him. So, he continued writing.

He wrote about the things he loved about you, the things he would love to do with you once he was home, the things you've told him in passing, the things you've dreamt about and wished for, the things he may or may not be planning.

He would drop so many hints about anything. Sometimes you would catch on. Sometimes you wouldn't. He wouldn't mind either way.

His heart would be pounding in his chest as he glanced at the specific little box you've kept everything he has written, as he stared at you shift in your sleep, murmuring his name.

He would write and write and write.

Every word were little pieces of his heart.

Every thought put into them were little slices of his soul.

He would give everything in these letters, knowing that he, along with his words written with his life, would be safe with you.

Good night, lovelies. Love you all.

-> more thoughts? List. Want to be notified? Join my taglist!