#my writing 🩷

[silkpages]

The Regency, Social Class and Star Crossed Lovers

I have been obsessed with the regency period lately and I guess it's stemmed from watching the 1995 version of Pride and Prejudice and kind of spiralled on from there. Because of this though, I've been thinking a lot specifically about the class dynamics and just how prevalent they were in every aspect of life, as well as the strict social norms and how having this image of decency and respectability was so so important, especially for women, whose chances of social ruin were far likelier than a man's. Where I'm going with this is that I can't help thinking the Regency era is already such a great setting for forbidden or star-crossed lovers, but if you zoom in on social class and etiquette, it's especially perfect for pairings with a status imbalance (not quite power imbalance because I don't think that's accurate: the couple itself might be healthy and view each other as equals, but socially they're on completely different wavelengths).

Just imagine falling in love with someone of a lower status than you, let's say an honourable and hardworking young man that occasionally calls on your father alongside his own. You've seen him steadily over the years but it's only recently that you've noticed how his kindness to you has become a mild affection - that you return in full. Soon, his hallway pleasantries become something much more, and you dare to inquire into his family, education and whatever else you can in a way that extends beyond civility. His visits become more frequent and you flush at the thought that he now comes by for you. It's one night whilst you're preparing to sleep that you realise this girlish daydream of yours has transformed into this genuine care for him, and while that realisation would render anyone else happy, it only makes you frown. You know he would be able to make you happy, but he has no estate, works in trade and has certainly not enough money to placate your family. Maybe things would be different if your dowry were bigger and could help support the both of you in a new life. Maybe things would be fine if your family were less concerned with clutching onto gentility and accepted change graciously. But as that's not the case, there is hardly anything you can do but continue your brief conversations on his visits to your father and share a dance at the local assembly. Perhaps two if you wait until enough time passes so that nobody notices. But you wouldn't dream of sharing a third, no. Not if you don't want to ruin yourself and your family socially.

Or perhaps you're a milliner's daughter working one quiet day when suddenly a gentleman approaches from outside. He's new in town, you learn, and he's asking for directions to someplace or another, but before you know it, you've both lost train of the conversation and are laughing about the differences between the city and the country. You don't think much of it when he returns another day, this time to actually purchase a hat, but once again you fall into easy conversation with him. This happens again and again and before you know it, you're both deeply in love. You know there's no chance you can both be together, at least not in any way society approves of, but you delude yourself into thinking it's a light-hearted flirtation that you'll both grow out of soon enough. But your delusion wears off once you realise your talks in the shop, your early morning walks and meetings by the flower field have become the things you most look forward to, and that you cannot bare to go without them, without him.

My thoughts ran away with this idea but the more I think about it, the more perfect I think this era would be for these kind of couples. You could argue any historical era would work for this but imo the Regency is perfect because: 1) it's the Regency era. 2) I think it would be really interesting to explore class and social relations in such a loved period of time especially since it coincided with the Romantic movement. 3) I feel like things were still pretty feudalist in most periods before this time (ofc not all but again it's the Regency, why wouldn't you pick it?) whereas there's more possibility for social mobility growing here and I think this idea of hope and growth versus old ideas about class relations is so so interesting to explore, 4) especially when you can use this landscape of hope and the possibility of your couple getting together to create an excellent tragedy! (I'm joking on the last point ... unless 👀).

But yeahh, I had so much fun with this and I feel like since I'm enjoying getting back into writing fanfic I might just write my own historical AUs for my favourite ships and go crazy over them.

[lovifie]

Price had a young girlfriend and did not tell anybody until he decided to get married...

He probably didn't tell them until the night before the wedding…He asked them to come over for a little celebration and everyone expected a middle-aged woman. But when they saw a girl in her mid-20s opening the door with Price they were shocked

Soap probably even asked if she's his stepdaughter LOL

Hey, love!! 💗💗

I wrote you a little something...

I hope you like it 💗

❤️Mr. & Mrs. Price❤️

Fluff | Sugestive | 1547 words | Back to Masterlist

They were having a pint at a pub close to base when he told them. 

“I'm getting married next Saturday, you have the weekend free, so drop by so I can introduce you to the missus.”

Now, Ghost wasn't surprised he didn't know about his captain having a girlfriend, let alone a relationship serious enough to talk about marriage. What surprised Ghost was that neither Soap nor Gaz knew about it. 

“Married?!” Gaz asked, loud enough to make some people turn their heads. 

Price furrows his eyebrow, surprised by the reaction as if he had just told them about what he's having from breakfast. 

“I didnae ken ye had a pretty bird waiting for ye at home, Captain!” Soap says, just as loud.

“Yeah, I have for a couple of years now.” Price simply answers, shrugging his shoulders as he takes a sip.

“A couple of years?!” The three men ask in unison like a bad comedic joke. 

A chain of questions starts to unravel, curiosity for the mysterious woman pouring out; but Price waves his hand shutting them up. “No point in that, you are meeting her this weekend, easier that way”

They begrudgingly agree, keeping to themselves the mental image of the possible woman. She must be around Price's age, so between 40 and 50 years old; knowing how little the man likes to go out they probably met at work so she must be military too. Stern woman. 

Price tells them that is something minor, the close family and a bunch of friends; that they can join at the reception at his house and to dress nicely. 

“No ghost mask.” He chastises the man pointing at him. “I don't want work involved, alright?”

During the week until the wedding, they keep thinking about her, about how she must look like, her personality, her age, her eye colour.

“What do you think she'll look like?”

“In my mind, she's like Laswell… but being into men.”

And out of every possibility and different mental image, the last thing they expected was the pretty thing that opened the door for them on Saturday. 

Pretty little thing, around 25 years old, with the kindest smile on her face even when looking at the three giants on her doorframe, flowy white dress, little hair strands framing her cute face with the rest of it gathered up in an intricate updo in the back hold together with shiny pins and a silky bow. 

“Oh, you must be John's friends.” You say, voice sweet as an angel. “Please, come in, don't just stand there. I'm gonna go get him, be back in a second”

You step back, holding the door open for them, inviting them in and once inside you close the door, walking past them to reach their captain who is looking in the opposite direction, talking to somebody else.

“That must be the stepdaughter… right?” Soap asks what all of them are thinking. 

They stare as you walk up to Price, placing your hand on his lower back making him turn to look at you; a wide smile appearing immediately. He leans forward, his arm moving behind your shoulder and his hand keeping your jaw in place as he kisses you. 

Lips crashing against yours, closing his eyes and letting his tongue into your mouth tasting the champagne you were drinking just a moment ago. A passionate, sloppy kiss that would make a maiden blush at the impropriety of it even for the newlyweds.

“Mate, I sure fucking hope she's not.” Gaz answers after a moment.

The two of you finally pull back, telling Price about his friends arriving and he looks behind you to see them. He smiles, not as wide as when he looked at you, and gives you a quick peck before walking to the door. 

“Welcome, lads. Thank you for coming.” He says simply, crossing his arms and looking proud. You appear from behind him, hand resting on his arm slightly leaning to his side.

“Do you want anything to drink? To eat?” You ask softly, love pouring out of Price's eyes as he looks down on you. 

“I'll help you.” Ghost says, a curl of his lips you could identify as a smile if you wanted to. And once the captain is left with the sergeants, the attack starts. 

“How does an old churl like you manages to get a pretty thing like her?”

“Where do you even meet a doll like her?”

“How many years have you exactly been dating for?”

Ghost clears his throat when he turns around the corner on his way back, with you chirping on his side about how happy you are to finally meet them. He has a more natural smile on his face now, clearly infected with your enthusiasm. 

Price finally introduces you to them, exchanging everyone's name. You hug both the sergeants and shake Ghost's hand, the man glad that you made the observation of his lack of appreciation towards body contact. 

After a little chat, you excuse yourself; promising to get back in a while wanting to talk to your own friends still waiting around the room. It leaves Price on his own and that's when he tells the nosy men how he met you. 

You were his neighbour, sharing half the walls of the old flat he house to live in before moving in together. How he introduced himself to you one day when he saw you leaving your house, how he told you he was military so you wouldn't freak out if you saw him in the middle of the night or suddenly disappeared for months, how after a specially long deployment he got back and you dropped by hours later with a bunch of tupperwares with homemade food “I assumed you would be tired, it's nothing special but I'll save you the hustle of cooking”, about how he had wanted to marry you ever since, how he gave you the tupperwares back one by one so he had more reasons to talk to you, how he finally asked you out with the last one and how after that it all was easy between you two.

The four of them swiftly move to sit down on the kitchen table, Price still telling them everything about you and the relationship. Ghost is just as invested as the other two, trying to play it off as polite interest. Slowly and smoothly people leave the house as the day goes by, the sun having set a couple of hours ago; and you walk into the kitchen, sitting on Price's lap with a sigh. 

“I know it isn't proper of a good host, but these shoes are killing me.” You announce looking at the three men as you bend down and take them off, a sigh of comfort leaving your mouth as you lean back on Price. “I'm also sure you have endurance worse than some stinky feet.” You joke with a tiny chuckle making them smile. 

“Everyone gone, darling?” Price asks, his hands resting on your lap as you nod smiling. He looks up to the boys as he says. “Better to tidy up then”

“Jonathan Price, don't be rude!” You exclaim looking at him. “They are your friends and there are more than enough rooms for them if they want to spend the night. They have been drinking too!”

“Mrs. Price.” John says with a teasing tone, standing up and helping you stand. “Talk to me for a second, love.”

Price bends down to pick your shoes up, holding your hand to walk you to the living room. They hear the two of you whispering back and forth, then silence and lastly the unmistakable sound of kisses. They peak behind the door, managing to see you sitting in the backrest of the sofa with Price standing between your legs, grinding his hips against yours. You moan softly against his lips, before pulling back and whispering something they can't make out; Price pulls back as well and they sit back on their chairs. 

Price walks in just a second later. “Lads… thank you for coming, I'll see you when I'm back from the honeymoon, now… OUT!” He barks the last word making Soap chuckle as they all finish their drink in a gulp and start to walk out of the house, congratulating Price on the marriage and walking out one by one; meanwhile, you remain completely out of sight for them.

“They gone?” You ask for the top of the stairs, looking at Price with a smile. 

“Yep.” Price says locking the door.

“You didn't have to kick them out like that, though.” You say cocking your head with a smile.

“Oh, yes, I did.” He says, turning around to start to walk up the stairs. 

“Why? Afraid they might join?” You say winking at him, making him laugh before he throws you over his shoulder making you shriek.

“Wouldn't you like that, you little minx!” He jokes, landing a smack on your asscheek. 

You gasp dramatically holding onto his clothes. “It's Mrs. Price to you, young man.”

He chuckles, making your body shake, before he throws you down on the bed; him instantly crawling on top of you. 

“Who's your husband, darling?”

“You, Mr. Price.”

A bit more of this

[avvail]

prompt #103

“How was I supposed to know you loved me?”

The villain raised an arched brow at them in disbelief. “It was obvious.”

“You threw me off a fifteen story building the other week alone.”

“In the name of love.”

[plistommy]

”What is it now, Harrington?”

”I want your knot.”

Eddie acted like he didn’t just almost choke onto his drink and slowly leaned against the back of his chair, putting all that grown confidence he had on as he slowly looked the omega up and down.

”Didn’t you say the last time that it was a mistake? And the time before that,” Eddie chuckled and Steve rolled those big eyes of his before pushing the table from in front of him so he could sit onto Eddie’s lap.

Eddie didn’t even care that his planned DnD campaign was ruined on the table because Steve’s weight on his lap was always more exciting.

”Stop talking shit and fuck me.” Steve groaned, but Eddie could hear the whining omega from under all that nonsense. It made his alpha purr.

”You really need to stop with these mind games, Stevie. First you want me, then it’s a mistake and then you’re back again begging me to breed yo-”

Steve slaps a hand on top of Eddie’s mouth and lets out a small growl ”, Eddie.”

A warning. How cute.

But, Eddie takes it and slowly moves his hands to squeeze Steve’s ass, feeling the wet spot on his jeans.

Steve moans on top of him and starts to grind his ass onto Eddie’s hands which just makes Eddie squeeze him harder while his other hand dips under the denim and into the other’s slick hole.

”A-alpha, yes!”

When Steve rides him, he’s hard and fast. Desperate. And Eddie loves it.

He loves how he can just hold on to those strong legs as the omega whines and cries for his knot, how he wants Eddie to breed him, make him full.

Steve was easy, but so was Eddie and especially for the gorgeous omega on top of him that he has the privilege to call his boyfriend, his mate.

”Got it out of your system, sweetheart?” Eddie asked after his knot had finally popped, making Steve a happy omega.

”Yeah…” Steve nods, hole clenching on the big knot inside him ”, But this will never happen again. I’m serious, Munson.”

”’kay, whatever you say.” Eddie hums, smiling when Steve laughs on top of him before leaning down to kiss Eddie’s sweaty forehead.

[willowser]

HMMMMMM interesting to think about arranged marriage with prince shouto...............

i think he wouldn't know. what to expect with you. i think he'd have an idea, as in, what his father, the king, has taught him; the duties of a wife, where your importance ranks in relation to his duties. what he's not meant to discuss with you, like politics and matters at court and foreign relations. how you will speak to him. what to buy in the event that you become...unhappy. a nuisance.

("and she will," enji had muttered, briefly glancing up from the parchment on his desk to fix shouto with a look he didn't understand. "they always do.")

you don't meet until the royal wedding, when you're coming down the long aisle of the grand cathedral, dressed up in a swathe of silk and lace. a thin, gossamer veil hides you from him, but he can feel the ardor in your eyes, the intensity burning through the material. it doesn't seem real until your bare face is only a breath from his own, until he has to see the earnestness in your stare, too.

your kiss is simple and chaste, nothing spectacular, something that leaves his mind as soon as it's over. ever a todoroki, a hundred other things enter his mind, all regarding his now iron-laid obligations: it's vital he meet with advisor keigo to reiterate the plan to establish his authority among the council; general aizawa is in attendance to the wedding, and shouto has not yet received word on his opinion of the new king's ideas to modernize their armed forces; midoriya is somewhere, no doubt wanting to go over state affairs again.

truthfully, shouto doesn't spend long "celebrating". there's already too much that's required of him, hardly enough time to even scarf down a few bites of the banquet laid out before he's being chartered off into discussions on foreign relations and infrastructure development. maybe once or twice does he look back to check on you, chatting pleasantly with his mother and sister at the front of the great hall, and that's satisfying enough.

it's not until much later that he sees you again; freshly bathed and wearing something sheer and long and white, atop his bed.

or his marriage bed, he must remind himself.

enji didn't spend long going over consummation, with him or either of his brothers—natsuo, red-faced and annoyed at the very subject, always storming off, and touya had seemed well-aware of the process, at the time (back before he'd been ex-communicated). it had sounded simple: strip off your dress, get his cock out and into you, and only retreat once he was sure his seed had been spilled.

—so he's not exactly sure what to do or think or how to feel, when you're laid bare and reaching up to hold his face.

it's so startling that he sits back on his knees, to frown where he's looming over you.

you stare at him quietly, like you're expecting him to say something, and he only has a moment to wonder if this is you becoming an unhappy nuisance—what had been the answer, to solve this, anyway?—before you let out a soft laugh.

"c'mere," you tell him, sitting up, too, when he keeps his distance. "i want you to kiss me."

"i already have."

"yes," you laugh again, amusement glowing in your eyes, like the warmth off the fireplace, as you reach for the ties on his trousers. "but you're meant to do it again."

and up until then, he'd felt confident in his achievements, his executions; he'd managed a lot today, in one evening, and he had a lifetime to manage more. it was a good a start as any, he'd thought, but now—

shouto almost can't get the words out when he feels your hands ghosting up the inside of his shirt, nails tickling over his ribs. "a-am i?"

you wrap your arms around his waist in what could be a hug, scooting forward to look up at him with your chin against his chest. "yes," you smile and—it's familiar in a way, how touya would whenever he was teasing. "you're my husband, you're meant to kiss me whenever i want."

that—was not something his father had ever said, he was sure, and it was a too-rare exchange between his own parents. now that he thinks about it—and he does, then, because he's faced with the reality that he doesn't know as much as he should—he's not sure the former king and queen even sleep in the same room, much less the same bed.

much less hug and touch and even smile, the way you do now.

there's no argument he can make against it, aside from finding keigo to find his father to verify the truth to such a statement, and he's only meant to retreat from this bed on one condition.

and if this is what it takes to meet that—then shouto supposes he'll have to do it, for now. he's a brand new king, after all, and it would seem he still has much to learn.

[fleuraimer]

tw!!! messy, unhealthy family dynamic depicted.

started watching the bear and now i can’t stop thinking abt boxer!carmy, like southpaw but the bear.

next part.

boxer!carmy who started fighting because he watched rocky every day after school as a child (because kids can be quite cruel, can’t they? twinkling eyes and gummy smiles, expressive and vivid, raw, but that vast imagination is no stranger to destruction.)

small for his age, and maybe he liked the color pink more than the rest of the boys in his class, but mikey always said, ‘let it rip, kid. real men wear pink.’ as he wiped his little brother’s tears with the pad of his baby smooth thumb, so carmy never paid it much mind (not until his 10th birthday was coming up and his dad asked him what he wanted the theme of his party to be. he’d told him he didn’t care, “as long as it’s pink, and has cake.” he earned the first ass whoopin’ that left enough bruises for his teachers to notice. “fell off my trampoline,” he’d told them. the berzatto’s didn’t have a trampoline).

boxer!carmy who joins a local gym in 7th grade, because what the fuck else is he supposed to do with all this pent up, boiling angst, festering inside his body, running through the ichor of his being. mom was always screaming, dad was always drinking, sugar was always crying, mikey was never even there anymore…

the gloves cradled his hands the way a family should, hushed the tremble like a mother would to a child. calm.

the sand-bang took away his burdens the way a family could, carried the weight of his agony on boney, worn shoulders the way a father would for his son.

he beat on the bag until his sweat puddled at the floor beneath him, lights flickering as the owner (eddie, a bitter old man that took in “fuckin’ heathens” and gave them a place to call home) silently watched on from his place by the switches.

boxer!carmy who graduates high school, but doesn’t go to college, decides to focus on boxing instead. had already been going to the gym 4 times a week, but now, with school out of the way, he’s there almost every day. he prefers it this way, honestly, away from all the noise and calamity of his home life (can’t listen to another second of mom screaming about how she could have been someone if they hadn’t ruined her life. we could’ve been something, you hear me? and you all fucked it! can’t take sugar’s crying, sad little weeps that chip at his integrity. can’t watch mikey stumble in again, high off this that and the other and gone as fast as he came. can’t understand dad’s carelessness, more concerned with a bottle of bourbon and the ‘ball game than his own children). it’s nice there, anyway—with showers and a kitchen, he’s got all he needs.

he fights day and night, so often that sometimes it’s easier to just sleep there (and after the third time eddie stopped yelling at him about it so he thinks that maybe he might be warming up to him), curled up next to the heater with a blanket and a pillow he stole from mikey’s bedroom (he always had the fluffiest pillows. and besides, it’s not like he’d even fucking notice). he trains so hard and so long that by the end of what would’ve been his freshman year of college, he’s 62-0 in all his rookie matches from january to then.

boxer!carmy who, with his team of nacho (ignacio, a heavyset, easily sweaty sparring partner), benny (a skinny, white medic with frameless, 90s era specs, a hoop earring in his left ear, and a toothpick always in his mouth), and eddie, signs up to go pro, and by some fuckin’ miracle, he gets the headline event of the year.

pushes his ass to work harder than ever before, prove to himself (and mikey and sugar and mom and dad) that he is fucking doing something with his life, more than they ever had, and more than they ever will.

he knocks his opponent out in the 5th round, all teeth and bones intact. cries in eddie’s arms like a big baby, but for once, eddie doesn’t gripe. hell, he’s probably crying too, as he weakly tightens his hold around carmy, and hushes his incessant blubbering. i know, son, i know. y’did it. y’can rest now.

wipes his own eyes as he turns to face the crowd (let it rip, kid), fists pumped in the air in a show of triumph, victory, bittersweet in the absence of those who are meant to see his glory and realize, finally, he is someone, someone worthy of praise and some fucking apologies for all shit he’s been through.

boxer!carmy who fought his way in the ring, and fights every damn day for his spot on the floor. picks up a few more things than championship belts along the way. fractured fingers and broken noses, cracked ribs and misplaced shoulders, popped knees. none in vein, of course. oh, no—god, no—carmen ‘carmy’ berzatto, the beast—the bear—hadn’t lost a single match since entering the professional boxing league.

boxer!carmy who fights the heavyweight championship of the world, and fucking wins, just to find out later that night, after an evening of food, wine, sex, and celebration, that his older brother, michael ‘mikey’ berzatto, shot himself in the fucking head (let it rip, kid).

boxer!carmy who stops fighting after that. for a while (thinks about drinking and screaming the way mom and dad did to cope, but settles for short breathing and night terrors, instead). he doesn’t talk to the family, doesn’t pick up anyone’s phone calls (they hadn’t spoken in years (because he never picked up the fucking phone calls) and now suddenly because mikey’s dead everyone wants to fucking reconnect?), just comfortably sits in his big penthouse apartment, wallows and wonders on what could’ve been.

boxer!carmy who doesn’t touch a pair of boxing gloves for nearly 6 months, because what’s the point? but then, some little pussy decides to come and challenge carmy for his heavyweight title. he was in no mood, really. michael fucking died, he could kill somebody, for christ’s sake. but, even as a kid (the fuckin’ crybaby)—gettin’ picked on by his classmates for usin’ the pink chalk to draw on the pavement—carmy never really did know when to shut his fucking mouth.

he accepts the dickhead’s challenge, timothy grayson, after the second time he says some over the top, arrogant, macho white-trash bullshit on live fucking television (spews off some real intellect about never giving up fighting for anything or anyone, when he doesn’t even fucking know what happened. carmy’s fuckin’ angry, so angry he doesn’t notice the pretty broad beside him, not really, to busy picturing tommy’s or timmy’s or whatever the fuck his name is face beneath his fists).

boxer!carmy who sets up a pay-per-view fight against timmy boy to defend his heavyweight championship.

boxer!carmy who picks up his gloves again and feels the cradle and coo of a mother. fits the laces just right, finds his bag, and when he throws a right hook, feels his burdens being lifted from his back, protected and brave under the shield of a father.

this is who he is.

carmen ‘carmy’ berzatto.

the beast.

the bear.

boxer!carmy who shows up to the pre fight weigh-in at his absolute best physical form, ready to fucking devour timothy on a silver platter.

boxer!carmy who goes up to on the stage after timmy—nacho, benny, and eddie by his side (plus the others accumulated along the years) thoughts calm over the roar of blasphemy being shouted at him. quitter! pussy! fuckin’ pansy bitch! (we could’ve been something, you hear me?)

he keeps his head down as he walks up the steps on the side of the stage, eddie’s hand settled on his right shoulder; grounding. and yet, as his eyes begin to lift from the ground beneath his feet, eddie’s grip on him doesn’t stop carmy from feeling like he’s floating 25 feet above the floor.

perfect, pointed, pink stilettos catch carmy’s eye, open toed with and big, chiffon-esque bow placed across the strap. his eyes trail higher.

deep, caramel skin, glinted in gold accents, fitting over knuckles and bangling from wrists. a mini skirt (shorter than usual, too short) to match the heels, and a skin tight, square neck top to accentuate a sharp, smooth collarbone. a couple stacked necklaces, some (unnecessary) cherry wine hued specs, and a sweet ribbon hanging from long, wistful curls, in that same damned pink.

his blue irises don’t stop fucking flitting around this unknown, ethereal figure until they land on a pair of rich, brown sugar eyes.

oh, jesus fuckin’ christ.

boxer!carmy who can’t keep his eyes off the pretty broad in pink for the rest of the show. he stands taller for her. flexes harder for her, puffs his chest with pride when his weight qualifies by a mile and a minute as the announcers read it from the scale. and the whole time, she’s lookin’ at him. fuckin timothy.

boxer!carmy who gets close to timmy when it’s time to showdown, closer than he has with anyone else. timmy’s yappin’, but it’s in one ear and out the other, nothin’ carmy ain’t heard before (could probably be considered kind in comparison).

he waits ‘til his trash talk subsides. until the silence he let bloom tangled with any single sliver of panic timmy might feel, and watches as it twists onto his ugly mug, brows furrowing. confused.

the corner of his lip lifts, and he holds timmy’s eye. “nice broad. pretty in pink, s’that your little girlfriend?” timmy’s stare hardens, but that deters carmy none. “quite the looker, shame she’s stuck next to your ugly fuckin’ mug—“

“keep her fuckin’ name out of you—“

“or what grayson? huh? can’t do shit now, can’t do shit after i whoop yo’ ass in the fight, and can’t do shit after y’pretty girlfriend dumps y’r s’rry ass because’a it.” nose to nose, breathing jagged, frustrated, a silence settles over them that speaks louder than any rebuttal timmy might’ve had.

carmy manages to press him further.

“i’m going to crush you, timmy. like a fuckin’ bug under my shoe. and after, i’m gonna take y’cute broad right over there back to my hotel suite, and fuck her like she wishes you could.”

boxer!carmy who walks off that stage with a bloody nose and a sore shoulder. but timmy left with a broken nose, an off set jaw, and crunched nuts.

he smiles as he stumbles down the stage steps, leaning into nacho and benny, a sense of dejà vu plaguing him as he recalls a shitfaced mikey falling through the doors of his childhood home (let it rip). but he’s swiftly pulled back into the real world when his eyes lock on a certain pair of wide, brown sugar, cherry red wine framed ones.

with a leaking nose and blood pooling at the seam of his lips, carmy grins, and shoots the pretty broad a wink.

———

a/n: can’t get him out of my head 🌚🧍🏽‍♀️

loosely edited/proofread!!

[neon-kazoo]

Villains I dont see very often; mute. Mute villains are the best, nothing can convince me otherwise.

One idea thats been on my mind is a mute villain confessing to the hero, either through sign language, or a perfectly executed scheme. You’re choice :))

Not sure if this counts, but I ran with it. Might try this again after I gather some ASL knowledge. Hope you enjoy :)

A Silent Movie

It wasn’t exactly easy to get Hero sat in front of the cinema screen. In fact, the planning for this trap had taken over sixth months. Not to mention the money it took to buy this building off foreclosure, and the multitude of investments into Hero-proofing the location.

It was even harder to get said hero to stop yelling long enough to pay attention to the image being projected from the back of the room. Not that their sense of hearing was needed for this experience, but Villain imagined Hero would appreciate the lack of noise-based distractions, including sounds they themselves were making.

The theater was notably large, probably the most expensive showing room of its day. That is to say, the upholstery was a little outdated. The popcorn had been swept off the floor, the swirling carpet surprisingly clean. The velvet of the seats did not appear stained, and the cupholders were absent of any discarded snacks or tickets.

The glow of the emergency exit lights were the only thing illuminating the room, and they revealed a dim image of the hero situated in the center of the third row, which was optimal seating in the villain’s opinion.

Clearly, Hero did not agree, considering how hard they were pulling at the restraints to try and exit their carefully selected theater chair.

It was futile, of course, and the hero finally stopped straining when the villain appeared a row below them, quiet as a mouse, standing with a finger pressed to their lips.

Villain retreated when the hero quieted, letting their attention shift to the screen and this special showing. Images flicked past, and Hero became engrossed in the story unfolding on the screen.

Shown was a news reel Hero recognized as the time Villain had crashed their Election Day speech. A zoomed out map of the city, marking City Hall with a red square. Grainy footage of two figures dancing around next to a dumpster. Once again the map appeared, now with two squares pasted on top. The pattern continued, and Hero was amazed.

It was an agglomeration of every moment they had spent together, every public battle, every nighttime-shady-alley encounter.

There was only one reason to collect these momentos, these reminders. It had all meant something to the villain.

The complete lack of kernels on the carpet certainly pointed to a level of dedication and commitment to this scheme.

Maybe, they were hoping it meant something to the hero, too.

Another scene zoomed out a final time, revealing all the markers spread across the city. Only, now, Hero noticed, a rather distinct pattern had formed.

Villain moved like a phantom, appearing again, this time at the hero’s side. The ropes at their wrists fell away like magic while Hero gazed at the awkwardly hovering villain. They presented the hero with a glittering object hung from a chain held loose around their fingers. It was a large ruby gem, expertly cut into the shape of a 3-D heart.

Stolen, no doubt, Hero suspected possibly from the large jewelry exhibition that had just entered town.

The screen flashed bright, and lit up the hero’s face as it contorted in surprise. They processed the scene as fast as they could.

A heart of red markers, a heart of ruby, a heart fluttering in their chest, a heart laid open in front of them.

“Oh,” Hero breathed, “Oh.”

Villain sucked in a breath.

This was it, this was the moment they got rejected because they couldn’t-

“I had no idea.”

Of course they didn’t know, it’s not like Villain had ever spoken about it.

Preparing automatically for the rejection, Villain started to withdraw their hand, cold-as-steel demeanor returning to them with all the familiarity of a security blanket.

It was so stupid of them to think that they deserved any kind of reciprocation, so stupid to think that the hero could possibly-

The hero snatched the charm from their fingers before they fully withdrew.

“I didn’t say no,” they spoke softly, and the villain’s heart skipped a beat.

They reached out their other hand, wrapping their fingers over the still-outstretched hand of the villain. Instead of elaborating, Hero pulled the frozen criminal closer, connecting their lips in a gentle proclamation.

Actions spoke louder than words anyway.

[autisticlancemcclain]

The ship was shaking like a kid holding a goldfish bag.

It was not, in case you were wondering, a good time. 

Keith grit his teeth, planting his boots on the ground and half-walking half-climbing over to Allura, who was paler than Keith had ever seen her. The grip she had on her podium was tight enough to drain the blood completely from her knuckles. Despite his own fear, Keith’s heart softened for her. 

“How is it looking?” he asked, shouting over the noise of a thousand asteroids and a million laser strikes. All while their lions sat, drained of quintessence, locked in their hangars

One goddamn thing after another. Jesus. 

“It is looking bad,” Allura shouted, not taking her eyes off the space in front of her. “I can’t – Coran, I can’t hold it on my own!”

Coran looked back at her grimly. He had probably the most success keeping upright – seriously, was it posture or did he have a steel rod anchored to his back at all times – but even he was struggling against the whipping and shuddering of the massive castleship, attention focused on the controls. Trying to keep the shield up as well as possible, trying to get their own defenses running. Trying, as always, to keep the castle going, even when the odds were a million to nothing. 

“You can,” he encouraged. The effect was less encouraging when a massive asteroid hit the side of the bridge point-blank, throwing him right off the controls and splat into the walls. Despite Lance and Allura’s cries of alarm, he made a startlingly dignified crawl back to the deck controls.

Hell of a man, that advisor. 

He continued once he was steady, sweat beading on his brow but gaze soft and assuring. He waited for Allura to meet his eyes, then nodded, once. “Focus, girl. Hands on the spheres. Mind cool on the exhale. However we need to get out of this – you can guide us. Make your decision. Your team is behind you.”

“Yeah!” Pidge cheered, lifting her fist in emphasis from where Shiro held her steady, eyes trained on her computer screen. Blaring red lines of code Keith could not pretend to read flashing rapid speed in front of her, and she typed back at it just as fast, keeping their crackling systems at bay. “You got this!”

Allura breathed out. The tense line of her shoulders softened, just slightly, despite the ongoing chaos. She lifted her hands and rested them, gently, on the podium spheres as Coran instructed. They glowed. 

“We retreat,” she decided, nodding to herself. “We’re already low on quintessence, standing to fight will drain us dangerously. We must get to safety if we are to survive with our home intact.” She bit her lip, eyes opening. “But, uh, full disclosure, I have enough strength in me to open a wormhole and that is About It. I will be out of commission the moment it closes.”

Hunk shrugged. “We’ll catch you, then.”

“Try not to wormhole us into a black hole,” Shiro suggested, smiling slightly. “We’ll manage anything else, Princess.”

She laughed slightly, thankfully, but within seconds called out for everyone to brace themselves. Keith did as she heeded, or he tried to – but the castle got hit as he tried to crawl back to his seat, sprawling him on the floor. He glanced over at Allura, panicked, but her eyes were already glowing, and the space in front of them was already starting to warp. He swallowed roughly, squeezing his eyes shut. The floor was shaking too badly for him to get his bearings. He couldn’t get his feet under him, couldn’t stand, couldn’t dream to crawl to his seat. He stilled, resigning himself – he didn’t know exactly what would happen if he wasn't strapped down and protected during a wormhole jump, but it couldn’t be good. He had to hope for the best.

“God,” sighed a voice to his left, “you’d die without me, Dropout.”

A hand clenched the back of his jacket and yanked, pulling him tumbling onto another body. Quick as lightning a seatbelt was stretched over him, clicking into place just as the space in front of the castle finally warped, bright blue, and the entire bridge lit up so bright Keith was blind with it. 

When the light finally died down, Keith was half-convinced nothing had changed. The castle stopped shaking, but instead it was plummeting, hard and fast, controls dead and energy gone, towards the surface of a planet. 

“Someone catch Allura!” Coran shouted, and on queue the princess’ eyes rolled up in her head and she slumped forward. Luckily, Hunk had been more prepared than the rest of them, seatbelt already off and arms extended to catch her. He carried her back to her seat, buckling her in carefully, and strapping himself in next to her. Wise move – trying to crawl back to his own seat, fighting against the G-forces, would be near impossible.

There was a click, and then a shove, and then Keith got to feel those G-forces firsthand.

“What the hell!” he demanded, barely managing to catch himself on the arm of the blue paladin’s seat. “I coulda brained myself!”

Lance shrugged, playing for innocent, but a smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. Keith could’ve strangled him. “What? Thought I’d let you get back to your own chair. You're welcome for saving you, by the way.”

“Some saving, jerk! We're still falling!”

“Yeah. Personally, I would find somewhere to buckle up.”

“You’re so annoying,” Keith growled, and it was by spite alone that he managed to stomp back to his own seat and buckle himself in. He was bright red, anger making him hot – Lance always made him like this, so furious he could barely blink. One day they’d be making progress, working together like a dream, wiping the floor together, and the next it was like a switch was flipped. Like Lance was reminding himself that he and Keith could never get along. It was ridiculous, and Keith couldn’t for the life of him understand it. Was he so bad?

“Incoming!” Pidge shouted, shaking Keith back to himself. Her screen was now linked up with Coran’s, the only two things on in the entire castle – electronics seemed to come alive when Pidge touched them – and diagrams of the castle systems were blaring red, flashing with symbols Keith didn’t know, but recognised as bad. “The nav and power systems are down! It’s not safe to get anyone back there to force them back on manually, but I think I can get steering up in a sec. Shiro, I need your arm for power. Hunk, keep on Allura, make sure she’s upright when we crash, we don’t want a spinal injury. Lance, Keith, I’m turning steering over to you guys. Don’t fuck it up.”

Despite their bickering, both of them nodded. Neither of them particularly wanted to be turned into paladin pancake anytime soon, so they could collaborate for one thing. 

Seconds after Pidge spoke, a screen flickered to life in front of Keith. Stats blinked back up, glitching rapidly as they translated themselves into words and symbols Keith could understand. The hologram shifted and expanded to its usual 3D model, joystick in the middle, thrusters and controls to his left, a screen with Lance’s comm line to his right. In his little screen, Lance met his eyes, eyebrows raised in question. Keith nodded. Together, they wrapped their hands around the joysticks, breathed out, and let their minds fuse.

As always, it was a freaky feeling. Imagine the weird, shuddery feeling you get when you say the same thing as someone at the same time, voices layering, tone mixing, for a moment your own voice and the voice of a stranger synching into one. The weird, deja-vu-but-not of it, the uncanny valley feel of recognising your own voice but…different. 

Then multiply that freakiness by a hundred, and you still won’t quite get it. 

On some levels Keith was aware that he was his own person. He knew his name, knew his hands, knew his history – or well, some of it. Nothing about himself had changed. 

But at the same time, he was also Lance Esposita-McClain. He knew his name, knew his hands, knew his history, more of it than he could ever get from shared stories or mind melds. There’s no telling the way your sister’s arm feels hooked around your neck for the sixth noogie in as many minutes. There’s no explaining the way your breathing only gets calm with your feet in the saltwater. There’s no describing the curve of your mother’s smile. Nothing Keith was seeking out – no memories he would even know to look for – but they were there, simmering, triggered by a smell or the crook of his finger in a particular way. Memories stored in the body and the soul and the senses, not in the brain, shared when two consciousnesses become one. 

Lance’s mind was hyperspecific. It complemented Keith’s well, with all his flitting, quick detail-oriented observance. As Keith jumped from angle to angle, noticing the planet’s curve, the pull of its gravity, the heat of its atmosphere, Lance zeroed in on an island, one of the only ones big enough for them to land. While Keith kept their craft in control, steering along the air currents, Lance kept them directed, single-minded focus on a stretch of rocky beach – not exactly a soft landing, but not a lot of living things for them to destroy when they crash. (Keith would’ve chosen to land in the meadow. Crushing frogs and bugs or whatever is never something on his top priority list of things to avoid. But he didn’t argue when Lance nudged them towards what is about to be a very bumpy landing.)

“Brace yourself!” he shouted, not daring to look away to make sure his friends were buckled. Trusting that they were, he held his position, letting them plummet, coming closer and closer to splatting on the planet’s surface before finally yanking on the joystick as hard as he could. He felt Lance’s strength twist and tangle with his own, and together the two of them levelled the castle almost parallel with the ground, letting them glide on their own velocity until they slowed down enough to let the bottom of the craft brush against the rocky outcrop. 

It was the most turbulent landing Keith has ever felt, except maybe that time he and Lance crashed blindfolded into a sand dune, and every bump on the ground gave him whiplash. When the castle finally hit the ground for good, dragging them a gauge in the ground for several miles as friction finally slowed it to a stop, the leftover inertia yanked Keith forward so roughly the buckles of his seatbelt made something crack in his ribcage. When the castle finally stopped he got slammed back into his chair so hard he was almost surprised he didn’t fall right through the impenetrable material. 

It took a minute for everything to hit. His connection with Lance had been severed the second they hit the ground, too focused on being, y’know, crashed to keep holding on. After the shock of being tossed around like dice in a cup wore off, which did not take long, Keith’s body made it very clear that yeah, no, armour actually only does so much, and crash landing is one of those things that’s just bound to hurt. His skull pounded. At least one of his ribs was most definitely cracked. His wristed and knuckles ached from the strain of holding up the entire weight of the castle as he’d steered it. He was alive, obviously, but – Jesus. Being alive sucked.

“Sound off,” croaked Shiro from somewhere left of him.

“Ugh,” groaned Pidge. “Screw you, Keith, I hate it when you drive.”

“Next time I’ll be sure to let us crash,” Keith responded flatly.

“Um, you did, bozo, I asked you to land us –”

“The castle was dead! What did you expect me to –”

“Allura and I are both fine,” Hunk interrupted. Amusement lined his voice. “She’s still out, but she’s breathing fine, and I didn’t let her hit anything on impact. She should still get checked out, though.”

“Roger that,” Coran agreed. “Ease your worries, Number Two, you did well. I will have her in the MedBay as soon as our systems are up and running again.”

“Oh, whew, that’s a relief, because I didn’t want to say anything but she kinda jammed her elbow into my sternum by accident and I’m not blaming her or anything since she’s unconscious but I think my spleen may be a little dead, not a huge deal I’m sure but –”

“Everyone quiet!” barked Shiro. “That’s six accounted for! Who’s missing?”

Immediately, heart pounding, Keith whipped to his right. His stomach dropped. The Blue Lion Command Chair was empty – seatbelt torn somewhere on the shoulder, cracked helmet overturned carelessly on the seat. The crisp blue and white lines were marred by a small splash of red. Panic clawed its way up Keith’s throat, and he was out of his seat before he could register unbuckling his own straps, looking frantically around the bridge. 

“He’s here somewhere,” Pidge fretted, “he couldn’t’ve just disappeared –” 

Coran had a gloved hand clenched in his hair. “The windows and walls should be almost impenetrable, there is no way the crash broke them enough to let someone in –”

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck –”

“Guys,” a soft voice interrupted, and Keith could’ve collapsed with relief. The castle has been flipped sideways during the fall, floor suddenly now 90 degrees, and standing at the side of the control board, now the very high top, was Lance. For whatever reason he had climbed it while they bickered, and now stood very still, gloved hand pressed to the glass of the windshield. Blood trickled from his temple, tracing a line down the side of his face, disappearing in the neckline of his armour. “We got company.”

Shifting gears – Keith was about to tear him a new one, when Shiro says sound off you sound off – but froze when he looked out the window, following Lance’s gaze.

Marching towards them, in numbers Keith couldn’t pretend to count, was an army.

— — —

part two

[rosurie]

school LIs <3

[tpwkwriter]

can u do one w soft dom harry and y/n starts sneezing during sex and gets really embarrased but harry finds it cute

Warnings: sex!, sexual themes, cursing, fluff.

This is also my first time writing this smutty so hope it’s okay!😙

—————————intimate giggles————————

“Fuck angel” Harry groans while pressing his fingers further into her hips.

“Keep riding it f’me” he breathlessly moans eyes closing in utter bliss.

“Shit Harry i-“ she moaned.

“I want y’to cum all over me angel” Harry requests using his palms to massage up and down her beautiful body.

“Harry-“ she moaned voice a little higher at this point .

Y/n was on cloud 9, feeling the love of her life guide her and edge her on made her feel so aroused and so womanly she couldn’t love Harry anymore, it couldn’t be possible.

That’s before a stupid twitch began in her nose.

Noticing her change in face, Harry had to ask.

“Y/n- love” he tried.

“Mmm baby” she continued, trying to disguise her twitchy nose as much as possible during this very intimate and passionate time.

“You, you alright?”

“Yea, Yeah Are you” she said slowing down her pace slightly to catch what H was saying.

Just because she slowed down doesn’t mean her nose did.

“You su-“ he began but being cut off by a high pitch sneeze.

“Fuck” y/n said removing her hand from her nose.

“Not now” she mumbled hasting her movements on his waist when she felt another.

“Babe-“ he tried again but being cut off by a other sneeze

“This isn’t funny-“ she pouted, again another sneeze before Harry could utter another word

“It kinda is, your so cute it hurts sometimes” he said using his left hand to cover his his face from embarrassment of blush and laughing.

“Babeee-“ again another sneeze

“You suck” she lowly commented.

“Y’werent saying that 5 seconds ago” he teased.

“That’s before my body decided to fail me”

“Oh shush, Y’so cute, my cute baby” he said us isn’t both his calms to squeeze her cheeks.

“Harry, it’s not really cute sneezing when y’boyfriends dick is still in ya” she said covering her face with her hands.

“You’d be surprised, now where were we” he whispered.

“Can you go on top?” She asked.

“Of course love” he giggled slightly finding her embarrassment cute and funny.

“Now shut up and fuck me” she said in her most dominating and alluring tone.

“Whatever you say baby” he smirked flipping them both.

——————————————————————————

[hyunpic]

HYUNJIN: stay, just do as you are doing now, you're doing well [lovestay piano credit]

[lovifie]

Eeeeee he’s so gross I love him 🤭

It's just... Alright, listen

The filthy ass of young John Price, would walk up to you complaining that he is pain. That he needs you to give him a massage, pull some knots, going on and on.

"Please, it hurts so bloody bad, love. I need your pretty hands, please? I'm asking nicely, love, please."

And you roll your eyes, tired of his whining asking where it hurts; only for him to grab your hand and shove it down his pants and underwear, wetting your palm with the precum oozing out of his raging boner.

Someway, somehow, maybe he blackmails you, I don't know. He manages to convince you to give him a handjob in the cubicle of the campus bathroom; only for him to end up fucking your fist like a mutt.

He has your hand around his shaft, using both of his hands to cover yours and keep it in place. You doubt this would classify as a handjob since you are not even moving it, but he doesn't seem to mind.

Fucking the mess of hands, panting, head bow down to look at your smaller hand between his and his shaft. He would let a fat blob of spit fall from his mouth right on your hand making you complain for the nastiness of it.

Only for him to look up, winks at you with a smirk and move one of his hands (the nastiest of the two) and grab your face pulling you closer to kiss you on the lips, straight to tongue fucking your mouth while he keeps fucking your hand.

He would put your hand over his tip, moving his faster to finish, painting your hand white. Only to pull it up and lick your hand clean as he winks at you with your finger inside his mouth.

"You are a nasty man, Johnathan Price."

Also, this whole thing for young Price's is because of Ikea's fic. In case anyone wants to see more of it 🩷

[sunsetsandsunshine]

Heyyy, hope your doing well.

Is it ok if I request switch!april switch!mikey and lee!donnie.April is spending time with mIkey while painting a mural somewhere... and they get into a tickle fight in which donnie gets dragged in.. If that's cool with you :D

~ 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙰𝚛𝚝 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝 ~

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙷𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘!!! 𝙷𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏! 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚊 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚔𝚒𝚒𝚒𝚒𝚒𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚊 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚊 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚞𝚢𝚜 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚖𝚎 😌🫶🏾…𝙸 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚊 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚎. 𝙴𝚂𝙿𝙴𝙲𝙸𝙰𝙻𝙻𝚈 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚜 👏🏾💗💖💓💘˚*•✩•̩̩͙*＊·̩̩̥͙

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝙵𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟸,𝟷𝟺𝟺

𝙻𝚎𝚎: 𝙳𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎 🐢💜 

𝚂𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜: 𝙰𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚕 👩🏾‍🦱💚 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 🐢🧡

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝙰𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚕 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝙹𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝! 𝚂𝚘, 𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢, 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛.

𝚃𝙰𝙶𝙶𝙶𝚂𝚂𝚂: @shut-up-jo @itzsana-kiddingmenow @aceofspades-doodles

@ziipzeepzop-eez @someone1348 @rice-cake-teen10

@savemeafruitjuice @cedarrthefluffylee @mistyandsnow @tmntstayheadforever

(𝙰/𝙽: 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢: 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚞𝚢! 𝚃*𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚔/𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚜 𝙳𝙽𝙸!!!)

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝙲𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚋𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚑 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚑𝚎𝚑𝚎𝚑 >:]

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙻𝙰𝚂𝚃 𝙵𝙸𝙲 𝚁𝙴𝚀𝚄𝙴𝚂𝚃 𝙻𝙴𝚃𝚂 𝙶𝙾𝙾𝙾𝙾𝙾‼️˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

“Pfft…Mikey you actually suck at this…” April said, stifling a giggle as she glided a paintbrush up and down her little brother’s shell. 

The smaller teen shrieked at the sudden contact, his giggles bouncing off his room’s walls, “R-Riri plehehease…!” The youngest giggled, squirming slightly as he dug his feet into the carpet. 

“Just say a word!” The elder said, “Literally any word that reminds you of this feeling!” 

“Ihihi daha— squeak dohon’t knohohow!!” The younger squealed out as he kicked his legs from underneath his elder sibling, “Ahaprihil plehease juhuhust stahahap!”

“I can’t 'stahahap' unless you tell me, bro! How does this paintbrush against your shell feeeeeel?” The girl emphasized as she swirled her paintbrush where Mikey’s shell met his plastron. 

“I cahahan’t— squeak pfftahahah!!!” The orange banded turtle cried as he arched his back, kicking his legs desperately from underneath his older sibling. 

“Just say a single word, little brother. Aren’t you the one who wanted to help me with my art project~?” The green cladded teenager asked smugly.

Michelangelo blushed, hugging a nearby pillow to his face as his muffled laughs echoed around the room, “I-I dihid buhuhut Ihi dihihindn’t know ihit would be soho tihiHICKLY—?! NAHAHEEEK!!! SqueakAHAPRIL NAHAT squeak THEHEHERE!!!” The light scarlet eyed mutant squawked as his sister started to gently scratch at his lower shell with her nails. 

The human raised an innocent brow, her fingernails dancing across the other, “I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m just tracing your shell to help you think!” 

“PLEHEASE PLEHEASE squeak REEREEHEE!!!” The paint loving turtle squealed, banging his fists in the floor, “OKAHAY OKAHAHAY!! F-FLUHUHUTTERY! IHIT FEEHEELS FLUTTERY!!” He laughed, letting out a sigh of relief as his sister got off of him, writing down the word he basically just screamed. 

“Fluttery…I like it!” The elder mused, going back and tracing the other’s shell with the brush. 

“M-Myhy gaHAHAD squeal Ihi hahate yohou…” The youngest murmured as he buried his face into the pillow more.

April held back an amused laugh, scritching her nails along the mutant’s upper shell, “Hate is a strong word, little buddy. But to refresh your memory, I’m doing a poetry art project so I need you to come up with a few…artsy word’s for me. And besides~: you’re in a mood…so you shouldn’t really be complaining all that much. I get my project done and you get tickled…it’s a win-win!”

Mikey huffed begrudgingly, blushing as his sibling basically just called him out…

The box turtle was a kind soul! A very kind soul in fact! 

So when his dear big sister texted that she needed help with her art project, Michelangelo was more than thrilled to lend a hand.

That was until he was told that April’s class was working on collages…and were given a single word to get inspired by and base their art piece off of how it made them and the people around them feel…

…And you want to know what his sister’s word was…?

Laughter.

“Your soho meeheean…” The youngest groaned loudly through his giggles. 

“I’m not being mean if you like iiiit~!” The elder giggled, causing the box turtle’s blush to deepen, “NO!NOHO TEHEHEEASING!” The younger one squawked, “PRIHILLIE WEEHEE HAD AHA DEEHEEAL!” 

“Sorry, sorry. I couldn’t help myself.” She said as she scribbled her youngest brother’s hips, “Y'know…I think I can add a couple more words to the list...”

“Whahat ohOTHER wohords?” Mikey asked. 

“Cute, adorable, sweet, lovable—” April listed.

“SHUHUT UHUP SHUHAHA— squeal SHUHUT. IHIT.” The scarlet eyed teen said, kicking his legs more now from underneath the other.

“But you are~!”

“NAHAH— squeak GOHAHA AHA— squeak AWAHAY!!” 

“But I can’t~! I need more words for my collage!” 

“THEHEN THIHINK OHOHOF SOHOME YOHOURSELF YOHOU FOUR EYED MOHOTHER— squeak FUHUHUCKER!!!”

The elder snickered as she lightly traced the sides of her little brother’s ribs, “Woowww…cursing me out…calling me names…it’s almost like you want me to go here…”

The orange banded teen let out a tiny but mighty scream at the new sensation at the back of his ribs, trying to get off of the floor, but alas, was stopped as April sat on the back of his lower shell once again, “YOHOU— SQUEAL!! AHAHAPRIL WEEHEE SQUEAK CAHAN TAHAHALK SQUEAK ABOHOUT THIS SQUEAK PLEHEASE!!” 

“I’m hearing lots of words not having to do with my collage~!” The girl in glasses said in a sing-song voice as she pinched up and down his ribs. “NAHAH— squeak squeal GAHAHAD WHYHYHY?!” The youngest cackled. 

“Because you legit asked me to?” The elder grinned evilly as she started to slowly count every single one of her little brother’s ribs now, “Duh~!”

“E-EEEHEEP! PLAHAHEASE NAHAT THAT NAHAT THAHAT NAHAT THAHAHAT!!!” Michelangelo screamed, hugging his middles as tears of mirth appeared in his eyes. 

“Not what~?”

“OKAHAY! SQUEAL OKAHAHAY!! YOHOHOU SQUEAL CAHAN PUHUT SQUEAK MEHERRY, JOHOHOLLY, FUHUNNY, LIHIHIVELY AHAND SWEEHEET NOHOHOW PLAHAHEASE!!!” The box turtle absolutely squealed. 

“There we go~! See? It wasn’t that hard.” April smirked, patting the other’s shoulder as she got up and added the five words on her paper. “Ihi feeheel lihihike I juhust gohohot bahahack frohom aha war…” Michelangelo groaned as he wiped his eyes to clear the happy tears streaming down his face.

“Oh, you’re fine.” April said as she rolled his eyes fondly, writing down the words Mikey said on the clipboard. The youngest stretched him arms, getting up and peering over the older’s shoulder, “Buhut anywahay’s, hohow mahahany mohore words do yohou need?”

“Five.” The elder said casually.

“FIVE?!” Michelangelo repeated in complete and utter awe, “How many words do yohou freaking neeheed?!”

“Five.” The older repeated, “The number in total was originally supposed to be ten but Mrs. Anderson said if I add one more to the required word count I’d get extra credit.”

“…Why do you always have to pick extra credit?” The orange cladded mutant whined, flopping on his bed as he looked at the ceiling.

“Because why not?” The elder huffed, “Now come over here! I need five more words on how laughter makes you…feel.” She said dramatically, putting a hand over her forehead for a theatrical effect. 

“Yeah, yeah...“ The light scarlet eyed teen uninterestingly said, “But you come over here; I don’t feel like lying on my carpet anymore.”

“Pfft— okay, your majesty.” The glasses wielding human snickered, sitting next to her brother on his bed. And without warning, the smaller teenager wrapped her in a hug from behind with one hand while the other slipped under her shirt and scribbled all over her bare stomach.  

“AUUGH! Y-YOU’RE HAHAHANDS ARE F-FUHUCKING FREEZING!!!” April seethed before bursting out into loud and contagious cackles, “AHHAHA— squeak! WAHAIT! WHAHAT THEHEHE FAHACK!?” She squealed. 

“Aww~! Look at you giggling up a storm~!” The smaller teen smiled, “Your laugh is beyond adorbs, Riri.” 

“STAHAP IHIT! YOHOHOU PEICE AHAHOF— squeal! NOHOH!” The older cried, kicking her legs in an attempt to escape which only caused the youngest to tickle harder. 

The human girl threw her head back; completely lost in her own squeals and shrieks. “Soooooo~! About those words~!” The youngest teased. 

“NAHAHAHAA— YOHOU LIHITTLE BRAHAHAT!!” The green cladded girl shouted. 

“I don’t think 'brat' or 'little' goes with the word 'laughter', Prillie...” Mikey giggled.

Oho revenge was sweet…

…So so sweet.

“YOHOU— hic! STAHAHAP IHIHIT NOHOHOW!!!” The girl in green giggly threatened. 

“No can do, big sis!” The youngest said as innocently as he could, “I need you to tell me how laughing makes you feel~! What do you feel right now~?”

“NO YOHOU— hic GAHAHAH! STAHAP IT— squeak!” April howled, “FIHINE! FLUHUHUTTERY! IHI FEEHEEL FLUHUTTERY!!” 

“I already said that.” The orange themed turtle hummed, getting his hand out of the other’s shirt and squeezing her thigh mercilessly.  

“MIHIHI— hic FAHAHACK— hic! O-OKAHAHAY!! GIHIGGLY?!”

“Four more woooords~?”

“NOOOHOHOH! DUHUHUDE YOHOUHAH— squeal!”

“I can’t stop unless you give me four more words~! Come on, big sis~! Just four more words~!” Michelangelo taunted, using both of his hands to knead the other’s hips. “GYAHAH!!! M-MYHYHY GAHASH!! FIHIHINE! JOHOY?!” The girl offered as she kicked and thrashed.

The younger teen nodded, “Three more~!”

“REEHEELAHAHAXED?!” 

“Two more~!” 

April let out a loud squeal, getting out of the hug as she lightly hit the other on the upside of his head, “Ahand trihiumphant.” She huffed, writing down the four words she said. 

The light scarlet eyed mutant rolled his eyes, looking over her shoulder once more, “How do you feel 'triumphant' when you’re laughing??? That doesn’t even make any sense…”

“Yohou dohon’t mahahake ahany sense.” The girl with glasses retorted as she stuck her tongue out at her little brother; which the little brother in question gladly copied.

Then suddenly and abruptly, Donnie walked into the bedroom, leaning on the doorframe as he knocked on the wall, “Hello, Michael and Prillie. I’ve come to inform you two that Raph has obtained us some rice and peas and jerk chicken for dinner.”

April and Mikey turned their attention to the softshell as he leaned on the doorway, “…Where did Raphie get the food from?” The box turtle asked suspiciously. 

“Oh…well, he and Leo made it.” Donatello grimaced, shrinking slightly as he saw his younger brother’s face start to form in anger, “They cleaned up after themselves— I promise. I supervised.” The light golden eyed mutant assured.

The light scarlet eyed teen rolled his eyes, going over towards his door, “I’ll be the judge of that.” He huffed, going to march towards the door but was halted by April as she gave him the clipboard. “Oh Dee~? Before we go eat, do you mind answering a quick question for me?” The eldest asked innocently.

“Uhm…okay?” The purple banded teenager said as he fully walked into the room, closing the door, “What’s the question?” 

“How does laughing make you…feel?” April asked.

The softshell blinked once in confusion, “…What?”

“How does laughing make you…feel?” Mikey repeated.

“I…don’t understand the question.” Donnie chuckled in amusement, “How does it make me…feel…?” He repeated to himself as he scratched his head, “I…feel joy when I laugh, I suppose.” 

“Anything else?” The girl in glasses emphasized, sneakingly inching her way to her brother as he was deep in thought. “Erm…lively? I do feel quite alive and quite joyous when laughter occurs.” 

“Anything eeeelse?” The chocolate brown eyed teenager drawed out as she scribbled her nails alongside the taller’s sides. Donnie let out a short squeal, flinching back as he hugged his middles.

The one day he left his battleshell in his room…

“Ahahapril doohoo. nahahat.” The taller teen warned, backing away as his sister inched towards him. “Whaaaat~?” She said casually, “I’m just helping.” 

“Tickling meehee ihihis not hehelping meehee thihink ohof ahan answer!” The light golden eyed teen said as if it was obvious, riskily sprinting to the door as his younger brother effortlessly caught him; the two boys basically fighting to the death as Mikey effortlessly pinned the older turtle to the ground, tickling his underarms.

“HEHEH— hic STAHAHA! YOHOU L-LIHIHITTLE SHIHAT!! LEHET MEEHEE GOHOH!!!” The tech loving turtle shouted, squirming from underneath the other.

“Nu-uh! I suffered so now you have to suffer.” The box turtle smiled. 

“AHA— hic! WHAHAT— PFFTAH! DOHOES THAHAHAT EEHEEVEN hic MEAN?!” The taller turtle inquired through his chorus of cackles. 

“Thought of a word to describe how you’re feeling yet, Don?” The eldest asked as she sat next to her two brother’s, grinning like the Cheshire cat. 

“IHIHI’M hic GOHOING hic TOOHOO KIHICK YOHOU GUHUHUYS' ASSES!!!”

“Language, young man!” The box turtle scolded, gently flipping Donnie on his plastron as he scribbled his fingers lightly against his shell. Donatello frantically kicked his legs, banging his fists on the ground as he screeched in laughter.

“GAHAHAD NAHAHAH— hic! PLAHAHEASE!!! WHYHY?!” He wheezed, tears of mirth blurring his vision as he shut his eyes tight. “I-IHIHI FEEHEEL REEHEELAXED!!!”

“Already have that one.” Michelangelo commented. 

“GIHIHI— hic! GIHIHIGGLY! I FEEHEEL GIHIHIGGLY!”

“Already said that one too~!“ 

Donatello wheezed once more, his heels digging into the carpet and his legs flinging around like crazy, “HAHAPPY! I FEEHEEHEEL HAPPY!!! NOW STOHAP STAHAHOP STOHOHOP!!” He cried, letting out a contented sigh as his little brother stopped the assault. 

“I hic cohohome here…toohoo deliver hic news…ahahand thihis is hohow I’m hic being repahaid….” Donnie grumbled through his giggles, huffing and puffing under his breath as Mikey hugged him. 

“And that makes eleven words!” The girl with glasses grinned, writing down the last word on her paper. “Thanks for your help, you too.” 

“Ahanythihing fohor you, Ihi guess.” The softshell said as he rolled his eyes, getting up as his younger brother was still clinged to him, “So…are we going to go eat or…?” The box turtle asked as he hugged his older brother’s arm.

“Yeah, yeah…” April giggled as she clinged to Donnie’s other arm as all three of them walked to the kitchen, linking arms. 

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙵𝙸𝙽˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙ 

(𝙿.𝚂.: 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐!!!)

[oceans-beloved]

Meme dump yayyy🥳✨️

(off to make more now muhahaha >:3)

[kazutora-kurokawa]

Giving Kafka Head

♡ NSFW, fem reader, oral->male receiving, face fucking, cum swallowing, mention of oral->fem receiving ♡

note: supposed to be doing a request right now, but the Kafka brainrot is too real so yeah lol

note 2: Sza was right when she said "I need a big boy" 😮‍💨

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It's quite obvious that Kafka gives the best head of any of your previous partners, especially when he's in his Kaiju form and uses his long tongue to explore every inch of your cunt. And he wouldn't hesitate to say that you give amazing head, he'd go as far as to say it's the best feeling he's ever felt in his life. The way your soft lips wrap around his girthy tip, tongue teasing it as you devour him whole. He's practically in heaven when he's in your mouth, and he's very vocal about it.

"F-fuck baby, just like that...your tongue feels so good, so fucking warm. Relax that pretty little throat for me, can you do that?"

His large hands cupped your face gently as he pushed further into your throat, slowly fucking your face. You had been at for less than an hour, yet you were an absolute mess. There were tear stains on your cheeks and a mix of drool and precum running down your chin from his fat dick stretching your mouth out. But you were determined to please him, speeding up your head bobs to match his thrusts and inadvertently gagging on his cock.

"Fuck, baby don't gag...just relax f'me and take it slow alright? Don't want you choking."

Despite his concern, he couldn't deny how sexy you looked, all needy and gagging on him. It made his dick twitch in the worst way and it didn't go unnoticed by you. He gripped your hair tightly as he felt you continue your fast movements, pulling your head slightly so he could look into your half-lidded, lust-filled eyes. You just looked so beautiful, so perfect for him. Who was he to deny what you were doing?

To deny the pleasure that you wanted to give him, the pleasure that only you could give him. He grunted softly, placing his rough hand on the back of your head and pushing your head as far down on his cock as possible, relishing in the way you gagged on him. His dick throbbed and twitched in your mouth as he came, shooting his warm load down your inviting throat and smirking when he felt you swallow.

He pulled out of your mouth, patting your head as you coughed and wiped your face with the back of your hand. His hand moved to your face, caressing it softly before tilting your chin up so he could look at you.

"You did so damn good f'me baby,"

His thumb swiped across your bottom lip, before slipping in your mouth and rubbing your soft, wet tongue.

"Think you can handle a little more?"

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Taglist

@arlerts-angel @i-literally-cant-with-this @trevengersprincess @giugiette @katkusuo @happy-trenchcoated-impala @drunkcheesecake @darkstarlight82 @reiners-milkbiddies @manji-hoe @southside-otaku @xxchthonicreaturexx

[dangerpronebuddie]

Oh What A Way To Die 3k

True, he remembered falling. He remembered staring at Buck as the shots kept coming. He remembered silently pleading with a universe he didn't believe in not to take Buck from him- with him. He suddenly remembers reaching across the pavement, seeing Buck crawling beneath the truck, and thinking: I love him. I'm going to die here, and I love him. Please don't take him too, I love him. "Eddie," Buck says in a shaky voice, squeezing his waist where his hands have settled. Eddie snaps out of whatever bizarre daze he was stuck in and looks up at Buck as his back hits the side of the engine. He can't stand on his own right now if he tries. Oh. I love him.

(Or, Eddie's second oh moment)

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