#nobody does it like mush.

[onmebackmush]

the scene in 92sies where jack & david confront pulitzer is so heartwarming bcs we get to see that david finally graduated from the mush meyers school of Wearing a Dirty Undershirt With Your Entire Neck and Collarbones Out

[vt-scribbles]

Something seriously lacking in my art is the ability to tell a story in a single illustration.

I've gotten so used to drawing my characters standing around doing random things that I've never practiced telling a full tale/putting implications into my pieces that require more thinking/looking.

It also comes from a lower amount of details in my works by default [since I like to get pieces done fast], but I'm tired of using that as an excuse.

[emblemcest]

How many times do you think Nobukatsu leans in to kiss Nobunaga too quickly and accidentally bonks their hatbrims together???

[glindyupland]

.

[teamatsumu]

how about soft! dom xav (& rafayel if u want/can) with a shy, nervous reader?

warnings: fem!reader, smut, nsfw, swearing, soft!dom xavier and rafayel

XAVIER:

I firmly believe that Xavier is a soft dom more than anything else.

He is often unexpressive, withdrawn, and so it can be hard to tell what he is thinking or feeling. But this does not apply to you.

Xavier knows you are shy, and often get anxious. So he tries his best to communicate with you even if it is tough for him.

In bed, he can almost feel your apprehension. It hides in your tense muscles, every fiber taut and strained. He can sense your uncertainty, unsure of what to do, so he takes the lead.

He will maneuver you into a position he knows you would both enjoy, pinning you in place and making sure you are stimulated enough that all the worries dissipate from your mind until it is nothing but mush, focused only on how good his cock feels, the electricity shooting up your spine from how his thumb works your clit.

His lips are pressed close to the shell of your ear, and though he is not big on words, his moans of your name are answer enough.

“So good. You’re so good, darling.”

It’s simple words, but coming from him, they light a fire in you. They make you arch your back up to him, and Xavier hums in approval. He hooks his hands under your knees and pulls them up to your chest into a fucking mating press, until the angle has you creaming around his rapidly pounding cock.

And he will moan in tandem with you, almost as if deriving his pleasure from yours, and when he is close to finishing, he huffs in your ear about how he’s going to fill your pussy up and how you’re going to take it. Not a request, an order, and you comply enthusiastically.

Aftercare is detailed and delicate, with him running his hands over every joint he bent harshly, making sure he soothed your aches. Best believe he will run a bath for both of you to relax in as well.

RAFAYEL:

Let's establish one thing about Rafayel; he is a yapper.

He talks, and talks, and talks, and that includes bedroom activities.

During your first time, he can tell just how nervous you are, so his way of reassurance is with his words.

He’s always teasing, always sassy, but it dims when he sees your apprehension, and it is replaced with sweet encouragement, telling you just how much he loves you, or how pretty you are, or how he’s going to take good care of you.

He guides you through it, hoping that vocalizing will help you become more comfortable.

“Lay back for me baby, just like that. You look so pretty like this.”

As things start getting hotter and heavier, best believe the talking will get filthier. And his voice will get more and more broken.

“Such a pretty little pussy. Can’t believe you were hiding this from me all this time. My cock could’ve been buried in you a lot earlier if I knew.”

He guides you with gentle but firm hands into positions he knows will hit all the right angles, and while his cock has you mewling and squirming under him, his teeth nip at your jaw and neck, leaving tiny marks like he’s marking his property.

“Need everyone to know who you belong to, sweetheart. Nobody else is gonna fuck this little cunt. Only me.”

And it’s this dirty tongue and furiously pounding cock that pulls orgasm after orgasm out of you, cooing and crooning about how sexy you look and how he wants to immortalize you in a painting forever.

Aftercare is more lighthearted. Rafayel is back to his teasing, whiny self. He makes quips about how you moaned so good for him until you groan in embarrassment and try to push him away. He is undeterred though, he has ammunition to banter back and forth with you. Also, he made you cum so many times that you couldn’t even count. This man’s ego isn’t coming down to Earth anytime soon.

[sinnabee]

heehee hoohoo. nobody ask me about this au (?) my brain is mush i cant put it into words, ask @thedemonscrawler @crazedauthor and @shirajellyfish , this is their fault!!! this is nothing official lmao we were just throwing around ideas about like;;; moon thinking of being the daycare attendant as a "role," because he's an actor, but instead he's sticking more with the role he knows.... a villain! :D and y/n helps him figure that out somehow???

THE IMPORTANT THING

is that basically, y/n does cute little skits with sun and moon, because they like to act, they are!!! actors! its what they were built for. and eventually the dca catches feelings and hmmmm why do they love doing these scenes with y/n as the love interest so much HMMMM. unfortunately for them y/n is STUPID <3 moon has plans tho

[l0velysmut]

miguel o’hara x fem!reader

contains: short smut, jealous miguel, dom!miguel, p in v, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, brief breeding kink.

wc: 1.3k unedited

Once again, Miguel has caught you in the middle of a conversation with a random Peter Parker. One that Miguel’s told you multiple times to stay away from because the man looks at you as if he’s undressing you with his eyes.

Of course, that’s not really the case, but Miguel gets in his own head and over thinks whenever he sees you talking to another man. He believes that since he’s a man, he knows how other men think.

But you’ve reminded him over and over again that no man or woman could compare to him. Nobody could make you feel as loved as he does, or make you feel as much pleasure as he does, so there’s no need for him to be jealous, but he constantly feels the need to remind you.

So that’s how you got in the position you’re currently in.

You’re bent over Miguel’s desk in his dimly lit office, legs shaking as he pistons his girthy cock in and out of your weeping hole. His legs are in between yours, keeping your shorter legs spread for him.

Your suit had been ripped to shreds for the millionth time this month, so Miguel had a clear view of his cock sliding in and out of you with ease due to how wet he made you.

Your juices are dripping down your inner thighs, and you can’t help but moan every time the tip of his cock kisses your cervix each time he thrusts into you roughly.

“You wanna act like a little slut, then I’ll treat you like one.” He says in a gruff voice, putting his hand on your head, pushing your cheek into his desk.

“Miguel!” You call out his name weakly, attempting to push at his abs which were covered by his suit since the only part of him that wasn’t covered by the impressive technology was his cock.

He groans when your walls clamp around him, nearly trapping him inside of you. He licks his lips and looks down at where you two connect, then his eyes trail up a little to your other hole which was clenching around the air.

He brings the hand that wasn’t holding your head down to your ass, squeezing the flesh in his large palm before giving it a light smack. His thumb then shifts to your butt hole, and he presses his thumb against it, making you moan loudly and shiver beneath him.

“Shit,” He mumbles. “It’s like you want everyone to hear us, dirty girl.”

He pushes his thumb in a little bit, and you try to squirm away from him. When he notices, he takes both of his hands and grabs your hips, pulling you closer to him and sinking his cock deeper inside of you — if that was even possible.

“Where you going, mami? Huh?” He growls, fucking you harder and rougher.

The grip he has on your hips would for sure leave bruises, but you didn’t have a care in the world because the way he was fucking you was turning you into a blathering mess.

You could feel your orgasm coming, and you tried to alert Miguel, but the second you opened your mouth, only a string of moans left it.

Your brain felt like complete mush, and you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t like when Miguel got jealous.

“F-Fuck! Miguel!” You practically scream, not caring who could hear you two.

He stares you down as he grinds his hips into yours. You clench around him, causing a beautiful moan to leave his plump lips.

“You gonna cum, baby? Gonna make a mess on my cock?” He teases, one hand going up to your head to tangle his fingers into your hair. “Go ahead, pretty girl, cum for me.”

You whine and reach your hand behind you to try and stop him from fucking you as rough as he is, but he just takes both of your hands and pins them above your head, his upper body hovering over you.

He presses kisses to the side of your head, moaning and groaning into your ear.

With a few chants of his name, you finally felt blood thundering to your brain as euphoria crashes over you at a high intensity. You swear that you went deaf for a moment because for a few seconds, all you could hear was your heart pounding in your ears as white hot pleasure took over you.

“Ffffuck, yeah.” He groans as you cum around him, walls fluttering and spasming around his imposing girth. A smirk spreads across his face when he sees your entire body shaking which was caused by his pace which never faltered. You thought he would slow down, but no. He just continued to fuck you as if you didn’t need any time to recover from the fierce orgasm you just had.

“This is my pussy, do you hear me?” He shouts, and then chuckles when he sees your fucked out expression. “Course you can’t. Poor baby can’t hear a single thing.”

He lifts himself slightly, his hands releasing yours and placing his hands on either side of your head. He could feel his own climax boiling inside of him as he continues to fuck you at a brutal speed.

He grits his teeth, and a groan bubbles in his throat when his cock twitches repeatedly inside of you. His balls tighten, giving you a few more thrusts before he stops, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he empties his load inside of you, painting your walls with his thick cum.

He stays still for a moment, breathing so heavily that he’s practically panting. He remains deep inside of you, making sure all of his cum was pumped into you.

You lay there with your limbs shaking beneath him, trying to take deep breaths to calm your aching body down.

With a sigh, he pulls out of you slowly which makes you whimper at the empty feeling.

“You okay? I didn’t hurt you, right?” He asks, turning your body onto your back so you could look at him.

You shake your head, and open your arms, telling him that you wanted him in them.

“You were perfect,” You say to him with a small, tired smile. “Made me feel so good.”

He puts his head in the crook of your neck, and inhales your scent deeply, his eyes briefly turning their occasional shade of ruby red.

“Only I can make you feel this good, right? I’m the only one who can make your entire fucking body shake,” He softly rubs his large hand up and down your bare stomach. “I’m the only one that can fill you to the brim.”

“The only one.” You whisper, and wrap your arms around his neck.

You two stay like that for a moment before Lyla decides it’s time to stop minding her business and remind Miguel that you needed proper aftercare.

He grumbles and lifts off of you, taking Lyla’s word and going to get you some water, something to eat, and something new to wear.

As he walks down the halls of the Spider HQ, he doesn’t miss the way people either smirk at him or give him a horrified look. And his chest fills with pride when he makes eye contact with a certain Peter Parker who looked particularly scared and immediately looked away from Miguel’s menacing glare.

When Miguel reaches the cafeteria, Jess suddenly pops up next to him with a smirk and a knowing look.

“Sounds like someone had fun. Y’know, if you two don’t stop, Y/N might end up like me.” Jess says, a hand on her baby bump.

He glances down at her baby bump, and an eyebrow quirks. Then, an image of you with a baby bump forms in his brain, and he could feel his cock hardening once again.

He says nothing to her; just grabs some water and food and treads back down to his office, his mind buzzing with an overwhelming want to breed.

The second he came back, you could see something different in his eyes, and you noticed that his mood had shifted almost drastically.

“What’s wrong, Miggy?” You ask, placing a hand on his bicep.

“How would you feel about having a few kids?”

a/n: idk how i feel ab this so lmk if y’all like it

[tokoyamisstuff]

Delicate

Homelander x F! Reader

Summary: You and Homelander have been official for a while now, but you have yet to understand why things never went beyond a certain line.

Warnings: slight angst, slight manhandling, somnophilia, masturbation, explicit smut, praise kink, dirty talk, oral sex

A/N: not proofread as always bc I cringe at my own writing. take it or leave it

Homelander had never learned how to be gentle.

Of course he knew how to touch someone without breaking them if necessary, but there's limits to his self-restraint. Especially when it came to the intimate kind of encounter.

This sadistic side of his was an expression of his desperate need for control, an inability to truly let himself fall and be vulnerable with another person.

For decades his mantra was that normal humans only exist for supes' - and mostly his - entertainment. Your weakness was his thrill, the sheer difference in power so ridiculously high that you might as well be filthy bugs - and Homelander was like a cruel child with a magnifying glass.

Usually his mates were supes themselves and even they could barely handle his violent urges, but you are a mere human. So fragile and precious that it terrified him at times.

What if he loses control in the heat of the moment? What if he breaks you? Or even worse: What if you see him for the monster he really is and run away like everyone eventually does?

A while ago Homelander heard the story about Ice Princess' fling, some Vought employee nobody. She accidentally froze his penis off during climax. Hilarious, honestly. The first time he heard this story he had a very good laugh, and he still can't look that guy in the eye without cackling when he passes him in the hallways.

But now, being romantically involved with one of those weaklings himself, the possibility of something similar happening to you made his stomach turn...

...but of course, as Homelander always does, he chose to ignore the problem at hand instead of addressing it.

Why bother with an unpleasant conversation if he can just prolong this innocent, chaste bond for as long as possible? He'd rather have you like this than unnecessarily putting you into harm's way.

You on the other hand slowly but steadily grew impatient with your boyfriend.

At first you thought he was merely being chivalrous, but it's been three months and still nothing. He's famous, so you had involuntarily learned about his past affairs - and he's definetly not old-fashioned.

Then why is he hesitating so much?

Most of the time you don't dare talking about what's bothering you, simply because any issue of yours seemed so insignificant compared to the horrible things John's been through.

Admittedly, he once literally lasered a guy's head into mush just for throwing a can to his son's head. So while his reactions can be a bit unpredictable, John cares so deeply about the few people he loves that you want to spare him any more trouble.

Unhealthy way of handling things, admittedly.

Last week you had planned it all out: What you could only describe as the perfect date was supposed to continue in his apartment, and you could literally see all blood flow from his brain to nether regions as you entered the bedroom in finest lingerie.

Anyways, you had initiated several times up until now, and initially he'd always go along with it. However as soon as your make-out-sessions turn more heated, he'd abruptly end them and practically storm off.

Everything went so well at first, with you straddling his waist and tentatively grinding against his lap. His hands moved against his will as his resolve crumbled, finding the curves of your body and relishing in the feeling of your exposed skin under his gloves. His jaw clenched as he fought the urge to go all out, fearing dangerous consequences.

A proper dosage of pain can function as aphrodisiac, at least in your opinion. So you didn't tell him to stop, in fact your senses were too clouded by desire to even notice the way his fingers dug into the cushion of your hips.

Yet there was just the tiniest microexpression, just the fraction of a second where your heart sped up and your face contorted in pain...

...and Homelander, shocked with himself, threw you so frantically off of his lap, you landed face firsr on the floor instead of the bed.

Against all reasoning, you laughed hysterically at his not-so-subtle rejection, and god knows you'll tease him about it until forever. But also, understandably, on the inside you were as hurt and confused as never before.

Doesn't make it any better that your boyfriend had been avoiding you like you were the goddamn pest ever since.

Just like today, when Homelander comes home to you way past midnight, double checking with his x-ray-vision whether you were already fast asleep.

John was aware that this topic has been tormenting you for a while now, and while he never intended to hurt you - quite the opposite, really - he also clung to this pleasant illusion he had created with you.

Lucky at cards, unlucky in love, or so they say.

The course of his life had convinced him that all remotely good things happening to him will be taken away again. A farce prepared by destiny itself just to mock him, maybe evening out the scales since he had been blessed with too much power.

On days as shitty as this one however, nothing compares to having someone to come home to - even when he made sure that you weren't awake to confront him. He tosses his boots aside, grateful for you to be a sound sleeper as they fell to the floor with a loud thump.

Your boyfriend's heart sinks as he pulls up the blanket, being greeted by a handprint-shaped bruise on the side of your hip. Seems like it still hurts too much to sleep on that side. His fingertips run over the dark purple-ish mark, a pained groan escaping your throat when he gives in to the temptation to squeeze your ass.

He really is the worst.

Homelander freezes until he's certain you continue sleeping undisturbed, the sound of his own heart hammering against his chest drowning out all other noise. His palm is still lingering on your body, running up and down your sides and earning relieved sighs in return.

Before you'd feel his excitement too much, he manages to tear his body away from you, his erection twitching painfully as he rolled onto his back.

John really had pure intentions when he embraced you from behind, simply wanting to distract himself and fall asleep while cradling you in his arms - yet instead his already hard cock buries itself neatly between your thighs, the friction making him utter vile things.

Damn it Y/N, why the fuck do you always sleep in underwear only?! Is it to taunt him or to test his limits? Because it's working.

A breathy moan escapes his lips as he spread his legs wide, cock already leaking precum when he ran his thumb across the slid. He grabs it fiercely, pumping hard to make quick work of it, while roaming every inch of your skin he can get his other free hand on.

"Need some help with that?"

Shit.

ShitshitshitshitSHIT!

Seems like he was a little too busy with getting off - so much that even his heightened senses didn't catch you waking up to this scene. Your boyfriend had a habit of sleeping naked, so right now there was none of what he did left to the imagination.

"Heyyy sweetheart..." John tried to put on his trusty showman attitude, an awkward grin stretched across his face while trying to cover himself with the next best pillow. "Sorry babe, didn't wanna wake you up. Just go back to slee-"

"And miss out on the show?" you chuckle half-sleepily and he wants to die. He's done worse things in his life, way worse to be precize - so why is he fucking shy nowy just because you caught him? "Aww, you're blushing." He contemplates lasering your lips together to make you shut up.

"C'mon, John, I know you're holding back for some reason, but we don't have to go all out." Shuffling closer to your boyfriend, you give him those damn doe-eyes he can never say no to. "And I'd love to lend you a hand, if you know what I mean."

John instinctively closes his eyes as your face moves closer, lips eagerly awaiting yours...

...but just when you were about to touch him, he takes a hold of your wrist. "Y/N, I-" he shakes his head, trying to regain his composure. "Just- just let me go to the bathroom, okay?"

You frown. Worse, the humiliation makes tears dwell in your eyes. Pushing your partner is wrong, but without context you really start doubting yourself here.

Suddenly the stench of fear was lingering in the air, and your heart starts racing like a hummingbird. Trying to calm yourself was a fruitless attempt in front of a man that could perceive almost anything, even your pathetic strangled sobs.

So he was right: You're afraid and maybe even disgusted by his behavior, and just offered yourself to placate him.

Maybe he should just snap your neck to escape the inevitable heartbreak.

"A-Are you cheating on me?"

"Huh?" That question caught him off guard. He was prepared to hear anything, seriously all kinds of insults or accusations, but that? "Are you dense? Why the fuck would I cheat on you?"

And that's when it dawns on him: You are scared - but not of him.

To your defense, he did have a reputation of not being able to keep it in his pants. Maeve had remarked that fact more than once so you wouldn't forget. And him constantly being swarmed by the prettiest celebrities didn't do any good to your self-esteem either.

You're scared of him leaving you.

"Then what is it?" you sniveled, shrinking into yourself as you hugged your own legs. Seeing you like this and knowing he's responsible was somehow even worse than his earlier apprehensions. "You always react as if you got burned whenever we touch. Did I do something wrong, or- or am I not attractive enough?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" John scoffs in an almost irritated tone, unable to refrain from rolling his eyes. Comforting people didn't really come easy to him, even if he hated himself for not being able to let the shielding facade drop just this once. "You're gorgeous and you know that! C'mon, you women are always causing arguments out of thin air. Stop making this about yourself, would y-"

Seeing your glossy eyes turn into a glare at his ramblings made him shut up immediately, but the damage has already been done. "You know what, I'll-" For a while, you sit on the edge of the bed thinking and with every passing second of silence, Homelander's anxiety skyrockets. "I think it's better if I sleep at my own place for a while."

That's exactly what he's talking about, damn it! The line between control and insanity is a thin thread, and he is not willing to take any chances - when it comes to you at least.

"No!" he almost screams at you, jumping up from the bed and pointing a warning finger at you. "You're not going fucking anywhere!" When he sees your wary expression John's eyes soften, instantly regretting his outburst.

Why does he always fuck up? Why can he never seem to keep what makes him happy? Why can't he be what you need?

Homelander buries his face in his hands, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself just like you taught him. "Look, I-" He reluctantly put his hands on each of your shoulders and when you don't flinch away, he starts rubbing circles on your back. You always do it for him when he's upset, so he figures maybe it can help you too. "Please...I'll tell you the truth, okay? Just...don't leave."

You turn around to face him, nodding mutely as he wipes a tear from your cheek with his thumb. Seeing you cry was gutwrenching, moreso when he was the reason. "I..." he helplessly gestures around, wishing there was a script to this like he was usually provided. "I tend to become...rough."

"So?" The initial hurt now turned into confusion, suspicion even about whether he was telling the truth. You defendingly cross your arms, like a barrier so you wouldn't falter before you got answers.

"I'm not made out of glass." Compared to his strenght, you might as well be. "And I can talk. If you become too wild I'll let you know."

Stubborn as always. But he loved that about you, too. "It's not that easy, Y/N." His head falls in defeat and exasperation. John's about to cry himself, and he hates you seeing him anything less than perfect. "I'll hurt you, and then you'll hate me. Or worse..."

Consciously ignoring the worse part, you cup both sides of his face, making him look up to meet your eyes. "John..."

You straddle his waist again, feeling relief now that you finally understood. Peppering kisses across his face and neck you whisper "I was so, so worried you had grown tired of me..."

"Never." Homelander wasn't someone to apologize often, let alone sincerely. The times he did ever since leaving the lab he can count on one hand.

But despite him being...well, him, John knows best what it's like to be plaqued by insecurities. He hugs you tight enough to make you feel the sincerity of his words. "I only wanted to protect you. I never wanted to make you feel this way."

"Next time talk to me from the start, okay?" You smile softly as he aggrees, and he doubts to be deserving of all your sympathy.

Your hands never leave his body, featherlight touch reassuringly calming his nerves. And yet together with the fact that the only thing currently separating your bodies was your thin panty, it was no wonder that his body reacted the way it did.

A moan disrups your conversation when his cock stiffens again, and you can't help but buck your hips against him in response. Your panties were already soaking anyway, due to the friction and his dirty little deed earlier.

The scent of your lust wipe all negative emotions from your boyfriend's mind, replacing them with something else.

"I want you, John" you breathe against his ear and he whines. "We could just take it slowly..."

"I don't know how" he admits, and you smile at his reluctant aggreement. Gently being shoved down on his back again, it feels like he melts beneathe your fingertips. "Then I'll teach you."

Goosebumps rise on his skin as your fingertips ghost over his body, and you lean over for a longdue kiss, so tender and affectionate John thinks he will fall apart.

Homelander's groan gets swallowed by your lips as you pull your panties aside, slick folds now grinding against his cock. Your name falls from his lips in meek whimpers and you refuse to believe this wonderful man could ever harm you.

"Let me take care of you." Shit, how do you always know exactly what to say?

Raking your hands through your hair as you sit up, air gets stuck in Homelander's throat at the sight, making him choke.

You look fucking magnificent.

Hell, he'd pay an artist to paint you like this so he could look at it forever. If only it didn't require another person seeing you naked...

"You know, I thought it was just my imagination..." A mischievous smile plays on your lips now that you think of it. "But my panties have been disappearing a lot lately."

Your boyfriend didn't respond anything else but a whimmer, shame washing over him at being caught. Not that he was really subtle to begin with.

"Speak up" you tease, giving his shaft a soft squeeze and he instinctively thrusts into your hand like a dog in heat. "Did you use them to get yourself off to your fantasies, huh? Naughty boy." His cock twitches in your palm at the words. "From now on, I want you to come to me for release. Always."

"I trust you" you add as doubt is clearly written on his face, voice firm and as unwavering as your loving eyes, driving tears into his own. You lower yourself on his cock, savouring the feeling of being filled out like this. "Mhh...you feel so good inside of me. Will you behave, John?"

"Y-Yes..." was all he managed to wring out, since it takes every ounce of strenght inside of him to not cum to your sweet affirmations right away. John clutches the bedframe so hard that it crumbles under his grip, but to his surprise you don't wince at the sound - quite the opposite, it shot a wave of heat right through your core.

"John...look at me." You guide his hands away from his eyes to cup your breasts instead, looking at him like he's the best fucking thing in the world. The intensity of your gaze causes him to shiver, makes him wanna hide.

Yes, this is too good to be true.

Whatever you see in him right now he will taint with his own hands given time.

And yet he can't stop anymore, now that he's aware of the depht your love helds for him.

You read him like a damn book, noticing his internal struggle so you silence the voices in his head with a passionate kiss. "So good for me, John" you cheer him on, moving your hips at a low pace.

Tension finally leaves his body and he dives his tongue into your mouth, groaning deeply as he moves his body alongside yours. His touch was careful yet bruising, sending pleasant tingles down your spine.

"I love you, John" you cry out as your foreheads touch, eyes never leaving his. "I love you so damn much!"

That declaration was enough to drive him over the edge.

Homelander pulls you as close as close as humanly possible when he stills momentarily, jackknive-like thrusts chasing after his high. The sounds he made as you got filled up bordered on obscene, as did the amount of cum spilling out of you.

"Shit" he speaks breathlessly against your skin, covering a bitemark he had just caused with kisses. "M'sorry..."

And yet he wasn't willing to let go off of you just yet, this amazing orgasm unable to ward off the embarassment of his poor performance.

"Never apologize for having a good time, silly" you chuckle, brushing your nose against his. "I'm flattered, if anything."

John never knew that sex could be so...satisfying, more than just physically. Filled with carefree laughter instead of expectations.

After all, he was conditioned to never wanna disappoint.

"Nah-a-ah." You yelped as he spun you around effortlessly, now him being the one howering over you, bearing his canines like a starved predator. "I refuse to let my goddess go unworshipped."

"John...I'm okay, really. Sex between lovers is not just about that..." And yet when he opens your legs, you don't resist.

He bets you taste just as fucking good as you smell, feisty little thing. Driving him crazy all those weeks. Do you have any idea how hard it was to endure this sweet torture for your sake?!

A shiver runs down your spine when he licks his lips at the sight of your leaking entrance, taking a deep inhale. There's a hunger in his eyes that no sane person could ever comprehend - but you indulged in it, craved in his twisted kind of love.

Heh, you were a goddamn freak just like him all along, isn't that right?

Homelander takes his time kissing a path down to your navel, admiring the marks he left on your body he was now able to see as the lovebites they are. He briefly looks up to assure himself of your consent, an answering smile all he needs to continue.

"Myyyy tuuuurn" he chants so cheerful, you almost thought he had put on his formal persona.

A relieving finger finally has mercy and slides into your already overstimulated sex, making you arch your back when he curls it inside. Pleads and curses falling from your lips as he enters a second one and then another, and you desperately try to move yourself deeper onto him.

"Attagirl!" Seems like his confidence has returned, at least judging by that damn smug smile his tone indicated. The frustrated pout you wore right now was so adorable, he decided to end your misery and bury his head between your legs as well.

You were still fucking yourself on his fingers while he relished the taste of himself on your pussy, before enveloping your clit with his tongue. "That's my fucking girl right there" he mouths as he ate you out, pumping his fingers keenly on your weak spot he so easily found. "Come on, I want to hear you."

When you came it felt like you were ascending to the afterlife, screaming his name at the top of your lungs before collapsing into the sheets.

Your legs had long since gave out but John put them over his shoulders, humping the mattress while his tongue still ran over your nerve endings, shooting jolts of overwhelming pleasure through your system.

"Oopsie" he coos, a predatory glint in his eyes as he crawled on top of you again, his kiss giving you a taste of your own spent. "Made me hard again."

You eyes flutter open after the last bit of your climax had ebbed out, exhausted yet invitingly batting your lashes as your limbs entangled once again.

"Seems like I found the Homelander's weakness."

[purple-obsidian]

Heyyyyy pookieeee-i saw your Jason todd fic and wanted to ask,what do you think he will be like teaching his gf how to drive?

(Because nobody in my freaking life taught me how to drive yet so I have to sit like a duck and wait for someone to pick me up when I wanna go somewhere pleaseeee let me drivee-)

be brave (jason todd x fem reader) wc 800

⭓ fluff isn't my normal cup of tea. but for you, pookie, i can make an exception ;) sorry this took a while to answer, hope you don't mind i made this specific to driving a motorcycle. that's just what felt right when i was meditating on this prompt so i went with it. enjoy.

"Jason, are you sure this is a good idea?"

"You second guessing me, princess?"

"Yeah, maybe I am. I could kill us!"

Jason scoffs and shakes his head in disbelief. "You think I would let that happen? Ever?" With cocky grin, Jason walks over and stares down at you, noting the apprehension on your face. "Remember the day we met? You told me you had a bucket list. Things you wanted to do before you died."

"Yeah, I only told you that because I thought I was going to die. You rescued me. I got plenty of time now, I don't have to learn how to drive tonight. Its already dark." You reach your hand up reflexively to rest against his chest as he gets closer. Its a habit of yours. You always find yourself drawn to the steady beating of his heart. Its grounding, and you need some of that right now.

"The road is well lit. We're miles from the outskirts of Gotham, no traffic out here. Just you and me, baby. Why not now?" His large hand rests over yours, pressing it more firmly against his chest. His heart is beating slow and steady, and his piercing green eyes are filled with admiration. "You and I both know that every day we have together is precious. Why wait to do the things you wanna do? Besides, I'd feel better knowing my girl can drive my bike if she needs to."

Jason knows you too well, calling you his girl like that makes you feel weak in the knees. Your own heart beats faster as you break your gaze away from your boyfriend smiling down at you, looking over at the motorcycle he brought you here on. For some reason, it looks more intimidating than it did a few minutes ago. You swallow the lump in your throat before looking back at him. "I'm nervous."

"I know." He states matter-of-factly. Of course he knows, he can read you like a book.

"I've literally never driven anything before. Like ever. I haven't even-"

"Shhh." Jason's hand leaves yours and cups your face gently. His other hand is on your waist, keeping you close. "You don't have to be good at it right away. I don't expect you to be. But you're smart. And you're perceptive. And I know after a little practice, you'll get more confident. I won't let us crash, baby, promise."

Jason really does know you too well. He can see the rebuttal forming on your lips before he finishes speaking. So he leans down to kiss it away before you can verbally express your doubts. The tinge of frustration you feel at being cut off isn't enough to keep you mind from turning to mush from the kiss. His lips are so warm, his breath tastes like spearmint, and his touch gives you butterflies.

But the kiss ends all too quickly. You know he cut it short it on purpose, not wanting your brain to turn off completely before you try and drive for the first time. "Sorry, babygirl, can't give you too much. How could you drive if you're all drunk from my kisses? Hm?"

He runs his fingers through your hair, taking in how cute you look when you're speechless. A moment later, Jason releases his hold on you and turns towards his bike, walking to it with a bit of pep in his step and smugness in his grin, leaving you stammering for a second as you try and string together a coherent thought.

"F-fuck you, Jason." You say after a moment. He always knows how to shut me up.

"I love you too." He grabs his helmet and puts it on before tossing you yours. It's an easy catch, but you're still giving him a dirty look.

"Why did we have to do driving first?" You grumble, accepting your defeat. "Pretty sure seeing the pyramids was also on my bucket list. Along with an abundance of other fun things, like riding in a helicopter, or swimming with dolphins. Or what about joining the mile high club? I'd think that one would be your first priority."

Jason is beaming, watching you put your helmet on and get ready to ride. Even as you scowl at him and mutter complaints, his heart melts at how easily you folded. All it took was a kiss. He always gets his way. He knows you can't say no to him. Jason Todd has you wrapped around his finger, and the vigilante couldn't be any happier about it. He looks you up and down to admire your body before replying, "Stick with me, princess, and I'll make all your dreams come true." He promises. "One at a time. I'll show you the pyramids. I'll fuck you in a plane. But first…"

He grabs you by your waist with both hands and effortlessly lifts you up off the ground to set you down on the seat of his bike. You yelp in surprise, quickly grabbing his hands to steady yourself. "First, you gotta be brave and learn how to ride your boyfriend's bike."

⭓ masterlist ⭓

[m4ng0-gh0st]

Spn boys NSFW headcannons (CIS male reader)

Dean

You had to help him out the first few times but after that he got it DOWN.

One of his favorites are you on your knees sucking him off.

He definitely teases you by moving his hand really close to your crotch or sometimes he full on just palms you through your pants when your sat next to him however it highly depends on what is going on and where you guys are at.

If you were one of the "villains" you two definitely used to have hate sex.

If you aren't them you two just have sex to release some steam if it's more of a friends with benefits relationship but if it's a romantic relationship then it's because you two genuinely enjoy having sex

Most definitely rough sex most times but if he has the time and or nobody will be around for a while then it'll be more sensual.

Sam

He more of a groaner than like a moaner/whimperer.

I mean maybe you can get him whimpering 🤷

Don't pull his hair no matter how tempting it is...

He definitely likes you riding him but if you are the dom you then missionary. (He definitely does missionary even when he's Dom)

He does like seeing your face during sex.

Nothing to out of the normal he's pretty simple when it comes to sex.

Castiel

He doesn't make much noise I mean maybe a groan here and there and if you're lucky a moan or whimper.

He's a little clueless when it comes to sex despite him watching the pizza man and the baby sitter... But that's okay! You help him the best you can.

You can definitely get him to moan or whimper if you suck him off.

You most definitely end up the dom most times.

If you like rough sex then he’ll participate but he does enjoy gentle and sensual sex more.

You two have most definitely gotten caught and or have been overheard while having sex.

Crowley

You know he's in the mood when he starts getting handsy.

He'll pull you into his lap or if you guys are around people he'll pull you away or teleport you two away.

This does happen quite often.

You don't really know what you do to make him horny but you do make him horny a lot.

You've two been caught making out somewhere in the bunker because Crowley had pulled you away.

You two have experimented quite a lot.

He denies it but he does really like intimate and soft sex.

He does occasionally like you as the top but when you are the top you are 6/10 times a soft top

He does get whiny and bratty. Mostly when you two have been very busy and haven't had sex in a while.

Definitely sasses you during sex. He has a loud mouth and he can't help himself.

Praise him and he seems fine but on the inside he is DYING

Gabriel

He's even worse than Crowley when it comes to getting handsy.

He is a brat when he's the sub for sure.

Kinky as hell 💀

You've guys practically have tried EVERYTHING.

A little bit after he returned from being tortured you guys basically had a whole day spent on having sex.

He enjoys either making your brain turn to mush or having you turn his brain to mush.

He has a lot of energy and when I say a lot I mean A LOT.

He is a major switch when it comes to you.

Jack

I don't know if it's alright to do some for him since he's technically like 3 but he's fully grown so let me know if it is 😭💀

[poisonpercy]

Can you recommend percabeth fics?

Mix and Mingle by MariaClaire

When the architectural firm where Annabeth is an intern hosts a party, she invites Percy to go with her. Percy is used to fighting monsters, but accompanying Annabeth to a fancy party is an entirely new type of challenge.

always got my back by bipercabeth

Just ten more minutes until Percy is at Annabeth’s dorm. He just has to stay alive for ten more minutes.

a little kissing never hurt nobody by orphan_account

“Name of the game is spin the bottle.”

“Is this really a productive use of our time?”

“Shut up, Annabeth.”

you left me no choice (but to stay here forever) by seasunwrites

“You lost a lot of blood.”

“Hmm. Probably why I feel like mush.”

She felt a lump forming in her throat. Not for the first time that day.

“It wasn’t—Gods, Perce,” she murmured, not meeting his eyes. “If you’d only seen it…”

“I know. I should’ve listened to you.”

“You should’ve said that yesterday.”

;

Things happen, and people get hurt, in more ways than one.

Professor Overshare and Professor Stoneface by lululou

Sadie met with two very different professors back-to-back. It's hard for her to adjust from one lighthearted teacher to another serious advisor. Little does she know about their unexpected relationship to each other.

Twitter, Do Your Thing by mariuspunmercy

When Percy reaches 10 million subscribers, he takes a little trip down memory lane and talks about his old high school crush.

Twitter, being the detectives they are, decide to try and reunite Percy with the mystery girl he misses so much.

[xxsabitoxx]

Never Mine | Geto x Reader Imagine +18

I've been thinking so heavily of Geto Suguru I'm not going to lie. I just love me some fucked up men who don't know how to ask for help and destroy themselves mentally until they destroy themselves physically too. Therefore, my brain has been conjuring up this idea for such a broken man.

The idea of knowing him since high school, watching as he slowly turns in on himself when he realizes how strong Satoru is getting. How he feels the need to consume more and more even though his body is steadily beginning to reject it. Thinking nobody else notices his steady downfall until you're knocking on his door one night.

He opens the door only because you threaten to break it down if he doesn't. Knowing you the way he does, he knows there is a promise behind your threat, and getting a new door would genuinely be such an inconvenient hassle. So he stands before you, no time to try and put up his façade of being fine as he looks at you with his long hair disheveled and eyebags that are so prominent it makes you gasp.

Suguru is alarmed as your hands immediately move to hold his face, your eyes scanning him with nothing but concern. He expected some sort of pity, the very reason he's tried to hide his struggles for so long. But when he sees your eyes well, nothing but sadness and concern in them, he finds himself breaking down as well. The silence speaks for itself as you let yourself in, shutting his door with a soft click and locking it because of Satoru's habit of barging in.

Suguru sitting on the edge of his bed as you kneel before him, his head feels far too heavy to hold up at that point in time. So you kneel on the floor before him, looking up at him and whispering softly. "Why have you been burdening yourself like this, Suguru?" He doesn't have an answer for you, his lack of response makes you stand up straight and reach for his face again. This time, you hold his head up for him, thumb gingerly brushing the tears he didn't even know he had begun to shed. "Suguru..." your tone is heartbreakingly soft.

You yourself don't quite know how to approach the situation, but you know you need to be there with him. It's a risky move, one that could go horribly wrong given the circumstances but you press your lips to his, praying your kiss conveys what you are trying to say. To your shock, it seems to work. Suguru's arms are snaking around your waist, pulling you closer so you can't move away. The kiss grows in intensity, his hands sneaking under your shirt to further convey what he desires most. You give it to him, both shedding your clothes until there is nothing left to keep you apart.

He's pliant under your touch, letting you straddle his hips and touch him however you please. His hips grow relentless as your lips suction to his neck and leave various bruises. His hands wander where ever he can reach, caressing your skin until you do something that earns a strangled moan. Dull nails digging into your skin and leaving scratches as you dissolve him into a puddle of mush. The physical act of love eases his pain for a while. The warm embrace of your body fills him with heat, stretching all the way to his broken soul.

For the first time in a long time, Suguru can think clearly as you lay beside him. His chest rising and falling in rhythm with yours, the sheets are a crumpled mess piled at the bottom of the bed, it nearly kills him to sit up and grab them, draping them over your naked bodies as you settle into a quiet peace. It solved nothing, but at least for that night, he can forget about some of his struggles and feel the love you had been trying to hard to convey to him.

In the end, you know he is a man that cannot be saved. No matter how strong your love is, no matter how dutifully you stand by him, his soul was not meant to be yours. It would get away from you, no matter how fast you chased it. It would leave you, no matter how desperately you clung to it. Geto Suguru was never and would never be yours, no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself he was.

[4pfsukuna]

Can you write a Terry one shot in which him and reader have a pregnancy scare? Like at one point the condom broke but they were both too into it to realize or stop. They're fwb and after it's revealed she isn't pregnant, they admit they have romantic feelings and maybe eventually having a family together wouldn't be a bad idea. Then jokingly Terry says let's go back to practicing lmao. I guess it's smut then angst and ends with fluff (or more smut if you like lmao)

ooh sistah you ate with this request, ngl i finished it 2 days ago but couldnt find your anon ask but here we go:

Debrief: Terry shows you hes a man in every sense of the word, from how he fucks to how he cares about you.

Hennessy was probably thee worst alcohol you could drink with terry. Now he was a military man and they can drink anybody under the table time and time again but something about the dark cognac turned him into an absolute monster that man wanted nothing more than to claim you on every surface from his apartment to yours across the hall. Your body was marked from neck to ankle in bites and hickeys Terry claiming that you were all his and making sure anybody that saw you knew.

“Show me its your baby” he moans with a fucked out expression as you ride his dick feeling full to the brim. His green eyes dark with lust as he watches you never dropping eye contact obsessed with the glossed over look in your eyes. 

“Come on baby girl you can do better than— fuck” he moans when you get up on your tip toes and tighten a hand around his throat yeah yall were both gone off the henny. The squelching sound getting louder as his thumb comes down to rub your clit and you swear you see his pupils turn into hearts at the sound.

“Tell me its mine and stop fucking playing with me” you snap riding faster as your own hand comes down to play with his balls that were already drenched in your juices and he smirks leaning forward so his forehead is against yours.

“Oooh feeling bold huh? You know better than talking to me like that” he threatens spanking your clit but it does that opposite and instead turns you up making you ride harder and faster pulling matching groans from the both of you. 

“This shit is mine” you moan out and it was suppose to be a statement but the way his tip was kissing your cervix you knew it was a loosing battle but he loved watching you fight back that turned him on more than anything.

“Earth to you bitch, clock back in and tell me what bathing suit you think i should wear” your bestfriend huffs snapping her fingers in your face and you playfully push her hand away before looking at the outfit options she had laid out on your bed. The same one that he had you laid out on. You couldnt even help the sex flashbacks it was just something about fucking that man that had your brain turn to mush even days later.

“Girl this shit is floss, if you dont pick out something in your actual size” you laugh holding up one of the thongs helping her get ready for her pool party that absolutely nobody was going to be swimming at. She shoots you a playful look as she snatches the bright pink bottoms from your hand.

“Let me just try it on and show you” she tells you before running back to the bathroom and you let your mind wander again leaning up against the vanity chair her makeup flat iron and hair tools splayed around. Your eyes catch yourself in your floor to ceiling mirror that you had him carry up a week ago when it finally came in the mail.

“Its yours! F-fuck dont stop baby dont nghhh dont stop” he moans his lips finding a empty spot on your neck to leave another hickey. His hand on your hip tightens as you throw your ass back on him matching his thrust like yall were trying to out fuck another you couldnt even tell how many times yall came let alone you did just that your legs were soaked down to your knees.

Watching him through the mirror you cant help but to admire how fine he looks as his head rolls back and his bottom lip is in between his teeth, from the way his abs clench to his muscles flexing when he raises his arm to take another shot from the bottle giving you the most demonic smirk. 

His left hand wraps around your neck pulling you up so your back is against his chest head tilted up squeezing your cheeks to open your mouth before spitting the shot in your mouth fucked out expression turning soft when he watches you swallow.

“Shit, its yours” he slurs kissing down your neck pushing your hand out the way so he could play with your clit himself. “And this is mine”

For yall to only be friends who fuck from time to time yall loved to play the possesion game. Marking another up, claiming another during sex even right now fucking without a condom was crazy.

“Shit youre so tight, just for me so fucking perfect” he starts rambling and you know hes close everytime he was he would start with his pussy drunk confessions and while it absolutely turned you on it also hurdled you into an orgasm. Your body was starting to feel weak, muscles aching and pussy sensitive. He lets out another groan when you clench your core basically Milking him.

“Fuck fuck fuck im bout to—“ he starts and the henny completely takes over like two evil little demons on your shoulder filling you with wicked whispers in your ears except the demon is you. Terry is confused when you twist in his arms and you're on your back until your legs wrap around his waist pulling him back into you. 

“You going to cum for me daddy? Your dick feels so good when you fuck me like this. Feel so full” oh and does that unlock something in him, you NEVER spoke like this. Atleast not by this point you were too fucked out and only able to let out high pitched whines and moans.

“You are so fucking fine i love watching you, love the way your skin feels against mine, love hearing you moan for me. Love your body” you moan as you fingers trail over his arms slowly pulling him closer watching the way his eyes roll back. Oh you were talking TALKING. He was so far gone he doesnt hear anything else only feels the tight warmth of you wetness and the consistant  thump of your thrust his head finding your shoulder.

Its only when your nails begin dragging down his back causing him to shudder a deeper thrust in you that has you fall just as far as he did and your legs tighten around his hips pulling him so much closer to you to whisper in his ear.

“Cum in me daddy”

“Ok im wearing this, i just wish you werent on your period so you could come with us tonight” your bestfriend returns with a bathing suit top jean shorts and heels. She definitely looked like a baddie—

Hold on, you werent on your period. Now that you think about it you were suppose to come on two days ago.

Oh fuck.

OOOOOH FUCK.

You don’t want your bestfriend to worry, or panic or miss out on the party especially since she spent so much time, effort and money so you nod with a fake pout but adjusting her bikini bottom straps to stick out the top of her shorts.

“If you have to represent us i need your foot on the hoes necks”

Standing in the cvs aisle you look at all the different pregnancy test, this was your fourth time in this aisle you had a different brand pregnancy test for each time you walked down already and a bottle of water. 

What you don't expect is to hear your name being called from behind you and you know that voice you know its the man who's very fault is the reason why you're in this aisle.

“Not right now, i'm not in the mood” you snap looking over the boxes again and again until he steps up behind you watching the nervousness build on you. Your hand was already shaking so any question he had died on his lips the moment he realized this was for you and not anybody else.

“So you wasn't going to call me?” He ask taking the four boxes from your hand and throwing it in his basket with the two boxes of condoms he originally came in for. That was a stupid question, you were already here with your own thoughts brewing of course you weren’t going to call him.

“Why didn’t you call me, you know we’re friends above anything” he tells you looking down at you and you avoid eye contact. That was why; yall was just friends… that fucked. You didn’t want to face reality with him and have that conversation. Didn’t want to do the whole coparenting thing never seen that for yourself you wanted a family not wanting a broken home. You were pro choice but— damn your thought process hadn’t even made it this far. 

You felt nauseous.

“Hey hey hey breathe for me, it's going to be okay. We're going to be okay” he promises, kissing your forehead and holding your face in his hands, his eyes flickering down to your lips so fast you swear you imagined it. 

“Let's just see what it says first okay?” And he waited for you to agree, pulling you into a safe hug, his natural cinnamon scent enveloping you and you never wanted to leave his arms. “Let's be where our feet are, no worrying about the future”

Biting your nails as you sit on the couch your feet tucked under you in silence as every single thought runs through your head of what the outcome is. Hoping for the best, prepare for the worst.

Terry sits next to you, arms resting behind his head and sits in silence as the two of you wait for results though unaware to you, the silence is killing him.

“Is this the part where we talk about baby names?” He asks not expecting your mean glare but it only makes him chuckle. He pulls your feet from under you and into his lap massaging your calves watching the way you physically relax.

“Terry this is serious, i'm scared” you finally admit biting at your nails only stopping when his large hands pull yours into his he looks like he’s about to confess but the timer goes off sending you flying to the Bathroom.

Negative.

Negative.

Inconclusive.

Negative.

“So are we having twins?” He ask coming around the corner looking at you through the mirror, just like he did last week and that's what got yall in this position in the first place. Wait, twins?

Hold on… We?!

You don't realize you spoke out loud until he begins speaking again eyes never leaving you.

“Yes we, i don't really think me being a single dad of twin girls would be easy so we” he tells you pulling your hand so he could see the negative results before looking back at your face. You are completely lost for words because what? Had he been hoping for positive results?  the fact that even if you wanted to bail he didn’t.

“You wanna be a girl dad?” You finally get out eyes lighting up and he chuckles at your expression picking you up, his muscles flexing up against you as he carries you out the bathroom back to the living room.

“Having 1 or 2 mini versions of you running around in a big yard with a nice house close enough to the city so they could go to a good school i'm thinking private school—“ he starts to ramble and you start to feel like the lady who has all the equations floating around her head because how did yall get here?

“Wait” you blink rapidly before looking up at him, a small smile coming to your lips even though you're still confused.

“I can't see you driving a minivan though maybe those bmw sedans in all black. They are not reliable cars but you a lil boujee so i’ll take care of it for yoh and you so fake stubborn but thats okay just one of the things that made me love you hopefully our daughters don't have that though and just come straight to me. You think they'll—“ his words are cut off when you place a hand over his mouth stopping him and his eyes drop down to your tiny figure in his lap.

Twins? Yard? Big house? Bmw coupe? Well that actually sounded nice? Wait he was speaking so fast your mind was a real soup sandwich after that.

“You love me?” You ask, face scrunched up, not just letting that slide by. You can feel his smirk under your hands and honestly you aren't ready to move them because you're scared for him to repeat that. Your insides were bursting, heart racing and breathing heavier— more nervous than before finding out the results of the pregnancy test.

He can tell you're trying to process and this may be one of the only times he ever shuts you up with his words. You had a slick tongue and never let him have the last word.

Pulling your hands down from his mouth so he can fully confess he holds your hands against his chest making sure to keep eye contact.

TWINS?!

“Yes, i love you” he kisses the back of your hands waiting for you to respond. Its not like he told you he just liked you or something nah love was a big thing and maybe it was his fault for this whole friends with benefits situation anyway but he wanted more. He wanted you. 

“You don't gotta say it back just yet but i would like to at least take you out on a date. If you couldn't tell i want you and everything that comes with you… whatever comes with you” Terry gives you that lopsided ass grin shocked when you press your lips against his but he wastes no time kissing back softly. His hands find your face as your lips move against another. Just another thing that turns you into a bigger puddle than you already were.

“Wait twins?” You pull back and he smiles at nothing laying back pulling you down to his chest using the throw on the back to pull over you so youre warm.

“Or 10, we can actually start practicing right now” he casually shrugs making you sit up grabbing his attention. 

“Im not pushing out ten fucking kids terry” you laugh laying back on his chest pushing your hands up his shirt to feel his warm skin choosing to purpousely ignore his comment about practicing now.

“Alright fine 6” he sucks his teeth as if he was the one that had to push out kids and you shoot him a playful glare.

“How we go from twins to 6, you was pushing it with twins” you laugh so hard your vision blurs from the tears building because he was funny as hell if he thought you were pushing out more than 3.

“So is that a no on twins?” He ask as if you can decide if you have twins or not, hes so hellbent on it though you start to actually consider the thought.

“I would like to be married and have a house first” You tell him realistically. Before you have kids you want to be stable and want to have somewhere to have them. Anything built on a rocky foundation is doomed to crumble and you wouldn't set your future let alone your kids up like that. They need a stable and loving environment.

“Silver or gold?” He ask referencing what type of ring you would like before taking note of the tennis chain On your neck with the matching anklet. He doesn't wait for your answer either… he already knew. Just like he knew you'd be confused by him asking that.

“You haven't figured it out by now that i'm crazy about you? You can have anything you want from me all you gotta do is ask”

“Tell me you love me again”

yall omfg imagine terry as a girl dad!! Of twins! Yall think he would be super overprotective and ready to kill or a pushover for them or both? Damn now i kinda wanna write him as a dad🥹

lmfao bitch imagine having a pregnancy scare and he keeps talking about having twins bro id deadass never get pass that

[hearts4golbach]

Built to Fall.

view request here.

pairing:

Johnnie Guilbert x Fem!Reader.

a/n:

This story is an extremely sensitive topic. coming from someone who is recovering from self harm and has attempted suicide, living is worth it. i'm here for all of you, and my dms are ALWAYS. open. you are loved, you are wanted. if nobody in the world loves you, i'm dead. recovery is possible, and it does get better. to those of you who suffer in silence, cleaned yourself up, picked yourself up time and time again, i see you. i will be deleting any hate comments or comments making fun of this topic or anything in this one shot.

warning:

suicide attempt/thoughts (you're not alone. my dms are always open), self harm mention, overdosing, depression and anxiety, bed rotting.

word count:

1.1k

recently, your bed had become a sanctuary. dirty dishes and takeout had begun to pile up on either side of your bed, and you hadn't changed your clothes in at least a week. you were falling apart, and Johnnie noticed immediately. he came over after he was finished with youtube shit every night and stayed. he laid in bed with you and tried to get you to talk about how you were feeling, but you wouldn't budge.

you felt nothing. you had no apparent reason to be sad, but you were. Johnnie was the only light in your life, and you felt like you were a burden to him. you just wanted to disappear, but Johnnie didn't make it easy. you didn't want to leave him, but you were exhausted. 

you stared at the scars on your arm and leg. they disgusted you. you stared at the failed attempts that were displayed on your wrists. you stared at the ceiling, searching for some other way to feel better. you stared at the phone, waiting for Johnnie to call and tell you he's done recording and on his way. you stared at the door, wondering what would happen if you went to scrounge through the medicine cabinet. you stared at the pile of laundry, wondering what would happen if you forced yourself to get up and put it away. you stared at the clock, which had just hit 10:03 pm. you stared at your blanket, mentally telling yourself to get it over with.

so that's what you went to do. your legs felt like rubber bands as one tear fell down your face. you didn't want to sit and mourn yourself when you weren't dead. yet. you took a few different bottle from the cabinet, some expired prescriptions and pain medication. you didn't think, you just took as much as you could swallow at a time.

you looked at yourself in the mirror. you weren't really sure it was yourself, you felt unrecognizable. your eyes felt heavy. you slid down the door and laid on the floor, letting all of the pills take over your body. you felt a strange wave of peace wash over you as you began to nod off.

meanwhile, Johnnie had just arrived at your apartment. he took the spare key and opened the door. he had called you, but you didn't answer. he rushed into your room to find you, but you weren't in there. Johnnie knew something bad had happened. he rushed to the bathroom and knocked on the door. "y/n?" no response. he knocked again. "i'm coming in."

he was met with a sight he had been dreading to see the past few weeks. you were curled up on the floor in his hoodie. you were so out of it, you hadn't even noticed he was there. at the sight of the empty pill bottles in the sink, he began to panic. he rushed to get you, picking you up so you were sitting up. your vision was blurry, but you knew it was Johnnie. "baby, can you hear me?"

your mind was mush. you couldn't form a response. tears finally streamed down your face as you nodded slowly.

he let out a sigh, "good. good." he whispered, helping you over to the toilet. "i'm so sorry. i can't lose you. i'm sorry." his voice was shaky as two fingers slipped past your lips. you gagged, but didn't throw up. you began to feel nauseous. "i'm so sorry." he said again, hitting the back of your throat one more time.

he held your weak body up and moved your hair from your face as you threw up. your tears never stopped as you did.

"please stay with me, my love. i don't know what i'd do without you. fuck, please. get it out of your system and im taking you to the hospital. come on, baby, you can do it. hold on a little longer. i love you so much, i'm sorry i wasn't here." he fought back tears. he knew you'd want him to stay strong.

you heaved as you finished. you leaned back into Johnnie. he wiped your mouth and your tears. "everything will be okay, gorgeous." he picked you up, holding onto you as you took small steps towards the front door. he helped pull you along and into the car. "stay awake, baby." he said softly. his hand intertwined with your limp hand as he drove as fast as he could (legally.)

you spent two days in the hospital. Johnnie rarely left your side, unless it was to get the two of you food or go to the bathroom. Jake, Tara, and Carrington had came to visit you, too. Johnnie nearly cried from happiness as the color began to return to your face. he'd never forget the first time your hand squeezed his back after the incident.

by the end of the second day, you walked out of the hospital on your own two feet. of course, Johnnie helped you a little bit. you silently dreaded going back home to your filthy room. but, whenever you had arrived home and walked into your room, you realized it had been clean. your dishes had been washed, trash thrown away, bed made, and your clean clothes were put up.

a small smile grew on your face. Johnnie couldn't help but smile himself. that had been the first time he had seen you smile in a couple days. you didn't know who had done it, but Johnnie told you Tara wanted to help in any way she could, and cleaning your room was her idea. you made it a goal to call her in the morning.

Johnnie held you tight as you two laid in your bed together. "i'm sorry."

"don't be sorry. i know, y/n. i know how it feels. i'm not mad at you, sweetheart, i never was."

[battleangel]

A History of Violence

I wonder if Kris Jenkins who was recently drafted in the second round by the Bengals, same name & same position as his father who was a Pro Bowler who played 10 seasons for the Panthers, Patriots & Jets, ever bothered to read what his father told the New York Times in 2011 about what it was like playing in the trenches in the NFL?

Kris Jenkins - View of Life in the NFL Trenches

Article Excerpt

"N.F.L. fans, people outside, they have no clue what goes on. This isn’t like playing Madden. This isn’t like being the popular kid in high school. When you do those things in the real world, and it don’t work out, you still have your health. The thing about football is you’re directly playing with your life, the quality of it and the longevity of it. The stakes are up there.

You ever been in a car crash? Done bumper cars? You know when that hit catches you off guard and jolts you, and you’re like, what the hell? Football is like that. But 10 times worse. It’s hell."

Nothing is questioned, nothing is learned.

Cycle and history of violence from father to son continues.

The son will just repeat everything his father went through.

Life in the trenches, on the line.

His fathers New York Times article was only written 13 years ago — did his son even bother to read it?

Article:

"The debate about concussions wasn’t there yet. I’ve had more than 10, including college and the pros. Nobody cared. And that’s the thing. We play football."

Are we as an audience, as fans, as a nation of football loving fanatics so blasé about the same violence that was visited upon the father being visited upon his son?

Does that not even get us to collectively pause before checking pre-season match ups in preparation for Week 1 next month?

America's collective Christmas in September — footballs back!!!!!!!

Do actual thoughts ever creep in amongst the unbridled ebullience, enthusiasm and unchecked joy of, "Football!!!!!!!!!!!!".

Or is the unthinking emotion inherent in football fanaticism across all levels, players and non-players alike, the point?

The pure emotion and the short circuiting of logic.

Its probably not a great idea for me to go bash my head against that dudes head 70 to 80 times a game, every game, every season.

But, its football!!!!!!!!!

So, nothing else matters?

Unlike rules now protecting quarterbacks and other positions from helmet to helmet hits, absolutely nothing has changed for offensive & defensive linemen and running backs — you're still smashing yourself head first into a concrete wall — as a running back, 20 to 30 times a game and as a lineman, 70 to 80 times a game.

No matter how much the NFL lies about this and tries to pretend the issue is concussions, its not — the existential issue threatening the sport of football itself is the repetitive SUBconcussive head impacts involved in every blocking and tackling play in football.

They are absolutely unavoidable and occur literally over a thousand times every single season.

It is these repetitive subconcussive head impacts — average 1500 hits to the head per season in high school, football & the pros — that 10 to 15 years after their playing careers are over, can cause neurological disorders and conditions like CTE, Parkinsons disease, Alzheimers disease, ALS and dementia in former players.

We have seen the movie before.

Im pretty sure Will Smith was in it.

And even that movie was nothing but masterful subterfuge from the NFL as they named it as their eternal smokescreen — Concussion — instead of what actually turned Mike Websters brain into CTE mush — Repetitive Subconcussive Head Impacts.

Doesn't have the same Hollywood ring to it, does it?

But it doesn't make it any less true or the NFL any less deceptive.

The NFL's own disability paperwork for former players says players can be compensated as early as 36 for early-onset dementia.

Is a game really worth someone losing their literal mind at 36?

When do we question the every day violence inherent in every tackling and blocking play in football?

Article:

"I remember one game, at Carolina, my second year. We played Arizona, and the double team weighed 780 pounds combined. They just kept double-teaming me, hoping I would fold and cave in. I didn’t. But that was probably the most painful day I had.

From the double teams, over the years, I wore the left side of my body down. I was past hurt.

I was at the point of numb. Like my body was shutting down nervous systems, so I didn’t have to deal with pain.

The numbness started at the very beginning. I couldn’t feel part of both arms. I couldn’t feel part of both legs. It was worse on the left.

I’m just starting to get feeling back in my left side. Look, football is no joke.

But I’m going to say this much: somebody has to be the grunt. That’s why there’s no better position on the field than interior defensive line. Forget quarterbacks or specialists. They’ve got it easy. If we don’t come to play, nobody else on defense can do their job. We’ve got the toughest job on the field. We don’t care about our facial hair. We play a grimy position.

Piles, oh, my God, they’re brutal. I’ve had my ankles twisted. I’ve been bit. I’ve done stuff. I’ve tried to break guys’ elbows, pinching people, twisting ankles, trying to bend up their arms, pop an elbow out. Why? I had to fight back."

Tackle football is cognitive dissonance & constant dissociation.

The inherent violence of football is never seriously questioned nor is it held up under a critical lens.

The most violent, punishing plays are casually dismissed post-game by players waving their hands and saying, "It was just a football play."

Yeah — thats actually the exact problem.

Ah, pile ups. Just a good old fashioned rugby scrum.

Nothing dehumanizing, nothing to worry about.

As long as its not my dick being grabbed at the bottom of a pile as I dig my way through my second bag of Fritos Scoops, safe and secure on my couch, while those dumb fucks kill themselves for an oblong shaped ball for my entertainment.

Exploitative, much?

The spectacle of the pile up.

The brainwashing so clearly evident when grown adult men who would be ashamed to act this way publicly over anything else suddenly leap in unison into the air like feral animals as Troy Aikman shouts with unfettered glee, "The ball is loose!!!!!!".

So is our collective humanity in watching a several ton mass of flesh undulate, eye gouge, scrotum twist, bite, spit and hurt each other for...what?

Us? Them? Football?

Article:

"Mentally, we’re conditioned to be tough. We’re conditioned to feel no pain. The only injury I ever felt while playing was when one of my knees tore. That’s the only time I felt pain and was like, O.K., that hurt.

But Mondays, you wake up, and it’s hard to get out of bed. It hurts wherever you got hit. I remember one time getting hit by Edgerrin James. He put his head in my chest. I woke up, and I couldn’t even move, because it felt like my chest was going to collapse. It was sore for days. All you want to do is get the blood circulating.

Hot tub. Cold tub. Hot tub. Cold tub."

Hot tub. Cold tub. Hot tub. Cold tub.

That's brainwashing.

A dissociative brainwashing ritual to dissociate the self from the pain & violence of the game.

It's like Junior Seau when he referred to himself in third person when he was mic'd up for NFL Films before every single hit for the duration of an entire game.

Very creepy if you can find it on youtube.

It literally sounded like he was programming himself to hit, then he would hit the hole, collect himself on the ground and do it.

Hard. Goddamned hard.

Again. And again. And again. And again.

If thats not brainwashing, what is?

Article:

"The brain fog? It still hasn’t stopped. It feels like you’re punch-drunk, like someone hit you over the head. It’s like you knock yourself stupid. When you have to concentrate on things, then it becomes an issue. My head gets foggy to the point where I really can’t function."

And yet you put a helmet on your son's head and you sent him out to play the same position.

Like father, like son.

Just like fathers in the military who have sons who "follow in their footsteps".

Often, articles will speak of a newly drafted player's heritage and lineage in the sport and if his father had a storied career, the hyperbole of the newly drafted son "being born to play" is routinely trotted out.

Smacks of eugenicism, genetic determinism, militarism, rigid heirarchies, dynasties.

Capitalist masculine toxicity.

Article:

"We know it’s going to hurt. We know because pain in football is consistent over time. You’re still hurting in the off-season. You’re hurting when the next season starts.

I mean, guys play hurt, but it’s a choice. They do a pretty good job now, with all the scrutiny around concussions.

On the line, it’s still painful. By the end of the year, half an offensive line might be getting shots, draining fluid from their knees. Most stay away from cortisone now, because it’s degenerative.

Everything gets off center. Bulging disk. Herniated disk. For linemen, it starts in the lower back. Throws everything off."

What did Jason Kelce recently say on his podcast with his wife?

His back is so fucked up from playing football that he cant bend down to pick up his 1 year old daughter nor can he hold her while standing.

Kelce also played on the line as the center for the Eagles.

Is it worth it?

Should children be playing this game?

Should anyone in its current incarnation?

Has science shown that the risk of repetitive subconcussive head impacts causing neurological conditions & disorders is too high for any child to assume?

What about teenagers in high school who are legally minors and not adults?

Should they be able to assume risks as teenagers that can mentally incapacitate them later in life as soon as their 30s?

Potential suicide due to CTE in their 20s?

1500 hits per season every season starting in high school.

So, that's 6k hits to the head in four years of high school football.

Another 6k more hits to the head in four years of college football.

12k hits to the head before the pros not counting youth football prior to high school which is ages 5 to 14 aka Pop Warner.

Even 5 year olds endure on average 336 hits to the head every season in Pop Warner.

5 year olds!

Kindergartners!

Ask yourself where else you could hit a 5 year old child 336 times in the head over the course of a few months without being arrested and jailed?

Is it really okay just because it's football?

Does that truly justify that amount of head impacts to a 5 year old child?

Wouldn't we call that abuse if it was happening in the Boy Scouts or any organization other than Pop Warner?

Should it be happening at all?

In service of whom and for what?

Football? Glory? Masculinity? Manhood? America? Pride? Militarism?

All of the above?

Article:

"I can’t blame anybody for my death. I made the choice to play football. I made the choice to walk through the concussions. I could have stopped. I could have said, my head hurts. It was my choice, as a man."

But who told you that playing through permanent brain injuries is what makes you a man?

Can't we blame that person?

Your father and your coaches from youth, high school, college all the way to the pros?

Militaristic views of masculinity kills boys and young men for the game of football.

It's a militaristic war game that simulates combat yet kills people in slow motion for real.

The violence suffered by players in football is as celebrated as militaristic ideals of what soldiers suffer through in war: valor, courage under fire, physical courage, endurance, stoically fighting through unimaginable injuries & pain, the quarterback heroically leading his squad as their captain marching his troops down the field to victory just like any military commander complete with a chevron like system that awards stars for each year or season of service very similar to how stripes function in the military.

This militaristic ideal of masculinity is endlessly promoted, encouraged, rewarded and valorized in football just as it is in the military.

Football is Americas killing fields.

High school players — teenaged boys, not adult men — die every year playing football.

Over a million boys play high school football each year and only a handful die or suffer permanent, disabling and/or catastrophic injury.

Would you be so glib about the numbers though if it was your son or your brother or your boyfriend or your best friend who died playing high school football?

What if they were permanently paralyzed from the neck down playing college football?

It's easy to treat the above numbers as a statistic or rounding error when you can close out of the Facebook support page for the now dead or disabled high school or college player and get ready for Chiefs/Ravens next month.

What if you couldn't just X out of the Facebook page because you had to quit your job to take care of your disabled son for the rest of your life?

Or what if your brother killed himself from having CTE from playing college football?

The reality is, we can drop a "sad crying" emoji on a Facebook status and move on — the families of the young boys and men sacrificed to this sport definitely can't.

Go ask Tyler Sash's mom if she's "moved on".

Hasn't science proven at this point that tackle football just doesnt work the way it is currently played?

Why are we okay risking future Junior Seaus, Mike Websters, Justin Strelczyks, Phillip Adams, Tyler Hillinskis with every boy and young man that straps on the pads and helmet and charges on to the field?

Is it 10% of players that get CTE? Is it 20%?

Is it more? Is it half?

More than half?

The truth is we wont know until a CTE test is developed for living players.

Pop Warners Chief Medical Director is working with the FDA to develop the test as I type this.

Why do you think that is?

The NFL's own study funded through a university admits that NFL players are 19 times more likely than non-NFL players to develop neurological conditions and disorders.

19 times!!!!!

As long as its not your brain getting scrambled right?

And you can just sit there and watch the leagues reigning back to back MVP and reigning Super Bowl Champ slowly deteriorate their minds while accumulating permanent brain damage for your entertainment.

Pass the chips.

Article:

"We consider football a gladiator sport because we understand you’re going to get hurt. You’re putting your life on the line.

You might not die now, like in an old Roman arena, but 5, 10 years down the road, you could. You know that.

I wouldn’t change anything.

During my career, I kept my mouth shut. This now, speaking out, it’s about telling you my life. There’s no agenda, no vendetta. This is what football’s really like.

The first warning is the first meeting you have with an agent, when you realize this is real. My choices count at this point. I’m going to be prostituting myself for the next 18 years of my life.

That’s the first warning.

The next one is that good old combine.

That’s when you realize, when you march in that room half naked, I’m a number now."

No, thats when you realize that the NFL is MODERN DAY SLAVERY.

It's a modern day meat market.

6% of the US population is Black male. 75% of the NFL is Black.

0% of the owners are Black. Only 2 out of 32 coaches are Black.

Almost all of the NFL owners are white with very few exceptions and exactly none of them are Black.

The NFL is a modern day plantation.

Article:

"I loved New York. I loved playing there. I loved the spotlight. I was fine in New York, but I also played for Eric Mangini. We started 8-3, Brett Favre, all of that. Everybody told Mangini, stop with the long practices, you’re killing us. You practice too hard. We’re on turf."

36% of all injuries that occur in the NFL are due to turf & 1/4 of all concussions are a result of players heads slamming against turf.

So...

Why won't the NFL replace turf with grass in their stadiums as the NFLPA has been asking for for years?

Because they're cheap as hell and would rather injure their own investments then pay for grass.

The owners & the league have the same exact disregard and disdain for their own players.

The NFL has agreed to switch out turf for grass for the World Cup because the soccer players refused to do what NFL players are forced to — fuck their bodies up on turf.

It proves the NFL and owners could do it and, in fact, they did do it so they could host the World Cup in their football stadium — unless it's actually for the players in their own league.

In that case, you're shit out of luck.

Should have played soccer.

Article:

"What you hear from guys like Ray Lewis, James Harrison, what they’re saying is we’re well aware what we’re signing up for. The violence, we love it. The madness, we love it. We love measuring ourselves in it.

Those guys express themselves with their pads. You soften the game, you’re taking away their freedom of expression. Nobody wants to see flag football, and now, you might as well give guys flags, tell them to hug afterward, all that."

Did he even read the beginning of his own article???

Constant cognitive dissonance is the distillation & essence of tackle football — by the players, the audience, coaches, trainers, medical personnel, announce team, play by play, color, pre-game & post-game hosts, team & network journalists.

I see no repetitive head impacts causing CTE.

I hear no repetitive head impacts causing CTE.

I speak no repetitive head impacts causing CTE.

Article:

"The violence is what I remember. Like against Buffalo in 2009, when I had the game of my career. Or the time I slapped a lineman out of the way in Houston with one arm. Winning, the physical part, the mayhem, finding the line between insanity and sanity, that’s the exact reason why you play. That’s the reason fans like football in the first place.

A guy like James Harrison, he’s possessed, and that’s the guy you love to play with, love to watch. He doesn’t need to be babied."

Protection from permanent brain damage & trauma, fans bloodlust, coaches unreasonable demands, neurological disorders & conditions, neurological symptoms including suicidality, depression, memory loss, confusion, irritability, volatility, aggression, amnesia, mental incapicitation, deteroriation & decline is being "babied"??????????

Article:

"The N.F.L. is too big to fail. If that happened, it would be a slow death. It’s still the ultimate game. For us, it’s like legal prison rules. You have to protect your manhood, your well-being. You’re going to be challenged. You’re going to be tested."

"You have to protect your manhood."

Protect The Shield.

Brainwashed into the cult of American masculinity.

Just like all the other 2.6 million young boys & adolescents playing youth football.

Another million playing in high school.

100k playing in NCAA college football.

1600 play in the NFL.

All brainwashed into the cult of masculinity.

Millions of young boys and teenagers sacrificed on the altar of tackle football, Americas true religion.

Article:

"There aren’t too many places a 400-pound guy with an attitude can go and beat the crap out of somebody and not get locked up for it. I have a violent streak. I have to fight it out of my system. We signed up for it. All of it. We’re not trying to be sane or rational."

What does an 8 year old playing tackle football for Pop Warner sign up for?

Tradition, rigid authoritarianism, toxic masculinity, ideals of manhood worth sacrificing your body, mind, memories, personality, self and literal life for.

A 13 year old football player committed suicide after an egregious hit and post concussion symptoms that lasted for over a year in 2018.

He played through the hit and practiced in pads the very next day — think that might have made his concussion worse?

Prior to the hit, he was a straight A student, a voracious reader, erudite, sociable & well-liked.

After the hit, he became withdrawn.

He lost vision in one eye. He lost his balance frequently.

He was unable to read for more than a few minutes at a time.

He started tackle football at 9.

He played two ways as a linebacker and running back and was known as a ferocious hitter who never complained of pain.

He attempted suicide, was hospitalized, seemed to be improving, then the second suicide attempt was tragically successful.

Dead at 13 for the sport of football.

When is enough enough?

Football is a game, it's a magical talisman, it's a sport, it's a crucible, it's a maker of men, it's the distillation of manhood and masculinity, it's what being a man is.

It's worth bashing and battering your brains repeatedly.

It's worth your mind.

It's worth not knowing who you are at 50.

It's worth you committing suicide.

Just remember to shoot yourself in the chest so your brain can be donated and studied.

[pileofmush]

MUSH i just saw ur event and its so cute ! i wanted to request ‘Fake dating for the holidays because [ex] will be there’ + ace if i could please ! i’m so in love with this idea, thank you for hosting this! love ya <3

happy holidays risu!! <3

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆

You’ve never known Ace to be charming.

Oh, he’ll swear it up and down if anyone asks. That he’s got moves that nobody’s ever heard of before—that he can make panties drop with just a wink. He’d be lying, of course. Ace is much more likely to light someone’s hair on fire than he is to woo a girl.

Which is why you’re caught so completely, utterly off guard.

Ace plays the perfect boyfriend really, really well.

You gawk when he rushes out of the driver's seat to open your door, flashing you a goofy grin at the sight of your dismay. You gawk when he walks just behind you to ensure you don’t slip in the snow, a hand hovering over the small of your back. You gawk when he effortlessly introduces himself to your family as your boyfriend and somehow gets them to laugh. There are no awkward pauses. No slip-ups.

He’s a natural.

“Close your mouth,” Ace teases, tilting your chin with his thumb. “You’ll catch flies.”

He smells like cinnamon, you think, bizarrely. Like cinnamon spice cookies, fresh outta the oven.

Motherfucker. You didn’t expect this, when you asked him to be your pretend-boyfriend for the holidays. Suddenly, concerns of your ex are the least of your worries.

You’re in trouble.

You shove past him into your room—your shared room. Ace ambles behind you like he does this everyday, dropping your luggage on your carpet with a soft thud.

“Need help with that?” he asks, sliding behind you to help you out of your winter gear.

“No,” you huff, but you let him take your coat. Let him pull off your mittens. Let him cup your cheek, body heat burning through his thick cotton gloves, through your skin, through your defenses. Crumbling your resolve to ash.

You sulk and cross your arms. “You don’t have to act when we’re alone, you know,” you say, chewing on your bottom lip.

Ace’s eyes track the movement, dark and bright, and he rests his free hand comfortably on your waist.

“Right,” he says, voice dripping with disbelief. “Act.”