#not just a dom/sub relationship

[call-me-pup2]

You ever see someone you want to do horribly disgusting kinky shit with but also be so wholesome with after? Like lets fuck and experiment until we're both out of breath, have came multiple time and are fully satisfied then let's snuggle up together. Tangled up in each others arms, wanting to be as close to each other as possible while trying to catch our breath. Big silly smiles thinking about how perfect it all was, trailing little kisses and nuzzling into each other, drifting off to sleep in a little blissful bubble

[grogumaximus]

Christian Horner about Max Verstappen and Gianpiero Lambiase - eff won: Christian Horner Debrief

GP had asked Max about the pitlane crash in Silverstone on the radio to mess with him

Horner: "I said look GP he's just hit the he's just hit the pit wall and he came back to me and he said, yeah I know, I just want to hear him say, I want him to admit"

[twopenguinsinabox]

I wrote a thing!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60363907

It's basically all PWP targeting that desperately underserved niche of Dom Harry and Sub Voldemort, but I am glad to have finally gathered up my courage to Write And Post The Thing.

[tickleepuppy]

Hehe why don't we take turns giving eachother head ;33 I help you cum as you wrap your legs around my head to keep me there as long as you need <33 and you tie me up so I cant move until I'm crying and begging for you to fuck me instead

[vaperarmand]

one of the craziest things about twelveclara is that they (a little bit) inadvertently made doctor who an EXTREMELY sensual show. this is first and foremost because of some intentionally scripted moments, and i think it also has a lot to do with peter and jenna’s chemistry and twelve’s gravitas as a character. but the main thing to me is the fact that they don’t kiss at all. because doctor who overall tries to toe the line between “having to write explicit romantic relationships every season that ultimately end” and “not writing emotionally or romantically compelling characters at all” by just making all the romance very casual. each doctor kisses multiple people! there are frequent references to romantic & sexual exploits the doctor’s had with various historical figures & alien beings! these largely feel like “joke” kisses — ie rose and ten kissing in new earth when it’s technically cassandra in rose’s body. they depict a kiss, but the kiss itself doesn't count because of some extenuating circumstance, or it's played for laughs.

that basically drops off with twelve for a handful of reasons. but then there's undoubtedly a budding romance between clara and the doctor, and it would damage a lot of integrity if the same kind of halfhearted jokey canon happened. so instead it’s just like … subtle touches and knowing glances and devastating codependency and nowhere for it to go but to expand between them and turn into basically like. the sexiest thing on television

[the-jellyfish-graves]

Tease them by sucking on their fingers or your own or both so prettily after making them cum that you get them turned on again and they call you a brat for it.

[archangel-1]

[tassodelmiele]

Noisy little mess

Hi sweetie ⁓

Here we are, it's finally monday and we can hope again in having a good, productive week (please let it be a sunny one too I can't hibernate in April I need my photosynthesis).

I'm wondering what do you think of this little work of mine, so if you feel like it you can write me whatever comment/question/any various and possible magical shit.

Have a good chocolaty day ⁓

DISCLAIMERS: little bit of touching and hints about sub/dom relationship! Finally my kinks are emerging! (evil laugh); Ghost-who-needs-to-make-peace-with-his-brain x Reader-who-needs-to-learn-how-to-shut-up; "How to be a psychologist without a degree" (by John Price); embarassing mission I hope does not exist in reality, but i needed it for plot's sake; little bit of wounds and scars (Doc.'s gonna tie you and Ghost up to a chair for the rest of your life); yelling and fighting and arguing (you're used to it by now).

..................................................

Fourth part here:

..................................................

«Why the hell you've let her-»

«MacTavish»

Price swallows through the smoked breath, clenching his fingers around the consumed cigar just to distract himself from the willingness to punch a wall, or the Sergeant's face.

«I've already had Ghost yelling at me for half an hour. Spare me»

«Then explain yourself, Cap.»

«I can't. I've no explanation. She'd done it by herself»

«She's no insubordinate»

«Not in that sense». He sighs. «I told her no. I knew it was too much for a rookie». He chews the extinguished cigar for a while, taking his time. «Laswell agreed. But that goddamn girl managed to convince Kate, somehow»

«How come?»

«Dunno. But she's already feeling bad enough, and she was the one who's got to rescue the girl»

«Laswell?? Ye serious?»

Price nods, eyes locked at the door in front of them. The doc entered almost one hour ago.

«And» Soap dares to ask «is Laswell…uhm…»

«She's ok» the Captain anticipates him. «Nothing broken. But the rookie…». He sighs again, scratching the bridge of his nose, pushing lightly his digits on the eyes. «I don't like soldiers wasting their lives like this. Especially good ones»

«The mission had to be done anyway»

«We could have waited for a better plan»  

He takes a last chew on the cigar, spitting it on his glove before squeezing the leftover crumbles in his fist. He throws everything in a trashcan, then gazes at Soap.

«We've got shit to do, Sergeant. We'll come to check her later»

«They've done something bad to her». That wasn't really a question, even if Soap hopes to be wrong. «Am i right?»

«What came up in that bloody lil' head of yours?»

Three gunshots in your arm (the right one, 'cause luck kicks you in the ass as always), one blade wound and various bruises, just to complete the masterpiece. Doc sent you out of the bed with a promise: to try to not touch the medications.

One in particular.

You didn't even want to eat, but you need to. So breakfast has started, with chocolate scent, closed stomach and two pairs of gaze on your red face. You've tried to avoid contact with every human being in the base, but someone's got a good sense of smell for you. And you eventually end up with Soap and Gaz surrounding you with their (legitimate) questions.

You're blushing like hell, stirring oatmeal crumble in the mug with your eyes drowning into it.

«…I've thought…i could be helpful»

«You're a brave kid, but that was-»

«Stupid» Soap ends the sentence. «To say the least». He finishes his coffee in a sip, swallowing the hot liquid in a rush. «It wasn't a rookie's work, ye should've known» 

You nod in embarrassment. «I did know»

«Then why?»

«'Cause…» you swallow, burying your eyes more into the mug, scratching the cuticles skin out of the nails. «…a girl was required. For the mission»

«Hold on» Gaz grabs your shoulder, lowering his voice. It was a confidential subject, not the one to speak about in a crowded dining room. But he keeps on with his curiosity anyway. «It was about weapons traffic, wasn't it?»

You nod.

«Then why a girl?»

You're about to answer, your mouth's already open even if you're not sure if filling them with a temporary lie, or just spit the truth.

Another sudden press on your shoulder takes you off from every doubt.

A big hand grabs you firmly, squeezing skin and bones underneath your uniform. Your body instantly shivers, tightening under the hold. You raise your head a little, but you know whose mask you're gonna jump into.

Ghost has the magical power to bring back the silence. He doesn't even have to speak, just a glare of his is enough. His look hits Soap and Gaz as to say: shut your bloody mouth; and they just roll their eyes at the ceiling, as to say: but we wanna know 'bout her mission, damn it.

Then he lowers on you just that tiny bit that's needed to let you feel his body heat closer, so warm against your cold limbs.

«Your presence is required» he says quickly, almost murmuring against your ear.

And here you are, walking behind his massive figure with eyes lowered on the ground, following his feet at a security distance through the base. He stops a couple of times to talk with someone, moments in which you play camouflaging with the wall; then you two reach a door, and you're so into not-seeing in front of you that you don't even look at where you are. 

He closes the door behind you, and only after a few seconds of embarrassment you find the bravery to mumbling:

«W-who required me?»

«I do»

Your heart skips a beat before your ears could collect his voice and your synapsis could elaborate its meaning. That's when you suddenly raise your sight, finding him clinging on the desk while looking at you through the mask, and even if you can't see his face it's pretty clear that he's judging you. You can read it on the skull, as there's an imaginary -but very perceptible-  neon writing saying: You're a bloody stupid gnome.

Voice escape through your lips automatically: «I'm sorry»

«'Bout what?» he kinda calls you out, pressing with his sternness on your pathetic whimpers.    

Your eyes lower again.

«…causing trouble-»

«Just that?»

You nod. You don't wanna talk about what kinda trouble; but he does.

«Take off your shirt»

Your brain flashes a sudden error signal, allowing you to shiver and wrap your arms tight around yourself. 

«…sir?»

Stupid question. You know why he's asking, the goddamn doctor had probably told him.

«Your shirt» he repeats, not moving from his place.

Two days ago, you would have started a war about this, yelling at him without regrets, brave enough to fight against your superior like two children between one small bucket. 

Not now. Now you just stand in your special spot in the office, allowing your body to move just what is needed to breathe, eyes locked on the floor. You feel him growing impatient, sighing through the mask as you're disappointing him.

«'K. If that's so…»

The sentence remains hanging in the air, and in a matter of seconds, without getting aware of how fast he came toward you, his hands are on your shoulder. You instantly panic but you're too small to fight against his weight that's pushing you against the door, pinning you still with an hand on your breastbone while the other runs to your shirt's hem.

You grab his wrist in a stupid attempt at stopping him, but he lifts the shirt up in one movement, revealing bruises, a bloody bandage, and…a little scar slightly under the belly button, fresh from the oven and still shiny from some medical gel: the writing made out of fire burns on your skin in an elegant gothic style. 

He stares at it, contemplating that swallowed piece of tattooed skin. Your face becomes so red you could spontaneously combust in this exact moment.

«Who made it?» he burst out, whispering harsh words.

You swallow hot air, digging your dry throat and hoping that whatever's gonna come out of your mouth will be the most sensible as possible.

«It's…it…traffic wasn't just 'bout weapons»

«Humans» he talks over immediately. 

You nod your head, specifying with a swallow: «women» 

«You've sneak in as a good to be sold»

«There was no other way to-»

«And they've marked you» his voice's not that high, but you're whispering enough to make it easy for him to have the upper hand on you. You become quiet, avoiding his sight, with your hands still wrapped around his wrist.

«Are you proud?»

The question wasn't expected, spitted roughly through his mouth. You clench your digits, digging in his gloves.

Then you nodd.

«Yes» the answer is a breath, warmth by your boldness and the consciousness that you've done what had to be done. And none would have taken that awareness from you. You eventually lift your sight a little, meeting his mask, letting the skull shape fill your eyes.

«Yes, I am»

You know he's looking at you as if he's got an idiot under his sight. You feel him judging, investigating your behavior, interrogating your posture. And you, trapped between a scary giant and a door, with his cold glove pressed where your belly still hurts, you dare to stare at him for one whole minute.

It seems enough: he lets you go, shaking your hands away from his wrists as he stands in all of his height against you.

«Good soldiers come home alive, little gnome»

«…it's a curious scolding from one who lives a dangerous life»

«I've already told ya: you don't know me»

«But i'm neither deaf nor blind»

«Buy a bloody mirror then». He takes two steps back, letting you breathe freely for the first time since you've entered the room. «Ya can say you see us clear, but speaking of seeing yourself…I can't say the same»

«I know me»   

«It seems not»

Blood starts to rush to your brain as the embarrassment turns into a mixed spoonful of anger and bitterness. You follow him, still at security distance, toward his desk. «Why? 'Cause you've caught me touching myself once and I made one bloody moan?»

«'S not that, and we've already talked enough 'bout it» he mumbled, pretending to not pay attention as he looks through some documents on the table.

«Oh, oh sure! Now we've talked enough about it» your arms end up crossing on your chest. «after you've ripped my elbow»

«It was just a nerve»

«Judicially irrelevant» 

«Shut your bloody mouth»

«Why? 'Cause you've told me s-»

«Yes»

You freeze; that was a cold, hard stone order. He's got his knuckles clenched on the table, his back's muscles are visibly breathing under the pressure of maintaining a glint of calm. 

«You» he turns at you, pointing a finger at your freezed face «you are a goddamn idiot, one of the worst species. I've tried to convince myself you weren't actually so stupid but, damn god, was i right in the first place»

Guilt assaults you with a knife at your throat, for reasons you don't know. And you find your eyes lower, your spirit evaporated, your anger extinguished under his glare. You try to mutter:

«I've just done my duty-»

«You threw away your life»

«The mission had to be done, that was our last possibility to catch that damn illegal traffic» you rush, raising your voice to grow some confidence in your speech «Laswell needed a woman and i just did my damn work!»

And he almost barks back, raising stern and furious eyes at you: «than what 'bout asking someone more experienced, you bloody asshole?!»

«'Cause it was needed a woman with-!». You suddenly stop, biting your inner cheek as a last word slips, almost like a whisper, through your lips: «…inclinations»

He's left speechless for a while, standing in front of you with the finger still hanging toward your figure. You swallow; you know he's going to ask more, and that's just 'cause you can't keep your mouth shut.

As if you've called it, he spit out a terse: «Explain»

You sigh. This would be a great time to sink ten meters underground.

«I» you start gesticulating, drawing figures in the air with your hands «I am…i-»

You expect him to joke about your incapability of connecting two words together; but he remains silent, looking at you almost with curiosity. And you're forced to keep on talking.

«…I like certain things people don't usually…agree to do» you force words outside your mouth, with cheeks on fire and eyes buried on the pavement.

His conclusion wastes no time to come:

«You're a submissive»

It's not a question, it's a truth and it hits you like a brick in the face, as if he'd already understood your particular nature till the beginning. There's no need for more explanation: you know what kind of submissive he's referring to, and he evidently knows just enough about the subject to grin, just a little, under the mask.

«The target was known for his…peculiar sexual tastes». The additional clarification was not necessary, but he gives it anyway. He let out a soft chuckle, almost like he's having fun thinking about it. «I can't believe that Laswell really rely on this stupid trick»

You would really clarify how much Laswell fought against your will to volunteer for that risk, but your voice is gone under the embarrassment. Your digits are digging into cuticles again, and you're about to pretend to not exist, turn your heels and just go away.

And you don't even notice he's got closer again, till he forces your face up by roughly grabbing your cheeks in one hand. 

The disappointment is palpable.

«You've run into that perv's den alone, risking yourself for a mission you knew you couldn't handle…just to satisfy your throbbing cunt?»

That hit you worse than every other thing he's thrown at you till now. Your cheeks catch fire in his hands, guilt choke air in your lungs and poisonous butterflies eat your stomach, whispering through the entrails: he's right.

But you don't want him to be right.

«I've just decided to put every weapon I've got at your service» you spit out.

His grip gets tighter. «Sure thing. And what have you gained? Apart of a saving operation that wasted everyone's time, of course»

«Mission was completed»

«We would have found another way to do it, rookie»

«But I did it» you grab his wrist, trying again to escape from his hold. «And i'm alive, so why the hell are we even talking about-»

It happens all of a sudden: he pushes you again against the door, harder and roughly enough to make your spine squeak on it. You hold a yell, and one second after you can't breathe anymore.

He holds you by your mouth, pushing on your face with his whole hand open, while the other runs down right under your belly, squeezing on your crotch like it's made of play dough.

«This is no playfield». His voice is almost a growl murmur in your ear as he lowers enough to overcome you with his bigger body. «Soldiers have morals. And dignity. Maybe 's not clear to your pretty little brain. So: watch» and he speaks slowly, growling coldness with tongue maid of sharp metal, his eyes on you with that goddamn mask supply (and you're sure you're gonna dream about his sight forever) «your. Bloody. Mouth. Kitty» 

The nickname, the grip on your pants, the fact that you're breaking your personal apnea record…just burn your brain. And, in a loss of breath, trying so desperately to find a way out of that embarrassment while freezing your hormones that are already running too low on your body…

You bite him.

You sink your teeth in his glove as hard as you can, ripping off that goddamn dignity he was speaking about, letting the residual rage work as a fuel for your mouth. He suddenly jerks with a step back, catched by surprise, tearing his hands away, and to do so…he pushes with the other hand on your lower belly.

On your goddamn freshly engraved and barely healed tattoo.

On the scar the doc pleaded with you not to touch.

You spit his glove out of your mouth, yelling like your vocal chords have turn into a megaphone.

Ten minutes later, you two are waiting outside of the infirmary.

The knock on the door doesn't distract him, too focused pretending to find his paperwork attractive.

Price gets in without invitation.

«Just a word» he sits at the desk, usual hat at his place and cigar climbing from his lips «between me and you»

Ghost doesn't lift his sight.

«I've talked with doc-»

«I don't need to be scold 'bout it, if that's what ya'r here for»

Price sighs a low, maybe a little bit too paternal: «Ghost-»

«If you two» Simon raises his voice a little «believe in trusting every goddamn rookie, sending them risking their bloody neck just 'cause they've told you how good they are at shaking their ass-»

«You've already yelled about it, give my ears a rest. In any case, Laswell made the best choice in her position» Captain talks over him. «And I agree with her. We couldn't lose that opportunity, Simon»

«She didn't even managed to end the mission alone»

«But the rookie did a great job. Only problem was taking her out of that shit»

«You can't seriously call a kink exploitation one "great job"»

«She's a soldier. We're not here to babysit, risking our life 's part of our contract»

Silence. 

Price starts to get nervous, feeling some mixed emotions that he really can't stand at six in the evening. He suddenly stands up, patting both hands on the desk, taking a deep breath before exhaling a long, almost exhausted: 

«There's nothing bad in making friends with your allies…»

Ghost is already rushing an "i don't need friends" kinda sentence, but Price anticipates him:

«Me too, i've made friendships on the battlefield that i hope will last as long as my bones will walk on the dirt. Then, we could die together and be happy in whatever hell God'll decide to send us. But» and his "but" was final «i know what you're doing here. Stop it. It's gonna be draining, for the both of you»

Ghost spits out: «I'm doing nothin'», too rushed, then muttering: «Don't even like her»

«I don't care who you like. You can marry whoever you want, you've got my approval»

«For fuck's sake Price-»

«Wanna delete her from your eyesight? Just look straight in front of you from now on. Wanna keep an eye on her?» John raises his hands, throwing Ghost's embarrassment in the air while admitting with the most honest attitude: «Sure. Ok. I keep an eye on you all every goddamn minute of my life. She's not a princess, though. And ya'r not a bloody knight»

Silence becomes again the king in the office. Price is still fixed in his extreme openness, ready to give his Lt. the best suggestions on how-to-not end up again at the infirmary with that goddamn rookie (before the doc kills the both of them).

Then Ghost finally raises his gaze.

And Price has a bad sensation in his guts, almost like he'd said something he shouldn't have.

«Keeping…an eye on her» Simon repeats, lost in thoughts.

John nodds, hesitating before leaving the office.

..................................................

[lambsouvlaki]

For the Hell of It - Needy, Continued(*)

Characters: Jason Todd x fem!oc

Rating and warnings: NSFW, oral, male receiving.

Word count: 600

Summary: Jason takes control.

Masterlist

Jason pulled her head back and they both breathed hard. He leaned heavily back against the door, his legs shaky. She had been on a direct course to throw him over the edge and was only picking up speed. He wasn’t going to give in that easy. 

She sat back on her haunches, panting and dishevelled in her slinky cocktail dress. Her lips were swollen, her eyelashes damp, and her makeup smudged, but she was in no way hazy. The look in her eye as she gazed up at him was entirely lucid and extremely pleased with herself. 

Fuck, she was gorgeous. 

“Look at you,” he said, brushing back a loose hair from her face, and tracing her cheek. “Are you tryna kill me?”

Her hands on his thighs flexed with eagerness, and she gave a light laugh. She leaned forward again. 

He grasped her ponytail and held her back. He stroked himself, a couple of inches away, while she opened her mouth. He held her still, just enjoying the tableau. Breathtaking. 

She huffed with impatience and flicked her eyes up at him. 

He laughed. 

She’d been a filthy tease earlier, this was her just deserts. The fact that he had loved every second of it was irrelevant. 

He brought her just close enough to brush his tip. Her tongue ran through the slit. He shuddered and pulled her back again, smothering a groan.  

“You despicable tease,” she said, sounding in no way opposed to the situation. “How could you do this to me?” 

“I know,” he drawled. “Making you wait for my cock. This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to you.” 

“I wish to file a complaint.”

“Considered it filed, and ignored.” 

She whined. He could feel her hot breath on his sensitive, wet skin. He wanted her so badly. 

“You hate being empty, don’t you? Like you were made to take my cock.”

The ravenous look she gave him was filthy.

“You want it?” 

“Yes please.” 

“How, needy girl?”

“Deep and slow,” a smile curled at her lips. “Indulge a little.” 

“Sweetheart.” He sank into the warmth of her mouth. The relief of it travelled up his spine and down all his nerve endings. “You can’t just say that to me, how am I supposed to think clearly? Go on, all the way. You said deep.” 

Her pleased hum was cut off. He moaned, helpless against the sensation as he passed the last wall of resistance.

Her hands sat relaxed on his hips, letting him know she was okay despite the fluttering of damp eyelashes and the tortuous flexing of her throat. He cradled her head and pulled out slowly. She hauled in one deep breath before he sank in again. It was agonisingly slow, the sweetest torture. He wasn’t going to last long. 

She looked up at him intermittently, making sure she was doing a good job. She never did anything less, but she was thorough like that. He knew how badly she wanted to please him. She’d do just about anything to make him feel good. Such raw trust. It eviscerated him. 

He moaned her name. 

It made him impossibly more possessive and protective when she got like this.  

This was his woman, putting her body in his hands.

“I’ve got you sweetheart,” he said, his voice rumbling and low as his climax approached. “You’re doing so good for me. That’s my girl. Fucking spectacular.” 

She made a desperate whine. 

“You gonna take it all?”

Her eyes flicked up to him, glittering and hungry. So full of affection. He loved her so much. She did something clever with her tongue. 

He surrendered.

Next>>

[sadaveniren]

Hiiiii!!! I saw your post about your kids asking you about your collar. Would you be open on providing further information on how a 24/7 master/slave relationship works with having kids? I am assuming it would be difficult to insert the sexual part of it when you’re also having to look after innocent children. Also! I am surprised with the fact that you’re in a 24/7 arrangement! I have so many questions that I want answers but I don’t want to invade your privacy!!! thank youuus

Hi!! It's no problem at all I try to be pretty open about everything, mostly to destigmatize kink. So for us navigating the 24/7 relationship while having a kid feels no different than I imagine any couple with a kid feels, because a good chunk of our dynamic isn't actually sexual. I feel like that's the first thing people really misunderstand, just because we are in a 24/7 relationship doesn't mean we are having sex 24/7 (most days... like obviously on a vacation where we have nothing else to do we definitely have just-- you know what that's probably TMI lol but just know, sex is healthy and fun and your local bdsm mom is VERY well taken care of), we just have total power exchange. (rip the gcs and my irl friends who get texts from me being like GUESS WHO JUST GOT THE FUCK OF THEIR LIFE)

Just gonna throw everything else under a cut here cause I can. You're welcome to come back (on or off anon) and ask questions! If you're curious here's a good blog post about TPE if you don't wanna just read my own experiences.

Now. Hello. Sada long post time.

I understand that to a naive and casual observer TPE can look like abuse, especially when you throw in mine and my husband's other kinks (i'm service orientated and a masochist, and they're a pleasure dom sadist) but I cannot express enough that this arrangement is 100% consensual, and was entered of sane mind etc etc. if my "you poor dumb autistic person" anon come back, preemptively, you can choke 🙃 Please understand our friends and family know we are in this relationship and not one person who knows us has ever had any concerns. My dad literally asked me where I got my collar because he wanted to recommend it to a co-worker of his.

How we navigate our dynamic in public honestly comes across as us being Very Polite And Loving to one another. We use terms of endearments to address each other instead of our titles. Every order my husband gives me includes him saying please, and he thanks me for everything he's asked me to do. We touch often, holding hands, snuggling, casual kisses. The first thing either of us do upon coming home is greet each other. We do let some subtle protocol slip through to public, such as I always sit on my husband's right (cause I'm his right hand haha), I wear my collar all of the time, and any clothing I wear is approved by my husband.

For us personally though... the best way I can describe it is we operate as one person separated into two bodies. My husband gives me orders for things they need done that they can't take care of in that moment. I am their's to order around as they want because everything they order me to do is for us. And that's why I am more than happy to fulfill those orders, because I'm doing them for us. We are like... the ultimate team. Two people working together for the same goal.

Our relationship and dynamic isn't for everyone. It's a very intense relationship and our feelings for each other run very deep. We've been together in some form of a BDSM relationship for 16 years and known each other since we were both 15. We didn't just jump into the TPE for a long while, but after being together for as long as we have certain things just work. We have negotiated a lot. We have explored a lot. We trust each other.

I belong to my husband entirely but people need to understand my husband belongs to me too. I think the loyalty and love a submissive has for their dominant is something that isn't always talked about, probably because it can so easily get stigmatized and categorized as part of abuse. I genuinely feel free in this dynamic, and like... ngl this type of relationship is exactly what I dreamed of for as long as I can remember wanting a relationship. TPE allows me to focus my energy on doing what I like (which is taking care of someone else's needs) and in return I am treasured.

My husband loves me with everything they are and their role, as the dominant, is to take care of me. They are my biggest advocate when it comes to my health. Just as quickly as they order me to get them water they are also ordering me to take 5 minutes to myself because they can tell I'm getting overwhelmed. They make sure I take my medicine every morning and that I've eaten. They know that my role is to take care of them, and in return, they take care of me. And it makes me so insanely happy.

[illfoandillfie]

really thinking about setting up like a fic directory on here where you could like pick a kink and it'd show you everything i've written with that kink. Other filters too like pairing and genre (smut/angst/fluff) and that sort of thing.

I've seen others have similar pages for fic recs and I thot it might be good to have here too because sometimes I feel like the masterlist I've currently got is a little annoying to navigate if you don't know the fic names and also I'm bad at updating it lmao.

Is that something anyone would use? Are there any specific filters you'd like to see? I'd love to know what you guys think!

[majorasnightmare]

Behold god's most beloathed abomination to nature that just won't die, who has been living rent free in my head since I hit "new game dark urge"

Creatively named Dirge because despite seeing the joke nine million times i STILL think its funny ✌️

He's a Great Old One tome pact Warlock whos inventing shrimp color mental illnesses but don't worry he can 100% be trusted with all of your personal information just ignore the ever present aroma of blood and the way he salivates seeing a dwarf on the barbie

[the-jellyfish-graves]

Cute date idea: you sit on my lap while I tease you and whisper praise into your ear or against your neck about how cute I think you are. 🖤

[rxttencaviar]

...... sits here and thinks about how, specifically, one of miranda's biggest turn ons is... well, resistance. like, i mean that in the sense of when she gets up onto her dom shit and her sadist shit, and really enjoys yanking someone around and putting them in their place, she likes it when they fight back, you know? brats, i suppose, or attempted power bottoms. attempted, because she gets a lot of enjoyment out of specifically breaking that down, wearing down that resistance, finding new and interesting ways to worm her way into their psyche and play around inside of it. if they're too open about how much they enjoy this and letting her in without making her work for it, then it's not as interesting, they're just like countless others who have come before, who want them before, who aren't doing anything for her other than confirming what she already knew. its like enrichment, you know? she likes it more when she has to work for it. she likes it when they fight back, when they try to stand up against her, when they act like they dont know how this is going to end.