#oh and if you get the reference you get a cookie

[gorjee-art]

Silly Billy lamb pls…?

it's about as silly as they can get...

[mblue-art]

hhappy pocky day 11/11!! here's some self-indulgence ft oreo man///

[jellyfish-grave]

I thought Tumblr might like this one

[lu-the-artist]

new commewnity reblog chain thing woohoo

Artists: draw/sketch your gift Mew in Scarlet/Violet based on its Tera type!

here’s mine:

[definitelynotshouting]

I adore your comparison of a crafting table to a catalyst because it’s not only great world building, it’s also got some really funny implications.

When studying an IRL chemical reaction, broadly speaking the two things we care about most are 1) how energetically favorable is this reaction (do I have to input energy to make it do the thing) and 2) how fast does it go. These are thermodynamics and kinetics, respectively. You can have a really fast reaction that actually isn’t energetically favorable, and you can have super slow reactions that are actually SUPER energetic, and everything in between. Catalysts actually only change the kinetics (speed) of a reaction - if something isn’t going to happen naturally on its own over time, adding a catalyst isn’t going to help. Biological systems are a great example - cells mostly function on their own over time, but you NEED enzymes (natures catalysts) in order for your body to function on a relevant time scale.

You mentioned that a player could whole-sale code, say, planks into steps on their own, but that the crafting table just makes it faster and easier. However, by definition of a catalyst, just placing planks in the correct configuration would EVENTUALLY make steps over a REALLY long time, and that’s hilarious.

I suspect that Grian’s use of his natural catalytic abilities in upcoming chapters will be much less hilarious 🥲. Actually wait brb heading to the combined wall/google doc to check—

-⚛️

CHEM ANON YOURE RIGHT THATS THE FUNNIEST UNINTENTIONAL IMPLICATION IVE EVER ACCIDENTALLY STUMBLED ON. IM GOING TO BE THINKING ABOUT THIS FOREVER NOW

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

note to self never fucking take benadryl ever again

[skulltreefairy]

@leiishroomvt fan art of a sleepy bean featuring frungle!

[whump-it-like-its-hot]

Just had my last Christmas gift exchange before graduating…third year in which I put all my everything into my gift, and receive the smallest package with three pens in return. No seriously, I’ve gotten this exact thing before, it was just different pens. Yeah I’m done.

[icannotgetoverbirds]

Rural queers, suburban queers, queers surrounded by hate, I may never be strong enough to live your life, but I stand in solidarity with you. you are welcome in spaces with me. lightspeed and stars' blessings to you. I send the same regards to rural/suburban poc and poc surrounded by hate, and it all goes doubly for those of both demographics.

white trans ppl from liberal suburbia in blue states will go on and on about how scary it is to be a trans person right now but the second they encounter a trans person from a red state they’ll be like “ummmmm why would you live in such an uncivilized place lmao maybe you shouldn’t have voted for republicans like if you don’t like how conservative it is then just leave” as if these states aren’t populated by black and brown people who face intense voter suppression and poor people who can’t just up and leave. not to mention the fact that all those articles y’all are sharing about the state of trans safety? those are in our states and we will be the ones who go down first. so instead of laughing at us dumb hicks from your liberal safe haven, consider instead shutting the fuck up and actually doing something to help us. because they’re coming for you next.

[starkeyszn]

late night talking blurb with rafe cameron ⊹ ࣪ ˖

pairing: sweetheart¡maybank x rafe¡cameron

notes: reader is referred to as sweetie, but also includes pet names!

sweetie sighed, hearing her phone repeatedly buzz on her night stand, indicating a phone call was coming through. she rolled on her side, reaching for her phone on her night stand. sweetie saw the caller id ‘rafey ♡’

she was quick to press the green button, the call now going through. rafe’s soft voice, that was only for her, spoke on the other side of the line, “hi sweetheart.”

her raspy voice tinged, “hi rafey.” he was quick to notice her raspy voice, “did i wake you, shit ‘m sorry.”

she quickly cut him off, “you’re good—i wasn’t fast asleep anyway.” “is something wrong—?” sweetie added, glancing to the clock that was on her bedside table, reading the time, 12:23AM.

“no, jus’ missed hearing your pretty voice.” rafe replied, “wish you were here.” he trailed off.

“me too rafe, but i’ll see you soon, kay?”

“of course you will, i’ll take you out tomorrow, how’s that sound, hm?”

sweetie smiled, rolling on her back, still holding the phone to her ear, “sounds perfect rafey.”

“you know, you’re the only one who i let call me that, only like it comin’ from your sweet mouth.”

sweetie giggled, “i don’t know why you hate it so much, it’s personally adorable.”

“ ‘m not all about that adorable shit, you know that princess—only when it comes to you.” “only me?” she questioned.

“only and just you, baby.” rafe replied, the flirtatious tone evident in his voice. “anyways, tell me about your day.”

sweetie immediately brightened at the chance to ramble, even though it was late at night, she could talk for days, “well! i went surfing with kie, hm—oh! i baked some cookies! i also got my nails done with sar… i took maple [dog] out for a walk, i need to take her to the beach soon—”

rafe sighed softly, holding the phone closer to his ear.

sweetie heard his sigh, making her frown, “am i talking too much? — i’m sorry!” rafe was quick to reply, “no baby, keep going, i love your voice, continue about maple.”

she blushed on the other end of the phone, her cheeks heating up, “well uhm— maple also actually has found a new liking to watermelon, she absolutely loves it! whenever i find myself having some, she’s always sitting there patiently waiting for some-” sweetie cut herself off, giggling, the image of her dog popping up in her mind.

the pair talked for another half an hour, mainly sweetie, because rafe insisted on her to keep talking, just because he loved her voice so much it soothed him.

“i’ll let you get some sleep now, baby, i’ll pick you up tomorrow around six, sounds good?” rafe spoke.

sweetie was about to nod, before realising rafe can’t see her, “sounds perfect.”

“see you tomorrow darling.”

“goodnight rafey.”

“goodnight angel.”

lex’s notes; my sweethearts 🩷🩷 my first blurb on tumblr 😓 , i hope it’s good, sorry it’s so short, also idk who the divider creds are! they’ve been in my camera roll for ages </3

[7s3ven]

Was literally just making lemonade and I thought to myself “this would be a cute plot for TF 141”.

Like they finally have a well-deserved break and they settle in a little neighborhood to literally just rest. And someone rings the doorbell but all that’s there is a plate of cookies on the porch.

You, their neighbour, eventually approach them and they immediately grow attached because you’re kind and soft and gentle, everything they aren’t.

You make them homemade lemonade and sweets and treat them the way a housewife would, aka a way they’ve never been treated before. And even when they go back to their jobs, they still get gifts from you. And they literally refer to you as their wife or misses.

“Oh, yeah, just a gift from the misses.” Ghost gruffly grumbles to the recruit who asked about the container of brownies.

“I didn’t know you were married.”

“I’m not.”

[bookshelf-dust]

kiss him with chocolate lips

billy hargrove x fem!reader

gif by @biillys

word count: 1,837

warnings: swearing, some sexual references/themes, allusions to sexy adult things, play-fighting, reader and billy being in love and that love language is being little shits to each other (also acts of service), smooching and one use of the word saliva

synopsis: you decide to bake cookies, and billy decides he must be included, but you’d never let your cookies perish in return for an insatiable man.

a/n: hii!! i came up with a few lines of dialogue for billy a little bit ago, and then they just sat in my notes app because i couldn’t think of what to do with them. halfway through writing this, something i wanted to be sweet and silly, i felt lost and didn’t know how to end it or where to go with it, and started looking for inspiration. but then it came to me! and i’m very happy with how this turned out. i hope you like it! happy reading <33

————

Your hands are buried wrist deep in cookie dough, because you got sick of the shitty spatula not doing its job. 

You keep folding it in and over itself, trying to get all the chocolate chips and dry ingredients properly combined. You feel like the cookies just don’t turn out right if you don’t get in there and make sure it’s the way it’s meant to be. 

You reach over and grab a handful of mini chips to toss in your mouth. You have this mixture of regular size ones, minis, and chunks that you swear by. 

“You missed the bowl.”

A pair of large, warm hands slide over your waist, pinkies grazing over that spot where your pelvis dips because they know that’s your ticklish spot and just want to see you squirm. 

“Fuck off, prick.”

Billy smiles into the soft and slightly sweaty skin of your neck, peppering kisses in a trail from your collarbone to your earlobe. You nudge him with your shoulder, trying to ward him off. 

He licks a stripe up the back of your neck. And if you weren’t making an effort to look annoyed by his presence, your eyes might’ve just rolled back into your head. 

Instead you let out a sort of strangled howl to emphasize your agony. You are busy, after all. Making cookies you know he’ll eat before you can have any for yourself. You’ll have to hide some this time. 

You elbow Billy in the stomach, but his hands never leave your hips. He’s chuckling lightly, enjoying every minute of teasing you and being the biggest nuisance he can be.

“I should castrate you,” you say, rubbing your nose with your forearm to avoid spreading cookie dough all over your face. 

Billy laughs into your neck, the tip of his nose cold against your warm skin. “Oh, but you like that part of me too much, baby.”

You scoff. “Dick.”

He places a finger on your chin so that you’ll meet his gaze. “Exactly.” 

“I hate you,” you say, your eyes boring into his and saying anything but. They’re practically twinkling just looking at him. 

He hooks another finger under your chin and coaxes you closer, “I know,” he smiles, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that tastes like chocolate chips. 

The flavor being on his mouth makes you pull away in shock. You put your hands on your hips and feign being absolutely appalled and ashamed.

“You come in here, on my ass, when yours has been fillin’ up on chocolate for how long?” You raise up on your tippy toes, trying your best to get in his face. He bends slightly to make it easier for you. 

His gaze drags over each of your pretty features in that way he knows gives you goosebumps. “You think you just get to eat ‘em all or something?”

You press your hand to his chest. “I bought the damn things, Hargrove. And I think, as the woman making the cookies, I’m entitled to eat as many chocolate chips as I want.” 

Billy leans in again and kisses you, but this time it’s slow, too slow, and sensual. The kind that feels like it lasts forever but in reality was a few seconds. One that really should last forever. It makes your brain go all fuzzy.

He drags his hand up your spine and pulls back. “Yes, ma’am.” 

Your stomach flips, your blood rushing to all the important parts of your body because he knows just what buttons to push and you despise him for it. Cocky little shit. 

“Now look who can use his manners,” you say, your voice taking on a sing-songy lilt. Billy grins at you, biting his lip, and then returns to his place behind you. 

You both settle down, quieting and melting into each other's presence. Billy watches over your shoulder as you pour in more chocolate chips. He knows you always hate it when people cheat you out of your chocolate. 

“I need a tray, B, can you get one for me?”

He pats your ass and moves to the designated cabinet without answering. He rips out a sheet of parchment paper without you having to ask. You always say that the bottoms don’t burn as easily that way, or you quote something from a cooking show you watched on tv that morning. 

He brings the cookie sheet back to you and then pushes up so he’s sitting on the counter next to you, bare thighs pressing into the cold stone. 

You pass him the rest of the chocolate chips to snack on and bend to kiss his knee. He blushes. You’ve been together for a few years now, but each time you give him affection in small, uncommon ways, it makes him feel like teenage boy. 

Billy watches you separate the dough into even-ish chunks before sliding it all into the oven. He tilts his head back and tosses the rest of the chocolate chips into his mouth before hopping down from the counter. 

He grabs your hips when he sees you move toward the sink. “Uh, uh. Go sit, mama. I’ll take care of it.” He knows you’re going to push back, and before you can he picks you up and places you in the living room. 

You let out a small huff and walk right back to your starting point. There aren’t even that many dishes to wash anyway, but what’s the fun in cooperating with him?

“Billy.”

“Hm?” He’s squeezing soap all over the dishes you’d already pre-rinsed. 

“Go sit your pretty ass down and let me do this.” You hear him laugh over the sound of the tap running and roll your eyes. He feels it. And he ignores you, squeezing out a sponge. 

You wrap your arms around his waist and pull, trying to lift him up the way he had with you just moments before. You manage to heave him up just enough that his toes leave the tile and he cackles at your effort to be such an adorable irritant.

He looks at you over his shoulder, your brow creased in concentration, the tip of your tongue sticking out just slightly. “How’s that workin’ out for ya, princess?”

“It’s not my fault you’re so big and heavy and strong.”

His ego practically skyrockets, his brain picking out any bit of flattery you’ll offer him. 

“Big and strong, huh?”

You cross your arms and spin around, hiding your wide smile before he can catch a glimpse at it. At how pleased you are to have riled him up. You let out a little petulant “Hmph!” and start to pad away. You know what’s coming though, and you try to pick up speed before you can be captured. 

Billy’s arms are around your thighs in seconds. He’s managed to turn you around and lift you up, throwing you over your shoulder like it’s nothing, like this is a normal daily task. “I’ll show you big and strong, pretty baby.”

You beat playfully on his lower back, fighting off a fit of giggles. “Billy! Put me down motherfucker!” He’s laughing too, all too pleased with himself for being able to get you like this. 

He pulls you down so you’re hanging onto his front and starts maneuvering you onto the couch. Your every nerve ending lights up when you feel Billy’s hand at the crown of your head, cradling you as he sets you down. 

The gentle manner in which he handles you does not correlate to the way he kisses you. 

Billy settles between your legs, grabbing your arms and coaxing them around his neck. He’s giving you a job, giving you instructions, and it makes your brain go quiet. Honing in on him, and nothing else. He’s all you can see, all you can smell, all you’re capable of thinking about. 

One of his hands slips beneath your t-shirt and settles against the dip of your spine, allowing him to pull you upward, allowing him to mold your body to his without you even having to put in the effort to arch your back and meet him. 

The other slips into the hair at the base of your neck, fingernails scratching over your scalp to get the goosebumps going, the heel of his hand rubbing determinedly at your skin, massaging it and reveling in the heat radiating off of you. 

Each time you try to say something, Billy kisses you harder, laughing into your mouth. He’s getting sloppy, losing himself in the taste of chocolate and lip balm and you. 

He sucks on your bottom lip, nips at it with his teeth, and it makes you let out a small, quiet moan. Billy slaps your thigh and you pull his hair. He groans, loud and unashamed. He shoves his knee in between your legs, meets the hottest, softest part of you and—

The timer on the microwave goes off.

Your cookies are finished. 

You pull back from Billy’s warm mouth, because you can’t let your cookies burn. What kind of monster would you be, letting cookies perish for a man? Absolutely not. 

His lips are still in a pout and there’s a string of saliva connecting the both of you. 

Instead of laughing like you want, you groan, “Oh dear Christ, ew, Billy.”

While he’s processing that you just said “ew” to him, you slide out from underneath his arms and race to pull the finished cookies from the oven. 

You’re carefully picking each cookie up and setting them on a cooling rack so they’ll become edible—without burning the skin off the roof of your mouth—sooner rather than later. 

Billy finally appears in the kitchen and puts a hand against the counter. His brow creases like he’s just been told something very serious, though his mussed hair and flushed cheeks say otherwise. 

“Did you just say ew to me, baby?” An evil smirk starts to appear on his face and he closes in on you. “You definitely don’t think it’s gross when I spit on your—” 

You shove a warm cookie into his mouth before he can finish that sentence. His face takes on a comical expression of his surprise, but he happily chews on the melting chocolate chips you’ve provided him with. He does like the warm cookies the best. 

You reach for a towel to clean off his face, but he moves too fast. 

Billy is kissing you all over, your neck, your collarbones, your cheeks and forehead. He’s doing his damndest to get chocolate all over you as payback for your teasing little attitude. 

“Billy!” you squeal, giggling and shrieking with joy. 

“Take it back! Take back that fucking ew, princess, and you can go!” He’s cackling, tickling your sides. 

“Okay, okay! I love your nasty ass, I do! Let me go!”

He removes his fingers from your hips and starts to wipe off your face with a wet cloth while you both catch your breath. 

“Damn right you do.”

————

tagging: @clovermunson (i got you bestie)

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

[teaboot]

As someone who learnt english as a second language via textbook, I have to say "flying by the seat of my pants" is a hilarious idiom xD

It's the first time I've seen/heard it.

Could you share another one you like using?

Idk about idioms specifically, but there's a bunch of phrases I learned from my mom!

Lord love a duck! (Incredulous, like 'oh my god')

Lord suffer in sheep dip! (Sheep dip meaning sheep poop. Incredulous, but for annoying things- like 'are you kidding me?')

Is there a piano tied to your ass? ('Don't be lazy, do it yourself')

Someone's cruising for a bruising. (You're picking a fight.)

I don't give a rat's rip. ('I don't care'- a rat's 'rip' is it's butt crack.)

Pull up a stump! (Get yourself a chair, sit down.)

Everybody out of the pool! (Get out of the car)

I'm flying by the seat of my pants. (I have no idea what I'm doing, but I'm doing it.)

Don't go blowing smoke up my ass. (Don't over-compliment me, don't flatter me, don't stroke my ego, don't tell me positive lies)

Looks like it's gonna rain on our parade. (A storm is coming.)

Sorry to rain on your parade. (I've given you bad news- can be used sincerely or sarcastically to denote sympathy for incurring a bad mood.)

Better button that lip. (Stop talking.)

Someone's gonna stick a boot up your ass. ('Stick a boot up your ass'- fight you, beat you, kick your ass.)

Stick that lip out any further, and a pigeon'll shit on it. (Stop whining.)

Suck it up, buttercup. (Stop whining.)

Dumber than a fence post. (Very stupid.)

The back forty. (The wild or forested area behind a rural home. The 'forty' being forty acres, or farmland.)

Don't go begging for a fat lip. (Whatever you're saying or doing is going to bother people and get you in trouble.)

What on God's green earth (What the fuck)

I'm sweating like a pig in a porta-potty (like a pig in a plastic outhouse- I'm very warm, it's hot here)

He thinks the universe flew out of his ass. (He thinks he's more impressive than he is.)

Your mouth wrote a cheque your ass couldn't cash. (You promised more than you were capable of providing.)

You've got a horseshoe up your ass. (You're very, very lucky.)

Taking a dirt nap. (Dead.)

Pushing (up) daisies. (Dead.)

Give me forty acres to turn this rig around. (I need time and space to move this large, heavy, or unwieldy thing. Usually about navigating a vehicle. Taken from a song lyric.)

Jesus take the wheel. (God help me, I can't handle this, I give up.)

Gone belly-up. (Has died.)

We've got a floater. (This one is dead.)

Herding cats. (Trying to organize chaos, managing an impossibly complicated situation.)

I've got a black thumb. (I am bad at growing plants, all my plants die- reference to having a 'green thumb', or being good at growing plants.)

Stop trackin' floor cookies. (Floor cookies are bits of animal shit that fall off your work boots- 'tracking floor cookies' means wearing your boots in the house; take your shoes off at the door.)

Running around like a headless chicken. (Frantic, disorganized, stressed out by many tasks or panicked by a big situation.)

Spinning my wheels. (Waiting around for something to happen, getting nowhere, frustrated by inactivity, not making any progress towards a goal.)

He's gonna blow a gasket. (He's going to lose his temper, he's going to be angry.)

They'll tan your hide. (They'll punish you severely; usually through violence. Specifically in reference to a spanking.)

He's a few bricks short a load. (He's not clever / he doesn't think things through / he's crazy)

Not the sharpest tool in the shed. (Not the smartest person. Very dumb, clumsy, or absent-minded.)

I'm not going to bail you out. (Not going to save your sinking boat- not going to help you out of your bad situation.)

Looks like things are going south. (The situation is growing worse.)

I'll start making tracks. (I'll leave now, I'll start working, I'll get going.)

He's fucking the dog. (He's not being productive, he's doing a bad job, he's made things worse, he's screwing around.)

He's making puppies. (Less graphic version of 'fucking the dog'.)

Plant your ass. (Sit.)

Playing grab-ass. (Procrastinating- accomplishing nothing, slowing people down.)

He couldn't find his ass in the dark. (He's stupid, ineffective, underqualified, or incompetent.)

He couldn't pour water out of a boot if the instructions were on the heel. (He is unbelievably, comically dumb or ineffective. He can't do anything right.)

One foot in the ground. (Dying, or half-dead.)

I'm kicking rocks. (I'm not doing anything productive.)

I'm hauling ass. (I'm running away.)

Madder than a wet hen. (Very, very angry.)

Like I said I'm not sure that these are all idioms but they're all the phrases and sayings from my childhood that I can remember right now

EDIT: Cannot BELIEVE I forgot my mom's favourite

52. Wish in one hand, shit in the other, see which gets filled first. (Wishes don't come true by themselves)

Plus some more I forgot:

53. You make a better door than a window. (You're in the way of my view.)

54. You can take a long walk off a short pier. (Go fuck yourself.)

55. He's about as sharp as a bowling ball. (He's stupid.)

56. Scoot your poot. (Move over.)

57. Not my first rodeo. (I know what I'm doing.)

58. He's built like a brick shithouse. (He's broad and sturdy and very strong, solid.)

59. I smell bacon. (I saw a cop nearby.)

60. I don't want to hear a peep. (Stop talking.)

61. You're thinking with the wrong head. (You're making bad decisions because you're horny.)

62. I'd lose my ass/head if it wasn't tied on. (I'm very absent-minded, forgetful.)

63. That went down like a lead balloon. (That situation was bad.)

[hoshifighting]

Ok I know your reqs are closed and I don't ask you to write a fic but can we just take a moment and think if woozi's partner dressed up as a very slutty musa from winx club and when I say slutty I mean underboob showing top and booty showing skirt with the slit and red boots. And maybe that's his birthday gift. I have a hunch that woozi has secretly seen all seasons of winx club including the movie franchise. And then you show up as MUSA???? FAIRY OF MUSIC????? WHEN HE IS THE GOD OF MUSIC????? ON HIS BIRTHDAY???? ahem. Open that for discussion as you may

dressing as winx—musa for jihoon's birthday

a/n: anon, this discussion was so good that i made this drabble, and a small fic inspired on it! i hope you like it!

WARNINGS: smut, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, fingering + oral (f. receiving)

check the story here

it’s a dumb idea. like, so dumb. you almost talked yourself out of it five times before even ordering the boots. because, like…woozi?? the man whos 24/7 hunched over a keyboard like it personally owes him royalties. not the kinda guy you’d peg as a secret fan of sparkly-ass fairy shows. but then you saw it—the tiniest slip of a reference in one of his texts. some offhand comment about “fighting the darkness with the power of music” or some shit. and you were like no fucking way.

so obviously, you had to test the waters. subtle shit at first. humming the theme song when you’re in his studio. saying “magic winx!” when you stretch, just to see if he flinches. and he does. he fucking flinches. it’s like catching a cat with its paw in the cookie jar. he’s so bad at hiding it, too, gets all awkward and mumbly, trying to pass it off like you’re imagining things.

so naturally, the only logical next step is to dress up like musa for his birthday.

“what the fuck,” woozi says when you walk into his studio. and by say, you mean choke out, because dude’s sitting there with his jaw hanging open like he’s forgotten how to breathe.

you do a little twirl because why not? the skirt’s barely there, all slitted up the sides, and the boots are so red they look illegal. the top it’s doing the most. cropped high enough to flash underboob every time you so much as blink. you catch his gaze dipping, like he’s trying to decide where to look without combusting on the spot.

“happy birthday!” you sing, grinning like the menace you are. “do you like it?”

“you—you’re—” he stammers, eyes darting between you and the door like he’s expecting someone to bust in and arrest him for horny crimes. “why the hell are you dressed like that?”

you plop down onto his lap because subtlety’s for cowards. “like who? musa? fairy of music? your soulmate?”

“oh my god.” he presses his hands to his face, but it’s useless; the tips of his ears are already neon red. “you’re insane.”

“insane for you,” you say, leaning in close enough to watch his eyes widen. you trail a finger down the side of his neck, all slow and teasing. “c’mon, jihoon. you can admit it. you’ve seen every episode, haven’t you?”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbles, which is the worst lie you’ve ever heard. the way his voice cracks halfway through? chef’s fucking kiss.

“oh yeah? then why’d you flinch when i said ‘magic winx’ last week?”

“...fuck you.”

“thought you’d never ask.”

you don’t give him a chance to retort, crashing your lips onto his. he freezes for, like, half a second, then he’s all in, hands gripping your hips like you’ll disappear if he lets go. the kiss is messy, teeth and tongue, and you can feel him hardening under your skirt—if you can even call that a skirt.

“you’re the worst!” he groans against your lips, but the way he’s pulling you closer says otherwise.

“and you’re a winx club stan,” you shoot back, grinding down on him just to hear the breath hitch in his throat.

“shut up,” he mutters, before flipping you onto the couch. you’re so fucked.

you’re grinning, smug and shameless, sprawled out on his studio couch like a gift he’s just unwrapped. he doesn’t know whether he wants to worship you or ruin you.

now you realize that, maybe you underestimated just how feral this man could get.

he’s still dressed, but barely tho; his shirt’s pulled halfway up his chest, showing off just enough skin to make you the feral one instead. you hook your legs around his waist, tugging him down until you’re pressed flush against each other. he’s hard—so fucking hard—and you can feel it, the thick length of him pressing against your core through the flimsy fabric of your skirt.

he buries his face in the crook of your neck. “you show up dressed like that, looking like—like that—”

“like your dream girl?” you tease, running your hands through his hair. it’s soft, messy from all his pacing earlier, and you tug just enough to make him groan. “admit it, jihoon. you’ve been thinking about this.”

“youre my dream girl, babe,” he hisses, grinding against you like he’s losing the battle with himself.

“show me,” you challenge, lifting your hips to meet his, you can’t help the gasp that escapes your lips. “c’mon, birthday boy. don’t you wanna blow out your candle?”

he pauses, pulling back just enough to give you that look—the one that says you’re about to regret being a little shit. “you’re lucky you’re cute,” he says, before grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head.

“oh, we’re doing this?” you say, breathless but still grinning. “kinky.”

“shut up,” he growls. his lips find yours again, rougher this time, his teeth catching on your bottom lip as he kisses you. his free hand slides down your side, slipping under your top to cup your breast, and the feel of his calloused fingers against your skin makes you arch into him.

you gasp, as he tugs your top up and over your head, tossing it somewhere behind him. he pauses for a second, just staring at you—at the way your chest rises and falls, the way your skirt’s ridden up to reveal more skin than it covers. you can see the way his throat bobs, like he’s trying to hold himself back.

“you’re perfect,” he says, and it’s so soft, so genuine, it makes your chest tighten.

“yeah?” you say, your voice shaky. “then stop staring and fuck me.”

he’s on you in a second, lips trailing down your neck, over your collarbone, to your chest. his tongue flicks over your nipple, and you let out a sound you didn’t even know you could make, your hands twisting he sucks, bites, licks, like he’s determined to leave his mark.

his hand slips between your legs, pushing aside your skirt and finding the damp patch on your panties. “fuck,” he groans, pressing his thumb against you through the fabric. “you’re so wet already.”

“wonder why,” you manage to say, though it comes out more like a whimper as he slides your panties down and off. his fingers are on you immediately, spreading you open, and itmakes you feel like you’re melting.

he teases you, running his fingers up and down your slit, barely grazing your clit just to watch you squirm. “you talk a big game,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “but look at you now. all needy.”

“ngh—babe please!” you say, even though you’re very much proving his point. “stop teasing.”

he smirks, leaning down to press a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “patience, fairy of music.”

he licks stripe up your slit before circling your clit. your hips jerk, but he holds you down, his hands gripping your thighs as he works you over that’s honestly unfair. it’s too much and you’re a mess, moaning his name and tugging at his hair.

“jihoon!” you gasp, your voice breaking as he slides a finger inside you, curling it just right.

he sucks your clit harder, adding another finger and sucking on your clit until you’re seeing stars. your orgasm hits you, taking you by surprise, your whole body tensing as you cry out, and he doesn’t stop until you’re begging him to.

when he finally pulls back, he looks so fucking smug. “happy birthday to me,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“get your pants off.”

he raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue, standing up and shucking his jeans and boxers in record time. your mouth goes dry at the sight of the cock that you loved and craved, the flush on his cheeks only makes him hotter.

“what’s the matter?” he says, climbing back over you. “cat got your tongue?”

you shush him, pulling him down for another kiss.

“as you wish, fairy girl.” and then he’s pushing into you, filling you inch by inch until you’re gasping at the stretch. you love the way he feels inside you, the way he groans against your neck as he bottoms out.

“you okay?” he asks, knowing the time you need to adjust.

“yeah,” you breathe, wrapping your legs around him to pull him closer. “move.”

you meet him thrust for thrust, your nails raking down his back as he picks up the pace. “fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, his breath hot against your ear. “so fucking perfect.”

“i’m close.” so so fucking close—shit!

“me too,” he says, his thrusts turning frantic as he chases his orgasm. “come for me, baby.”

you do, cumming around him with a cry of his name, he looks at you. your head thrown back, your pussy desperately clamping around him—pushes him over the edge. he comes whiny groan, his hips stuttering as he spills into you.

he collapses on top of you, burying his face in your neck, and you can feel his heart pounding against yours. “best birthday ever, thank you babe.” he mumbles, his voice muffled but sincere.

you laugh, running your fingers through his hair. “told you you’d like it.”

“you’re never living this down,” he says, lifting his head to look at you. “next time, i’m dressing as bloom.”

“deal,” you say, grinning, and pull him down for another kiss.

[wonderjanga]

Gender? Who Cares About That?

Billy’s never really been one to really care about gender. Look, if you wanna be a girl, you’re a girl, same if you wanna be a boy. Or at least that’s what he thinks. He just doesn’t get the hype about it. So, whenever he feels like it, he just turns into a girl. No one really cares and he’s been doing it since the sixties so he’ll keep doing it. Well, at least no one cared until nowadays.

Marvel: *in female form picking up some rubble to clear it after a villain attack*

Reporter: “Ma’am!” *trying to flag Marvel down*

Marvel: “Yes, miss?” *carefully puts rubble down*

Reporter: “Hello, ma’am. We at channel five news have been meaning to ask you a few questions. Are you related to Captain Marvel, and if so, are you blood related?”

Marvel: *visible confusion* “Uh… I guess.” *honestly thinks it’s a little funny* “But, miss, I am Captain Marvel.”

Reporter: “Huh��?”

Marvel: “Did you not ask any of the citizens?”

Reporter: *looks to the camera guy before looking back at Billy* “Yes- I’m sorry, I was under the impression Captain Marvel was a man.”

Marvel: “I am.”

Reporter: “Yet you’re a woman…?”

Marvel: “Yeah. Whenever I feel like it, I turn into a girl. Then, whenever I feel like it, I turn into a boy.”

Tourist: “So you’re gender-fluid?”

Marvel: “What is that?” *sounds confused*

Tourist: “Literally just what you described.”

Marvel: “Oh. Then I guess I am. I didn’t know there was a label for it.” *

For reference, female Marvel looks like Marilyn just with blue eyes and black hair. As for why he doesn’t know what gender-fluid means? Well apparently it originated in 1994, and in my AU he was trapped in a time bubble and got out in 2016. He’s an old man guys. He can’t work computers. They’re too overcomplicated. If you were to ask a random citizen from Fawcett, they wouldn’t know either.

Marvel: *back in male form, frosting some cookies at the Watchtower*

Supes: “Cap?”

Marvel: “Yes?”

Supes: “So… uh…” *awkward and looks the other JL members*

Other JL Members: *peaking from behind a corner*

Supes: “We just want you to know we support you.” *awkward smile and pat on shoulder*

Marvel: “Cool? What’re you supporting?”

Supes: “Well you know… Do you really not know why?”

Marvel: “No…?”

*silence*

Marvel: “Do you want a cookie?”

Supes: “Yes, please.”

Yeah, he doesn’t care. Like stated earlier, he doesn’t care, and neither did the Fawcett’s citizens. He didn’t even think this was something that people were supported for. That’s why he had no clue what Clark was talking about.

Marvel and GL: *have monitor duty together*

GL: “So, dude, are you going to the pride parade in Metropolis?”

Marvel: “Why would I go to one of those?”

GL: “Cause you’re gender fluid?”

Marvel: “What?” *already forgot what that meant*

GL: “You know how you switch between girl and boy all the time?”

Marvel: “Ohhhh that. I still don’t see what that has to do with the pride parade.”

GL: “Dude, that’s apart of pride.”

Marvel: “I thought pride was for queers?”

GL: “Yeah. You being gender fluid makes you queer.”

Marvel: “Really?”

GL: “Yup.”

Marvel: “Huh. I had no idea. I guess I could go, but I don’t really wanna go alone. Are you going?”

GL: *nods head* “Me and a couple others.”

Marvel: “ ‘kay, then can I go with you guys?”

GL: “Hell yeah, man!”

Bonus:

Mary does the same thing as Billy! Whenever she turns into a boy though, she looks like Billy because twin power.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Tastes of Home and Cake

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!baker!reader

Summary: You own a popular bakery frequented by celebrities, but when the Mid-Wilshire police station hires you for a luncheon, you go out of your way to make cakes, cupcakes, and favourites to make the day special.

Warnings: fluff, Tim bring grumpy toward everyone except his wife who makes him a softie

Word Count: 2.0k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Rules

“The cast of Rings of Power will be here at 10:00 tomorrow instead of 10:15, is that okay?” your assistant, Kasey, asks.

“Of course,” you respond as you spin a tart pan to remove an air bubble from the filling. “Did you hear back from the Scuderia Ferrari people?”

“Oh, yes. I fit Charles and Lewis in for a lunch and tasting five days before the Las Vegas Grand Prix in November of next year.”

“Perfect!”

You pass the tart to one of your bakery sous chefs before you follow Kasey out of the kitchen. The small dining area of your bakery is full, and the door has been closed and locked to give your clients a private meal.

“Good afternoon,” you greet after removing your apron and straightening your outfit. “It’s a pleasure you have you here, and I hope you enjoy everything.”

After several minutes of speaking to your customers and promising to fit them into your booked schedule when they finish filming in several months, you return to Kasey’s side.

“How do you keep your cool talking to celebrities every day?” she inquires. “I talk to their agents on the phone and get a little starstruck.”

“Well, he’s one of the nicest people on the planet,” you point out, referring to Pedro Pascal sitting behind you. “And, at the end of the day, they’re still people. Well-known and sometimes really mean, but they’re customers, just like the small population of Los Angeles that we serve for a few hours every morning.”

“Speaking of that, I need to get back to the people in the LA Times about the feature they want to do on the bakery. Do you want to do it?”

You stop by a tray of cookies and sigh. “I don’t know. Part of me says yes, but then the side that isn’t caught up in the business wonders if it’s worth it to get longer lines and higher wait times.”

“Did you talk to your super-secret boyfriend about it?”

“I did. He wasn’t much help, basically said to do what I thought was right. Just… tell them not right now. If they take that as a no, that’s fine.”

Kasey nods and jots a note in her always-present journal before she notices the whiteboard where you make plans for tastings and events.

“Is all of that for the LAPD luncheon you’re catering?” she inquires, wide-eyed at the quantity and quality of items. “You know they’re paying a flat rate, right?”

“Kasey, I’m going to tell you a secret,” you reply as you slip your apron over your head. “My ‘super-secret boyfriend’ that you constantly ask about… He’s a cop. And my husband.”

“That explains the Madagascan vanilla shortbread cookies,” she mumbles. “Wait, can I meet him?”

“Me first!” one of your regular celebrities yells from the dining area.

You roll your eyes in amusement and then begin working on the croissants for the sandwiches and the dulce de leche cake for Mid-Wilshire’s annual officer appreciation party.

“This is Officer Thorsen,” Kasey introduces as you exit your car at the police station.

“Aaron,” you greet, welcoming his hug.

“Please tell me the department sprung for my favourite,” he replies.

“I might have thrown in a few goodies.”

“You are the best. I was honestly surprised when I heard they’d chosen your bakery.”

You shake your head at Kasey to remind her not to say anything. To her surprise, they didn’t contract with you because your husband works here, just because of your reputation in Los Angeles. The people working in this station don’t even know you have a relationship with one of their own, so your expanded menu should appear to be a nice surprise, showing your appreciation for the brave men and women who keep you and your city safe.

“This is my watch commander, Wade Grey,” Aaron introduces.

“Nice to meet you,” you offer as you shake his hand.

“You, too. My wife has been wanting to visit your bakery, but we never seem to make it in time,” he replies.

“I’ve got some extras packed away in the van if you’d like to take her something. It’s the least I can do.”

“Baker to the stars… how do you like dealing with so many high profile people every day?”

“Most of them are great, just looking for a place to eat some carbs without the paparazzi. There are a few that I try not to have availability for, of course, but it’s the baking that I really love. My assistant handles most of the people side of things.”

“Well, we can’t thank you, and Kasey, of course, enough for fitting us into your schedule. We’ve been looking forward to it for a while.”

“Of course. I hope you don’t mind but I did throw in some free treats, just my way of saying thank you.”

“That’s incredibly kind of you. Let me know if you need any help setting up or finding anything.”

“Thank you, Sergeant Grey.”

After he returns to his duties, you try to let Aaron return to work, but he insists on helping you set up. Thirty minutes later, the bullpen has been turned into a space of food, appreciation, and more cakes and cupcakes than you remember making.

“I thought you said a few freebies?” Aaron murmurs. “Did you leave anything in the bakery?”

“I hope so. Ryan Reynolds will be a little disappointed if I didn’t,” you respond lightly. “I think I’m done here. Thanks for your help, Aaron.”

“Of course- I’m sorry, Ryan Reynolds?”

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

Someone gasps, and a moment later, Officer Chen runs up to Aaron’s side and smiles as she says your name.

“I watched the Food Network special on your bakery,” she exclaims. “I’ve never been more excited to eat in my life.”

“I hope you enjoy it,” you reply. “Thank you for all you do.”

“You might want to get food now, Lucy. It looks like a lot but it won’t last forever,” Aaron suggests.

“Precisely my plan,” Wade agrees as he exits his office. “It looks great.”

Standing back, you watch officers come in, chat with one another, and get plates of food and treats.

“That’s a lot of cake,” someone says behind you.

“It’s like you’re trying to set up the joke, Tim,” you respond without turning.

His fingers dance across your back before he moves to stand beside you.

“Too much?” you ask.

“No. I for one appreciate it. I’m glad my getting shot at equals roughly that much cake.”

You lean sideways to hit Tim with your shoulder, and he smiles as he rights himself. He moves away from you when he sees several officers walking toward you with cake and cookies on their plates.

“This is by far the most delicious cake I’ve ever had,” one says. “My mother-in-law is throwing me and my husband an anniversary party and if I have this cake, I’ll actually go.”

“She’s booked through spring of 2027,” Tim interjects. “So, unless you want to get on the waiting list for a tenth anniversary cake, it’s not gonna happen. Tell Mrs. Evers you can’t make it.”

“2027?” the woman beside her muses. “Good for you.”

“Thank you,” you answer. “You all have much more important jobs than me, though. Maybe my assistant can fit you in, so you don’t have to miss your own party.”

“See, Timothy? That’s what being nice gets you,” Angela taunts.

“Well, he’s actually the reason I even brought that cake,” you point out.

Angela cocks her head slightly, her fork halfway between her plate and her mouth as she looks from Tim back to you. The woman beside her, who you assume is Nyla Harper based on Tim’s detailed stories, watches you with similar interest.

“It’s not even my favourite,” Tim grumbles.

“Don’t start with me, Bradford.”

“You made me taste test a bunch of stuff last weekend and I told you it’s good but not Malibu Rum cake good. There is no Malibu Rum cake.”

“Tim, she brought way more than we expected,” Lucy says as she joins your small circle. “Be nice.”

Tim sees your smile and rolls his eyes. Kasey walks by, on the phone with assumably another agent, and passes you three small boxes.

“For you,” you tell Tim. “Though I’m not sure you deserve it now.”

He sees your writing on the corner above the clear plastic top, Malibu Rum <3, and tugs your belt loop to reach a plastic fork on the table behind you.

“Officer Chen, this is for you,” you say, passing her a box. “And this one is for Aaron, who-“

“I’m here. Don’t give it away,” Aaron says, seeming to appear out of nowhere to take the box of his favourite cake with a new cookie.

“Maybe I should get on your waiting list,” Angela muses as she finishes her slice of cake.

“You can jump the line,” you promise.

“What do I do to get Bradford’s taste testing position?” Nyla inquires. “Because if everything you make is a quarter as good as that Pumpkin Maple Biscotti cupcake was, I’ll do anything.”

“I think that privilege is limited to marriage,” you explain with a frown. “But next time I make an entire test batch, I’ll bring some by.”

Sergeant Grey stops behind the three silent women standing before you. They watch you, ignoring Tim as he enjoys his cake.

“So…” Angela begins before shaking her head.

“You bake for celebrities, and you’re married to Tim Bradford?” Lucy inquires.

“You turned down my proposals for him?” Aaron interjects, his brows furrowed together as he returns with a croissant sandwich (after his cake, you notice and make a mental note to tell his mom to watch his reaction).

“One, you proposed just because you like the way a caramel apple souffle tasted, and two, I was already married to Tim,” you reply. “Which seems to be very surprising for some reason.”

“Why didn’t you tell me when I said I wanted to hire her for this?” Wade asks Tim.

Tim shrugs and says, “I didn’t think she’d work you in regardless. Kasey and I told her to charge double.”

“Hypothetically,” Nyla begins, “if I invite you over for dinner and ask for your help, would you cook like this?”

“She wouldn’t help,” Tim answers. You elbow him gently and say, “Of course. It’s the only way I can cook, I think. I prefer baking though.”

“I have so many questions,” Angela murmurs.

“Me too,” Lucy agrees. “Like where’s the farthest place someone has come from to eat at your bakery? Are you allowed to say names?”

“Most of the time I can, after they’ve left, of course. And I think Chris Hemsworth coming from Australia was the farthest.”

“I can’t believe we didn’t know Tim was married,” Nyla points out.

“Yeah, yeah, you can ask questions later,” Tim interrupts.

“We can?” Lucy asks excitedly.

“You can ask, didn’t say I’d answer.”

Tim takes your hand and pulls you away from them, but you wave over your shoulder and thank them once more before you’re in the privacy of a hallway.

“I could fit Angela in,” you tell him.

“Don’t really care,” he admits – honest and blunt as ever – before he kisses you.

“You taste like cake,” you whisper as you pull back.

“What time will you be home tonight?”

“Probably before you. I’ve got an appointment at three and then I’m done. You?”

“Around six. I’ll bring dinner?”

“You’ve got a deal, Mr. Bradford.”

“And you want me to give Angela and Lucy your number,” he guesses, squeezing your waist playfully.

“Smart and handsome! Yes, please, oh and Nyla and Wade. I need to make sure his wife gets to come in, apparently she’s been trying.”

“Isn’t this Kasey’s job?”

“Kasey is mad that I didn’t tell her I was married, and you have to see them all the time. Be nice and help me out and I’ll bring more of the rum cake home.”

Tim kisses you once more before you leave the station to prepare for your next celebrity visit. His subsequent interrogation at the station makes him more eager to get home to you. When he finally walks in with your favourite takeout, welcomed by the smell of brown sugar and butter, Tim knows he’s home.