#sin day ask

[tenyasleggies]

💞 Monoma if you had a threesome/moresome, what would happen with your quirk?

Neito bursts out laughing, though his eyes don't crease with anything like sincere mirth at the corners. Instead, they stay open wide, giving his face a manic, almost desperate undercurrent to anyone observant enough to notice. He's certain his face is going to combust, either from embarrassment or hotly burning anger at his current situation, whichever comes first, and he searches his scattered thoughts for something to say that won't reveal more about his love life.

It seems his luck has betrayed him again, though. "I can resist using quirks even after I've copied them," he explains, letting all the utter disdain he feels at the question color his every word, "Unlike some idiots who use their quirks when they so much as sneeze, I have a little more discipline. I doubt there would be any quirk accidents."

[fatedroses]

More than just the Demon.

[galaxygermdraws]

Let me explain myself I swear I'm. I'm not sick. I'm fine. Uh.

Okay. So like. I don't. Usually. Draw. Angel Skizz and Demon Impulse. Cause. I just. don't really vibe with. Okay I vibe with Demonpulse but not Angel Skizz. HOWEVER. I remembered the silly little edit of Skizz with demon horns from SBE 2.0 E5.

And I was like "what if I made an AU where Skizz was an Angel, but was uh. Not. That happy with it, and asks Impulse to 'corrupt' him, and thus we get demon Skizz"

And here's that. Uh. Yea. I think more people should violently mess up their angel Skizzes. Mess that man up.

(reblogs with tags/comments are appreciated. Thankyu)

[natelia-aldelliz]

Guys imagine, Roach died, before the creation of 141, but Soap is able to see his ghost. He was originally following Ghost around, really annoyed that he was using his death as an excuse to not get close to anyone, but when he found out Soap could see him and talk to him he started following him around instead.

And they get really close, like two peas in a pod, except they have to be discreet about it because no one else can see or hear Roach, and they'd think Soap was crazy if they saw him talking to no one.

They use that for shenanigans too: Roach will go follow someone else and report back to Soap, Gaz is genuinely starting to believe Soap has superpowers or something. It's really useful on missions as well, and Soap managed to successfully rescue team members thanks to Roach being able to move through walls and everything.

(Roach is not the only ghost Soap is able to see btw, just the only one he's talking to.)

And then Roach is witnessing his past lover trying really hard to not fall in love with Soap, and Soap trying really hard to not do anything about the love he already feels, and he has to try and convince Soap that he is dead. During that conversation he finds out that something else that keeps Soap from doing something is that he feels very confused about everything because he also has feeling for Roach.

So now Roach has to try and convince him that even if he was still alive he wouldn't have a problem with that. He's known for a while that he was polyamorous, but he hadn't really dared talking to Ghost about that because he thinks he's jealous and possessive.

And Soap is like "oh yeah, you want me to go say to Ghost 'don't worry about your dead lover that I'm not supposed to know, he's actually polyamorous and also in love with me, I know because his ghost told me!' ??? I'm sure he's gonna take that well!"

But Roach is nothing if not resourceful and he manages to put Soap in situations where he's forced to interact with Ghost, and eventually they kiss and their relationship is beginning to be something. They're not really sure what.

And Roach is sad, because he has to watch the two men he loves being in love without him, yes, but at least they're both happy, and it makes him feel a bit better. And then during a mission Ghost almost dies.

Because he was alone and Soap and Gaz were together, Roach was following Ghost this time, ready to fly to Soap in an instant if there was any problems. But there was and he didn't have time, so he instinctively grabbed the gun being pointed towards Ghost's head and moved it as the person was shooting, saving Ghost's life, giving him enough time to shoot the enemy himself.

But even as the threat is eliminated, Ghost is still looking up from where he's on the ground, staring right through him, looking shocked. No, not right through him, he realises when he moves to the side and Ghost's eyes follow him. He also realises that he grabbed the gun. He's never grabbed anything before, in all his years of being a ghost.

Then suddenly Ghost's eyes move wildly around, and he figures he disappeared from his view. He can still go through the walls, but he's kept the ability to grab stuff when he wants. It gives him a ton of new possibilities, to fuck with people and, of course, to touch Soap.

"I wish you were actually alive," Soap whispers to him, holding his hands against his face as he's falling asleep.

"What the fuck," comes Ghost's voice the next morning, waking both of them up - wait, since when could Roach sleep?

Soap doesn't understand immediately, because he's always been able to see Roach. But Ghost is standing in the door, looking straight at dead past lover.

Turns out Soap is a necromancer and he had no idea, though the whole 'I can see dead people' should probably have told him sooner that he wasn't normal... The more he wishes Roach is alive, the more he actually is. And they all end up happy and together. And Gaz is very happy to have won the bet that Soap indeed has superpowers.

The day Roach says, in a wondering voice, "I... I think I'm hungry" is the day they understand that something is really happening and he's actually coming back to life.

(Also, Soap has no control at all on his abilities, he has no idea what does what and why, he knows nothing. No one knows.)

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

voting "Jesus" in every "who suffered more, X fictional character/celebrity or Jesus?" poll because I won't commit to that bit

[femininenachos]

Do vacation clexa keep wells up all night when they go at it all night

Previously: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

The taxi ride is a test of restraint. 

It’s only a ten minute journey, but it’s ten minutes of Lexa sitting right there, looking like that. Lips made even poutier from kissing. Hair finger-tousled and swept to one side, and Clarke can’t wait to tangle her hands in it again, itching to touch. 

Even cast half in shadow, Lexa’s profile is downright rude, the cut of her jawline sharp enough to slice someone’s thighs. And when she turns dark, dark eyes on Clarke, that burning look scorches right through her. 

At this point her underwear is a lost cause. She’s in serious danger of leaving a damp patch on the back seat, more than a little paranoid that the scent of her arousal is wafting through to the front where the driver is absently tapping the steering wheel in time with the song on the radio. (Hips Don’t Lie—and in Clarke’s professional opinion, Ms Shakira is correct. Because Clarke can’t stop shifting hers incessantly, unable to ignore the wetness pooling between her thighs, clamped as tightly as they are together.)

She winds down the window, hoping a breeze will help, but the dense, warm air that rushes in does nothing to cool her body. Neither does the covert stroke of Lexa’s little finger along Clarke’s own where their hands lay flat on the seat between them, or the faint smirk that’s tucked into the corner of Lexa’s mouth.

Blessedly, there are no signs of life in the villa once they pull up. The place is dark and silent when Clarke unlocks the door and leads Lexa inside; Wells, nowhere to be seen. Clarke prays he’s fast asleep in his room with noise canceling headphones on, because she has a feeling things are going to get… vocal. 

She toes off her shoes, grateful for the cool marble floor tiles beneath her bare soles.

“I’d give you the tour, but uh…”

A gentle tug on her wrist draws her around, and whatever glib thing Clarke was going to say dies in her throat. Mind gone blank, because Lexa is all up in her space and a mouth that was surely designed for sin is less than an inch away, so close Clarke feels the soft fan of breath on her face.

She only gets a second to admire the tiny freckle that adorns Lexa’s top lip before Lexa tilts in. Slides a hand along Clarke’s jaw and into her hair. Kisses her slow and searching in a way that makes her tremble from head to toe, a gradual build of passion that floods her body with waves of tingling warmth. 

While she could easily indulge in this for hours, she also craves so much more, and now is not the time for subtlety. 

Taking the initiative, Clarke guides Lexa’s free hand to her inner thigh and presses meaningfully, hoping Lexa will take the hint.

And, thank God, she does.

Long fingers trail up and up. 

When they brush against drenched cotton, Lexa’s sharp inhale sends a hot flare up through Clarke’s belly and she feels herself drip some more. 

Lexa breathes out, a half-formed whisper in the shape of Clarke’s name on her lips. She pulls away slightly to look at Clarke, hooded eyes scanning her face before they drop to her mouth.

“Can I touch you?” Lexa asks, her accent grown thicker, coated with desire.

Clarke’s only answer is to take hold of Lexa’s nape and drag her mouth back to hers. She runs her tongue along Lexa’s lower lip then licks inside, a groan catching in the back of Clarke’s throat when a thumb traces her through her underwear, rolling over her clit.

For a second, she thinks she might come from that alone. Feels it rushing up on her fast. All it would take is a little more sustained pressure. A few firm, circular strokes. But Lexa shifts away, cupping Clarke instead, and she groans again—this time in frustration.

She feels the slow stretch of Lexa’s grin as they kiss.

It‘s a provocation—and Clarke never backs down from a challenge. 

Ensnaring Lexa’s bottom lip, Clarke scrapes her teeth over the plump fullness of it. She relishes the hitch of Lexa’s breath, how Lexa’s fingers flex against the flimsy scrap of fabric that separates them. 

“Go ahead. Touch me. Put your hand inside my panties,” Clarke whispers, even as her face grows hotter and some small part of her squirms at the brazen words coming out of her own mouth. But she quiets that voice. Draws on her inner sex vixen. “Feel how wet I am for you.”

She punctuates it with a roll of her hips. 

A slight tremor goes through Lexa.

She kisses harder, rougher, the heel of her hand rubbing in to meet an urgent grind and before Clarke is prepared for it, she’s already shaking apart, releasing a choked whine into Lexa’s open mouth.

Her wrist slows to a stop. 

She draws back half an inch, eyebrows raised.

“Guess I couldn’t wait,” Clarke says with a small, breathless chuckle. Her cheeks burn.

Lexa just makes a sound, words apparently failing her, but Clarke understands, because she feels that same brain-melting lust too. It isn’t just Lexa’s good looks that are such a turn on (though she is beautiful—even more so with her mouth swollen and wet). She has this understated presence, an aura that surrounds her. Innate magnetism that draws you in. Clarke noticed it at the bar, the way Lexa’s friends seemed to be caught in her orbit. It’s the confidence she projects, too. Or did. Clarke is pleased to see Lexa lose a little of that cool now, eyes wide and jaw hanging slack.

But she swiftly recovers, luring Clarke back in for a kiss by the grip on her neck. 

Just before their lips reconnect, Lexa pauses. 

She looks over Clarke’s shoulder, a speculative gleam in her eyes.

“You have a jacuzzi?”

~*~

They’re incapable of keeping their lips to themselves while they wait for the hot tub to fill. Clarke’s stomach won’t stop fluttering. Every nerve in her body is tingling, charged by the heat and pressure of Lexa’s mouth moving hungrily against her own. Lit up inside by the way Lexa’s hand is curved around her jaw, the other gripping her waist to keep her close, how Lexa sighs and fucking pouts every time Clarke starts to pull away. And how can she possibly resist that? She’s powerless not to give in.

It’s only once the tub is almost overflowing that Clarke suddenly finds the presence of mind to separate, hurrying across the courtyard to shut off the water supply and turn on the bubble jets. She injects a little more seductive appeal in the sway of her hips on her return.

“Would you like a drink? The fridge is pretty well stocked. We’ve got beer, wine, all kinds of mixers if you’d like something stronger.”

Lexa shakes her head. “I don’t want to have…” she pauses, clearly searching for a phrase in translation, “brain fog? Ah, fuzzy memories.”

Clarke drifts closer, curbing a smile.

“I don’t want to be hazy on the details either.”

She doesn’t want to forget a single thing about this night, not when it’s going to figure prominently in her fantasies for the rest of the year.

(The rest of your damn life. Be real, girl.)

Lexa’s eyes raking up and down her body with intent is already locked into her memory.

Once she’s within arm's reach, Lexa snags Clarke by the waist again and draws her near. Their hips bump gently and Clarke leans in to taste the slight smirk that sits on Lexa’s lips, just because she can.

Things intesifiy quickly, and before long their hands start to wander, Clarke feeling her way to the hem of Lexa’s t-shirt. She pulls it up and off, both smiling when it gets caught in Lexa’s hair, only for Clarke to suck in a quiet breath as soon as she registers Lexa isn’t wearing a bra. Her eyes drift, taking in the expanse of Lexa’s sun-bronzed skin, tits the exact same golden shade as the rest of her, and Clarke absently licks her lips, wanting nothing more than to have those perfect pink nipples in her mouth.

She also gets her first full look at the tattoo that spans most of Lexa’s upper arm. 

Fascinated, Clarke lets her fingers trace the swirls and lines of black ink, three symmetrical bands stacked on top of one another. The design reminds her of the intricate carvings at the top of the crumbling stone columns that she saw dozens of pictures of online when she was researching accommodation options, remnants of the ruined temple that occupies the highest point of the island, only a couple hours’ hike from here, according to the Airbnb listing.

“This is beautiful. What does it mean?”

Lexa peers down at her arm. “It represents each generation of my family in Polis. My great-grandfather was born in a small village called Trikru on the mainland. He was only nineteen when he left his home, everyone he knew, and came here to make a better life.”

She lifts her chin as she speaks, a note of pride in her voice. “He built the taverna from nothing nearly a century ago, and it’s still standing today, passed down through our family.”

“The legacy continues. That’s wonderful.”

“Mm. Now my half-sister manages the place.”

“Not your parents?”

“They’re retired, but they still help out during the busy summer months.” She purses her lips. “Sometimes I think the power goes to Anya’s head. She enjoys bossing me around too much.”

Clarke smiles to herself. “I’m going to take a wild guess that she���s the older sibling?”

“By seven years. She says she’s preparing me to take over eventually.” Lexa sighs. A slight frown appears on her brow as her jaw shifts. “Duty and tradition is everything to her, but I have dreams of my own.”

Clarke runs her fingertips lightly over the patterns on Lexa’s skin, feeling goosebumps rise to the surface. “What do you want to do instead?”

A shrug. “Travel. See the world. Experience other cultures and far-away places.” She looks at Clarke, rolling her eyes a little. “I know, it’s a cliché.”

“Well… if you ever find yourself in Washington DC, look me up. I’d show you around the city.” 

It’s half tongue in cheek, but the way Lexa studies her for a beat, so solemn yet clearly unconvinced, Clarke finds herself saying, “I’m serious. You should visit. My work schedule is crazy but if I can wangle some time off, I’d be happy to play tour guide. Plus, I have a guest room.”

Another of those minimal smiles touches Lexa’s lips, her mouth just barely pulling to the side. “We wouldn’t be sleeping together?”

Suddenly coy, Clarke lowers her gaze. Eyes on Lexa’s ink once more as she feels herself flush again. “I mean...” She catches her bottom lip between her teeth and looks up through her lashes. “I could be persuaded to share my bed.”

“Yes?”

She nods. Whispers, “yeah” before the distance between them vanishes and they’re back to kissing. Hands gripping, running up and down, moving restlessly over dips and curves, and Clarke can’t control her shivers, a current buzzing through her, a million tiny sparks going off under her skin. 

Lexa palms at her breasts and the chafe of satin bra cups against Clarke’s nipples is enough for a moan to slip out between the seal of their mouths. 

A minute later she’s gasping hotly, “take off my dress” before recapturing Lexa’s lips, driven by the overwhelming need to feel skin on skin at last.

Nodding once, never ceasing contact, Lexa peels the straps from Clarke’s shoulders. She locates the zip at the back and drags it down smoothly. Tugs, and Clarke feels the dress slip from her body to puddle at her feet. The bra is next to go, unhooked with consummate ease. Warm hands move over her hips and waist, gliding up her ribs to take hold of her tits again. This time it’s Lexa who makes a sound, a low, throaty groan that only adds to the flood in Clarke’s underwear. 

They tip their foreheads together, breathing heavily as they watch one another, eyelids at half mast. Without a word, Clarke reaches for the button at the waistband of Lexa’s cut-offs, but the thumbs slowly circling her nipples make her far less dexterous than she should for all her surgical training. Finally, she pops the button and gets the fly open. It’s a joint effort to wiggle the tight denim down Lexa’s hips, taking her underwear along with the shorts, all smiles when she kicks them off to the side.

Clarke only gets a brief glimpse down Lexa’s body before she’s drawn back in by the cheeks for a greedy, open-mouthed kiss. As if she wasn’t already painfully aroused by everything else, the subtle definition of abs, the flare of wide hips, and the uninterrupted view of those legs pours further fuel onto the fire. Like an unstoppable force, Clarke pursues Lexa’s mouth relentlessly, recklessly, the forward momentum driving them across the courtyard until Lexa’s back meets the nearest vertical surface.

Unfortunately, it happens to be a vine-covered trellis and Lexa lets out a muffled yelp, wincing when something jags her bare skin. 

Twin puffs of air hit their cheeks, expelled through their nostrils, before they each dissolve into quiet chuckles, the absurdity not lost on either of them.

“Sorry,” Clarke says through a slight grimace, running a soothing hand down Lexa’s spine.

“Don’t be.”

Lexa is smiling, but Clarke still dies a little inside, already imagining Octavia’s reaction when she hears about this during their inevitable overanalysis of the entire evening at brunch. 

She takes a deep breath. “So…” Followed by a short laugh. “Where were we?”

Lexa inclines her head towards the hot tub, teeth dug into her lower lip.

And just like that, the awkwardness is forgotten.

Not taking her eyes off Lexa’s, Clarke needs no further instruction, pushing her panties all the way down and stepping out of them. Her heart is racing, but she holds still under Lexa’s appraisal, a flash of heat surging over her when that dark gaze settles low for a stretch of seconds and Lexa swallows, lips parting soundlessly on an exhale. 

And while she stands there on display without a stitch on, Clarke is really fucking glad she went ahead with that appointment to tame her bikini line, however painful it was getting waxed within an inch of her life. 

The ordeal was worth it for the spell she seems to have cast over Lexa. 

Not that Clarke isn’t equally entranced, legs and hips and breasts and that gorgeous face all competing for her attention.

She moves on instinct, curling a hand around Lexa’s neck and slanting their mouths together again. Barefoot, they’re of a similar height, and there’s something so exhilarating about the way their lips and bodies meld. Clarke can’t contain a string of tiny halting whimpers as they trade deep kisses, hyper-aware of every point of contact, from the skim of hard nipples to the brush of their thighs to the press of Lexa’s fingers at the base of her spine, sliding lower to grab at her ass, raising another desperate groan.

God, if this is what handsy making out with Lexa does to her, Clarke doesn’t know how she’ll survive once they dispense with foreplay and get down in earnest. At this rate, she might be flying home in a casket.

It doesn’t help matters when Lexa’s mouth strays, trailing along the underside of Clarke’s jaw, sucking shallow kisses down her throat to find that sensitive spot where neck meets shoulder. Already weakened, Clarke’s knees nearly give way to feel the nip of teeth there.

Somehow, somehow she finds the willpower to slip out of Lexa’s grasp.

Worth it for the reappearance of the pout, the flash of consternation on Lexa’s face as her eyebrows dip together.

But that pretty scowl is erased by a dark look of a different kind when Clarke climbs into the hot tub. Eyes blaze over her naked form with enough heat to rival the Mediterranean sun, and it gives her such a rush.

People have wanted her before; that’s nothing new. It comes with the territory, being blonde and in reasonably good shape (considering her questionable eating habits, constant state of fatigue, and general disdain for working out). She hasn’t gone through life oblivious to the attention. Frankly, she’s sick and tired of male patients, young and old alike, salivating over her like cartoon dogs during consults, eyes practically on stalks while they stare at her chest. And it’s truly wild how often she’s been hit on by visiting relatives moments after breaking the bad news about their loved ones.

Hell, it’s become a grim bonding ritual to compare horror stories with fellow residents during breaks or on the rare occasions when she allows them to drag her out to a bar after work.

This, the way Lexa looks at her, is worlds away from what basically amounts to workplace harassment. 

Lexa’s desire is a thrilling, palpable thing, a thick charge in the air that makes it difficult to think or breathe. 

Half dizzy with lust, Clarke sinks into the water and reclines against the tub, pulse accelerating as she watches Lexa put her hair up into a loose knot. Lips subtly curling at one corner. Nothing unsure or shy about her as she advances, and Clarke wishes she could bottle some of that supreme confidence for herself, because it doesn’t always come naturally.

Lexa takes the spot opposite, lowering herself into the tub. Drapes an arm along the edge and waits.

One look, the slightest twitch of an eyebrow is invitation enough.

Clarke pounces, propelling herself through the water to swing a leg over Lexa’s lap and reclaim her mouth. Fingers dig into Clarke’s hips, pulling her closer, their bellies and breasts flush. Cradling Lexa’s jaw in both hands, Clarke pushes her tongue past Lexa’s teeth, slipping inside to flick across the roof of her mouth, revelling in the whimper it earns her, how Lexa’s grip tightens as the kiss turns greedier. Hot and wet and dirty enough for Clarke to start to grind her hips in search of friction. Already on course for a second orgasm when Lexa hasn’t even fully fingered her yet. Just the thought of this girl being knuckle deep, the reach of those long fingers, gets Clarke halfway there and she groans unabashedly. Kisses Lexa until they’re each short of breath, panting into the humid slice of air between their open mouths.

“Can I fuck you?” The hard ‘k’ hits Clarke’s lips in a hot puff and she shivers, despite the toasty temperature of the water churning all around her, steam rising off the surface.

She holds back a quip (it’s like you read my mind), sensing Lexa is serious about asking for permission by the way she searches her face so intently for any sign of hesitance, and Clarke melts a little to know that her comfort level and boundaries are at the forefront of Lexa’s mind, which is more than can be said for some of her past casual encounters.

“Yes,” Clarke says, leaving no room for doubt that they’re very much on the same page here, before she leans in to brush their lips together again. She makes a noise. Not lifting her mouth away, she adds in a heated tone, “God, I just need you inside me.”

It has the intended effect. Lexa surges into the next kiss with a ferocity that steals Clarke’s breath away and scrambles her brain. At Lexa’s silent urging and with a gentle squeeze of her hips, she’s repositioned so quickly that it’s kind of a blur how she came to be lifted up and sat on the edge of the hot tub with Lexa kneeling in the space between her legs.

“Is this okay?” Lexa asks, always checking in, and doing an impressive job of managing to keep her eyes up, showing far more restraint than Clarke would in Lexa’s place.

She has to remind herself to use words and not just shove Lexa’s perfect face into her crotch.

“More than okay.”

It’s automatic, how Clarke puts her arms out on either side to brace herself in anticipation. Held in thrall by the tilt of beestung lips as Lexa runs her palms along the tops of Clarke’s thighs and over her hips, dragging her that tiny bit closer, and Clarke doesn’t have the mental capacity to tamp down on a moan, beyond ready for this.

Green eyes dip down finally and Clarke sees that little smile falter. Lexa’s lips part, the tip of a pink tongue darting out to moisten them, and with it, the last of Clarke’s inhibitions fall away. 

She spreads her thighs wider, skin prickling all over as she feels the weight of Lexa’s stare, roaming freely now, voraciously taking in every inch on display.

When their eyes lock again, it sends a jolt through Clarke. A spike of need so sharp that her locked elbows wobble and she forgets to breathe for a second, hanging on Lexa’s every move as she leans in.

The eye contact, heavy and sustained, when she tastes Clarke for the first time, lashes flickering, a thick groan in Lexa’s throat that Clarke feels the vibrations of through her whole body—fuck, she nearly comes on the spot.

Helpless not to, she arches into it, biting down hard on her lip to stifle a moan as a warm, velvety soft tongue runs through her. 

A slow, deliberate lick around her entrance draws a whimper, Clarke shamelessly lifting her hips to ask for more only for Lexa’s hands to anchor her firmly in place. 

With Clarke at her mercy, Lexa uses the flat of her tongue, broad laps that make Clarke’s toes curl, slipping against the porcelain tub with a squeak. Lexa varies the pace and pattern, slowing down or speeding up to prevent Clarke from settling into a rhythm. Every little lick and swirl has her twisting and squirming, and a sob of frustration starts to build in her chest. 

But Lexa’s eyes are shut, lost in the bliss, a flush high on her cheeks. Mouth sliding over wet flesh, slick noises drowned out by the rumbling jacuzzi jets and the harsh, ragged breaths that Clarke expels into the night air.

She winds a hand into Lexa’s hair, nails scratching mindlessly against Lexa’s scalp as she works Clarke higher, drawing circles around her clit, the pressure in the pit of her stomach coiling tighter and tighter.

Sweat covers her skin and her calves tremble with the strain as she rocks forward, undulating against that mouth, chasing her release without a care for how desperate it might seem.

(It’s been six months without anything better than her own hand or a vibrator between her legs, so she’s willing to cut herself some slack.)

The hands curved around Clarke’s hips slide down, pushing her thighs even further apart, tearing a gasp from her. It feels like she’s being split wide open, exposed in a way that goes beyond mere nudity, but she trusts Lexa, finds safety and reassurance in the sweep of thumbs back and forth over the inside of her thighs as Lexa devours her.

She barely lasts another minute under the onslaught. Pushed so hard and fast over the edge that her jaw drops and a throaty moan flies out.

Every muscle in her body tightens, hips shooting up to hold herself against the firm press of Lexa’s tongue, suspended there for those glorious seconds of blinding pleasure that seem to stretch on and on. 

In her mind’s eye, Clarke pictures what this must look like: her neck tensed and head thrown back, giving herself over with complete abandon, and it only intensifies the feeling, the tremors working through her all the more forcefully.

And Lexa doesn’t relent.

She keeps on tonguing Clarke through the aftershocks, wringing out every last twitch and jerk until she can’t take any more, using her grip on Lexa’s wildly mussed locks to drag her mouth away, too overstimulated to endure another second or she might scream. 

Even so, Clarke shivers again once she catches sight of Lexa’s expression, the wetness shining on her lips and chin, pupils pushed to the outer edges, only a thin ring of green surrounding the void. She looks like she’s the one who just got eaten out expertly, and Clarke doesn’t know how to process that, not in her present state.

All she’s capable of doing is tugging on Lexa’s hair, urging her up, another low moan passing between them when she gets a taste of herself on Lexa’s lips, greedy for more.

They remain fused in deep, languid kisses. Just exploring each other’s mouths, keeping things at a low simmer, now and then turning up the heat to bring the sizzle back. Whenever a little more tongue is added to the mix, that molten, heavy feeling settles between Clarke’s thighs again and she attacks Lexa’s mouth with renewed vigour.

By the time they pull apart for a breather, Clarke’s lips are tingling and her backside is half numb from being perched on the edge of the tub for so long.

Still, their lips cling. A string of saliva connects them as she backs off, just far enough to murmur into the gap, “Could we take this inside? I can’t feel my ass anymore.”

Lexa’s eyes crinkle at the corners when she laughs and she gets this cute little crease above her top lip that Clarke could fixate on for days. 

As her gaze drifts around Lexa’s features, taking in the toothy smile and the sparkle in those big green eyes, Clarke’s heart thumps a little harder, a little faster, and she thinks: damn, I could really fall for you.

Without a doubt, it’s the flood of oxytocin in her system talking, but that half-formed thought causes an instant adrenaline spike, kicking up her pulse and drying out her mouth. 

She blinks and glances down, biting her tongue before she blurts out something far too recklessly vulnerable when they only just met tonight and she doesn’t even know Lexa’s last name, much less her views on long distance.

It’s safer to steer this back to sex. That’s why they’re here, after all. There’s no sense in deluding herself otherwise when she’ll be gone in two weeks and Lexa will have already moved on to the next girl that catches her eye.

So Clarke pushes all other thoughts aside and lets her palms slide down to cup Lexa’s breasts, pleased when Lexa pushes into her grasp and they both let out a small, grateful sigh.

Oh, yeah, this she can do with certainty.

“Anyway,” Clarke gives a slow knead, rewarded by Lexa’s hitch of breath. Hard nipples poke into the centre of her palms. “I’m still waiting for you to follow through on your promise to fuck me.” Her voice dips lower. “Or are you all talk, Lexa?”

They share a blistering look.

Lexa’s eyes flash, a glint that says challenge accepted.

“I’m just getting started, Clarke.” 

She isn’t sure what’s more arousing, the arch, almost arrogant tone, accompanied by the flex of one eyebrow, or the sound of her name from Lexa’s mouth, wrapped in an accent that just oozes sensuality. 

Either way, she pretends to be unaffected.

“Oh, yeah?”

With a hum and a slow, minuscule nod, Lexa tips her head to nudge into another kiss, but Clarke evades it at the last second, fighting a smirk when she spies Lexa’s little pout. 

“Well, then.” Clarke brings her lips close to Lexa’s ear. “Show me how hard you can make me come.”

[dragonpyre]

Shout out to my ex-uncle for attempting to commit perjury so he could marry his mistress faster because her priest wouldn't agree to marry them since he ex-uncle was still married

Also shout out to my dad for being a divorce fraud investigator and threatening to sue his ass if he tried

[biomic]

As interesting as Gavv’s premise and powers are, he will never be her

(Her being Kirakira Pretty Cure a la Mode)

ever since the lyrics to this song dropped im convinced no show on earth can ever be Her (kirakira precure a la mode)

[possamble]

[mrghostrat]

Hear me out.

Surely you were exposed to Healthy Harold in the life ed van, and if you were like me you also had the life changing experience of seeing the person who just spent the better part of an hour teaching you about the dangers of nicotine chain smoking behind the van during lunch.

Crowley and Azi would definitely be that couple to travel Australia with Harold the Giraffe (Harry the Rabbit??) trying to help kids while immediately committing all the sins that they just warned against.

I'M WHEEZING AZIRAPHALE WOULD ABSOLUTELY RUN THE HEALTHY HAROLD BUS OH MY GOD 🥺 and CROWLEY WOULD BE SO GOOD WITH THE KIDS 🥺

my primary school was straight up bush, and that bus was always parked in the big kids area by the fence line where it got real wild and you couldn't see much. so i had a pretty fantastical experience and COMPLETELY BELIEVING that vegetable enthusiast was a real ass giraffe, and refusing to believe the year 6's who SWEAR they saw the chick's arm controlling it

(were you also a local celebrity if you got to pat him????? i never ogt to pat him. the jealousy raged inside me, like. next year. next year i'll be the one)

[tenyasleggies]

( Pro Hero AU ) Phantom Thief, would you sleep with your boss ? If yes, how easily and if no, why not?

"Ew. No," Neito answers easily, relieved for once the truth isn't embarrassing to admit. Maybe he would've considered it before he was his boss, but the asker didn't need to know that. "Despite what all my devoted haters on SNS like to say, I do have standards, thank you very much."

[daily-starlo]

[Day 9]

god i am so sorry please forgive me i used a random word generator and it gave me "maid" and then i just. yeah.

[sforzesco]

I sincerely have so much fun trying to figure out if at any point you re referring to Mark Antony with fondness or with contempt

wheezing this is so funny, I feel like I’ve passed some kind of deception check

[good-beanswrites]

..how did they film kazui eating the dove?

A pretty grisly prop, and otherwise cool costuming >:3

I imagine they get him set up with fake teeth, colored contacts, and fake blood (it's also a bit sweet, since it's mean to go in his mouth. Haruka tries to steal some). He wanders around set in the full getup, waiting for filming to start. Yuno nags him to sing vampire with her. Kotoko is secretly jealous he got a cooler animal look than she did in Harrow. Fuuta is kind of freaked out by the whole thing. Although Kazui tries not to purposely scare anyone, a few prisoners who come late to the studio get a pretty big shock when he turns around with red eyes and flash a fanged smile 👀👀👀

The first dove is real, and some magician/animal trainers help Kazui learn the proper way to handle it. It makes for really cool shots and causes a bit of chaos around set, always treated very well. Jackalope shows up with the prop (in a bag labeled "dead dove, to eat") and it's pretty convincing. Kazui's not quite sure how to take the bite as needed, but with each try he get more and more comfortable with the action/expression. By the end he's really into it, surprising himself a but when he looks back at the footage.

[eybefioro]

Weekly fic rec, by yours truly...

You've been working relentlessly the whole week. Your body and mind are tired, and you need some time to rest. We share a coffee, something to give us some energy to finish the day, but all you can think about is your home; the dim lights, the bathwater delightfully warm, the record player filling your ears with soothing tunes, the taste of that heady wine you have stored. Still, you drink coffee, and that is enough for now.

close (well, you couldn't get much closer) by ineffabildaddy

Rated E, ~1,4k words.

My tags: Passionate, bitter and sweet.

Summary:

You could well have chosen to wait until darkness fell over London and the fluorescent lights of Heaven dimmed for the evening. But, no. It was three o'clock on a Wednesday afternoon when you finally put that gold-flecked, shimmering replica model of my dick, smooth and soft as my skin due to its miraculous nature, to good use again. Or: Before Aziraphale left with the Metatron to become Supreme Archangel, he gave Crowley a little something to play with whenever he was away - something inextricably connected to his own body. Crowley decides to use it, for the first time in a while, at a very inopportune time indeed.

First of all I just wanna praise @ineffabildaddy writing bc damm, this fic is not long, but there is just so much emotion in it. It is so personal, it feels so intimate, reading Aziraphale’s thoughts like that, like it's a letter to Crowley.

Aziraphale’s voice is on point. It is not always easy to make him sound natural saying spicy or crass things, but Sam made it work so well. The recurring use of the "Fuck you" as a starting point on the sentences is perfect, the way Aziraphale describes Crowleys actions is perfect; I could hear Aziraphale's voice (or see him writing this) and I could perfectly picture Crowley’s actions.

And Crowley's actions!! The way he teases and drives Aziraphale mad, and how that implies how much they know each other. They are such intimate actions (such intense ones, too) all put in contrast with the setting of Heaven and the meeting Aziraphale was having.

This fic is so emotionally heavy - Aziraphale has this bitchy tone to him, that wraps his longing for Crowley, his desire; he goes on about how Crowley knows what's he doing to him, and really, it is so lovely to read about.

The message that Crowley is sending, that, yes, he still wants Aziraphale, but he is gonna be bitter about it too, is so very them. It's the back and forth, the teasing that we see the show put in another (very sensual) perspective.

There is a lot of want, a lot of need. Both of them can't have what they desire, being apart, but they still have the model... and what a sexy concept. I want to gush about it for a bit because that is amazing. Idk how Sam and omens_for_ophelia thought of this, but it is insanely hot. I wanna kiss your foreheads in gratitude and ask for a fraction of your creativity because Aziraphale’s dick model will forever live in my mind rent-free (what is this phrasing omg).

Everything is so hot, and the balance between all that spiciness and the bitterness from Aziraphale’s longing in *perfect*. The way the writing builds the tension up and up and up is wonderful, the two of them stuck in that space where they are having just a glimpse of what they want, the way the paragraphs stack on to the other... it drives the reader (and Aziraphale) upon the wall until you get to the end.

But no, that's not all. After all the built-up, Sam hits the reader with something so sweet, so tender, that makes you re-read the fic with another perspective. You notice that Aziraphale's bitterness is actually very, very sweet. It turns all those "fuck you"s into love declarations.

This fic is like tasting wine and remembering a kiss; like biting a decadent plum and feeling its juice run in your chin, the sweetness making your tastebuds burn.

[mythalism]

when i finally get my thoughts together about solavellan and royai parallels.... then u all will see....