#submit NOW

[djohnhopper]

100subtexts magazine: Submissions will be closing soon for issue 26 of the monthly literary magazine - open for fiction, non-fiction, poetry and more. No theme - no word count - no fee. You still have time, so send submissions to: d.johnhopper@gmail.com 100subtexts magazine: diverse voices in one inclusive space.

[best-fantasy-mythical-creature]

Reminder

Here is a little reminder that you should submit your favorite mythical creature, i still have spots open for 25.

[stickyheartcrown]

Enter now & confirm your free entry.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

[right to left]

finally finished This Wip from Ever ago and so now i ask you ever look into another dudes eyes and suddenly want to do whatever he wants

[dannyphannypack]

some people go to college to make more money. i go to college to write more danny phantom fanfiction. we are not the same

[shotmrmiller]

response to this but it got so long and ig im in my throuple era rn

@xoxunhinged i listened to one (1) song on repeat while writing this on the phone

okay yeah wait or just

it's ghost x price first.

Big burly men taking up too much space in the little coffee shop you work at or something and they're there like clockwork too. Every wednesday and friday, 8 am, usually the first clients of the day and all they order is a regular cup of joe. Plain. You offer alternative sweeteners, powdered creamer, but no dice.

Plain black. Like the occasional smudge of eyeliner(?) around the bigger one's eyes.

They're cute, in their own way. John is a blend of rugged charm and seasoned wisdom. The other, Simon, is mysterious. Guarded. Speaks only to his companion.

The pet names start to get to your head. Of course, you reason that John's just not from around here. His calling you sweetheart from across the room to grab your attention must be English.

But logic cannot stop the heat from licking up your cheeks when he does. or when Simon calls you something different altogether eventually.

"Mornin', pet."

It's even more gut-twisting when you catch glimpses of the occasional PDA: A large hand curling around an even bigger jean-clad thigh. Faces so close they could kiss (Waterboarding couldn't get the fact that you've rubbed your thighs together at the thought of them actually kissing out of you) and the fact that Simon's usually sharp gaze softens around the edges, pale gold whispering against the puckered pink of a barely visible scar beneath his face mask.

A couple. They're a couple. It's bittersweet, that feeling settling in your chest. Like dark chocolate coating your tongue. Honeyed nectar of love, the bitter bite of it not being your own.

Maybe it's time to go out with your friends to the bar.

Things take a nasty turn when Simon, out of the both of them, had come in alone and propositioned you on crisp, saturday morning.

Oh, the acid in your stomach felt like it was corroding the walls of your esophagus as it rose. You don't remember much of what you said but it'd been loud, vitriolic. You'd been so furious. Hurt that they had something so sweet, something they could call their own, and here comes this big dumb oaf looking for a piece of warm meat to stick his cock into on the side.

Your manager sent you home for the day.

And home you were headed, well more like the bus stop, stomping away and across the street but the hand that wraps around your arm to keep you in place is John's. (You'd been actually fighting to get away and he hadn't even tightened his grip enough to hurt. embarrassing.)

He clears things up. Tells you to forgive Simon, he's not the most verbose or eloquent with the words he does choose to speak. "He's good at receivin' orders instead of givin' 'em. isn't tha' righ'?"

The "yes, sir" that comes out of Simon is immediate. Obedient. Submissive. (gagging, i actually slammed the desk with my fist rn) A man who knows his place because it is etched in stone. Your teeth grind like rusted gears to keep from turning into a pool of liquid in broad daylight.

"What he meant," he roughly clarifies, "is that we would like you to share our bed." your face burns hot enough to sting. "If you want," John continues, limpid blue eyes fixed on your own.

He looks rather handsome in his uncertainty.

They don't even let you go home to wash and clean up when you nod. (Or shave. Simon had very audibly scoffed at your complaint about that. Said something crass about eating lollipops off the carpet)

The dynamic had been exactly what you'd expected it to be in the bedroom. When authority spoke, Simon listened. Intently. Without hesitation. When John ordered Simon— who'd sat with his broad chest curling around your spine, cocooning you in warmth and the faint scent of smoke, mahogany, and leather— to hook his hands behind your knees and pull your legs up to your shoulders, he'd done so in an instant.

The subtle burn of your hamstrings stretching pulled a hiss from your kiss-swollen lips.

"Bit o' pain with pleasure never hurt anyone, eh, sweetheart?" The deepened rumble of John's voice vibrated in your chest and made your toes curl.

Simon's steady breaths are drowned out by your shuddering ones when John puts his mouth on you, the prickle of his facial hair tickling your sensitive, heated skin.

The burning stretch of your muscles is nothing compared to the sweet sting of two fingers sinking into your hot sex. Pleasure wells in the corner of your eyes when he curls and scissors them while his slick tongue swirls your clit languidly.

He sends you over the edge with practiced ease, shaky limbs, and unsteady mewls. The kiss he plants on your still pulsing cunt is tender, as are your now unrestrained legs.

And he slants his lips-- still dripping slick, dewy beads collecting on his beard-- over Simon's whose mask is now long gone, his erection coming to sit heavy on the fatty mound of your pussy. You can feel the heat of his cock even through his clothes.

A saliva strand connecting them two snaps as he pulls away, glancing down to look at you, sweaty and unkempt, glassy eyes shamelessly staring back.

"I'd let Simon get his turn but," hands weave up your shirt and inside your sports bra while John's grab your legs and wrap them around his thick waist, "gotta prep ya first."

(?)

That comes back to mind after your limbs feel like cold syrup, warmth dribbling from your puffy lips and falling onto the damp bedsheets beneath your arse cheeks.

The question answers itself when Simon slots himself between your aching legs, uncut cock fat and hefty.

(dis)Respectfully, you feel thoroughly used and even now, that doesn't look like it's going to go in easy.

"Easy, love," John's voice comes from above you, "He won't hurt ya. Isn't tha' righ', Simon?"

Simon, who's dark eyes hadn't moved from where John's spend still steadily flowed, cut to him instantly. "Yes, sir."

He hums, a low, raspy sound. "How 'bout you tell our bird tha'?"

A rough hand wraps around your neck, thumb pressed on your fluttering pulse. "I won't hurt ya." His grip tightens, and the swoosh of blood roaring in your ears is deafening.

Much.

The world around you fades, senses attuned only to what's currently wrenching your swollen walls apart, going in, in, and in, it feels never-ending, it's so much, too much, until--

Your stomach clenches, it feels like it's folding in on itself, and a sharp feeling radiates below your navel.

Lips kiss your sweaty temple. "That's all there is. Did so well, eh, sweetheart? Took 'im real good, like you were meant for it."

His cock drags along your over-sensitive, raw nerves in a way that has fire licking up your spine as he pulls back. "Easy, Simon. You'll get your fun from me," John assures.

Your cunt clenches unbidden at that, vise-like around Simon who quietly groans.

The first roll of his hips pushes the air from your lungs, the second blanks your jumbled mind, the third has your nails sinking into whoever's forearms are beside your head, and the fourth has you confusing John's glittering eyes with stars.

And then he places your feet flat on his chest, his weight folding you in half, pinning you in place. Nowhere to run.

Your teeth clack when he thrusts firmly, tip of his cock sitting firmly against the plug of your womb.

"Easy does it, love. Jus' be good 'n take it," John mutters into your ear.

As if you had any choice.

After, when you're completely spent, they tell you to lay back, head propped up by a mountain of pillows, but to keep your legs open, let them see that pretty pussy, they want to see their cum spill out of you.

You thought the fucking Simon gave you had been rough. What John gives him from behind is attempted murder. He grabs at Simon's hair like it's the scruff of a bellicose dog. Pins him in place with his words, growled, thunderous, then his grip. Simon doesn't bare his crooked teeth once.

When your tired hand slithers down to between your legs, tips of your fingers smearing cum around your swollen flesh, arousal surprisingly panging deep in your core, the sheer force of John's thrusts rocks the bed with enough force to crack the wall and Simon whines like a dog in heat.

[wingsofwarriors123765]

Hey everyone!!!!! I’m going to do another Warrior Cats art post! post your cats in the comments and I’ll have them on Sunday everyone. And everything will be completely my art. Submit soon and I’ll pick now ten, random submissions.

[lala-blahblah]

The thing is I don't believe Miles Edgeworth would ever say "I love you" to Nick, and I don't think he would reach out to hold him. But I do think the moment he hears about what's going on with Trucy he would show up at Nick's door with a stack of documentation on adoption and sit down with him for hours as they wade through the legal process to gain custody. One step at a time, you are not alone in this, we'll figure this out together. Acts of service my beloved... Let me ease your burden by taking it on. I love you and want you to be well.

[archivegeo]

trackpad painting of this man that took [redacted] hours

[cubbihue]

the plot on earth: happening. everyone crowing around the lore: okay but tell us more about pixie office shenanigans please

Once, a new Pixie intern accidentally ordered Blue-White paper with 97 Brightness instead of Cream-White paper with 98 Brightness. It sent the entire Pixies Corporation into an uproar, and they tried to take over Fairyworld as a result. Y'know. To ban Blue-White paper from existence.

It took weeks for Jorgen to resolve it all and bring the Pixies back in line. After that event, interns had to take a 2-course seminar on the differences of printer paper quality before being tasked to order more printer paper.

Bitties Series: [Start] > [Previous] > [Next]

[djohnhopper]

100subtexts magazine - submissions open.

Submissions are open for issue 26 of the monthly literary magazine - open for fiction, non-fiction, poetry and more.

No theme - no word count - no fee.

Send submissions to: d.johnhopper@gmail.com

100subtexts magazine: diverse voices in one inclusive space.

[seizygy]

just a quickly done tribute for stomachaches's 10th!

[correct-hermitcraft-quotes]

Zedaph: I'm supposing... Impulse doesn't have any sponges. To steal.

Skizz: I don't think he does... I think Tango has all those.

Zedaph: Oh! Oh, if Tango's got some to steal, brilliant.

Skizz: Dude, have you ever been in his house?

Zedaph: Um, like every day.

Skizz: Bro, you can't- Y- *begins to laugh* Are you? What're you doing in his house?

Zedaph: Well! Stealing!

[incognitopolls]

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

[secriden]

just because i can, here's a collection of fort and joong crossover things:

adorable eye-smiles

2. the cutest puppy dog energy

3. the quiet, understated agony of their crying scenes

4. wrapping themselves around their partner

5. their jawline when they do that:

6. shameless bts kiss stealer

7. tiny shoulder kiss

8. custom jewellery and sunflowers in both their debut shows

9. getting flustered after their partner initiates affection

10. C H E M I S T R Y

actually, peat and dunk's jawlines when they kiss, too

BONUS: whatever the fuck this mouth-to-mouth feeding thing is *O*