#thank u for the prompt anon

[virfujiwara]

Art Prompt: Masquerade ball Helsa. Hans and Elsa are at a Masquerade ball in a kingdom not far from Arendelle, but end up as dancing partners, and they don't recognize each other because they're wearing masks.

Plays Saint Motel's Slow Dance

[wanologic]

in no way was civility achieved

[xinganhao]

🌱 wonwoo x producer!reader.

the five times wonwoo swears he's over you (and the one time that he decides he isn't) ★ see also: main post, drabble

♫ maybe i'm just not better than this, i haven't tried / 'cause maybe you'll finally choose me after you've had more time.

🌱 the five times.

when he sees you for the first time in over a year.

he believes it's the nice thing to do, treating you out to dinner. he froze you out, after all, because he was stupid and he didn't know how to handle his crush on you. he likes to think that the past fourteen months have made him better. wiser. so, that night, he makes it up to you. he also makes up a dozen different excuses. do his eyes linger on you a little too long as you happily drink your yogurt drink? he's just making sure you like what he chose for you. does he walk a little closer when he notices you're shivering from the evening cold? he's just concerned you might get sick. he doesn't like you anymore. he's better now, wiser now. he has to be.

when your second studio choom video comes out.

it's not the same as the first time, where he'd smiled to himself while watching you perform your latest comeback in STUDIO CHOOM's crisp, 4k quality. back then, that's how he had known he was done for. this time, he watches it purely out of curiosity. to add to the millions of views that the video is already raking up. he keeps a straight face the whole time. just watches with a perfectly neutral expression. he's just a guy supporting a friend, isn't he? when he gets through the entire video without smiling, he counts that as a win. if his heart— the bloody traitor— had stuttered at your ending fairy, well. that's an entirely different story.

on a random tuesday, just because.

he's never really seen the appeal in games like stardew valley; they were always a little too slow for his taste. but you'd absolutely begged, and so he begrudgingly bought the game for ₩20,600 just to shut you up. he still doesn't care much for it, to be quite honest. there's a lot of slow, lazy days where he just dicks around in-game. he bears with it anyway since you're always so happy when you beat him at fishing, or when you get to steal away the bachelorette he was going after. your voice is a low buzz in his ear as the two of you play until the sun has risen, until he's cussing you out for keeping him up so late when he has a schedule to go to. you let him complain all he wants because he'll still back online for co-op later that night.

when you're back in the same recording studio as him.

this one is the hardest, because this is where he fell for you in the first place. you, with your head bent as you fiddle with jihoon's digital audio workstation. you, with your usually friendly demeanor shuttered behind something so cool and collected. the pencil tucked behind your ear. the way you worry your lower lip as the boys croon. he wants to scream, wants to test just how soundproof this damn studio is. instead, he sings his lines. he makes adjustments as necessary. he watches you do your thing, even jokes to you here and there. it's all he can do to keep his mind away from what it wants so badly to stray back to. in the end, he doesn't scream. but when you smile at him and tease him that he did a good job— he wishes he had.

when he drives you home after you've had one too many to drink.

you're half-asleep in his passenger seat, all soft edges and incoherent mumbles. he tries to be cross with you, tries to tell you off for not knowing your limits and ending up like this. there's an unmistakable softness in his gaze, though, as he makes sure the seatbelt isn't too tight around your frame. he avoids all the potholes and goes extra careful over the speed bumps. by the time he makes it to your dorm, you're already passed out with your cheek pressed against the window. he decides to let you sleep for only thirty seconds more. as he mentally counts down— thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight— he tries to convince himself that it won't sting when he gets to one. (it still does.)

🌸 the one time.

on another random tuesday.

in the end, it's not an evening of stardew valley that gets him. it's not one of your fancams, not your warm presence in his shotgun. no, it's something much more stupid. something much more small. it's the way he looks for his phone when it pings. he doesn't even know if it's you who's texting him. but it could be, and that's enough to have him fishing through his bag hastily. he catches himself one afternoon, notices the way he's just a touch too excited to check the newest notification. he's not any wiser or better, it seems. he doesn't know if he can be. he's still the same jeon wonwoo with a hopeless crush on you.

[cubedmango]

cherry magic AU for @alnstgforgaza anon with impeccable taste 🍒✨

(info on how to send in your own prompt is over here! please consider donating 💜)

[princessbrunette]

truly obsessed with puppy!reader x john b 🥹 my actual current hyperfixation babes!!!!

can I request what he would be like during a thunderstorm and she’s super scared!!

˖⁺‧₊˚🧁˚₊‧⁺˖

each time the thunder roared, you buried your face further into john b’s hoodie.

it was a cooler night, rare for north carolina — and the thunderstorm outside seemed far from being over. you always hated thunderstorms — the sudden loud noises, the flashes of light, it made you feel like you were walking through one of those haunted houses at the fairground, filling your stomach with dread and making your heart pound.

john b was the only thing that ever grounded your fear. the hand that stroked over your cheek each time you whimpered in fear, or the way he helped you shuffle in impossibly closer when you needed to feel him. he was endlessly patient with you, even if it was the middle of the night and you were unable to sleep.

“hey, hey. dooooont cry. you’re a big girl.” he croons when you grip a fistful of his hoodie at the loud clap of thunder outside.

“that one sounded really close!” you wail, rigid with fear, voice muffled and yet clearly devastated.

“well, as a thunderstorm expert. i can promise you that it’s not close at all. trust me, this old chateau has got stronger bones than you might think. she’s not goin’ anywhere.” he attempts to dispel your fear, pressing his lips to the crown of your head.

“but…” you try to find a counterpoint, hoping that if you kept rambling you’d be distracted from the sudden sounds occurring outside. your boyfriend had grown intuitive to things like this, taking action.

“but…” he smiles. “you want me to read to you? whats gonna help you sleep, pup?” he pushes to sit up a little more in bed, bringing you with him and you nod, wiping your nose on the chest of his sweatshirt. “yeah?”

it doesn’t take long— a page and a half more specifically for john b to read you into a slumber, the constant hum of his raspy voice serving as the perfect white noise to help you drift off undisturbed.

˖⁺‧₊˚🧁˚₊‧⁺˖

[jesuistrestriste]

girl you're literally the best writer here. Please please pleaaaaaaase can you do a part 2 of fwb Art who gets attached to you quickly 🛐 I'M BEGGING YOU

< pt 2 to this >

well.

you caved.

goddamnit, you caved quick too.

as soon as those tears spilled down his cheeks and into the crook of your neck, it was over. you wonder if maybe he weaponized his emotions a little to get you to stay, but it doesn’t really matter now, does it?

you did as he begged for you to do; you stayed the night with him. you expected that maybe he would try to have sex with you again, but it never happened.

as soon as you agreed to not go back to your own bed, he pressed kisses over your neck and held you tight. he gave you one of his loose stanford tennis tees and a pair of his boxers for you to sleep in, and then he coaxed you under the sheets. no grinding, no handsy touches, nothing.

he just laid there with you, breathing softly and comfortably as he rested his head on your chest, and fell asleep. you stared at the ceiling for most of the night just thinking ‘what the hell have i just gotten myself into’. if only you’d had the strength to refuse him before, because now you could tell he was in it.

bad.

you wake up in the morning after a night of inner turmoil and feel a comfortable weight behind you. a ghost of warmth pressed up against your back, and oh god, he’s spooning you. his arms are wrapped around your torso and his legs are tangled with yours.

you try to very quietly shift out of his hold, grabbing onto the side of his bed and pulling yourself towards it, but he just whines softly in his sleep and then tugs you right back flush to his chest. you sigh. you cave again, and let him keep you.

the both of you stay that way for another thirty minutes before art nuzzles into your shoulder and starts to stir. he presses three kisses to your neck as he sits up, and then gazes lazily down at you with lidded eyes as he takes in the sight of your features in the sunlight creeping through his blinds.

he’s only ever seen you in the dark; after parties and in response to your 1 AM bootycalls. how could he have ever gone this long without seeing you like this? the way your skin shines, the depth of the color in your irises, the little crevices and dips in your nose and cheeks and chin that make you look like you were lovingly sculpted by the hands of an artist. like you were someone’s muse.

you can see it in the way he looks down to you.

there’s going to be absolutely no (easy) way to get out of whatever you just started with him. one night changed everything. at least in his mind, you were sure of it.

he reaches a hand up and brushes his thumb over your lips, studying you before he knows you’ll turn away.

and then his lips are pressing down to yours. a soft, sweet, tender gesture that says so much more than you necessarily want from him. he only pulls back to whisper one thing, his eyes holding the same—almost nervous—vulnerability that they had the night before when he had weeped a plea into your frame.

“so..” he chews the inside of his cheek, “can i make you breakfast..?”

…

oh boy.

[butchcarmy]

Honestly I think if Carmy does dirty talk (once he gets some experience) he’s really going to love being condescending, and it’s so hot…

I AGREE. So much in fact that this was born. Wow. Heed the tags and proceed!!

Tags: explicit, dom carmy, cumplay, dirty talk, creampie, carmy being mean, but also sweet

“You’re so easy,” Carmy says with a smug look. He’s pushing his cock steadily and and out, repeatedly stretching you out further when he bottoms out again and again. “All you need is a cock in you and you’re almost fuckin’ coming already.

“You just feel so good,” you whine in defense, but with the way you’re clenching down around him, pussy so wet it’s dribbling, it’s not very successful.

“You just like being stretched out,” Carmy retorts. He pulls back and lets the round head pop out before bullying his cock back into you. You writhe below him. “It doesn’t have to be my cock. Could be my fingers. Almost got all 5 fingers in there last time, didn’t we?”

“Carmy,” you moan, your pussy wrecked by his relentless pace and his dirty, dirty words. “B-But I—I like your cock…”

“I think you just like it when I come in you,” he says, voice low in your ears. “You like the feeling of my cum inside you. Whether it’s in your pussy or down your throat…” His fingers tweak at your clit, flicking it up, and you flinch with a surprised moan. “I should get a plug to keep it all inside you.”

“Oh my god,” you gasp, scandalized, but the telltale sign of dense heat weighing in your gut says otherwise.

“You like the sound of that, don’t you? Going through your day with my cum in your pussy?” Carmy’s grinding his thick cock inside you, getting sweet friction on your walls. “Fuckin’ slut.”

His fingers pinch your clit, and you let out something akin to a sob.

“I’m gonna come,” you gasp. The pressure’s so fucking tight. “Carm—“

“You’re so easy,” Carmy laughs lowly, breathlessly. “Go on, take it. Come like the easy slut you are.”

His fingers glide from side to side on your slippery clit in a blur as he thrusts in an even, firm rhythm that has you choking on your own gasps. You come with overwhelmed tears in your eyes, moaning Carmy’s name so loud it’s almost a scream. You’re throbbing so tightly on his dick like it’s a lifeline.

“Th-that’s fucking right—fffuck—“ His moans are deep, resonating from his core. He staggers inside you from the sharp pleasure of your tightening walls. He fucks you through your orgasm, stretching it out like a thin piece of gum until it snaps, and in turn, your hole sucks his cock so much he comes.

When he pulls out, his soft cock is smeared in a shiny mixture of your combined cum. Your cream lays thick on his shaft, and somehow, there’s still beads of his cum in his slit. Your mouth waters looking at it. So does your pussy. Carmy’s cum, pale and abundant, pools rapidly at your abused entrance and spills over.

“Look at you,” Carmy murmurs in awe. His thumb drags up from where you’re leaking and sinks inside, pushing his cum back in. “Took me so well, baby…”

He praises you with little kisses and affection, kissing gently at your legs, stomach, collarbone. Brings you close to him, brushes sweaty strands of hair out of your face.

“Sorry if I went too far,” Carmy mumbles after you’ve both come down. Your head rests on his chest, and you’re playing with the curls of his hair. “With anything.”

“You were wonderful,” you assure him. “Could’ve even been a little meaner and I would’ve liked it.” That gets an abrupt laugh out of him, equal parts embarassment and delight.

“Oh yeah?” You can tell by the way he’s saying it that he’s choosing to take that as a challenge. You can see the gears turning, and it’s making you a good kind of nervous. “I think I got a couple ideas.”

“Looking forward to it,” you say, like it doesn’t make you wanna squirm, and he smiles knowingly, bringing you in for another kiss.

[grimalkinscribbles]

Hi hope your having a wonderful day! I absolutely love your art

If you have the time I humbly request a Mhin doodle of them eating sweets like a little chipmunk 🐿.

Thats all, Byeeeeeeeeee

🤲🥧

[pineappical]

nbc ted and his stupid shorts 🥰

[cool-thymus]

doodle prompt: that kiddy narusasu accidental kiss but it's kiddy obkk

Kakashi might or might have not electrocuted Obito's lips a bit bc never startle him please, especially with a kiss

[wisteriagoesvroom]

KINGSMAN SPIES LANDOSCAR!! honestly could put oscar in as harry (looks conservative and staid upon first impression but actually has an edge) & lando as the upstart newcomer who solves problems unconventionally but effectively nonetheless.

i passed a specialist shoe shop earlier today that specialises in leathers and i think there'd be something cool about cobbler oscar who keeps a very quiet shop. he's very reserved. has mainly old clients who he keeps in a handwritten notebook. he's carrying on a cobbler tradition of like 90 years and has trained with some impressive brits and everything. and at night he's the kingsman's service artillery specialist. he just pulls out rows and rows of stuff like Q and is like. "i'd suggest that one. you need a muffler in a place like king's cross station. easy cleanup."

and lando's some rich kid from millfield who has been thrust into the service because his dad sent him as a joke 'cus he's like, you're too coddled. you need to do it before you get your trust fund.

but it turns out that with the right focus and intention lando is actually a brilliant kingsman in the making. he definitely has an eggsy moment at training academy where he has to take out a bunch of trainers using only a ballpoint pen and a textbook or something. he's the only one who figures out that the ballpoint pen has different functions upon specific clicks. one of them is a nanorazor, and another is an incapacitating poison.

and lando, a little bruised, very tired, is about to go on his first mission. he's at oscar's shop, choosing shoes and trying not to glance at oscar and his still hands and his cool demeanour.

then lando is like, "wait. you designed the pen thing earlier didn't you? that was you." and oscar gets this glimmer of a smile and a single arched eyebrow that he presses back down, and is like: "yeah. did you like it?"

[archangeldyke-all]

What if sevikas chihuahua and the readers dog start playing with each other at the park while their both walking their dog (like in legally blonde when elles chihuahua went up to that big Rottweiler) and then sevika and the reader end up going on a date?

CUTEEE

men and minors dni

zaun is a dangerous city, especially for someone like you.

a single woman, who lives alone on a first floor apartment? you're a prime target for muggings or burglaries in the undercity.

so, after a particularly scary walk home alone one night, you decide to get a dog.

you go to the shelter and ask for a big dog, something that will protect you and scare off potential attackers.

the attendant smiles and nods and takes you to a small room, then introduces you to sugar.

sugar's a gray pitbull, 60 lbs of pure muscle, and she's wearing a muzzle as the attendant brings her in.

he explains to you that sugar's nervous around men, hence the muzzle, and the second he leaves the room, her low growling and nervous expression melt into pure joy as she waggles her tail hard enough for her butt to shake and the two of you play together.

sugar steals your heart. she's a playful, loving, nervous wreck of a dog, and when she's not busy tapdancing at your feet with excitement, she's resting her chin on your lap and begging you for pats with her big, glossy, puppy eyes.

you take her home with you the next day.

you and sugar become inseparable. your boss lets you take her to work to sit behind the counter while you work alone, in an extra effort to keep your customers in line.

nobody gives you shit anymore. drunk customers don't try to steal, old men don't try to flirt, you don't get catcalled on your walk to and from work, and it's all thanks to your sweet baby, growling and baring her teeth whenever someone gets a bit too close to you.

sugar's nothing but smiles and cuddles when kids or women come into work, turning on her back and waiting for belly rubs, licking kids faces as they giggle, and nudging customers with her cold wet nose, gesturing to the little container of treats you keep on the counter, begging for them to sneak you one.

when you're not working, you're cuddling with sugar at home on your couch or in bed, curled around each other as a tv show plays or you read.

sugar loves chicken, tug of war, and cuddles. but above all else, sugar loves the dog park.

tonight, you're tired and grumpy. you've had a long fucking week, and all you want to do is curl up in a ball and sleep until you have to clock back in on monday. so when sugar wakes you up from your after-work nap by pressing her cold wet nose against her face, you almost turn over in bed and go back to sleep. but when her sweet, excited whines start up and she runs to the living room and fetches her leash for you, you can't deny your sweet baby.

grumbling and throwing on a robe, you hook sugar up to her leash and shuffle out of your house, beginning the quick walk to the park.

when you get there, you let sugar off her leash and she immediately starts doing her laps, sniffing and digging and barking with glee. you laugh and shake your head at your furry baby, before pulling a joint out and lighting up.

you relax against the bench, chuckling as you watch sugar run to and fro. behind you, the gate to the dog park clinks, and before you can look over your shoulder to see whose coming in, a teeny, tiny chihuahua runs up to your feet, snarling and yapping at you.

you giggle, and reach down to ruffle the tiny dog's floppy black ears. this seems to satisfy the puppy, and she gives you several licks before running off to mark her territory.

the little dog seems to think that she owns this park, because she barks at any dog who gets within a ten foot radius of her. this doesn't deter sugar, though, and she chases the chihuahua around the perimeter of the park, before the chihuahua turns around to chase sugar. you chuckle. it seems like sugar's made a friend.

"'s that your dog?" a low voice asks. you blink up and jump when your eyes land on a beautiful, tall, broad woman, standing beside your bench. you nod and laugh.

"sugar." you say, introducing your dog. the woman laughs. "you're the chihuahua's mom?" you ask, chuckling. the woman smiles and nods.

"slayer." she says. you cackle.

"seems like our dogs should swap names." you say. the woman chuckles.

"i'm sevika." she says, holding a hand out for you to shake. you smile and introduce yourself, scooting over on your bench to make room for the woman to sit.

you and sevika chat for hours as sugar and slayer play, sniff, and explore together. it's only when the park ranger comes by to kick you out that either of you realize how much time has passed. it doesn't matter, though, because after that night, you and sugar run into sevika and little slayer almost every evening.

sugar and slayer become best friends. you and sevika do too.

once you finally start dating (sevika invited you and sugar over for a 'play date' but then locked sugar and slayer in her bedroom, and turned the play date into a regular date with you, cooking you dinner and splitting a bottle of wine with you) sugar and slayer become inseparable.

for the first few months of your relationship, before the two of you move in together, any time one of you visits the other at their place, you bring your dogs along, so the two can cuddle and play while you and sevika also cuddle and play ;)

but once you guys move in together, sugar and slayer become a package deal.

slayer cries every morning when you and sugar leave for work, until you just give in and start taking both dogs with you.

if sugar's laying somewhere, you can bet your ass you'll find little slayer cuddled right up against her, or on some occasions, right on top of her.

both sugar and slayer are bed hogs, and there have been several occasions when you and sevika finally turn into bed, only to find your sleeping fur babies cuddled up on top of your spots. (you're both suckers, so you always let them sleep, pulling out the pull out couch for the two of you to sleep on for the night as the dogs sleep in your bed.)

cuddled up in bed one night beside sevika, you laugh as you watch slayer lick sugar's ear clean, grooming her best friend. you nudge sevika and she smiles at you.

"what're you laughin' at?" she asks. you gesture to your dogs on the foot of the bed.

"they're so cute. they're just like us." you say. sevika laughs.

"right, because i'm so petite and you're definetly the guard dog between the two of us." she teases you as she rolls her eyes. you just giggle.

"no, dumbass, you're sugar, i'm slayer. you've got the bite, and the scary claws and teeth and stuff, but you're really just a softie on the inside. and i'm your slayer, cute as hell and always bossin' you around." you say. sevika considers this and then smiles.

"you do yap a lot." she says. you giggle and elbow your girlfriend, and she pulls you against her side, kissing your scalp as she scratches your back. you relax into her, and in minutes, all four of you are asleep and snoring on the bed.

taglist!

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666

[mappingthesky]

planymphia wives honeymoon cutesy fluffy and overwhelmingly emotional drabble pleaseee

take my hand (take my whole life, too)

or: it’s their first week of being married - jane can’t stop referring to nymphia as ‘my wife’, nymphia can’t stop crying, and no one has ever been more in love in all of time.

Jane wakes up when Nymphia rolls over and flings a heavy arm across her torso in sleep.

Jane’s eyes flutter. Sunlight threatens to spill in from the other side of the heavy hotel room curtains all too soon. She’s only half conscious, and her eyes are still a little blurry with last night’s wine, and she’s content to drift back off to sleep, lulled by the gentle brush of Nymphia’s fingertips down her sternum, but then-

A little gasp, a sharp intake of breath. “Oh my god.”

“Mmwhat?” Nymphia mumbles, her eyes still closed as Jane grabs for her hand. Again, when her wrist is nearly pulled from the rest of her arm. “What?”

“Nymphia,” Jane whispers, but it’s thin, because she’s smiling. Nymphia can barely make it out through the dim light of the room and the sleep that clouds her vision, but she knows it just the same. She would recognize that smile by the sound of Jane’s words spoken through it, by the feeling of her soft gaze upon her. She would know it anywhere - even in the dark.

“We got married.”

Nymphia’s eyes blink open and look over at Jane. She’s on her back, holding Nymphia’s hand up to the light. She turns it over carefully, fingertips against her open palm, thumb tracing over the silver band on Nymphia’s ring finger. A diamond glitters in the dark.

“I know,” Nymphia grumbles, still half-asleep, still unwilling to be awoken for anything at all. “Spent eight months planning it, ’member?”

It was longer than that. It was the culmination of years of dreaming and months of planning, of Nymphia ironing out every last detail, Jane somehow even more stressed than she was, because she’d wanted it all to be perfect. For her.

(“You have a say, too,” Nymphia had reminded her on more than one occasion. “This day is about the both of us.”

“I know, baby,” Jane said, that spot between her brows that creases when she thinks too hard momentarily relaxing as she kisses Nymphia’s cheek. “But it’s really about you. Everything is about you.”)

Jane pulls Nymphia’s hand closer, studies it for a long while. Nymphia’s eyes are just closing again when Jane presses a kiss to her ring finger, then to her palm, more kisses up the inside of her wrist, the length of her arm, up her shoulder. Nymphia whines.

It comes back to her slowly as Jane coaxes her from her sleep, the only one she’d ever allow. Their night. It was everything they ever could have asked for, more than that. Their friends lining the aisle, swearing that they knew this day would come, arguing over who had really called it first. Jane, who had sworn she wouldn’t cry, who had warned Nymphia not to be worried if she didn’t, dissolving into tears the moment Nymphia emerged in all white. Nymphia, unsurprisingly to everyone, openly sobbing for half of the night, dabbing a tissue underneath her damp eyes at the dinner table. They’d had two glasses of champagne each, and nothing else.  They’d promised, because they wanted to remember this: the toasts, the dancing, each other, every moment.

Nymphia is beaming by the time Jane kisses her shoulder blade, eliciting a hum.

“Was it everything you wanted?” Jane murmurs, brushing a dark strand of hair back to kiss Nymphia’s ear.

A smile splits through Nymphia’s sleep, eyes still closed as she nuzzles deeper into the pillow, deeper into Jane. “It was perfect.”

Jane kisses Nymphia’s cheek. “What was your favorite part?”

“Mmm,” Nymphia hums, because how could she ever pick just one shining moment to stand out among the rest? How could she even begin to split the single most incandescent day of her life into segments? 

“The part where we went home,” Nymphia says, and Jane is pulling her closer. “The part where we went to bed and you let me sleep in.”

“Can’t let you sleep in,” Jane says, chin coming to rest on the crown of Nymphia’s head where it comes to press against her chest. “Too in love with you.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, basking in the warmth of last night as it rolls over to this morning.

“Wanna know my favorite part?” Jane asks, and Nymphia can feel the soft reverberation of her voice through her skin. “The part where we wake up and I get to say that you’re my wife.”

Nymphia can’t help but laugh at the sentiment. “This part?” she says, finally tilting her head up to look at Jane. She’s never gotten used to this - Jane looking at her every day like she’s still shiny and new. She doesn’t think she ever will. 

“Yeah. This part,” Jane beams, one hand coming to cradle Nymphia’s cheek as she smiles. “You’re my wife.”

“This part’s pretty good,” Nymphia stares into Jane, belly burning with butterflies, a love bigger and brighter than she ever thought was possible. “Say it again.”

Jane grins and brings her lips to Nymphia’s, kisses her with a lifetime of devotion. She pulls away, and there’s forever in her eyes. 

“You’re my wife,” Jane smiles. “And I’m yours.”

-

Jane doesn’t travel well.

She puts her packing off until the last possible minute and grumbles all the way to the airport. Nymphia can’t be upset though, because Jane ‘my wife’s’ Nymphia at every possible opportunity - she does it to the disgruntled employee who checks their bags, and the TSA agent who checks their passports, and the barista who makes their coffees while they’re killing time at their terminal. Nymphia rolls her eyes every time, but she’s smiling too, and can’t stop examining the sparkle on her left hand ring finger. 

Jane goes so anxious on the plane that Nymphia has to hold her hand through the takeoff. She doesn’t let go until thirty minutes into the flight, when Jane is finally distracted enough to drop her shoulders and stop thinking about the miniscule possibility that they go plummeting to the ground.

Eventually, they settle in. It’s a long flight, nearly twenty hours, and they shelled out on first class for the occasion. Nymphia’s got the window seat (partly because Jane knows she likes to look out the window, and partly because she can’t stomach seeing the ocean several thousand feet beneath them), and Jane wastes no time getting comfortable. 

(“It’s for my wife,” Jane tells the stewardess when she requests an extra blanket. “She runs cold.” 

Nymphia stares up from her book just long enough to swat Jane’s arm, muttering “that’s not even true.”

“I know,” Jane shrugs. “Just wanted to see what playing the wife card could get me.”

“Careful,” Nymphia warns. “You’re gonna wear it out.”

“What, calling you my wife?” Jane grins. “Baby, that’s never gonna get old.”)

They’re curled up together, alternating between books and movies and laughing at odd little happenings around them. Jane scoffs at shitty jokes on the screen, and Nymphia leans over to read her passages from her book, and Jane hums like she’s listening, but really she’s just admiring Nymphia in her comfy clothes, dark hair pulled back, glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose. She likes her the best like this.

At the end of her movie, Jane glances over at Nymphia. “Are you excited?”

She thinks she knows what the answer will be, but she’s asking anyway, because she wants it to be perfect - their honeymoon, their first trip together as a married couple, their first foray into the rest of their lives together. They’d debated on a destination for weeks on end. They’d considered a roadtrip across America (too pedestrian - they’ll save that one for another summer), or a week in Vegas where they’d get married again in some cheap chapel (too cliche - they’ll save it for their vow renewals). They’d debated on whether or not to book a room in the most luxurious resort they could find in Thailand, but had settled on a cozy beachside bungalow instead. Jane thought Nymphia would like that the best, knew she would too, because she’d be happy if Nymphia was.

It’s funny how someone can change you so completely and entirely, how they can bring out the best part of you that was waiting to be discovered. Before Nymphia, Jane had always put herself first, even at the expense of others. She was content like that, and then she met Nymphia, and the center of her universe shifted outside of herself. For the first time it wasn’t a chore to care for someone else, and Jane was better because of it. 

“For the honeymoon?” Nymphia asks, folding her book in her lap. She looks down at Jane all nestled in her blankets, hoodie pulled over her blonde hair, and can’t help but smile. 

Nymphia had always been a hopeless romantic, all too eager to hand her heart over to the wrong person. She was a tender thing then, bruising easily in careless hands, burning through her own wells of hope faster than she could replenish them, and after the almost-great-loves of her young adulthood, she felt like she’d been cored. Having her heart handed back to her so unrequitedly time after time, she’d thought she’d been selfish to want a love as big as her own, to expect anyone to be able to return what she gave to them. She’d stopped dreaming of it altogether, and then she’d met Jane. Jane, who reveres her like the Earth reveres the Sun, who worships the ground that she walks on, who straightened out every desire Nymphia had crumpled up inside of herself and gave her more than she could ever dare ask for. 

Now, Nymphia knows she can be selfish. She looks over at Jane and thinks that she wants this for all time - all of Jane, all to herself. 

“Yeah, baby. I’m so excited.” Nymphia reaches over to take Jane’s hand. “Jus’ wanna spend time with you.”

“Good,” Jane smiles, “me too.” She tilts her head up, puckers her lips in a silent request for a kiss, and Nymphia obliges.

-

The plane starts its descent several long hours after they’ve woken up, and Nymphia is grabbing Jane’s hand before she even has to ask, because she knows she hates this part the most. Jane sucks air through her teeth as the last bit of turbulence rocks the plane, and Nymphia rubs her thumb in soothing circles over the back of her hand. As soon as they hit the tarmac, Jane snaps back into place, blocking the whole aisle just to get Nymphia’s carry-on out of the overhead compartment.

“Sorry,” Jane says over her shoulder to a disgruntled passenger. “My wife. She’s pregnant.”

“Jane,” Nymphia hisses through her teeth. “You of all people should know I’m not pregnant.”

“Not yet,” Jane kisses her shoulder before they maneuver down the aisle. “But when I’m through with you…”

Nymphia scoffs, smiling into the air, because she knows it’s impossible, but if anyone’s love could defy the laws of science, it would be theirs.

-

Despite their sleep on the plane, Jane and Nymphia are so impossibly jetlagged, and the car ride to the bungalow is a delirious haze. Determined to push through the rest of the day, they tumble out of their room and onto the tree-lined streets, perusing the local offerings and getting dinner while they speak to each other in exhausted, two-word sentences that wouldn’t make sense to anyone else. It’s all they need.

And then they’re out under the sky, wandering in this beautiful place with blue-green water that laps in whispering waves over the sandy beach, and Nymphia has never looked so beautiful to Jane as she does under the moonlight. 

She’s running up the beach, shrieking as the water splashes at her feet, or when Jane chases her up the shore and catches her, spinning her around and pressing crazed kisses against her hairline. Nymphia is laughing, and then her cheeks are wet with tears, and Jane is wiping underneath her eyes.

“Hey,” Jane says, pushing Nymphia’s hair behind her ears, a careful concern crossing her face. “Why tears?”

“I’m just so happy,” Nymphia blubbers, smiling through the silver-wet stars in her eyes, because it’s all been such a beautiful blur, and it hasn’t hit her until right now that this is the rest of her life. “I can’t believe we get to do this forever.”

“God, you’re unbelievable, you know that?” Jane smiles. “Here I was thinking you stepped on a sea urchin. Or you got stung by a jellyfish. And I’d have to pee on your leg or something. Wouldn’t that be a great start to our honeymoon?”

“Shut up,” Nymphia sobs. “You’re ruining the moment!”

“M’sorry, my love,” Jane coos, wiping another tear from Nymphia’s face. “You’re the most sentimental girl alive, you know I can’t keep up with that.”

Nymphia just laughs, because yes, she’s endlessly sentimental, but, secretly, so is Jane. She still remembers the first time she’d opened a card from Jane and was met with pages filled almost entirely with ink, letters squished together to make room for as many as possible, words winding around whatever tacky quote was stamped in the middle. Jane had a way with words, despite whatever she’d tell you otherwise, and never ceased to amaze Nymphia with the sincerity she seemed to save just for her. 

(It crosses Nymphia’s mind then what her favorite part of the wedding really was - when Jane had recited her vows from memory in front of all their family and friends, had taken those impossibly beautiful things that were usually relinquished to their most intimate moments and had loved Nymphia enough to profess it in front of everyone. Not that they didn’t know already. You can’t hide a love as enormous as this one.)

“You keep up just fine,” Nymphia says softly, resting her cheek against Jane’s hand. She swears Jane’s eyes go misty just before she kisses her right there on the sand, beneath the stars, beneath the universe that brought them together.

-

Nymphia smiles when Jane crawls into bed. She’s in a gray crewneck that’s cut across her shoulders, and she’s propped up against fluffy pillows, and Jane is pushing the book out of her hands.

“Dinner was perfect,” Jane kisses her cheek before slipping into bed beside Nymphia. “But is it bad that I just wanted to get back to the room?”

“It’s terrible,” Nymphia turns over, slotting her back against Jane’s chest. “Is this the part where we get old and boring?”

“Yes,” Jane envelops Nymphia in her hold, fits against her in the way they’re going to for the rest of their lives, slides a hand down the length of her torso and up the inside of her thigh. 

“Not even gonna call you a whore or anything,” Jane kisses her ear. One hand cups Nymphia’s breast, the other dips between her legs. “Just gonna fuck you good and tell you how much I love you.”

“So boring,” Nymphia sighs, already melting away.

“So boring.”

(It’s not boring at all.)

-

Now that it’s hit Nymphia, she can’t stop crying every time the sheer enormity of it washes over her.

She’s always been emotional, but sometimes there’s a delay. Her life moves so fast, always swept up in the current of whatever dream she’s chasing, and sometimes it isn’t until she has a second to slow down that she realizes just how special every fleeting moment has been.

It’s been a whole week of being married, of wandering through villages and long hikes up mountain sides and afternoons spent sunning on the shore, of dawns and dinners and keeping a distance from the rest of the world as they know it. Now, Nymphia is sitting in a hammock at the edge of the beach, and she’s looking out over the water, and she’s basking in the overwhelming perfection of this moment. It’s something out of a dream, the sort of thing she’d long thought would be impossible for her to experience, and she can’t help but want to slow it all down, to draw out every precious moment long enough to memorize them, to make them last forever.

She’s sniffling just a bit when Jane finally finds her. She slides into place beside her, knees tucked into her chest, and stares quietly at the last of the sun as it sets over the ocean.

“Beautiful,” Jane murmurs, and it’s about the sunset, but it’s about Nymphia too. She presses a soft kiss to Nymphia’s shoulder.

“I don’t want it to end,” Nymphia sighs, unwilling to look away from the heaven that’s in front of her. They still have another day of this, one more perfect day at the edge of reality, and then they’ll be packing their things, leaving the quiet paradise of their bungalow and flying home. Back to work, back to their crazy, stupid friends, back to the never-ending rush and whirr of the city.

It’s not just that Nymphia doesn’t want the honeymoon to end. She doesn’t want this to end: her and Jane, so head-spinningly in love that nothing else matters, so finely attuned to one another, so freshly devoted to making it last. Nymphia wants so desperately to do it right, for their love to outlive that of either of their parents, for them to see all of their promises through for years to come. The possibility that they can’t pull it off is mind-numbingly terrifying, but the possibility that they can…

It’s an impossible promise to make to one another, and yet they’ve already done it. 

Nymphia sighs, mind swirling, and Jane somehow knows exactly what she means when she says, “what do we do now?”

Jane goes quiet for a moment, staring out over everything she’s ever wanted, and does her best to be brave for Nymphia.

“We sit out here until we’re too tired to keep our eyes open, and then I’ll take you to bed,” Jane says softly. “And then we have one more beautiful day, okay?”

“Okay,” Nymphia says, chewing on her cheek, still unable to look away from the landscape should it all disappear on her. “And then what?”

“And then we go home,” Jane looks over at Nymphia. “We go back to our house. And I’ll take you to work every morning, and then I’ll come home and be pissed about something, probably, and you’ll roll your eyes and tell me to shut up and I will, because I love you and, y’know, I generally think you’re right about everything. And we’ll have our stupid friends over and show them a billion pictures from our trip and kick them out so we can watch Project Runway and fuck. How does that sound?”

Nymphia giggles, and when she finally tears her gaze away from the beach, she realizes there’s another heaven right beside her, one that she gets to take home. And home, their home, the one with the fat cat and the mismatched furniture and their pictures all over the wall, that's another heaven too. Suddenly, the trip being over doesn’t seem like such a bad thing. Nymphia is almost looking forward to it.

“Are you scared?” Jane ventures softly, searching Nymphia’s face carefully. “It’s okay if you are.”

“Only a little,” Nymphia mumbles, voice wavering, eyes watering. 

“I’m a little scared too. We’ll take it one day at a time, okay?” Jane continues, looking a little smaller all of a sudden, pushing through every worry that threatens to override her strong front. “I know we’ll have bad days too, Nymph. I know I’m gonna fuck up and not listen enough and piss you off sometimes, but I love you to fucking pieces. I’m gonna give you the best I’ve got, I promise you.”

Nymphia takes Jane’s hand, and there are silent tears streaming down her face, because it’s only been a week and she already loves Jane more than she did on the day that she married her. It’s enough love to override everything that threatens to pierce through their perfect bubble, enough to fuel the years to come, enough to roll over into the next life and the one after that.

“And if you get sick of me,” Jane teases, squeezing Nymphia’s hand. “Y’know. Just say the word.”

“Shut up. I’ll never get sick of you,” Nymphia cries, throwing her arms around Jane’s shoulders. Jane laughs into her neck, pulls her closer into a bone-crushing embrace. This is the best part - Nymphia married her best friend. It’s enough just to hold her, just to be beside her. All those other parts, the sex and the sweet nothings and the swearing each other to forever, they’re just the luxuries of being in love with her. 

“You promise?” Jane says into Nymphia’s hair. She knows what the answer will be. She just wants to hear it anyway.

“I promise,” Nymphia whispers. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Jane says. “With all my heart.”

(They go home two mornings later, back to the city and their couch and their cat, and they aren’t scared anymore, because the warm glow of one another lasts much longer than fleeting sunsets over foreign shores. They wake up together, kiss goodbye on the way to work, hang their wedding photos on the wall and muse over the best day of their lives for years to come. They have lots of good days, and a few bad ones, too. They fight, and then they talk, and they never go to bed angry, just put each other back together in the way that only they can. And then they wake up and love each other more in spite of it.

The honeymoon was great, but here’s the best part: they make it last.)

[princessbrunette]

thinking about sitting on rafes lap at a party and rambling to him with a drink in hand . . . and when you get tipsy and too passionate while talking, hes interrupting you (in a nice way) and insisting on holding your drink so that you dont spill it on your pretty skirt 🤭🤭

(also !!! love your work !! literally makes my dayy !!!!)

this is hot …… the casual dominance n all….. u know he wouldn’t really be listening to much of what you’re saying, just staring with a vacant smirk, eyeing your face n stealing glances at your tits cos he’s just thinking abt how he wants to make u cream on his cock :(

like the end of this gif…. walk w me

[hanasnx]

absolutely need you to describe han solo's fat cock in detail. your word is law and i need all of the details.

MINORS DNI 18+ NOTES: "your word is law" are you trying to butter me up? it's working. i ran to get my laptop as soon as i got this message.

"fat cock" is such an accurate way to describe it. the men i write for, i've noticed there's a pattern in the way i see their dicks. commonly, they either have a "horse" cock, or a "bull" cock. for example, anakin has a "horse" cock. but han has a "bull". let me explain

when we say "fat," it's cos it's fucking fat. thick, your fingertips to your thumb have space between them when you wrap your hand around it. your jaw aches when you widen your mouth just to take him.

he's tan, and he's got blemishes from the sun that stretch down to his v-line and yes, the base of his cock. that v-line is defined, and peeks out from his pants because they hang low on his hips, you can see the tops of veins lead down as well. he's got a bush going. the man only trims occasionally, but never shaves. he gets those uncomfortable razor bumps when he does, and he only wants to scratch his balls some of the time. "waxing is unnatural." he'd say. you're with him because he's a "real" man, so why would he deny you any of that?

it swings when he walks, flaccid it hangs out the brown patch of pubic hair, pats the inside of his thigh. like i said, it's tan. but when it grows, the tip reddens to a brick shade. gradients into the tanner beige of the base. he is cut, but he wouldn't care either way. his dick'll do the trick just fine. his head swells just a little thicker than the shaft, the lip of a perfect mushroom tip. he loves having it sucked on, just the tip, it gets him all writhe-y and frustrated. makes him wanna fuck your face about it, shove it down your throat even if you gag.

the length is formidable. the shit that makes you nervous to look at it. i'm thinking about eight inches. he knows he's well endowed, and he doesn't mind giving his girl a little more prep than other guys would have to in order to take it. he sees it as a compliment.

he has a single, fat fucking vein on the underside that he loves having licked. if youre blowing him, and swipe your tongue side to side on it while you bob, it makes him go limp. slacks up, throws his head back, low groan drawling from his throat as he caresses your head and hair affectionately.

he wouldn't like his slit given much attention. no spreading it apart or licking on it or trying to stick your tongue in it, that'd make him uncomfortable. to elaborate on what i mentioned earlier, sucking on his tip like it's a toy would get him so fucking horny. laying your cheek on his thigh and hollowing out your cheeks, moving your jaw to suction it, lubing it up with your spit as your tongue swirls around it. it wont make him cum, but its a sweet kind of torture.

he loves that it splits you open. that you struggle to take it, but always want to.

[darby-rowe]

WOAHHHHHHH WOAH WOAH WOAH EASY THERE (say more)

18+ | nsfw | mdni

even after you specifically told him he could be as rough with you as possible, billy still apologizes when he sees your makeup running down your face with your tears and the drool water-falling down your chin.

“sorry, s-sorry honey. feels s’damn good. taking it well. almost done. need t’cum in your mouth, darlin’,”