#that it just doesn’t feel real sometimes

[blossoms-phan]

thinking about how ever since they met there was a time period of a handful of months where the longest they would go without seeing each other was a week or two at a time and they publicly longed and yearned for each other every time they were separated and then their visits were defined by hometowns and train rides and then phil moved out and dan showed up and kept him and the longest they were apart from 2009 to 2022 was two and a half fucking weeks and then dan went on tour for 2 months and travelled across the world to make it back for phil’s birthday and oh god they’re literally inseparable

[cosmicoceanfic]

“Hey,” Dean says, peeved.

“I don’t think he knows how to wash his clothes, Cas,” Claire continues. “Like, how do you fuck him? I bet he doesn’t know how to wash his balls.”

“I wash my balls!” Dean hollers as Sam enters the room. Without looking up from his book, Sam does a heel turn and exits just as quickly.

“He does wash his balls,” Cas confirms. “Although I would prefer not to discuss that particular aspect of our lives with you in the future. And his clothes do get washed. Eventually.”

“I wash my clothes plenty!”

“And what is plenty to you, Dean?” Claire asks, whipping out some frankly insulting air quotes.

“Once they start to smell!”

Claire gives Cas a Look.

“I throw them in with mine, usually,” Cas tells her.

“That’s not the same as him taking initiative, dude. Does he use the same soap he washes his pits with to wash his hair?”

“I am standing,” Dean thunders. “Right here.”

Cas ignores him. “No, he has shampoo. It’s nice, actually. Um. Fragrant.”

“Dean, do you know what a dryer sheet is?”

“Do you?” Dean snaps.

Claire pauses.

“That’s not the point,” she settles on.

“Oh, Little Miss Hygiene can’t take a hit all of the sudden?”

“It’s a good thing you don’t have a vagina. I bet you’d get UTIs all the time.”

“I shower!” Dean shouts. “I would have the cleanest vagina! Cas, back me up!”

“Um.” Cas considers it. “No.”

“Dude.”

“Mostly because I don’t have any real conception of what it would take to get you to that point. You do shower every day.”

“Sometimes with him,” Dean adds, just to see the face Claire pulls. “I bet you’re just mad cause you don’t have anybody to throw your clothes in the dryer with them.”

“Are you going after a teenage girl for not having a girlfriend?” Claire asks. “Are you trying to give me issues?”

“Oh, you’ve got plenty of issues without me, sister.”

Dean and Claire glower at each other for a moment. Cas, unconcerned, returns his attention to his beekeeping magazine.

Claire turns to Cas abruptly. “I can get you on Grindr in like, five minutes.”

“Claire,” Dean says at the same time Cas, turning a page, says “no, thank you”.

“There’s guys on there with asses you could bounce a quarter off of, probably.”

“I like Dean’s ass. And I like Dean. But,” Cas adds, as Dean starts to feel pretty smug. “If he eats crackers in the bed again, I will take you up on the offer.”

“If I get-“ Dean whirls on Claire. “He got raspberry jam on my silver pillowcase. Do you know how hard that is to clean up?”

Claire stares at the both of them.

“I changed my mind,” she announces. “Both of you are too old to find love again so I guess it’s good you found each other.”

She heads further into the Bunker without another word.

Dean looks at Cas. “You’d clean up on Grindr.”

“Thank you.” Cas turns another page. “I know.”

au where the destiel confession happens a few seasons earlier and claire finds out and is like “seriously? you stole my dad’s body, ripped my family apart and ruined my entire life to be gay for that??” and dean thinks cas will defend him but he just shakes his head sadly and says “i know 😔” and dean’s like “WHAT THE FUCK”

[animamii]

"Fushiguro, that's your girl?" One of Toji's block mates asks, eyeing one of the many pictures Toji had of you taped to the slate gray brick wall. It was a simple picture, your hair was wavy in this one, a cute dimply smile, lashes curled as you looked all natural. But god, were you still stunning. Toji looks up from the thing he was doing, sitting in the steel chair that was bolted down to the floor.

"Yup, that's my ol' lady," looking up at the picture he can't help but proudly smile. Toji's wall is covered in pictures. Of you, of Megumi. The whole family. Cute pictures you took with each other before he got locked up. It was his motivation to stay straight while being inside. To remind him of what's waiting for him when he gets out.

The block mate lets out a low whistle, nodding approvingly as he leans back against the cold wall. “Damn. She bad.” His celly's eyes roam over the pictures. Ones where you're dressed up all pretty, makeup done perfectly. Ones where you're wrapped around one of Toji's arms, looking up at him with all the adoration in the world. Even the ones that show just a little too much, which Toji keeps right next to where he lays his head.

Toji chuckles, shaking his head. “Watch it.” There’s no real threat in his voice, but there’s an edge of warning that makes the other guy hold his hands up in surrender.

“Ain’t mean no disrespect, Fushiguro,” he says, still looking at the pictures. “Just sayin’. You lucky.”

Toji doesn’t need to be told that. He already knows. It’s what gets him through the long nights, the endless hum of fluorescent lights, the hostility of the barbed wire that separates him from the outside. Knowing you're out there, waiting, is the only thing that keeps him from losing his damn mind.

He leans back against the desk he sits in front of, arms folding across his broad chest, eyes fixed on the pictures. His ol’ lady. His girl. His anchor in a life that never gave him much stability.

A slow smirk tugs at his lips. He can still hear your voice, that soft, teasing lilt whenever you’d call him by his full name just to mess with him. “Toji Fushiguro,” you’d say, dragging it out, pretending to scold him, even though your eyes always gave you away. He lived for those moments.

“Bet she writin’ you, huh?” the block mate asks. “You get letters?”

Toji nods. “Every week.” And he does. Neatly folded pages that smell like you, inked with words that remind him that he’s still human. That he’s still yours. That he still has something waiting for him beyond these walls. But god, does he miss you.

“Damn,” the block mate mutters, shaking his head in disbelief. “Every week? That’s real love right there.”

Toji just smirks again, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper, edges worn from being opened and closed too many times. He doesn’t even need to read it again—he’s already memorized every damn word—but still, he unfolds it, running a calloused thumb over the handwriting. Your handwriting.

Hey, baby. I know you hate when I get all mushy, but I don’t care. I miss you. I miss you so much it drives me crazy sometimes. But I’ll wait. However long it takes, I’ll wait. You better be eating, staying out of trouble, and keeping that smart-ass mouth in check. (Okay, maybe not too much. You know I love that about you.)

Toji chuckles to himself, shaking his head. Yeah, you knew him too damn well.

Megumi misses you too, even if he acts all tough about it. You should’ve seen his face when I told him your letter came. He’s just like you, y’know? Won’t say how he really feels, but it’s all there in his eyes.

Toji swallows hard, jaw clenching. Megumi. His kid. Another reason for pushing through this hellhole. He pictures him—too serious for his own good, but with those same sharp blue eyes. His boy.

“Yo, Fushiguro,” another voice calls out, snapping him from his thoughts. One of the guards. “Mail just came in.”

Toji is already up before the guy even finishes his sentence, heart pounding just a little faster. The guard hands the baby pink envelope with a lazy flick of the wrist, and Toji snatches it up quick, already recognizing the familiar scrawl of his name across the front.

His block mate lets out a laugh. “Man, look at you. Actin’ like a kid on Christmas.” Toji was always stoic, kept to himself and never showed much emotion. But hey, you always brought it out of him and he wasn't gonna front or hold a facade when it came to how he felt about you.

Toji doesn’t respond. He just sits back down, thumbs sliding under the flap of the envelope, tearing it open like it’s the only thing keeping him breathing in this godforsaken place. The first thing that falls out is a polaroid. His breath catches. It’s you.

You're sitting by a window, sunlight spilling over your skin, that soft, gentle smile on your lips. His girl. His sweetheart. Looking at him like she sees something in him that even he has trouble believing in sometimes. And just like that, the walls of the prison don’t feel so damn suffocating. He’s got something to hold onto.

Toji runs a thumb over the polaroid, like he could somehow feel you through it. The picture is warm, soft, a stark contrast to the cold steel and concrete around him. He exhales through his nose, staring at it for a long moment before finally unfolding the letter.

Your words hit him like they always do—gentle, teasing, but full of something deeper. Something that reminds him why he’s still holding on.

Hey, baby. I hope you’re not making the guards’ lives too hard. (Who am I kidding? I know you are.) It’s been getting colder here. I keep stealing your hoodie, the one you always say is yours but smells like me now. Tough luck, Fushiguro, it’s mine until you come back and take it from me.

Toji smirks, shaking his head. She’s gonna pay for that one.

Megumi’s been doing good in school, but I had to threaten to ground him just to get him to eat something other than instant ramen. He’s stubborn, just like his old man.

His smirk fades a little. He can picture it—Megumi sitting at the dinner table, arms crossed, trying to act like he doesn’t care. Just like Toji used to. The guilt settles in his chest, heavy and unshakable. He just wishes he could be there. For the both of you.

We miss you. I miss you.

He stops, lingering on that line. Simple, but enough to send a slow ache through his ribs.

I don’t care how long it takes. You come back to me, Toji. We’re waiting.

Toji exhales sharply, pressing the paper between his fingers, his grip a little too tight.

“Damn,” his block mate mutters, watching him. “She really ridin’ for you, huh?”

Toji just nods. He doesn’t need to say anything. He folds the letter carefully, tucking it away with the others. Getting up, he sticks some tape of the back of the polaroid, putting it up next to the rest of the pictures. Then he leans back in his chair, looking up at the mosaic of pictures you send him.

Yeah. She’s waiting. And he sure as hell isn’t gonna let her down.

[rafesangelita]

bf!rafe x thick!reader.

i’ve been thinking about how reader is insecure about her thick thighs and ass so rafe fucks her dumb in the mirror forcing her to look at herself as he says how perfect she is <3

warnings: unprotected sex, rough sex, mirror sex, mentions of body image issues and insecurities, body worship, praise, hair pulling, slapping, dirty talk, pregnancy kink (but rafe is serious about it??)

a/n: if you want to read more thick/bigger girl!reader, read this ‘thinking thot’ if you haven’t <3

“fucking look at yourself!” rafe grunted, wrapping a fist in your hair before forcing your head up to stare at your reflection. besides the obvious fact that you looked like a fucked-out mess, rafe wore a smirk that had you squeezing around him with a broken sob. “you’re so insecure and for what?” he landed a harsh smack to your ass, the loud sound making your cheeks heat, “if it wasn’t for this body i wouldn’t be able to fuck you like this..” you cried out when he let go of your hair and grabbed your hips, planting a foot on the mattress before drilling into you even deeper.

in this position he was easily nudging your cervix with every thrust, his fingers digging deep into your flesh as you struggled to keep your eyes on the full length mirror in front of you. “you make me so fucking mad when i hear you talk bad about yourself,” rafe said through gritted teeth, “saying you wish you looked better,” he scoffed, “..it doesn’t get better than this.” your knees nearly gave out from under you when he snaked a hand around your waist, his fingers working on your clit until you felt that familiar heat starting to simmer in your tummy.

“you’re so pretty, baby, it freaks me out sometimes,” rafe leaned down so his mouth was next to your ear, “you have no clue how many times throughout the day i have to resist the urge from bending you over and fucking you dumb— just like the way i am right now.” your eyes rolled back at his words, his praise shooting straight to your soaked cunt. “you make me hard without even doing anything, you know that? these curves are so fucking perfect, i could squeeze you and grab and rough you up just the way i want to. you drive me fucking crazy.” you weren’t only crying because of the way you were being pounded into right now, but because you knew rafe was coming from a place of genuine love.

you couldn’t help but feel insecure when you saw the kind of girls that always tried to get at your boyfriend, some even going as far as flashing you a wink when they stroked his arm while passing by. all of them looked flawless in your eyes, your insecurity creeping up on you and making you question why on earth rafe was even with you. questioning rafe’s devotion was exactly what got you in the position you were in right now. “look up, ‘pretty, i need you to see what i see.” he clasped a hand around the back of your neck, dragging you up so your back was flushed against his chest.

your body was on full display, your teary gaze meeting rafe’s as he fixed your head in place to make you look at yourself. “starting with this face,” he was still thrusting into you when he stroked your cheek, “i don’t think you’re real sometimes. especially when we wake up in the morning and the sun is hitting you just right..” he planted a kiss in the curve of your shoulder. “you don’t even know this but on the days i wake up earlier than you i just watch you. admire you.” you moaned when you felt him hit your sweet spot, your eyebrows knitting together as you took your bottom lip between your teeth.

“these tits,” rafe took both of his hands and cupped you, rolling your sensitive buds between his fingers, “this is why i love it so much when you’re on top.” you laughed softly, a small smile playing on rafe’s lips as he continued rocking into you. you knew rafe wasn’t lying, he always looked hypnotized and dazed whenever you rode him, his eyes glued to your chest while you bounced on top of him. “these thighs are the same thighs that i always need my head in between. whether you’re sitting on my face or i have you pinned down on your back, i fucking love them.” he rasped, his hips stuttering as he began approaching his high.

“your hips and your waist..” your mouth fell open in a silent moan when he found your clit again, “you’re gonna carry my kids, i’ll make sure of that.” you gasped when he picked up his speed, his words hitting you right where you’d feel them most. “m’gonna make you have my babies, ‘give you even more reasons why you should love your body the same way i do. you understand?” you nodded frantically, turning your head so he could take you in a searing kiss. that was all it took for both of you to fall over the edge, rafe carefully laying you down on your tummy as he filled you up.

you two stayed like this, your kisses growing more feverish once he pulled out, rafe wasting no time in wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. he traced the curve of your lips, thumbing away the tears from your eyes as you sighed. “i don’t ever want you to question the love that i have for you, do you understand?” you cozied up to him, whispering a ‘yes.’ before he hummed sleepily.

[solxamber]

For Valentine's Event🫶🏽 Azul, Romantic [Sleepless by Dutch Melrose]

"Everything leads back to you" || Azul Ashengrotto

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Sleepless by Dutch Melrose

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 750

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Pining, Friends to lovers, Azul’s a little possessive

Azul doesn’t know when it started—this pining.

Perhaps it was the first time you smiled at him, eyes crinkling at the corners, laughter bubbling from your lips so effortlessly while he stood there, stunned, trying to figure out how someone like you had walked into his life.

Or maybe it was the first time you defended him. The first time you stood in front of him like a shield, words sharp and unwavering, cutting down anyone who dared mock him.

Or maybe it had always been there, lingering beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to take hold.

Either way, he knows one thing for certain—everything leads right back to you.

And it's driving him insane.

Every night, Azul lies awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, thoughts running in endless circles.

What if you wake up tomorrow and love someone else?

The thought alone makes his stomach churn.

You aren't his. Not really. You're friends—but not lovers. There’s something between you, something unsaid, something that sits heavy in his chest, making it hard to breathe.

But every time he sees you smile at someone else, every time he watches you throw your head back in laughter at someone else’s joke, every time he watches you slip through his fingers just a little more, his heart screams—

Mine.

Mine.

Mine.

And yet, he does nothing.

Because Azul Ashengrotto does not confess first. He does not put his heart on the line without guarantees. He does not chase after things he might lose.

But he wants you.

He wants you so badly that it hurts.

One night, he snaps.

"Azul?" you blink at him, confused as he stands in front of you, hands clenched at his sides, jaw tight. "What's wrong?"

"You tell me." His voice is sharper than intended, but he can’t bring himself to care. "What are we?"

You tilt your head, amused. "Friends?"

The word feels like a slap.

His grip tightens. "Just friends?"

A pause. You study him carefully, a flicker of something unreadable passing through your eyes.

"You tell me."

Azul hates how the words hit him, how they feel like a challenge. He hates how you look at him like that, like you already know the answer, like you’re just waiting for him to say it.

His pride wars with his desperation.

But then you take a step forward, so close that he can see his own reflection in your eyes. Your lips part, as if you’re about to say something—

And it’s over.

He caves.

"I'm Yours."

Your breath hitches. Azul swallows hard, hands trembling as he finally, finally says it.

"I've always been yours. And it’s driving me mad because I don't know if you’re mine."

A heartbeat of silence. His pulse pounds in his ears.

Then, you smile.

"You idiot."

And before he can process it, your lips are on his.

Soft. Warm. Real.

It takes him a second to catch up, to realize what's happening, to understand that this isn't a dream. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer, desperate to keep you there, to keep you from slipping away ever again.

And when you finally pull back, breathless, eyes shining, you whisper, "I've always been yours, too."

And Azul thinks—by some miracle, by some twist of fate, he’s won.

He still has sleepless nights.

Even with you curled up beside him, safe and warm, he still lies awake sometimes, watching you breathe.

His fingers trace the curve of your cheek, the way your lashes flutter slightly in sleep. His heart clenches.

Because even now—especially now—he’s terrified.

What if you wake up tomorrow and realize he's not enough?

What if you wake up and decide you want more—more than what he can give?

Azul has never been someone who trusts easily, and his fears have always been his greatest enemy.

But then you stir.

You blink up at him, sleepy and soft, frowning as you reach for him blindly. "Go to sleep, Azul," you mumble, voice thick with exhaustion. "You're thinking too much again."

Before he can respond, you press a drowsy kiss to his lips, barely a whisper of warmth before you nuzzle into his chest and fall right back asleep.

Azul freezes.

His heart feels too full, too warm, too much—

He exhales.

Closes his eyes.

Holds you just a little tighter.

And as he drifts off, he thinks—

Everything leads right back to you.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[miryum]

Simon Riley has a lot of weird little quirks that I couldn’t fit in any other fic idea

Simon Riley knows how to braid hair and braid it well. French, Dutch, fishtail, anything you wanted. Little tiny braids didn’t deter him either. He would sit on the couch, you standing or sitting between his thick thighs and glare silently in concentration as he braided your hair. He’s also able to pick up any hairstyle real easily. Show him some inspiration on Pinterest and he’ll be able to replicate it almost perfectly. Simon isn’t as good at buns because he can’t quite get how to twist his wrist just right, but give him a strand of hair and he loves to weave it between his fingers. It makes him feel close to you and he is so proud when you wear the braid all throughout the day

Simon Riley folds laundry with military precision and gets a little miffed if you fold the laundry wrong. He literally grumbles and mutters to himself and then re-folds the entire load. He tries to show you how to fold it, but you don’t care as much as him, so he just does it himself. Laundry and the majority of the cleaning goes to Simon because as much as he has qualms about the way you do laundry, don’t even get him started on the way you attempt to clean the house. It’s better for everyone if he just does it

Simon Riley likes to rub his face over your pillow. Especially before or after deployment, he’s like a cat. He circles your pillow in his beefy arms and just presses his cheek to it again and again. It’s like he’s scenting it so that when he goes away, you won’t forget him. You think it’s absolutely adorable and you like to scratch at his hair as he does it

Simon Riley has very strong opinions about Christmas lights. He likes to put them up every year because he grew up Catholic (though he’s now an atheist) and it reminds him of his childhood. He doesn’t really care whether the lights are all white or different colours, but he cannot stand it if they blink. It’s much too annoying and busy and he thinks it’s a cry for attention. It also doesn’t help that sometimes he sees them out of the corner of his eye and the red ones look like the lights on a bomb or the green ones like the call signal on a radio

Simon Riley likes to buy you jewellery. He likes to buy anything and everything that he thinks will look pretty on you. When he finds something with little birds on it, he can’t help but splurge because you’re his Birdie and he loves you

Simon Riley is really good at most any sport, you name it. Rugby, basketball, baseball, American football, the list goes on and on. But put a gun to his head and tell him to score a goal for football and he would take the bullet. There’s really no explanation for it. One could blame it on his utter behemoth size, but he’s able to dribble the basketball or swing at the baseball hurtling towards him, but his feet just trip over themselves as he tries to get the bloody football down the field. He hates that little black and white ball with a burning passion

Simon Riley who is actually pretty involved in the VA. He doesn’t go out and advocate for more funding or anything, but if he sees a homeless veteran, he definitely guides them in the right direction. He goes there once a week just to catch up with everyone. You think it’s very healthy that he’s establishing a community for himself and he really enjoys it – you can see it in his eyes after he comes home Simon Riley who needs to sleep on the couch sometimes after deployment. It’s not that he doesn’t want to hold you close, but the mattress is sometimes a bit too soft for him after sleeping on the ground or in a hard cot for weeks on end. You usually end up joining him, just splaying out on his chest. After a night or two, he returns to his place in the bed, holding you close

Simon Riley has the 141 insignia tattooed on his bicep and then the numbers on his chest. He was going to put the numbers over his heart, but, a week before his appointment, he had met you and some little part of him told him to move the tattoo up three inches. He was very glad he decided to move it because a year later he had gotten your initials with a little bird tattooed right over his heart

[suzukiblu]

First 1k of the 5k I promised y'all as a thank-you for helping me out with that car insurance bill behind the cut; “YJ packs up and gets pupped”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

He’d cry a lot harder, probably, but–no, he wouldn’t mind. Like . . . literally zero percent would he mind . . . mind anyone doing that for him. Even if Red Tornado only smells like metal and wires and machinery and, like, a little bit of clumsy scenting from Traya and maybe an even littler, subtle bit of it from, like–Kathy . . . 

Kon feels like an asshole for thinking it, but a dude who is a literal machine and doesn’t even have a designation or pheromones having, like–having even estranged packmates when he doesn’t even . . . when he’s never actually . . . 

Even in Hawaii, he didn’t have a pack. Like–Rex and Roxy had their family pack, and Tana had her family pack, and Dubbilex is a null and totally uninterested in packing up with anybody, which sometimes some shitty part of Kon’s wondered if that’s, like–if that’s why Cadmus picked Dubbilex to be his stupid fake “chaperone” or . . . whatever. Because Dubbilex–Dubbilex wouldn’t ever get too–too– 

Kon’s pretty fucking positive that Dubbilex doesn’t really think of him the way he’s sometimes wished the guy would either. And Roxy–Roxy’s the closest thing he’s ever had to a sibling unless he counts Match, who literally thinks he’s just a shitty prototype and nothing else, but she wasn’t–she wasn’t his pack sibling or anything like that. And even if she had been, he doesn’t even know where she is now; hasn’t even seen her in months. More months than he even actually remembers it being, since he spent a real significant portion of that time, like–literally out of his mind on gross fucked-up amnesia drugs that made him literally feral, so . . . 

And it’s not like it’s not, like–public, that he’s back and currently working for Cadmus and rolling with Young Justice and all that. If Roxy or Tana or anybody wanted to find him . . . they could find him, if they wanted to. 

But they haven’t. 

He misses Hawaii so bad right now. Like . . . all the time, really. But especially right now. 

“Then I will do it,” Red Tornado says. It sounds the same exact way he just said it, like he’s just replaying a recording or something. Like he saved a copy of it the first time, because he was already planning to say it again. 

Kon is definitely gonna be mortified about this later, he thinks as he scrubs the sleeve of his jacket across his wet eyes. 

“Okay,” he manages. “Uh–okay. Uh. Thanks.” 

He–he could use more stuff to nest with, definitely, and if Red Tornado brings it he won’t have to leave his nest for it, and like . . . the food and drinks or whatever wouldn’t hurt either, obviously. He didn’t think to get anything like that ready while he was distracted looking for stuff with everybody’s scents to nest with and when the Super-Cycle offered him a nesting pit to just–when the Super-Cycle made him a nesting pit in itself to use–well, like. Then he hadn’t really cared, after that. Like . . . that had not been a thing he was worried about, after that. So . . . so if Red Tornado doesn’t mind getting him some of that stuff before he goes . . . wherever he goes to, like, hang out when he’s on his own, well . . . like, that’d be . . . that’d be . . . 

Nice, Kon admits to himself, though that’s embarrassing to think even when he’s already all overemotional and weird anyway. 

But–but it would be. Nobody’s . . . nobody’s gonna come “attend” him, or even just . . . just be here with him, so . . . so it’d be nice, if Red Tornado would . . . would get him a couple things, and he could . . . could pretend like . . . like somebody–like he’d had somebody who– 

Red Tornado he guesses does count as somebody who’d, like, “attend” him a little, but like . . . not like a packmate would. Like . . . in a pack, somebody does . . . “attend” people who’re presenting in it. Somebody–stays, at least. 

Kon guesses the Super-Cycle’s technically volunteered to do that, so like . . . so that’s already better than he thought he was gonna get. And he did find everybody’s scents–or at least, almos everybody’s scents and Robin’s blockers–so if Red Tornado gets him more stuff to nest with too . . . 

That’s–definitely better than he thought he was gonna get, yeah. 

“Is there anyone I will need to make sure the security measure will allow entry to the base?” Red Tornado asks, and Kon–startles, a little. 

“Uh–what?” he asks stupidly, not understanding what he means. What’s . . . ? 

Red Tornado tilts his head, very slightly. 

“To attend to you,” he says. “Did you invite anyone without prior security clearance, or are they a member of the team?” 

“I–they’ve got packs,” Kon says reflexively, too confused to bite it back. But . . . “Like . . . they’ve all got–packs. And, like–school and shit, anyway. I wouldn’t . . . I wouldn’t bug ‘em with this.” 

He doesn’t even know if . . . like, why even would they come, if he actually . . . 

Red Tornado’s expression doesn’t change, obviously. Like, his expression is literally physically incapable of changing. He doesn’t even adjust the tilt of his head or shift his center of balance or–anything at all, really. Doesn’t even make that electric humming fridge-compressor sound again. 

Kon suddenly feels like something about him just changed, though. 

“I see,” Red Tornado says. “Who will I need to provide security clearance for, then?” 

“Um,” Kon says, and tries not to cringe. “You–don’t. It’s–fine. Like, I don’t–it’s fine. I didn’t, like . . . call anybody, or anything. I’m just gonna, you know–crash for a day or two, and then like, I’ll put everything away and run the scent-scrubbers and everything. That’s, like–that’s all. I don’t need, like . . . ‘attended’, or whatever. Like–I’m not gonna bother anybody with that.” 

Red Tornado’s just looking at him with the exact same expression, but it still feels like something’s changed.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

⋆｡‧˚ʚ 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 ɞ˚‧｡⋆

⸝⸝ 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒍𝒆𝒚, 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒅, 𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒍, 𝒇𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒅 ⸝⸝

a/n: i was thinking about this for a while and just HAD to write it!! Bill's a little freaky but ok. everyone kisses differently and i love how much that says about them :) maybe i'll do a part two tho idk if it'll be smth nsfw or no. also sorry if photos are random i just think it suits gravity falls aesthetic plus i was out of ideas (i want summer)

𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒍𝒆𝒚

Stan’s got a thing for forehead kisses, always has, always will. they’re effortless and easy. a quick press of his lips when he passes by, a habit more than anything. he’s a busy man, always moving, always going somewhere, but that doesn’t mean he won’t grab you, tilt your head up and press a warm kiss right to your forehead

it's a way of saying “i gotcha” without actually saying it. doesn’t matter if he’s in a rush, grumbling about tourists, wiping down the counter. he’ll keep you safe. he swears it.

big, warm hands cupping your face. his lips are warm, his stubble scratches against your skin but the moment you start to melt he’s gone.

he pulls back, smirks, winking at you

“gotta give the tourists their money’s worth, sweetheart.” you hear his voice through the walls of the Mystery Shack, always so confident as he launches into his usual con. “step right up, folks! come see the eighth wonder of the world!”

but, oh, don’t let that fool you. he’s a tease, and he knows it.

he’s got another favorite, too

your neck

he makes a game of it. a teasing peck when he leans in to tell you something. a slow, tender kiss at the curve of your throat when he’s feeling particularly smug, when he’s got you pinned between him and the kitchen counter, when he knows you’re hanging on to every little touch.

“heh. what’s that face for, baby? didn’t think id be so smooth, huh?”

he’s a biter, too, making you shiver. he needs to feel the way you react beneath his hands. he likes knowing he can fluster you. likes leaving you breathless, just for him.

and if he’s feeling real bold, his lips might stray lower, making a slow, lazy path along your collarbone. “what? somethin’ wrong? i think I’m right where i wanna be.”

𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒅

Ford kisses like a man who’s spent most of his life not kissing anyone, like someone who’s read about it, thought about it, imagined it, but never quite gotten the chance. but when he feels the warmth, the closeness, how intimate it is he can’t stop.

he kisses your hands first, always. fingertips, knuckles, the inside of your wrist where your pulse flutters

your shoulders come next. he’ll press his lips there absently while he’s working, when you’re standing beside him reading over his notes. sometimes, he forgets himself, murmuring a distracted “mm, love you” against your skin before his smart brain catches up with his mouth. and oh the way his ears burn when you point it out

also when he’s overwhelmed, when the world is too much, when his mind is too loud, he rests his forehead there, brushing his lips against the curve of your shoulder. he just wants to feel you close

but when he’s really feeling it, when he’s past overthinking and just wants you, it's your calves. he kneels. Ford takes his time, hands so big, shaking a little as he presses his thumb into muscle while tracing a slow path from your ankle up, up, up with his lips

“you never let me appreciate you properly.” he worships you. lets you feel it in every single careful, thorough kiss.

𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒄𝒊𝒑𝒉𝒆𝒓

Bill isn’t bound by flesh, but he's bound by desire

he loves mirrors. loves floating there behind you, his golden triangle form looming over you, all-seeing eye staring right into your soul. oh he loves the way you shudder when you see yourself in the reflection, when you see him, wrapping around you

thousands of long, dark limbs curl around your waist, a hand-like thing at your jaw, tilting your head to the side, exposing your skin to him. Bill's mouth appears where his eye should be and oh, that tongue. . .

“nervous, sweet thing? don’t be. i’ll take real good care of ya.”

his tongue is long. obscenely so. it drags over your throat, a slow, hot stroke that sends a jolt straight through you. you hear him laugh delightfully against your skin, because he knows exactly what he’s doing

“aww who’s my favorite little human, huh? who’s my delicious little slab of meat?”

kiss after kiss, mark after mark, he makes you watch. makes you see the way he devours you.

and he doesn’t stop at your neck, oh no, no, no. he follows your spine. mouth pressing open. dragging his long tongue against the curve of your back, your chest, your stomach

“every inch of you is mine. dont you forget that.”

𝒇𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒎𝒄𝒈𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒕

Fidds kisses every part of you that makes him smile.

“well, ain’t you the cutest lil’ thing!”

your cheeks. he just can’t help himself, he sees your face and boom! instant smooch. one cheek, then the other, peppering you with quick, excited little kisses

he giggles into kisses. always, always grinning. pecks to your cheek when he’s working, smooches to your temple when you bring him a snack, laughter between every single kiss because he can’t believe his luck.

“gotcha! hehehe, ya oughta see the look on yer face!”

your nose is next. he thinks it’s adorable. boop. peck. boop. peck

“who’s the cutest thing in the whole dang world? ohhhh, that’s right, it’s you!”

sometimes he’s so excited he forgets to aim and accidentally bumps his nose against yours, which only makes him laugh more

but the most special place, the sweetest is your eyelids.

he does it when you’re falling asleep, when you’re curling against him, feeling safe and warm. a press of lips to your closed eyes, so feather-light

“rest easy, darlin’. im right here.” and if he wakes up before you, if the morning sun is spilling golden across your skin, he does it again

because he loves you. because he just can’t help it

[trustmypoison]

Ateez when their independent partner struggles financially

Requested? Yes!

Request: ‘Good evening! I recently found your page) First of all, thank you for sharing all your works here with your readers!🙏🏻 I’ve been reading alll your SVT reactions and drabbles all days. I would like to make request if it’s possible. When you are free and in the mood, could you please write for all Ateez members ( if you are still writing for them, if not, for SVT members) their reactions when their independent gf asking for the financial support/help for the first time ever( to pay her rent maybe) . Because I’m the oldest daughter 🥲 and sometimes I want to ask for someone’s help but either too proud or just don’t want to show that I’m weak or something. Thank you very much! Have a great day!‘

A/N: Oldest daughter syndrome is real and I have it too. 🤩

Just gives you the money, no questions asked - Hongjoong, San, Jongho

He immensely respects your stubborn independence and he’s aware that you had to be in a tough situation to even bring it up to him. He lets you ramble for only a little bit before he’s just asking how much you need, ready to send it. It doesn’t matter what the issue really is this month, but he’s not shy about telling you that he’ll help you anytime you need it. And no, he won’t be accepting any repayments ever. 

Gives you the money with some questions asked - Seonghwa, Yeosang

I think he also really respects your stubborn independence and recognizes that you must be in a tough spot to even ask him for help. But that’s precisely what worries him. He’s not trying to be nosy. He’s just worried that you’ve been struggling for a while and haven’t said anything, or that you had a big bill that threw off your budget. Those things happen and he’d be totally understanding about it, but he just wants you to feel comfortable letting him know when you’re struggling so he can be there for you. 

Just asks you to move in with him - Yunho, Mingi, Wooyoung

He’d pay for everything if you’d let him - he knows it will never happen but it’s always worth mentioning in his eyes. So when you approach him with money troubles, say with making rent for whatever reason, he jumps right to saying “Why don’t we find a place and move in together?” He knows the last thing you want is to be a mooch, but the last thing he wants is for you to stress about this when he has plenty of money to cover the things you’re worried about. 

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Sharing

A/N: This is my one year anniversary of writing fanfiction for Elvis! Thanks to everyone who has interacted with my posts, enjoyed reading my stories, helped me with ideas and proof-read my work. To celebrate, I've written this sequel to Dolly. It is absolutely unbridled filth, PWP, a smutfest etc.

Pairings: Dom!Elvis x Dolly!Reader

Joe x Dolly!Reader

Jerry x Dolly!Reader

Sonny x Dolly!Reader

Word count: 3.8K

TWs: Dolification, objectification, Elvis is dominant and reader is very submissive, dubcon, possessive kink, praise kink, voyeurism, exhibitionism, little bit of choking, gangbang/orgy, name-calling/demeaning language, reader is fucked stupid, kind of size kink, copious amounts of cum.

You’re sitting in your bedroom, carefully brushing your long blonde hair when you hear Joe start talking to Elvis. Your door is half-open and you can sometimes hear things the guys talk about in the living room, but this seems unusually clear. 

“That little girl of yours was sounding real fun the other night.”

Your ears prick up at his mention of you and you try to lean slightly closer to the door. 

Elvis laughs. “You been listenin’?”

“Hard not to, the noise she was makin’.” That’s Jerry. You wonder how many of the guys are out there. 

“What were you doin’ to her, EP?” Sounds like Sonny, although you can’t be sure. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Elvis chuckles. 

“You uh… you ever think of sharing her, boss?” Joe asks. 

There’s a long silence, where you almost fall off your chair from leaning so close to the open door. You cross your legs and rub your thighs together a little. It’s not like you’re interested in Joe, that’s disgusting. But something about the way they are all talking about you is getting you all hot and bothered. 

“What about Joan?”

You bite your lip. Elvis hadn’t said no. 

“What about her?”

“Well, she not good enough?”

“She doesn't have a body like that. And your girl just seems so… obedient.”

Elvis snorts. “‘Course she is. She’s well-trained.”

“So whaddaya think, boss?” It sounds like Sonny again. “Any chance of, y’know, letting us find out just how obedient she is?”

There’s another long pause, and you wonder what exactly Elvis is considering. 

“Maybe.”

You actually do lean too far this time, and when you overbalance you end up dropping your hairbrush on the floor trying to catch yourself. 

“Dolly?” Elvis’ smooth baritone calls out to you. 

“Yes, Daddy?”

“Come in here a minute.”

You take a deep, steadying breath and look at yourself in the mirror. You’re a little flushed already, just from listening to them talk about you, but your make-up is all done nicely and you had almost finished brushing your hair when he called. Smoothing it down, you stand up and check your dress is sitting where it should. Then you open the door and walk across the corridor and into the living room. As you stand in the doorway you look around, realising that you had successfully identified all of the voices, and their owners are now all looking back at you with ill-disguised lust. 

“Good girl. Come and sit on Daddy’s lap.” 

Elvis is looking particularly good today, his eyes are shining and so is his big, gold belt. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to just above his elbows, and his forearms flex as he grabs either armrest to adjust his sitting position in preparation for you following his instruction. 

You walk over slowly, realising as you start to step that you’ve forgotten to put your heels on, so you end up padding across the thickly shagged carpet in just your stockinged feet. Trying not to look at the other men as they look at you, you settle yourself onto Elvis’ lap and feel his hardness pressing against your lower back immediately. Excitement and trepidation bubble in your stomach. He really doesn’t seem like he’s going to say no to sharing you. 

“Now Dolly, the guys here have a proposition f’ya,” he tells you as his arms wrap around your waist and hold you to him tightly, his breath tickling your cheek. 

There’s an awkward silence in the room, and the men go from openly staring at you to looking nervously at their feet. 

“C’mon, guys.” Elvis’ voice is laced with irritation now, “if you want her ya have ta ask her.”

It turns out that Jerry is the brave one, though he looks up at you nervously, the mass of curls on his head bobbing as he swallows hard before finally opening his mouth. 

“We were, um… talking about you,” he begins, uncertainly. The other two nod and mumble their agreement, encouraging him to continue. “And um… you’re real pretty and you made some er… real pretty noises the other night.” Jerry is blushing now and you think it makes him look kinda cute. 

“And?” Elvis snaps, when the silence after Jerry’s last sentence stretches out for a few minutes. 

“And we want to know just how much of a dolly you really are, Dolly,” Joe announces. 

You frown. “Oh, Joe. I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” you tell him, tilting your head to one side and biting the side of your thumb. You even bat your fake eyelashes for the full effect. 

“H-he… um…” Jerry starts up again, looking for all the world like he wants the earth to open up and swallow him. “He wants to know if you’d like to have a little fun with us…” When your facial expression doesn’t change from the exaggerated look of confusion you’d given Joe earlier, Jerry continues. “Like… with our clothes off. Y’know. Would ya like to please us like you please Elvis?” Jerry lets out a big sigh at the end of the sentence, as if he’s just said the most difficult thing ever. 

“Oh!” You exclaim, putting a hand to either side of your face and making Elvis chuckle. “But Joe, what about your wife?” The question makes Elvis chuckle all the more. 

Joe clears his throat a little awkwardly. “Well. This would just be a one-time thing you know. We wouldn’t need to tell her. Just our little secret, isn’t that right, boss?”

Elvis holds both hands up. “Nothin’ ta do with me, she’s your wife.”

His hands go back to your waist and you lean your head back against his chest a little. Rewarding you with a kiss to the temple, he looks around the room at the three men. 

“Think we need some ground rules ‘fore we start.”

“I didn’t say yes!” You find yourself squeaking, sitting upright again in shock. 

Another, darker chuckle. “I wanted the guys to ask ya ta be polite. Not ‘cause I wanted yer opinion, Dolly.” Pressing his nose against your face, he kisses your cheek. “Yer jus’ my little doll, ‘member. No opinions of yer own.”

You nod, realisation slowly dawning that you’re in a room with four men who can do whatever they want with you. His lips trail down your neck until his teeth find your collarbone, nibbling it a little before moving off you entirely and looking back at the rest of the room. 

“Ground rules,” he reiterates. “She’s my little Dolly. So if I say stop, ya stop, okay?” The three men nod and mumble, “yes boss,” and “yes EP”. “Good,” he replies. “This pretty mouth,” he squeezes your cheeks to make you pout, “and this pretty pussy,” his hand moves to pull your legs apart and give the assembled group a good view of your panties, “are fair game. Her asshole’s mine. So don’t even think about it.”

Elvis waits for all three of them to affirm what he’s just said before continuing. You squirm in his lap under the weight of their gazes, all three trained right between your legs. 

“And one more fer you, darlin’,” he coos, turning your head to look at him. “No more thoughts from now on, sweetheart. Want ya ta be a perfect little doll for me and my friends.”

Looking into those bright blue eyes you nod slowly, but you’re not sure. Of course you trust Elvis, but there are a lot of big strong men in this room. Men who could easily overpower you and outnumber him too. Your lower lip wobbles a little. The hand that’s currently cupping your cheek holds it a little more firmly as he looks back at you, seeming to try and see right into the brain you’re supposed to be emptying of thoughts right now. 

“Daddy will take care a ya,” he murmurs, eyes flicking over your face, searching for clues. “I won’t let anyone hurt ya, sweetheart.”

The tenderness in his voice almost has you undone without any need for him to touch you. A whimper escapes your lips and your arms go around his neck as he kisses you lovingly. Your little audience all seem to sigh in unison. 

“Okay?” He asks, as he pulls back, running a thumb over your plush lips. 

“Yes, Daddy,” you reply, your earlier nervousness bubbling over into excitement again. 

“Good girl.”

You squeeze your thighs together at the praise and as you turn back towards the room you realise everyone saw you do it. You blush and bat your eyelids again, eliciting something that sounds a lot like a moan from Jerry. 

Elvis’ hand sweeps up your thigh, pushing the material of your skirt with it, showing your panties to the room properly this time. Joe is the first to obviously touch himself through his pants but it’s not long before the other two join him, especially when Elvis points out the damp patch you’ve made on your pretty pink panties. 

“She’s filthy, EP.”

Elvis chuckles, softly. “She jus’ likes doin’ as she’s told, don’tcha, Dolly?” 

“Yes, Daddy.”

He slips your panties off and throws them at Sonny, clearly seeing the hungry look on the brunette’s face. You smile at the way he almost jumps when they land in his lap, his attention being completely captured by your bare pussy. Quickly recovering a second or so later, he balls them up and stuffs them into his pocket. 

Elvis kisses your neck as he pulls your legs apart, putting you on display for the other men. The cool air of the room hits your open pussy and you moan a little, feeling his fingers digging into your thighs and desperately wanting him to touch you. 

“That’s a nice pussy, man,” Sonny declares, sounding a little drunk on just looking at it. 

“C-can we… uh… see her tits?” You’re surprised to hear such a vulgar word from Jerry, but the way he stumbles over the words makes him seem cute again. 

Elvis clicks his tongue and pushes you into a more upright position so he can pull the top of your dress down, exposing your pretty pink bra. Jerry groans. Elvis’ fingers slip underneath the straps and slide them over your shoulders, and then he’s pulling your bra down too. The cool air hits your nipples and they stand erect. You’ve never felt so looked at before, and part of you wants to run away, but the other part is bathing in the attention. 

“C-can she come o-over here with those tits?” 

Elvis laughs. “Ya like her tits, Jer?”

The mass of curls bobs up and down as the younger man nods his head. “God, they’re perfect.” His eyes are like saucers and they’re trained on your nipples. 

“Go on, Dolly. Go and see Jerry.”

He gently pushes you off his lap and onto your feet, and you make your way over to Jerry, who spreads his legs wide as he unbuckles his belt and pulls out his dick. You watch him stroke himself as he tells you, a little nervously, to kneel down in front of him. Still stroking, he fondles your breasts with his other hand, letting out a little hum of appreciation. 

“Push ‘em together, honey,” he instructs, and you do. “That’s right. Oh God,” he mumbles, still touching himself as he stares at them. “Can I just… E? Can I put my dick between them?”

“Sure,” Elvis replies, and you think you hear the sound of his belt clinking. 

Unclasping your bra and removing it, Jerry rearranges you and him so that his dick is between your breasts, then pushes them together again himself. He groans as he starts to move, sliding up and down as best he can. It's obvious he’s getting very excited, you can tell from his flushed face and the cuss words falling from his lips, but he’s not about to finish any time soon and the other men quickly become frustrated. 

“C’mon Jer, I need this pussy,” Sonny grumbles, from the other side of the room. 

“Yeah Jerry, you’re hogging her,” Joe joins in. 

Jerry sighs and stops what he’s doing. “Alright. Who’s next?”

“I said first,” Sonny replies. 

You turn to look at them and see Joe about to open his mouth to say something, no doubt in an attempt to contradict the other man, and then they’re both silenced by Elvis. 

“She’s my girl. She’s comin’ to me.”

You settle between Elvis’ legs as he guides your mouth over his dick, holding your hair and bobbing your head on him, gradually helping you take more and more until your nose is buried in his pubic hair and you’re gagging. He holds you there until your throat relaxes, and then starts to thrust. Your eyes water a little, but you can hear the appreciative sounds in the room and they spur you on. Gasping for air when he finally pulls you off again, you sit back on your heels and look up at him, worshipfully. 

“Good girl,” he affirms, then looks up. “Who wants her?”

Sonny manages to speak before Joe again, so Elvis instructs you to go to him, on your hands and knees this time. He’s taken your dress off properly, so you’re naked apart from your stockings, and he gives your ass a low whistle as it moves away from him. You eagerly take Sonny all the way in, he’s a little smaller than Elvis so you don’t choke so much when he starts to fuck your throat. 

“Oh God. She’s so pretty, EP. So pretty choking on my damn cock.”

Your eyes are watering again and you can tell Sonny likes it. There’s probably mascara running down your cheeks too. 

“Please tell me I can fuck her.”

There’s a low growl in the back of Elvis’ throat, something protective that makes you somehow even wetter. “Not yet. Give her to Joe.”

Crawling over to Joe, you’re relieved he’s even smaller again, and taking him is no trouble at all. You’re so engrossed in the blow job that you don’t notice the other guys getting closer, and then suddenly you find yourself on your back in the middle of the room, Elvis pushing inside your pussy and Sonny back in your mouth. Jerry kneels on one side of you, stroking himself as he looks down at your body, and Joe is still where he was, on the sofa. 

Elvis’ dick stretches you, making you moan around Sonny, but you’re so wet he slips in and out easily anyway. 

“She loves it,” Sonny declares. “Such a pretty little cockslut you’ve got here, E. Such a perfect little whore.”

You moan again around his dick and he slaps your tits. 

“Such a good little lovin’ doll,” Elvis coos, holding your thighs as he slams into you. 

They keep going in that arrangement for a while, but then after some more complaining from Sonny, shift so that he’s inside you now, and Jerry is in your mouth, his big fat balls slapping against your forehead. Sonny is as sadistic with your pussy as he was with your mouth, jackhammering into you in a way that isn’t exactly pleasurable. After that, Joe comes as a blessed relief. You don’t like him much, and you definitely don’t find him attractive, but he fucks you kind of gently and for a moment or two you don’t have a dick in your mouth and you find yourself moaning and arching your back. 

“Is she gonna cum? Joe, you’re makin’ her cum!” Sonny is clearly shocked at the turn of events, and to be honest so are you, but something about the slightly twisted up position he’s got you in is hitting the right spot and Sonny is right, Joe is making you cum. 

“Ohhhh. Ohhhhh.” You moan, eyelashes fluttering as your orgasm washes over you. 

“Let me go again. I wanna make her squirt. I bet I can make her squirt.”

“No, Sonny,” Elvis’ voice is deep and firm and brooks no argument. “It’s Jerry’s turn. Let him try.”

The angle Jerry was at when he tried to fuck your mouth earlier meant you couldn't fit much in, so you don’t realise quite how big it is until he starts to push inside your pussy. And then you really realise, when you look down and see the bulge it’s making in your stomach, the other guys whooping and cheering about it. Jerry is big enough to hit your g-spot easily, and he’s thick enough to make your head flop back and your eyes close, and you to just generally lose a good portion of your grip on reality. 

“She’s cock-drunk.”

“Look at her, Jerry. You’re fucking her stupid.”

“God, she’s perfect,” the hushed, reverential tone is Jerry, and you try to peel your eyes open again to look at him. “Taking me so fucking perfectly.”

You manage something between a moan and a whimper, and then you feel it. Your second orgasm, lurking just beneath the surface, ready to explode. Jerry obviously feels it too, his thumb starting to rub your clit as he picks up speed, fucking you so hard Elvis has to hold you in place by pushing down on your shoulders. You’re sure your guts are going to be completely rearranged by the end of this. 

“C’mon Dolly, cum for me. I can feel ya gripping me, honey. You can do it.”

Jerry’s praise tips you over the edge and suddenly you’re screaming and squirting and flailing about on the carpet. You can hear all the men groaning and then you feel yourself suddenly empty, Jerry is cussing and then he’s moaning as you feel something splattering over your chest. Unable to manage to open your eyes again, it seems like you're floating as you feel the next dick inside you, somehow recognising it as Elvis’. More wetness on your belly, and what sounds like Joe moaning out your name.

“I wanna cum on her face.”

You finally manage to open one eye to see Sonny kneeling over you. 

“Alright, man.”

“Eyes open, honey. Look at me.”

You do as you’re told, watching as Sonny beats himself off, groaning until cum starts shooting out of his dick, all over your face. You close your eyes again at the crucial moment, but when you reopen them you’re conscious of the wetness beading on your lashes, like raindrops.

“Fuck. You look so pretty with my cum on your eyelashes. Perfect little slut.”

You bat them a little, unable to help yourself trying to look cute even with the state you’re in now. Elvis thrusts inside you a few more times and then pulls out, stroking himself until he cums on your pussy. He groans as he paints you with his release, and you suddenly realise how much of a mess you are, the cum of four men all over you. You bite your lip. You really are a slut. You start to smile, thinking about it, thinking about just how much fun being told what to do was, how much you enjoy switching your brain off and doing what other people want you to. 

Elvis kisses your knee, gently. “Thanks, baby,” he whispers. Then he looks up at the other guys, expectantly. 

“Yeah, thanks Princess,” Joe joins in, tucking himself away and sitting back up on the sofa. “That felt really good.”

Jerry looks down at you with soft, loving eyes. “Thanks Dolly. You were perfect.”

Sonny coughs and looks a bit awkward, like someone suddenly realising how they’d been acting when they were horny and now feeling kind of embarrassed. 

“Thanks honey. Sorry about your um… face.”

You can’t help giggling a little, and you look over at Elvis who nods his approval. You can stop just being an obedient doll now. 

“It’s okay, Sonny. I had fun.”

Sonny rubs his face with his hand and nods, still looking awkward, before getting up and mumbling something about going for a drive. Jerry gets up from his kneeling position too, suggesting he and Joe go out and get some dinner for everyone. Joe looks very much like he’s about to say he’d rather just stay right where he is, but Jerry’s head tilting to the left and his eyes widening must finally give the clue that he’s trying to suggest they clear out and give you and Elvis some privacy. 

Then it's just the two of you, and he scoops you up in his arms and carries you into the bathroom, helping you into the shower and then getting in with you and cleaning you up. You stand there in shock as he dries you gently with a big fluffy towel, and then swathes you in pyjamas and a robe, waiting as you push your sooties into soft pink slippers. 

“Come to my room, Dolly.” 

You’re not often allowed in Elvis’ room, it’s his sanctuary, he likes to repair to it when things get too much for him. Even in the LA house it’s much more decadent than the other bedrooms, and it’s darker than yours, all purple and gold. It’s also freezing, and you shiver as soon as you step through the door. He holds you to him for a moment, humming softly as his body heat warms you, and then helps you into his big brass bed. Settling you into the comforters and pillows, he gets in next to you and shows you the controls for the electric blanket. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, looking up at him through your normal lashes. Those falsies had gone straight in the trash. 

He brushes your cheek with the backs of his fingers and kisses you softly. “Y’okay?”

You nod quickly. “I’m good.” Moving your legs a little, you squint. “Pussy’s a little sore.” 

“Mmm.” He kisses you again. “Ya were so good, Dolly. Such a good little girl for me.”

One of your hands rests gently on the back of his neck. “I um… I liked it.” You look down, biting your lip a little. “I shouldn’t, should I?”

His hand moves to your chin, tilting your face up so you have to look at him again. “I’m glad ya liked it,” he murmurs, conspiratorially. “Though I hope ya didn’t like any of the guys more ‘an ya like me…”

Your heart leaps in your chest. You’ve never known him to be this vulnerable. “I could never, Da- Elvis. I love you.”

“I love you too.” His hand envelopes your whole cheek as he pulls you in close for a proper kiss. “My precious, perfect little doll.”

***

Taglist:

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed:

@arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @cattcb @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas @pocketfulofpresley @dkayfixates @iloveelvisss @kxnnxy @presleyhearted @lvrdollep @nebulamorada @iloveelvis2

[cloverapple]

Shifting FAQ and why you need to calm the FAQ down

“Can I script that—”

Yes.

“Can I shift to a reality where—”

Yes.

“Is permashifting possible?”

Yes.

“I’ve been trying for x amount of years—”

The time passed already. Focus on here and now.

“Will X happen if I script Y?”

Whatever you script will happen exactly how you want it to.

“Can I shift without any methods?”

Yes. There are infinite ways to shift = Infinite ways to go about something that is instant.

“I’ve tried everything—“

Except fully trusting yourself, since you’re still dwelling on your shifting journey from a place of lack.

“Do I need to believe 100% to shift?”

No. You just need to allow it. Doubt doesn’t stop you, resistance does.

“Is shifting, like, REALLY real?”

Yes.

“But my blockages—“

You’re not a clogged drain. There’s nothing blocking something that happens naturally.

“My subconscious doesn’t believe in my affirmations—“

Oh, my bad. I didn’t realize affirming was the only way to manifest. Sooo, what should I do with this whole bag of feeling my way into my DR, visualization, subliminals, SATs, askfirmations, scripting, channeling, daydreaming, meditating, embodying the state, living in the end, inner conversations, mental rehearsals, literally just vibing, and doing absolutely nothing because sometimes that works too? Should I just toss all that in the trash? Light it on fire? Bury it in the backyard? Cool, good to know.

“Can I shift while I’m tired? While I’m sad? While I’m stressed?”

Yes, yes, and yes. Emotions don’t block shifting. If anything, they help.

“Why haven’t I shifted yet?”

That’s like asking why the sun isn’t rising when you know it’s just beneath the horizon. You know it’s coming, you know it can break through any second, but you keep staring at the dark like the world is ending.

“How do I figure out what I need to do?”

The only person in this universe who knows the answer to that question is you, yet you doubt yourself so much, you mistrust yourself so much, that it’s like whatever your subconscious is telling you goes in one ear and out the other.

“But NOTHING works for me 😭”

Okay, listen—in the gentlest, most kindergarten-teacher voice possible—shifting is like 10% processes that “work for you” or not and 90% trust and letting go. If you can’t trust yourself, cool, trust your undeniable ability to shift. If that feels like a stretch, trust your subconscious (it’s been running the show since forever, give it some credit). Still not there? Trust the outcome. Trust something, anything. And then? LET. GO. RELAX. Like, actually unclench your jaw and stop treating shifting like it’s a piece of raw chicken and you a dog that has not eaten in *checks watch* 2 minutes.

Because if you’re over here sobbing, whining “nothing works for meeeee,” that tells me two things:

A) You don’t trust anything, which, surprise surprise, makes shifting a little difficult. B) Something does work for you. There’s a sweet spot, a method that clicks—but you haven’t found it because you approach every process with fear instead of fun, frustration instead of curiosity, anxiety instead of chill.

Imagine slipping into the driver’s seat of a car you know how to drive, but you’re bawling, panicking, flailing around like the steering wheel’s out to get you. You’re gonna hit a pedestrian. THE PEDESTRIAN IS YOU.

People forget that shifting is as limitless as you are. Shifting is you. Shifting has no rules. You have no rules. So why are you boxing shifting in? Why are you boxing yourself in? Why are you creating problems for something infinite? Why are you stepping into the identity of a finite being when you have the power to shift realities?

You weren’t born with limits. You were taught them. Conditioned to believe that things have to be hard, that you have to struggle, that you need to earn what’s already yours. But shifting doesn’t play by those rules, and neither do you. The only limits are the ones you keep dragging along with you.

“I’m quitting shifting. I still can’t shift even though I’ve tried XY and Z⏤”

This is you:

Side note: If you’ve read all this and you’re still frustrated, overwhelmed, confused, and sitting there like “I don’t know what to dooooo 😩”

Take. A. Break.

A day? Cool.

A week? Even better.

Two weeks? A whole month? Do it.

Take a break from shifting, from overthinking, from spiraling down every forum post and Reddit thread like it’s gonna reveal the secret of the universe. Because if you’ve hit that point where nothing sticks, every piece of advice goes in one ear and out the other, every answer feels wrong, and you’re waiting for some magical piece of advice to make you shift, guess what? You need to calm the FAQ down.

Maybe your brain’s flashing red lights like “WARNING: SYSTEM OVERLOAD” and you’re out here ignoring it, treating frustration and exhaustion like it’s another problem to fix instead of a big ol’ sign that your mind needs a nap and a snack.

Let it chill. Recharge. You’re not losing progress; you’re just giving your brain a breather so when you come back, shifting feels like fun again, not a chore.

[dumbgoondog]

Satoru Gojo NSFW Alphabet

Kept reader very neutral, and or gave answers that could fit any gender or sex. Not spell checked.

MDNI +18 material

(A)ftercare - Bring it in, kisses, cuddles, playing with your hair, rubbing his hands on you lots of saying how much he loves you. He would love to stay inside while he pampers you, especially if he can have you on top of him too. He likes the weight of you on him.

(B)ody Part - The waist/hips. Thin, muscular, and or thick. Oh he loves to hold you by them and squeeze them. He also loves having something to grip onto when he’s hammering into you.

(C)um - Inside. He will whine and whimper if he can’t or isn’t allowed. With a condom, or birth control preferably, he’s not to sure about kids yet. In the future, for certain. If you can’t get pregnant(male/trans/medical) he doesn’t mind at all and a bonus for him, really.

(D)irty Secret - He’s really got a thing for humiliation. Like a big one. Leaving very obvious hickeys, light rope burns around the wrists, markings, things people can spot and he can try to play off but let people know “the strongest sorcerer, Satoru Gojo, is a bottom” which isn’t true, but again, the humiliation. He’s a versatile service switch with a lean for being the dom.

(E)xperience - surprisingly none! Not from a lack of people wanting him, he has plenty, but because he’s busy, he doesn’t want that fling thing. He wants a real connection, to not be alone, idolized, treated like an exotic trophy. Don’t mistake his lack of to mean he’ll be bad, his eyes have traced every inch of you and knows where you want to be touched, what gives the best reactions. He’s got a good attention to detail.

(F)avorite Position - Riding. Him riding or you riding, he just loves getting to look at you and then when you Tucker out, ya can just lay on top of him! He also likes having you ride and then grabbing your hips to hold you up while he thrusts up, sometimes he’ll add in some red and blues to push in with more umph.

(G)oofy - Sex makes funny funny noises and he loves to laugh at it. Not because he’s not focused and to into it but because he’s making love to you, not just fucking you. Because he loves you he doesn’t have to be the infallible Satoru Gojo, he can mess up, make dumb noises, laugh, relax a bit. He trusts you.

(H)air - smooth. Waxed/or just none at all. Why? He just shrugs and says “dunno”. He does have a secret small ring around the base, but it’s thin and white, to which he normally just waxes away. He’s not against bushes though, he actively loves them and finds them hot.

(I)ntimacy - No matter how deep in a scene, or tied, gagged, folded, anything. He’s always making sure you both want this, are enjoying it, and feel safe. Safe words are a must, having some hand sign or gesture if you can’t speak, it’s very important to him. Sex means nothing to him if you aren’t okay.

(J)ack off - Not often, but he does when he’s angry. It’s a bad habit he developed in Highschool, and kind of helped him discover his humiliation kink. He prefers using a simple flesh light, he likes the feel better than his hands.

(K)ink - overstimulation, specifically receiving. He loves that high, becoming such a mess, getting drunk off the pleasure. Getting to bounce you on his cock as he twitches, drools, watches that white thick ring of cum at his base make sticky warm strings between you two. Oh he loves it.

(L)ocation - At his desk. Oh god he loves it at his desk. It’s so risky, scandalous, and there’s something that feels taboo about it. Sitting back in his chair, having you laid on the desk, bent over the desk, kneeling on the chair. That man will find every possible position he can.

(M)otivation - getting to show you off. Going out and having people come flock to him, just for him to kindly deny with some dramatics, before saying he has you. Then praising you. He’s like a cat. He knows everyone wants to pet him, but only you get to and that makes him smug.

(N)o - he does NOT want to do a teacher/student roleplay. As an actual teacher, and a Highschool teacher at that, it is not sexy to him. Will he kink shame? No, absolutely not. It’s just not for him.

(O)ral - Oh he LOVES giving oral. He’s the king of “I cum from giving oral”. Secretly he really really likes receiving as well but he knows he’s big and has a bad habit of bucking when it feels good. Plus he gets embarrassed with how messy receiving makes him, but also again, he likes that.

(P)ace - Anything you want baby. Fast and rough? Slow and sensual? Teasing and cruel? All you gotta do is ask. He personally likes starting a bit slower to get enjoy the sensations and then getting messy and quicker about it with some stammering slower bits.

(Q)uicky - Yes! Yes! YES! About to go to a meeting either of you? It’s good luck and will help take off the edge, cmoooon it’ll be quick! About to go to a nice dinner? Oh he wants you full when you two go out. Gotta make it quick though!

(R)isk - He’s super up to try everything! He loves trying new things in every aspect of life! For more dangerous things or more intense ones he wants proper communication and to understand/learn it all first. (Knife play/CNC/any use of jujustu/etc.)

(S)tamina - He is the best at stamina. Rounds on rounds, he’ll cum at minimum 3 times. He wants you to cum as many times as you’ll let him get you too. He’s addicted to your pleasure.

(T)oys - big toys advocate. For solo, and when together! A vibrator, a strap on, butt plug, it’s all tools to make it better! He feels no shame, and knows he could make you cum even without them. He just also loves to make you cum with them!

(U)nfair - he teases as method to communicate that he’s in the mood. Coming up from behind, holding your hips and or stomach, kissing along your neck, with some chuckled hums. He knows your reciprocative reactions versus your, not really into it, like the back of his hand. He also likes being teased! He actively really really enjoys it. Be it bratty teasing, casual, playful, any of it he loves! Just be ready for when you get home or somewhere private enough.

(V)olume - he’s not loud, but he is noisy. Panting, moans, some whines too, hums of delight. Not to much of a talker, but sometimes he can be, especially if you were teasing him before hand.

(W)ild Card - he doesn’t have a very high libido. He’s stressed, gets 3 hours of sleep/alone time. He’s tired, as much as he doesn’t show it. He’s very happy just being with you, and honestly sex isn’t a requirement for him. As long as you don’t mind if he jerks off here and there. That aside, if he wasn’t working all the time and so stressed? I’d say he’d maybe be on the more frisky side.

(X)-ray - boxer briefs, a bit of shorter ones, typically plain black. Kind of boring I know, but he just doesn’t care about his underwear that much. Now if you got him something lacy or a thong? Oh yeah. He’s wearing them, and loves them.

(Y)es - a threesome? You bet! He’s down! He has someone he’d like in mind but whoever you have is probably good too! Maybe not as good as his… besides he wants you two to meet anyway. Eventually. Hmmm.

(Z)zz - He doesn’t often fall asleep after. Either someone’s texting saying they need help, he has work, or something. Never worry though, you’re first priority and if you’re falling asleep he’s cuddling you until you’re out and then tucking you in. The times he gets to sleep with you though, after fucking? He cherishes those moments, more than anyone could understand.

[broidobe]

𝔭𝔢𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔢𝔩𝔢 𝔡𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔩𝔲𝔡𝔢

requested! this is mid-2000s specific!

⁎⁺˳✧༚80s-90s rock masterlist

peter, always a lover of deep, melancholy music, loves to introduce you to his favorite classic albums.

he’ll make a playlist for you, mixing goth, industrial, and classic rock, and you'll spend hours listening to it while curled up in his dimly lit apartment.

he’d often say, this is music that speaks to the soul and you’d both get lost in the haunting melodies.

despite the age gap, peter’s got a playful side.

he’ll joke about how "young" you are by asking if you even know what "real" music is, and then mockingly ask you, what’s next? you gonna show me your ipod nano playlist? 

he might tease you about trends that were popular when he was younger, but he’ll always be affectionate about it.

peter is a deep thinker, and he loves to engage in thought-provoking conversations about philosophy, life, and art.

you’ll find yourself staying up late, discussing everything from nietzsche to the meaning of love.

sometimes, he’d get a little carried away with his ideas, but his voice is so captivating that you just let him go.

peter’s protective of you, though he won’t admit it at first.

if anyone disrespects you, he’ll give them a cold, brooding stare.

at concerts or shows, he’ll stand close to you, ensuring you’re safe while also giving off that cool, untouchable aura. if someone’s being too loud or obnoxious, he’s quick to quietly lead you away, making sure you’re comfortable.

peter doesn’t do the typical “dinner and a movie” kind of date. instead, he’ll take you on spontaneous midnight drives, heading to a random place, whether that’s an old cemetery (because goth, right?), a quiet park, or a hidden speakeasy that’s been around for decades.

his idea of a good time is something off-the-beaten-path, making every date feel like an adventure.

romantic, in his own way

peter’s not the type to flaunt his affection publicly, but when you’re alone, he’s unexpectedly tender.

he’ll gently brush your hair behind your ear, kiss your forehead, or hold your hand while he’s driving.

every gesture feels meaningful, but understated. he may not say it often, but his actions speak louder than words.

he’s a master of sarcastic, dry humor, and his flirting is no exception.

he’ll make sly comments about how you're “too young to understand” certain things, but you can tell it’s just his way of getting your attention. there’s always a playful smirk after every teasing remark, and he knows exactly how to make you blush.

peter’s pretty private, so he’s not the type to want to hang out with your friends all the time.

but, if you ask him, he’ll make an effort to show up for your events or gatherings.

he’ll mostly sit back and observe, throwing in the occasional dry remark, making everyone laugh without ever breaking character. you can always count on him to be your rock in social situations.

in between all the sarcastic banter and intense talks, there are these rare, soft moments where peter’s completely at ease with you.

you’ll be sitting next to each other, maybe watching a movie, and you’ll catch him staring at you with this intense, almost longing look in his eyes. he doesn’t say anything, but you can feel the weight of his emotions in those moments.

loves to surprise you

peter’s not the biggest fan of over-the-top romantic gestures, but every once in a while, he’ll do something unexpected, like sending you a rare album he knows you’ve been looking for, or showing up with your favorite obscure band’s vinyl. he’ll act like it’s no big deal, but you know it’s his way of saying he’s thinking of you.

you’ll go to underground goth clubs, but it’s never about the party scene—it’s about the music, the atmosphere, and the quiet connection between you two.

peter doesn’t really enjoy the chaos of being "the star," so he prefers to stand off to the side, watching you enjoy the music. his hand will be casually on the small of your back, making sure you're safe, but also allowing you to feel free.

peter doesn’t need to say much. there’s a level of understanding between the two of you that transcends words. sometimes, just a look is enough. you can feel him noticing when you’re upset or in need of comfort, and he’ll quietly take your hand, pulling you close, offering his presence as solace.

he’s so fucking proud of you

despite his tough exterior, peter is so proud of your accomplishments.

whether it’s a career goal you’ve hit or a creative project you’re working on, he’ll show his pride in subtle ways—by bragging about you to his close friends or making a comment about how lucky he is to have someone so driven by his side.

if you’re into music, art, or writing, peter’s the kind of guy who’ll reluctantly offer advice, guiding you with his own experiences.

he may act like he doesn’t care, but he’ll be genuinely proud when you take his advice to heart. if you’re a musician, he’ll sometimes sit and show you guitar riffs or vocal techniques, teaching you little tricks without ever boasting about his own talent.

peter’s not one for heavy pda, but you’ll still see moments where he shows his affection. it might be as simple as putting his arm around your waist while you’re walking together, or giving you a quick kiss on the cheek before heading out the door.

these little moments feel like he’s keeping you close, even in public, without ever drawing too much attention.

[tomabalanart]

Hank feels a warmth under his fingertips, yet it isn’t the usual kind—a steady, almost too perfect warmth for living skin. In the next moment, he notices the texture of the palm shifting. The synthetic skin seems to dissolve, revealing a smooth, translucent surface beneath that shimmers with a soft, bluish light.

Hank blinks rapidly. He doesn’t immediately pull his hand away, but his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"Damn…" he mutters under his breath, frowning. "Why did you do that?"

Connor remains silent for a second, as if assessing his own action.

"I wanted you to feel me. The real me."

Hank sighs heavily and turns his gaze back to the exposed palm. To the touch—it’s warm. Just like human skin, but… something’s different.

He runs his finger over the synthetic surface, as if testing whether this is truly real.

"You know, sometimes you scare me, Connor."

"Does it make you uncomfortable?" Connor asks quietly.

Hank snorts and shakes his head.

"No. It’s just… I’m used to you wearing a mask."

Connor lowers his head slightly, as if weighing his words.

"People wear masks too."

Hank smirks. Damn android—sometimes he says things that leave you with no answer.

(Neither of them withdraws their hands. And once again, the boundary between the artificial and the living becomes a little more blurred.)

Thank you for the inspiration @solli-sun and @dbhfanhun

Thank you for subscribing @deadmallsoft @hemlockdumpling @messytimemachine @silly-slacker-person @theeveningwind @silverteen-v @androidlieutenant @fish-king99 @amrcoyote @maraleestuff  @pretty-angel15

Special thanks for reblogging my previous work @ladydrace @hemlockdumpling @anonymousedward @theeveningwind @nadeshikoshirogi @heiko-goes-detroit @spooks-person @incomprehensible-phasmid

[kateminttea]

So, just to write down Idea about #jayvik , because I suck at trying to write down even 1 fanfic after 5 years break.

So story started in like ideal 50th suburb, quite green neighbourhood. Jayce and Victor are “newlyweds”, who like stuck in their honeymoon. However, it is already finished, because every day Jayce is leaving for his job in Council, while Viktor is staying at home, working in his home laboratory.

Everything is idyllic … Viktor wake up, went into kitchen, where Jayce waiting for him with prepared breakfast, he kiss Jayce goodbye, before he left for work, went to his laboratory to continue his experiment on… Viktor wake up, went into kitchen, where Jayce waiting for him with prepared breakfast, he kiss Jayce goodbye, before he left for work, went to his laboratory, wait “Hi” to Sky and continue his experiment on…wait was Sky here before?

Suddenly Viktor started to notice that something is not right, like he is sure that Sky was always his research assistant, but he cannot remember, when she started to work with him. Or his neighbour Powder with her daughter Isha, he remember spending time with them on his lunch breaks and at evening, when Jayce is late, but he do not remember when he started to do this. Sometimes it feels like he cannot breath, but he doesn’t have any problems with his lungs, right…RIGHT?

He tried few times to share his worries with Jayce, but every time get same answer “Don’t worry Darling, it is just your imagination”.

At the same time in real world Cait and Vi are looking into case of people disappearance, which including Vi sister with her daughter and Jayce and Viktor lab assistant. They asked Jayce to help, but he spent most of his time in Lab or with Victor who is in coma after his last relapse…or is he?

So, boys and girls this is what happening, when you put something to listen to on TV, while you are ironing your clothes…and this idea stuck in your brain.

Huh…I wrote more than I though, maybe I will try to make it into proper fanfic later.

[forsaken-headcanons]

Hc: the killers all switch between who’s responsible for c00lkidd, it’s like on the chore sheet. Their ability at it ranges.

-1x1x1x1 lets him go to bed at whatever time, lets the kid eat whatever he wants and doesn’t care what the kid does so long as shedletsky eventually is put in pain. Can do some basic first aid if the kid like, gets hurt, but isn’t the most gentle. Very likely to yell if c00lkidd is bothering him.

-John Doe is able to put the kid to bed and get him to eat something other then strawberry licorice for breakfast, however sometimes he has a few malfunctions so he’ll have c00lkidd get ready for bed at 4 pm or give him a breakfast of potato chips. It happens. He is pretty good at not making the child cry. If c00lkidd is upset, he would make the choice to just hang out with John.

-Jason is a mix. Jason is kinda like 1x1x1x1 in the elements of “basic responsibilities”, but is much nicer. Also, him and c00lkidd garden sometimes. Basically, Jason’s less of someone actually responsible for c00lkidd and more like a brother who is babysitting.

-Azura is the only one who’s actually good at taking care of children. Gets him to bed at a good time, doesn’t yell, feeds him real food, and overall not likely to let the kid get hurt. Their only issue is sometimes they think about TwoTime and zone out while c00lkidd is talking. 007n7’s choice if he had to choose.

Idk about the other unadded killers, but I feel Noli would be ok-ish at c00lkidd care, I just don’t got details.

Unfortunately 007n7 doesn’t get a choice in the matter anymore. Love these, so real.