#the OTP that raised me

[fringephile]

So I just watched Fire today which is normally one I'd avoid because watching Mulder kiss someone else is just painful. But today I saw it with new eyes.

Phoebe comes back to mess with him cause clearly she's a bitch. His first instinct is to protect Scully from her evil games. He tells her he has to face his demons sometime. Scully sticks by him anyway, having to fight off some jealousy at his stupidity while dancing. Then she still rushes to his side and proceeds to take care of his boxer clad self in his hotel room.

Random side note when she calls him Sherlock he refers to her as Watson which just made my heart melt all over the floor.

Anyway, I want to believe it's Scully's faith in him and partnership that helps him face his demons in the end. She gives him the strength, cause that's just what they are for each other.

Now I need to read a fic from Phoebe's POV where she comes back thinking she will mess with his emotions and while he lets her do some things she can tell his heart already truly belongs to Scully.

I don't have pretty words just jumbled thoughts that I can't type fast enough.

[lilykerhoas]

floating, falling, sweet intoxication...

@shakeatradefeather's master. august 2023.

[pzychojinx]

[expectiations]

"11 wouldn't be able to settle down with River the way 12 did"

[elephantlovemedleys]

thinking abt girldad jamie fraser

[leslieseveride]

thinking about that japril scene where april breaks down in tears when she tells jackson that they were having a baby boy, and how much i want that for chenford, but happy!!! like... they agree that they don't care about knowing the sex of their baby, but lucy accidentally finds out somehow, and in her excitement she stops by the precinct over lunch, or after shift to tell tim, "we're having a girl" with the biggest smile on her face, only to quickly go into a slight panic when his face drops like 😧 and she starts to ramble like, "l-look, i know you probably wanted a boy first-" but tim surprises her by interrupting her and crashing his lips to hers, only to pull away with tears in his eyes like, "no, i want this. i want exactly this."

[adelaidedrubman]

What if the strap could prematurely ejaculate? (Or, Jestiny gets knocked down a peg.) read on ao3.

notes: if i ever accidentally posted something good enough to trick you into following this account, i truly apologize. anyways here’s part two of the john/jestiny failstrap series. set hl&s adjacent and spiritual sequel to mine’s bigger. also new year’s eve themed, i meant to get it posted then but ironically didn’t finish in time. wordcount: 3.8k warnings: explicit sexual content, toxic relationships, emotional manipulation. (neg ’em and peg ’em, the jestiny rook method.) i feel like secondhand embarrassment and cringe dialogue is something of an implicit blanket warning for all my stuff, but. i feel the need to explicitly flag it in this one. that should tell you something. (please also see ao3 end notes or post tags for disclaimers.)

As with all holidays, Jestiny would ideally prefer to spend her New Year’s Eve outdoors. 

She would gladly take her midnight kisses whilst guzzling craft beer and watching fish leap from the water over sipping champagne and watching pixelated footage of a ball dropping — if only the temperatures of December bleeding into January in Montana would agree with her preferences. 

And sure, a sharp chisel and thick jacket could guarantee she would still be taking home her share of trout from a frozen solid pond. A good set of crampons strapped to her favorite hiking boots was all she needed to scale the highest mountain peaks, even covered in ice. A durable tent and well-insulated sleeping bag meant she could still feel wind-nipped cheeks warmed by the flames of a real campfire no matter the season, instead of settling for the store-bought logs currently crackling in the hearth behind her.

But even a rugged outdoorswoman the likes of Jestiny had to admit the blistering, unforgiving cold of Big Sky Country winter required some activities be strictly indoor-only until the first wildflowers of spring poked up from the hard, frozen earth. 

And even with all the proper equipment packed, when it came to the activities that required removing clothing… 

“God, I’ve needed this so fucking bad,” John whined against her jaw, pulling her along by the arm as his other hand impatiently finished her work of centering her strap-on properly in its harness. “I want you to fuck me all night long, right into the New Year. I want you to fuck me in every room of this house, until I can’t look anywhere without thinking of you.” 

What Jessie didn’t have to admit — at least not out loud — was that the spacious yet cozy faux rustic interior of Seed Ranch, with its pervasive scent of leather, pine, and woodsmoke wafting from the fireplace; the vista of sprawling snow covered mountains offered up by its grand far-stretching windows; the lurking presence of hoards of taxidermy animals around every corner, made it the best substitute she could imagine for the thrill of fucking outdoors. 

Yes, it was all blatantly, dreadfully fake — but fake was better than nothing.

“I want you to take me right here on my dining room table,” John continued to lustfully monologue to himself as his thighs hit the edge of the table on his path backward with Jessie in tow, turning from their embrace just long enough to sweep an arm along its length and knock all the stray clutter atop it to the floor. “Don’t hold back. Be rough enough to break it. Just give it to me and don’t stop.” He hopped atop the table to sit, then wrapped legs around Jestiny’s waist to pull her into place. “Then I want you to lay me down in front of the fireplace. Hold me close and take your time with me, give it to me slow until I’m fucking begging. Then drag me upstairs and bend me over the railing. Pound me until I can’t stand, until I cry. Then I want you to carry me into the model plane room and…”

“Yeah, yeah,” she shushed as she pushed him back to his elbows, popping the top off of the bottle of lube clenched in her fist. “I’ll fuck you on every tacky ass piece of furniture in this ugly fucking house.” She forced an extra grumble of irritation to hide the tremor of desire threatening to slip into her words from the sight of him laid back for her with legs spread, brow slick with sweat and the dew of melting snowflakes still clinging to his eyelashes. “I assume you want me to lube it up first, though…”

“Let me,” he cooed, grabbing the bottle from her just as it had begun to drip onto sleek silicone. “I want to do it…”

She shrugged in disinterested agreement, placing her hands behind her head and jutting her hips forward as he poured along the length, palm cradling its underside and sliding along to catch the excess. 

“Fuck,” he cursed, biting down on his lip as he began to pump his hand faster along the attachment. “Already so fucking hard for me.”

She crinkled her nose and cocked her head to the side. “What the fuck are you talking about?” she questioned. “It’s a fucking dildo, John — it’s always hard.”

“It’s — It’s a turn of phrase,” he huffed, tightening his grip and jerking towards him so that she near-stumbled into him. “Are you not familiar with the concept of dirty talk? Not everything has to be so damn literal. Use some imagina —”

“And why the hell are you jerking it off?” she demanded, thrusting a hand against his collarbone. “You know I can’t feel that, right?”

“Well, I’ll try to be more realistic, then,” he snapped as he leaned forward and shoved a hand between her legs. 

Fingers spring-loaded with lingering fury moved to roughly pull her harness to the side, barely stilling or softening their touch before sliding inside her. His other hand remained stubbornly wrapped around silicone to pump it at a now comically harsh pace, as if to prove just how aware he was there was no delicate flesh and blood to be concerned with suffering beneath his vice grip — beginning the spectacle with a rough shove forward of its base to press against her with a pressure that did incidentally send a rewarding flicker of pleasure through hungry nerve endings. 

“Fuck,” he ground out in repetitive correction, his tone wilting midway from a sarcastic hiss to a reverent whimper as he curled his fingers. “Already so fucking wet for me.”

Well, it wasn’t her fault he looked so good flushed and panting, even through the ridiculous theatrics. 

“Like you got room to fuckin’ talk,” she scoffed as she reached to quickly coat her fingers with lube, sliding inside him and finding right where they needed to be with a practiced ease that made her cheeks warm with satisfied pride at her own expertise. Her thumb traced a line up his cock to find and leisurely smear the precum dewing at his tip. “Fuckin’ dripping the second I get my fingers in you.”

The surrender in his next whimper was complete, paired with a bucking of his hips to beg for more as he mirrored her steady pumping in the pace of his own fingers, thumb tucking itself beneath her harness to find and stroke her clit properly — all while still uselessly jerking off the dildo resting atop it, of course. 

Well. Maybe it was useless, but she had to admit — privately — his hands did look nice doing that. 

Even if the curve of his spine restyled itself into a distinctly unnatural, exaggerated arch as he regrettably regained the faculty for words. “God, yes, do you — ah, do you like how it feels inside me?” 

Another stupid question. Reaching past the contrived, polished exterior to find the depths at which he was all warm silk fluttering to the touch? Delving inside him to feel the promise of all the power to reduce him to a stuttering, pleading mess pulse beneath a single fingertip?

How could she not be positively intoxicated by it? How could the rush of adrenaline it stirred be contained to anything less than electricity prickling along every inch of skin until the air itself felt charged with the intensity of her desire? 

“It feels like an asshole, John,” she deadpanned, dragging her finger to tease shallowly. “Felt one, you’ve pretty much felt them all — and until science finds a way to implant a g-spot in the human finger, I’ll be getting just as little out of it every time.” 

She gave a swift upward thrust for one last prod of his prostate in punctuation before she slipped fingers out entirely in the same fluid motion of her shoulders shrugging. “I’m more interested in finally getting to fuck you so good you can’t even talk to ask dumbass questions like that.”

She used the hand sticky with lube to smear a last glob onto the head of her strap as the other cradled his face, smoothing a thumb over his pouting lip as she added, “Just as soon as you ask nice.”

His pout deepened. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb now, baby. You know the drill.” She pushed him to lay with back flat on the table. “Beg me for it.”

“No,” he said testily, lifting his chin to give her a look of pure defiance. “You beg me.”

Her breath caught, for a moment — as if his words sank to snag in her chest before her mind even processed them, lunging back up as sharp barks of laughter the moment it did. 

“Alright,” she sighed, breathless, as she dropped her head to rest against his collarbone and reached down to line up her attachment. “That was funny enough I’ll let you get by without the begging, this time.”

Her hips barely canted a single centimeter forward before they were stopped by a rough fist grabbing at the base of her dildo to hold her in place. 

“It wasn’t a joke,” John hissed, eyes icing cold with determination, like a pond freezing over. “You’re going to beg to fuck me, or you won’t fuck me at all.”

She allowed her confused blinks to pick up pace into a sarcastic batting of her eyelashes paired with a sweet, dimple framed smile. “John, darling. My most cherished love. Light of my life, fire of my silicone sporting loins. Could you, kindly —” she scrunched her face into a scowl, “tell me what the fuck it is you’re talking about?” 

“You’ve done nothing all night but mock and belittle me, and act as if you’re somehow begrudgingly doing me a favor,” he snapped. “Now you’re going to admit you want it as badly as I do,” he said, allowing his tone to melt and soften as he circled a finger around delicate, rosy skin. “If you want this, you have to beg for it.” 

Oh, he was serious. 

Heat flared in the pit of her stomach at how serious he was. 

All the better. She loved a challenge. 

“Now is not the fucking time to be a brat, John,” she growled, threading fingers in his hair and tugging in the way that pulled a needy moan to the surface to tremble in his adam’s apple. “Now is the time to be a good boy and spread your legs.”

“Oh, and I will,” he moaned, craning his neck so the pull of his hair was tautened — a dare, a meet and raise of a bet. “I’ll be so good for you, as soon as I hear that magic word.” 

This time, the hand around her strap stayed still as he reached down to wrap one around his own cock. 

“Say ‘please’ for me, Jessie,” John begged with wide eyes as he began to stroke himself. “I’m already so close — don’t make me cum from touching myself alone. I want you to fuck it from me. I need your strap.”

That bastard. But two could play that game. 

“Are you begging me to beg you?” she scoffed as she began rolling her hips in steady rhythm, the tip of her strap just barely bumping against him as she fucked the grip of his hand in a promise of what she could do. “Why would I beg for something I won’t even feel?”

“Because you want to take me, don’t you, Jessie? Don’t you want this ass to be yours?” Fuck, he did not play fair — spreading his legs wider and pushing forward to rub the head against slickened, puckered skin, make it look so easy to slide home and fuck the attitude out of him. The sight alone made the friction of grinding against a held still strap-on swell to an unexpected thrum of ecstasy trickling through her veins. “God, I want it. I want to feel the way you move inside me. I want to belong to you, every part of me. I want to cum for you, only for my Jessie.”

Christ, when did the cheesy, unnatural porn lines start working on her?

“Must not want it t-too bad,” she grunted with a particularly harsh snap of her hips. The electricity in the air had heavied, absolutely saturated it. It fizzled with that strange feeling of being up high during a thunderstorm, everything so strongly charged that hair stood on end. “Since you won’t just let me —”

“Oh, I will, Jessie,” he panted, training his eyes on her impotent thrusts as he stroked himself faster. “I’ll let you do anything you want, as soon as you’re ready to —”

“Just —” She glared, thrust harder as if she could break right through his grip and end the standoff, only managing to increase pressure. “Move your fucking hand, and I’ll —”

“You’ll what?” he teased, squeezing the thighs wrapped around her waist. “Please tell me, won’t you? At least talk me off the way I like, since you’re not going to —” 

“You’re not going to get off at all, until I —” Fuck, how was this happening? How could she feel every fiber of authority she possessed suddenly unraveling to slip from her fingers? “Say you’re fucking allowed —”

“I’m so close,” he gasped, tossing his head back and arching towards her — the tip of her strap just barely disappearing as he did. “But feel so empty. Oh, Jessie, won’t you —”

“Can you just —” Her cheeks were scalding as she fumbled to grab his hips and grumbled, “For the — the fucking love of god, could you please just —”

She found herself falling forward before she’d even realized the damned word had fallen from her lips, his hand pulling away the second it was spoken and his legs flexing to pull her in, sliding inside him as her knees smacked against the table. 

And every volt of electricity hanging overhead came suddenly crashing down with her as she buried to the hilt as the coaxing of his eager rocking hips — as if lightning finally crackled through the air to ripple down her spine and spread through her body. Spread so forcefully she could taste it in her mouth, feel it tingle along her tongue and shoot down her jaw as the current seemed to hone on the place the base of the strap pressed just right against her clit — suddenly overloading from the sensation, short-circuiting into blissful oblivion. 

And it felt as if she really had been struck by lightning — the way her flesh crawled with searing heat, the way her insides turned and convulsed, the way every muscle twitched and trembled in pure surrender to its force. 

“Did you, um —” he shifted beneath her, pausing and clearing his throat as if for once in his life he realized what a ridiculous thing he was about to say and managed to think twice before saying it, “did you finish?”

“Did I —” she coughed weakly against his collarbone, wishing it had come out closer to a scoff than it did. “I’m genuinely fuckin’ curious — do you even bother to try to make the shit that comes out of your mouth make sense? Or do you just start flapping your jaws and see what happens?”

She did not wait for an answer before summoning her remaining wisps of strength to wind her hips back, forcing wobbly legs pleading to collapse beneath her to instead power a proper thrust forward. 

She yelped, a jolt of pain shooting up through sensitive, overstimulated nerves as the base of the strap pressed against her clit at the full extension of her stroke. 

John craned his neck, eyes scanning far too knowingly along the flush of pink sprawling along her cheeks and chest. “We can stop, if it’s —”

“I’m fuckin’ fine!” she barked. “I just —” She coughed, reaching down to slip a thumb beneath rubber ring and wedge under the dildo to put space between its base and her sore clit. “Gotta adjust a bit — you put this thing in at the wrong fuckin’ angle, fucked everything up.” She wriggled her hips back with a final grumble of, “Why you should never trust a man to do a woman’s job.”

She began rocking forward with hand still in place to lighten pressure against nerves pleading for rest — she could do this, she just needed to fake it through a few minutes of recovery period. She just needed to — 

“Shit!” she cursed, jittery thumb pressing too hard against the base to push it free from the ring with a taunting pop, staying lodged stubbornly inside her lover as she reeled back. She lurched forward, hurrying to retake her place, looking down to gauge position and hopefully reattach herself before he noticed. “Goddamn…” 

“Seriously, are you alright?” John questioned as he pushed himself up to his elbows. “Would you like ten minutes and a glass of orange —”

He was interrupted by a thud as he rose to sit fully upright and meet her face to face, Jestiny’s eyes barely catching to follow the shiny black blur that shot from between his legs to land heavy at her feet. 

“Fuck.” 

Her clumsy rush (since when was she clumsy? first saying ‘please’ and now this?) to turn and reach for the fallen dildo (was her sleight of hand good enough to reattach it without him noticing? what skills did she still have?) resulted in her kicking it with the heft of her combat boot (was it not a good idea to wear them during sex? who even was she?) before she’d even managed to bend down. 

She whipped around, finding hardwood bare save for a slight glistening streak. When she lifted her head to follow the snail trail of lube, she found the strap-on had rolled itself across the greater length of floor — losing little momentum as wood broke into granite. 

The slight rise of the granite platform barely impeded it at all, in fact, as it rolled right past the wrought-iron guard that had been haphazardly left ajar by Jestiny as she built the fire, tenderly welcomed into the roaring inferno of the fireplace. 

“Wha — ! Aah,” A confused, devastated noise caught in the back of Jestiny’s throat, withering there to die at the first crackle of silicone as her prized strap-on went up in flames before her eyes. 

The world swirled around her, buffeting at her senses like the cruelest of snowstorms.

The dead lump of a scream in her throat seemed to creep down to spread its decay, making her insides shrivel into brittle rot. As the stench of burning plastic filled the air, her eyes began to water from the sting of chemical smoke. She wondered if she might actually cry for the first time in her adult life.

Past the whistle and crackle of flame devouring silicone and the whoosh of her own pulse in her ears, Jestiny heard the muffled garble of a television set she hadn’t realized was on blare suddenly loud from the recesses of the ranch, cheers of ‘Happy New Year!‘ over discordant symphony of paper horns blown in celebration conjuring images of ceremonial ball reaching the denouement of its annual journey to the base of its pole into her mind unbidden.

On cue, somewhere in the background, a grandfather clock solemnly chimed to announce the turn of the hour.  

And there stood teary-eyed, gaping mouthed Jestiny — some bizarre sex toy Cinderella whose impressive phallus turned back into a puddle of cheap plastic polymer at the stroke of midnight. 

“Well,” John’s bemused hum pierced through the cacophony rattling around inside Jessie’s brain as he peered past her to the spectacle of silicone bubbling down to black ooze in his fireplace. “I guess it isn’t always hard.”

“Fuck!” Her shout crumpled back into a weak whimper as plain splintered through her knuckles before she even realized she’d swung to strike the table. 

She kept fist loosely clenched and eyes glued to the grain of the table as John turned back towards her. 

She caught in her periphery the falling of his sly smile. His brow pinched inward as he looked back and forth between Jessie’s flushed, scrunched face and the empty rubber ring at the front of her crotch, his eyes softening with the most genuine look of sympathy she thought she’d ever seen him wear, a level of earnest compassion she would have thought him incapable of even faking properly.  

The kind of condescending pity that made her stomach curdle, made her blood boil hot as a melting strap-on. That she would normally lash out to reject, were she not already so thoroughly defeated and stripped of pride. 

“It’s alright,” John whispered softly, reaching over to give a few comforting pats to Jessie’s curled fist before bringing his hand up to cup her jaw and lift her chin, guiding her to look into gentle blue eyes. “It happens to everyone, sometimes.”

“That —” she jabbed a thumb over her shoulder in gesture to the strap-on cremation still blazing strong behind her, drawing in a ragged breath, “has literally never happened to anyone before.”

“Well, it was... innovative,” John innovated the world’s first performatively horny purr that doubled as bland diplomacy to reply in, throwing his arms around her neck in embrace.

“We —” Her voice sounded so uncharacteristically small to her own ears as she stumbled over her words. “We can do other stuff. I can still finish you —”

“That’s alright. It was enough just to feel close to you,” John shushed, nuzzling against her neck. “All I want now is for you to carry me to the fireside and hold me.”

God, it was such obvious, manipulative fawning; such a poorly disguised consolation prize. She should storm out in offense. 

In no position to refuse consolation prizes, Jessie slid an arm beneath the bend of his knees, wrapping the other around his middle. She gave a slight grunt as she hoisted his weight, at this point truly just grateful she managed not to drop him on the short walk over to the bearskin rug she lowered him to sprawl atop. 

“You always look so beautiful, bathed in firelight,” John sighed, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. 

“You —” The impulse to counter with a comment that the firelight made him look much older from the shadows cast into the creases of his face extinguished itself as quickly as it sparked. “You would look even prettier by the light of a real campfire,” she muttered as she fell limp, allowing John to tangle their limbs as he saw fit. “That’s what we should do next New Year’s Eve. I hate being cooped up inside.”

“And do you envision our rugged adventures would begin with a first-class flight to the southern hemisphere?” he asked with a soft laugh, a hand smoothing along her sides. “I don’t have your outdoorsy expertise, of course, but I’d say it’s hardly pleasant camping weather around here.”

“It’s not so bad, actually,” she sighed pleasantly. “Pitching a tent in the dead of winter,” she continued, absentmindedly threading fingers through his hair. “So long as you —”

She coughed, clearing her throat and hiding her face and its burning cheeks against his chest as she finished the statement. “So long as you have the right equipment.”

She definitely should have just gone fishing.

[queen-scribbles]

17. holding hands while skating [AJ/Nate]

A while back @emeraldgreaves (it won't let me tag your main :|) sent me this prompt for one of my Wayhaven girls or whoever. I filled it for the "whoever" at the time, but had a couple Wayhaven ideas. The AJ/Nate one fleshed out first, so enjoy some post-book three flirting and fun. :D ---

The skating rink was surprisingly quiet tonight. While still housing a decent crowd, it was only half as full as was usual on the weekend. People must be taking advantage of the nicer weather to do things outdoors.

Which was fine by Abigail. Fewer witnesses to what would undoubtedly involve flailing on her part.

"Have you really never done this before?" Nate asked, arm draped around her shoulders as they headed for a bench to pull on their skates.

"Not once," she laughed sheepishly, plunking down and picking at the laces on her Doc Martens. Shoulda worn easier to get off shoes.... She pulled her hair back in a ponytail for good measure. This would be tricky enough without it falling in her face.

"It's not hard," he assured her, pushing to his feet. Steady, no wobble as he waited for her to take his offered hand. "It's very similar to dancing."

"Well, unfortunately, a chuisle," Abigail ran her foot against the floor and watched the skate wheels spin, "I've never done that, either."

She took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. Feet that immediately went in opposite directions, forcing Nate to wrap an arm around her waist and pull her close so they didn't go sprawling across the floor.

"No?" His eyes were dancing with laughter and heat, loose wisps of his own tied-back hair so perfectly framing the warm brown depths she couldn't've looked away with a gun to her head. He kissed her forehead. "Then I suppose I'll have to teach you, won't I?"

She bit her lip even as she grinned, heat filling her face and... regions lower. "I'll try not to be too fast a learner, yeah?"

Her feet started to skid, and Nate tightened his grasp on her waist. "And I'll try not to enjoy it too much, ya rouhi," he murmured.

"Enjoy it as much as y'like," Abigail said playfully, eyes still locked with his. Settling into their relationship had uncovered a bold streak she didn't know she had, and that was every bit as thrilling as the smile Nate was giving her.

"I could say the same to you," he returned, stealing a kiss before carefully releasing her and shifting to stand mostly-behind her. His hands still rested on her arms, one hand clasped with hers for balance(and connection) as he started explaining how to move, turn, stop.

True to her word, Abigail was not a particularly fast learner, though that was only part on purpose. She clung to Nate's hand as they made slow loops of the rink, leaning into the steady support he offered. "So, how d'you know how to skate so well?"

Nate laughed. "Oh, my knowledge is purely rudimentary; Felix is the skilled one in this regard." He shifted his grip to guide her in a curve.

With what she knew of him and how well this was going, Abigail was fairly sure that was downplaying but didn't call him on it. "Rudimentary works just fine for me." She leaned into him and they teetered a moment before he compensated. "This is for fun, I just need t' be good enough to keep my feet."

"I can definitely help with that," he said warmly. Their pace slowed, and he started to loosen his grip with one hand. "Do you trust me, AJ?"

"Yes," she replied before the words had fully left his mouth, and felt him still for a moment before recalling where they were. You know I do.

"Thank you," Nate murmured, then cleared his throat. "I was thinking we could try a twirl?"

Images filled her mind; his dancing comparison, ballroom scenes from movies when women twirled like tops under the upraised arm of their partner.

Her grip on his other hand tightened. "I dunno, Nate. That's not just trusting you; I'm not sure m'balance is up to the task."

"I have faith in you," he said, a smile in his voice. "Just one try? If you aren't comfortable, I have no objections to holding you this close the rest of the night, ya rouhi."

Face as red as her hair, Abigail bit her lip and nodded. "Alright. One try." Even if she muffed it, the worst that would happen was bruised dignity(and maybe her tailbone).

She felt immediately less steady when he took one hand away, raising their still-joined pair so she could spin under them. It was an awkward start, and the follow-through moreso, but she did keep her feet under her. Just barely. She was groping for his other hand even before she finished.

"I knew you could do it," Nate smiled, reeling her in close again.

"I think... I'd rather no' do that again, yeah?" she admitted once tucked back against his chest, his other hand now on her waist for balance. "At least not t'night."

"Your wish is my command," he murmured into her hair, and didn't let go the rest of the night.

[danithefangirlbunny]

I was showering at my parent's house a couple of days ago, thinking about my otp. which ship would take the proverbial cake of my shipping heart. and you know what? there's no one above destiel. not even sterek - arguably my favorite ship. the trenches of my arteries belongs to destiel. the blood pumping though my aorta belongs to destiel. the ignition of my nervous system throughout my body belongs to destiel. they are my otp.

[downeyyys]

Always reblog

Gwyneth Paltrow and Robert Downey Jr. in the Iron Man 3 Behind the Scenes.

[falinscloaca]

the urge to get into ship discourse

[osaemu]

GOJO SATORU: ❛❛ FINDERS KEEPERS, LOSERS WEEPERS! ❜❜

.ೃ࿐ streamer!au: the user "gojoslittleslut" tries to make a move on your boyfriend, but she doesn't stand a chance

contents: fem!reader. it's not too serious, nobody gets angry/jealous (except the comments lol). if u haven't already read the other streamer!gojo works u probably should so u understand the dynamic between satoru and his commenters !

author's note: reader is actually a mature person who doesn't pick fights with random ppl on the internet and i think we should all be more like her ꨄ︎

satoru leans back in his chair, idly chatting with people who pop up in his comments after he finishes his last round of the co-op game. his viewers are eager to chat, and some even shoot money satoru's way to draw his attention. whenever someone donates money, he gives them a quick shoutout and has a small back-and-forth with them, and he does that for everyone.

that is, until a user with a questionable username donates to his stream.

gojoslittleslut has donated $100.00!

gojoslittleslut: notice me pls

"shit, a hundred dollars?" satoru says, raising his eyebrows in mild surprise. "thanks, gojoslittl— oh, fuck, what is that?"

you look up from your laptop and see the way your boyfriend's cheeks have gone bright red. satoru laughs a bit nervously, so you get up and walk over, making sure to stay out of sight of the camera. you sit on satoru's desk beside his computer and peer at his screen curiously.

gojoslittleslut: im ur number one fan~

satoru's eyes flicker to yours for a second before he looks back at his monitor. "ah, well, thanks for the donation!" he replies, completely ignoring the user's advances.

suguru-geto: he has a gf ...

gojoslittleslut: yeah

gojoslittleslut: me

you cover your mouth to suppress a giggle, scrunching up your nose at satoru to let him know that you really weren't taking it too seriously. after all, it's just some random person on the internet—they don't stand a chance with your boyfriend. 

satoru reaches over and takes your hand, twining his fingers with yours off-camera. he ignores the sudden burst of comments that litter the corner of his screen, instead watching you intently. in response, you roll your eyes playfully and blow him a kiss, snickering when satoru pretends to faint.

eventually, he turns back to his screen, cerulean eyes doing a quick once-over of his new comments.

toji-fushiguro: ill take his gf any day

inumaki: we know gtfo

gojoslittleslut: toji i get gojo and u take his girl. deal?

toji-fushiguro: bet

"alright guys, settle down," satoru huffs, rolling his eyes. "for the record, i still have a girlfriend and i don't plan on changing that anytime soon," he clarifies, addressing the current feud going on in his comments. 

satoru's a good streamer—he does his best to keep things cordial and lighthearted with his audience, but he also knows his limits. one of his limits involves people trying to separate you and him, his one true pairing (of course satoru's otp is his own relationship).

your boyfriend leans closer to the screen and scowls good-naturedly, holding up the hand still wrapped around yours. "this isn't gonna change, so don't even think about it!"

satoru says his goodbyes and then ends the stream, turning to you with a sigh. "how down bad do you have to be to name yourself 'gojo's little slut?'" he grumbles, clicking through his stream analytics and finding the user. he opens gojoslittleslut's profile and studies it for a moment before hovering his mouse over the block button.

he leans back in his chair and tilting his chin up at you. "she just gave me a hundred dollars, so i kinda feel bad about blocking her," satoru muses, tapping his foot on the floor. he looks up at where you still sit on his desk, twirling a strand of hair around your finger. "c'mere," he mumbles, slipping his hands around your waist and hoisting you into his lap with a soft grunt.

satoru rests his chin on your shoulder and nudges his face into your neck, breath tickling your skin. "you know that i'm all yours, right?"

"of course i do," you murmur, settling into his arms. he's warm and comfortable, like always. satoru smiles warmly and kisses the side of your face, letting his lips linger.

"good. 'cause no fan account's ever gonna change that."

[artistalley]

Girl You Really Got A Hold on Me

by @thecitybee

I was browsing Pinterest when I saw this and felt immediately that I had to paint my OTP in the exact pose. The people closest to me know I’m completely obsessed with Spock and Lt. Uhura and have been since I was a child. As someone raised on Star Trek (specifically the Original Series) who also happens to be a Black woman, Star Trek represents the promise of a utopian future that exists because of the inherent value of people of color. I have eight billion things to say about how important the original intention for Spock and Uhura to be a romantic couple is, but suffice it to say I love them. The title of this piece comes from a song I always associate with these two, Childish Gambino's "Me and Your Mama". Painted with Clip Studio Paint in one session because I have no impulse control.

Can't get enough of @thecitybee's gorgeous art commissions? Go ahead and place your own order. You won't regret it.

[comebackali]

these are the same moment. to me. (gif from this gifset from @bladerrunner)

EWAN + HAYDEN - IGN INTERVIEW

[elephantlovemedleys]

thinking thoughts™️ about the idea of christian and satine as parents like i know christian would've been such a girldad and him and satine would have three little girls running around their household christian would write fairytales and tell them bedtime stories satine would have so much fun dressing her girls up and singing to them they'd all have picnics together they would take their daughters to a ballet and to a carnival but the most important thing their own children would get to have is growing up in an environment filled many great things and love being the most compelling thing ever

[unboundprompts]

A SHORT X TALL ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP!!!! yes pls. they would be funny if you wrote it so pls

Height differences are my kryptonite I swear

Height Difference OTP Prompts

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

"I love you," she mumbled, turning her head in embarrassment. "What did you say?" He teased, poking her. "I couldn't hear you from way up here." She huffed, looking up at him while a blush spread across her cheeks. "I said, I love you, you giant idiot."

"Can I borrow your shirt?" She asked, holding it up. "Yeah," her girlfriend responded, "if you want to look like you're wearing a parachute."

"You know, I've always liked it when you're on your knees," They said teasingly, brushing his hair behind his ear. "Why?" He asked, lip quirking upwards. "So you can finally look me in the eyes?"

She planted a soft kiss to the top of their head. "You can kiss me on the lips like a normal person, you know," they told her, raising an eyebrow. She shrugged. "It takes so much effort to bend over."

"You give the best hugs, I swear."

"You might have fourteen inches on me, but that does not mean I won't still kick your ass."

"You're acting like a child." "Well, at least I don't look like one."

"If you don't stop hiding the cookies on the top shelf I'm coming after your kneecaps."

"Lean over." "Why?" "Lean over." "For what?" "So I can kiss you!"

If you like what I do and want to support me, please consider donating! I also offer editing services and other writing advice on my Ko-fi!