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ok but the way he's still kind of getting outcunted by the guy on the left

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...Me too, buddy. me too

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the moac music video shows seestor leaving the morning after she and nihil had breakup-makeup sex. she didn't leave right after. she stayed the night. she stayed the fucking night and i'm so normal about it (lie)

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48/∞ ghovie gifs

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I love these kinds of pics

Rain’s head tilt in the last one

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Cardinal Terzo for my beloved friend @/untamed_ghoul_uno

*Patreon prize for the highest tier🔔

If you want a headshot sketch like this one EVERY month, consider supporting me on Patreon🍀

🧡 linktr.ee/taylaedraws

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Here’s a bunch of ghost designs I made! All the other codes are uploaded so it might be more convenient to just use my creator code but!!! I hope you guys enjoy! There’s definitely gonna be more to come!

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[Full Ver on AO3 - NSFW / MDNI]

The moment Swiss let his quintessence unfurl, a surging warmth bloomed deep in Dew’s core, licking through his hips and stomach. An ebbing, pulsating warmth that seeped into his muscles, making everything looser, softer and so incredibly sensitive.

Dew sucked in a sharp breath as his fingers drifted lower, brushing tentatively against his stomach. And then—oh, fuck. He felt it.

A little swell, barely there but undeniable, pushing against his fingertips with every slow, deliberate thrust of Swiss’s hips. His entire body shuddered, a whimper slipping past his lips as he felt Swiss’s fingers tangle in his hair, split tongue dragging up the side of his neck.

“You feel that, firefly?” Swiss rasped against his ear, his voice dripping with possession, as he tugged at the fire ghoul’s hair, pulling his head to the side, “Look.”

Dew swallowed hard as he looked up at them both in the mirror, his eyes tinted lilac with quintessence, fingertips trembling where they rested over the bump. He pressed down slightly, feeling the way it pushed back, Swiss’s next roll of his hips making it shift beneath his touch, “Fuck—”

Swiss groaned, his hand sliding over Dew’s, pressing their fingers together against the bump, “So warm and wet for me—fuck, you were made for me, weren’t you?” another roll of his hips and Dew was arching against him, “You love it, don’t you?” Swiss growled, breath hot against Dew’s flushed skin, “Feeling how full you are, knowing it’s me inside you, stretching you open, making you mine.”

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dew: who the fuck added me to a fucking group chat?

aether: language!

phantom: yeah! watch your fucking language!

swiss: okay, who taught phantom the fuck word?!

rain: “the fuck word”

mountain: are you stupid? you guys use the f word all the time!

aurora: oh my god he censored it.

swiss: say fuck, mountain.

cumulus: do it, mountain. say fuck.

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hello! i absolutely love ur writing!! i was wondering if you’d be down to write a fic about reader sitting on simon’s face, you can have total creative freedom with it 🩷

riding simon riley's face

you were nervous, naturally. your thighs quivered as you hovered his face, his honey eyes heavy lidded, his blond lashes occasionally fluttered as he stared up at you.

your chest rose and fell with every heavy breath, sticky arousal drooling from your slit with radiating warmth. it didn't help your nerves that you could feel his uneven, warm breaths against your cunt. a low chuckle from deep in his throat as he watched you clench around nothing, a whine surpassing your lips.

his crooked nose pressed into your pudgy thigh whenever he'd pressed a reassuring kiss to your skin, "c'mon, baby, don't be nervous, yeah?" his tone was almost taunting, affectionately condescending as he cocked his head to the side with a smug smirk pulling at his lips.

"but, si," you squirmed as you felt his fingers trail, skin rising with goosebumps, your hand tightening their grip on the headboard, knuckles turning white, "i'm gonna suffocate you!"

he barks out a laugh, making you want to huddle into a ball and lay in a ditch, "then i'll die a happy man, love," his rough, calloused hands snuck around your legs, locking his grip on top of your plush thighs, fingers digging into the supple skin as he orders you, "sit."

you oblige. rolling your eyes at the stupid grin that broke out on simon's face as you nervously lowered your wilting cunt, stopping just shy of his lips, feeling his chapped skin just barely graze your soaking, puffy folds.

he grunts lowly, eyes narrowing as he eyes up at you, "i said sit." his voice is harsh, not in a mean way, but firm and unwavering. "if i hav'ta move a fuckin' inch, i'll keep you here until you're beggin' f'mercy. got it?"

he waits for a response, eyes crinkling with the shallow nod you give him, "that's a good girl. now sit, non'f this hoverin' bullshit."

he tugs you down the rest of the way, ripping a high-pitched mewl from your lips, hands firm on your thighs as they imprison either side of his head, the vibrations of his lustful groans stimulate your clit, furthered by his crooked nose and heavy breaths puffing against your sensitive pearl. slick drools over his lips and chin, creating a sticky, squelchy mess as he licks and laps at your cunt like a man starved, eyes fluttering closed as he grows lax.

he lied earlier. he'll keep you here, regardless if you're good for him, slurping and nipping at your folds and little clit until you're incoherent and a sweaty, sticky mess, close to collapse. you stopped begging for mercy about 3 or 4 orgasms ago, but who's counting?

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Dewdrop, holding a bowling ball: Anyone up for some football?

Swiss, trying to prove he’s not old and still fun:

(The two ghouls end up in the Infirmary with Copia and Aether yelling at them for being fucking stupid.

Phantom leaving with broken toes and a fractured ankle while Swiss leaves with a bruised forehead, broken nose and cracked horn.

Aether ‘punishes’ Dew for suggesting it and Rain secretly gets a little praise and treat from Copia for recording it.)

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Anyone else getting these I suppose ..odd? Ghost sponsored videos on Instagram?

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Three evil bisexuals

Not even Satan can save us from the fuckass bob.

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I want him... I want him bad... ugh Cunty Italian men PLEASE

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tap out.

simon doesn’t expect anyone to tap him out. a ritual where loved ones step forward to release a soldier from duty, creating a chance to reconnect.

based on this.

simon stands in formation, a soldier among countless others, each bound by discipline, each carrying their own story beneath a stoic exterior.

in the unyielding line, he’s silent, gaze fixed forward, while around him, families reunite: sons embraced by tearful mothers, women lifting their children into their arms, couples lost in long-awaited kisses. joy and relief fill the air, carried on quiet laughter and murmured words of love.

but simon is an orphan now.

there’s no one to step forward for him, no one to break his stance. he watches it all, standing alone, feeling like a stranger in this crowd of reunions, this world of connections he never belonged to.

over the years, the military has stripped him down, rebuilt him into something hardened and unbreakable. this new self is his armor, a wall between him and the life he left behind.

the tap-out tradition is a formality he’s only ever heard about, something he’s watched from a distance but never expected for himself.

he stands motionless as soldiers around him are tapped out by loved ones. he watches quietly, feeling a distant sense of satisfaction for them, grateful that they have that in their lives.

maybe soap would tap him out after he’d seen to his own family.

no matter how many times simon tried to keep him at arm’s length, he’d come to accept that soap wasn’t leaving him behind. coerced into the friendship or not, soap was a friend. until soap has been tapped out, there’s no one in simon’s life to come pick him out.

still, simon knew he was alone in ways he couldn’t change. or so he believes.

then he feels it—a subtle shift in the air, hesitant footsteps halting just in front of him, carrying a weight he doesn’t understand. his breath catches, but he doesn’t move. he’s trained to hold his position, but something in him almost falters as he senses a presence just inches away. slowly, he lets his gaze shift, barely, enough to catch a silhouette he thought he’d left behind a lifetime ago.

it’s you.

you. his childhood best friend. the love of his life.

you. the only person he thought of when he escaped his broken home. you. the guilt that wracked him when he ran, unable to say goodbye after the night he barely escaped after being beat nearly to death. you. the only reason he wanted to be alive, and the person he hadn’t been able to look back for.

—you. you. you.

and now here you are, standing before him, eyes wide with hope and uncertainty, tears gathering at the corners like unsaid words held back for too long.

he doesn’t understand, not fully. he thought he’d locked that door, left that part of him sealed away. and yet, here you are, holding everything he thought he’d left behind.

you hesitate, the weight of the years pressing down between you, unsure if you’re allowed to do this. if you can reach out to him after all this time, to be the one who taps him out.

he senses your uncertainty, feels it as if it’s his own, and in that moment, he lets a flicker of vulnerability break through—a slight furrow in his brow, a subtle nod. silent permission.

and you know, in that instant, it’s okay.

with a trembling hand, you reach forward, closing the distance. your hand hovers over his shoulder for a heartbeat, the air between you heavy with everything left unsaid.

then, gently, you tap him out. a simple touch, light and fleeting, yet it breaks something open in both of you.

in an instant, simon moves. his arms come around you, his grip unyielding as he pulls you close, lifting you off the ground. the soldier falls away, and he’s just simon again, holding you as if you’re the only real thing in a world that’s constantly shifting.

his head lowers, his face buried in your shoulder, and he breathes you in, lets the walls he’s held up for years fall away.

‘you’re here,’ he murmurs, voice rough, thick with emotion he can’t hide anymore.

his hand cradles the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair, each touch soft, a silent promise. the weight of years and regret presses against him, but he holds you tighter, as if to make up for every moment he was gone.

you feel the warmth of his tears against your shoulder, silent and raw. he pulls you closer still, as if afraid to let go, his voice barely a whisper as he breathes, ‘i’m sorry, lovie. i’m so damn sorry. i’ll never leave you behind again. i promise.’

and in that moment, surrounded by echoes of lives left behind, he’s just simon again, the boy who belonged with you.

. ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ an. i know the tap-out tradition isn’t common in the uk and is usually done at the airforce but oh well. read part 2 here.

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poly! 141 x ex black widow! reader imagine the day that reader (ex black widow) goes to the movies to see barbie and comes home crying totally inconsolable, and the boys are totally worried about her without knowing anything about what could have happened to her.

after several hours she falls asleep and the boys start to wonder what could have happened to her

then the fact is not touched on anymore and months later they put the movie on one of the digital platforms on movie night and she cries again but not as much and when the movie ends she says

"I would have liked to be a little girl, one who plays dolls with her friends. I would have liked to be the girl they didn't let me be"