I AM SUCH TRASH

berena autumn aesthetics

bernie autumn aesthetic:
big fluffy socks with scandinavian patterns on them; the hint of cinnamon from incense that clings to her throughout the day; the way the late afternoon sun shines on her curls; the smudge of serena’s lipstick against her own making the perfect shade of pink

serena autumn aesthetic:
soft, oversized burgundy jumpers; hot chocolates at night with too much cream to be appropriate; bubble baths after long shifts with candles; sunday afternoon walks with jason in a forest full of golden and red leaves; bernie’s favourite scarf around her neck

berena autumn aesthetic:
cuddles by the fire under a big blanket in the late afternoon; bernie gazing at the way the morning sun caresses serena’s features; eva cassidy love songs on repeat; holding hands at coffee shops on rainy days; serena kissing the tip of bernie’s nose when it becomes red from the cold

knightsoforgana  asked:

Okay but Kylo sends you pictures of his proud, aching erection whenever he is on long trips. Precum beading at the tip of his flushed cock, sliding down the head as his fingers expertly tease himself at thoughts of you.

To be honest, it looks even bigger on the screen than it does in your memory–just the knowledge that he was so hard for you makes you clench. You swallow as you stare at the image–the slight curve of the shaft, the smooth, red head, the veins, bulging with blood and desire. 

Saliva gathers on your tongue as you imagine taking it in your mouth, tasting the sweet salt of his precum, feeling him throb at your lips–but then another image arrives. His hand, wrapped around his cock, squeezing another clear bead to the tip of his dick. You whimper, shifting, thighs pressing together in an attempt to alleviate the ache at your cunt. 

He’s jerking off, now, because of you. Fuck.

More pictures arrive–a slideshow of him pumping his thick cock in that massive hand–and your arousal swells out of your chest. You don’t just want him. You need him, now. You want to show him, let him know what he’s doing to you. Because even if he’s lightyears away, you know he’s pounding himself, panting, your name a continuous melody in his mind.

Before you can take the picture, though–your ass and cunt on display, gleaming with your desire for him–the final image comes in. His hand, coated with rivers of white cum, his hard cock gripped tight in his fist. You can almost feel how hot and sticky it is as you stare–you want to clean it from him. 

A good reminder, then. You save the picture.

does anyone else ever sit there and get really emotional because u genuinely start to believe that you are ACTUALLY GENUINELY in love with ur bias, a person you have never met and doesn’t know you exist because i do and I’m concerned

I dedicate this to the forgotten souls: The happy molds from our childhood;
before stress and anxiety and depression.

I dedicate this to the time we had REAL smiles
And not just curves drawn on blank faces
so white that they willingly accept any color painted on them by mediocrity
Or so black that their individuality is not seen.

This is for YOU!
You who regale tales of happiness
but is trapped in a bubble of sadness
wishing for an escape
Or a hero in a red cape.

This is for her -
overdosed on her own thoughts
and poisoned by yours.

And him;
frustrated by his own shadow
so he only comes out at night.

And me;
too afraid to tell my own story.

—  c.handy // And me
tonight you’re mine

“Harry,” said Niall, sounding like he was scolding a small child, “what’s this?” He pointed at the leather collar around Harry’s neck in one of the cover photos, the one from when his hair was still long, spread out on the coffee table in front of him.

“Um,” said Harry nervously, “it’s a- it’s a collar.” His cheeks burned a brighter shade of red than Niall had ever seen them.

“Yes,” said Niall, attention back on the photo of Harry. “Do you still have it?”

“No. It was just for the photoshoot. They didn’t let me keep it,” said Harry.

“A shame, that,” said Niall. Harry looked slightly confused.

“I have,” said Harry, pointing at another photo, the one with his newer short hair that he still felt didn’t look quite right, “I have that one.”

“Harry,” said Niall, his voice a low growl, “where is it?”

“It’s in- it’s in my closet,” answered Harry, sounding a bit unsure.

“Go get it, Harry,” said Niall, not a request but a demand.

“Niall?” said Harry, sounding even more unsure and a bit confused.

“Go get it, Harry,” said Niall with a dangerous edge that Harry had never heard there before.

Harry looked at Niall, eyes wide and mouth open slightly, looking almost nervous as he tried to figure out exactly what was happening. “We’re going to try something a little bit different tonight, pet,” said Niall, more gently than anything else he’d said in the last five minutes but decidedly still firm. “You’re going to be my good boy tonight.”

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