I-feel-liberated!

i feel like progressives and liberals advocating for gun control should keep in mind that this is the Trump-run government that they’re calling for giving an absolute monopoly on violence to, and maybe should like, reconsider, in light of that,

Peter Parker x Reader Masterlist

Peter Parker x reader:

Little Sister

I Feel So… Liberated            

What Would’ve Happened If Y/N Was In SM: HC     

He’s Hot     

It’s Okay (Drabble)

In Your Bed, With You?            

The Letters            

We Met In Detention

Let’s Make Up

Dear Y/N Y/L/N(Please read disclaimer)

Told Ya

The Suit

The Tour

Wait Up! PT2

Wait Up!

Best Friend’s Sister

They’re Just Jealous

Kiss Her

Splitting Up

Wouldn’t Miss It  

Nice

You’re My Favorite Superhero!

Fanfic Writer

Beautiful

Detention

I Think She Has A Broken Arm

I Love You

We’re Here For You

I Dance Way Better Than That

Good Excuses

You can’t tell anyone

Tale as old as time

First Dates

May’s going to love this

Stalker PT2

Stalker

Lightsabers

I’m Spider-Man

Healing Powers

Cheek kisses

Tracking devices

Today Should Be Interesting

Rumors PT2

Rumors PT1

Family Dinner

That’s My Shirt

More than Just An Apology PT2

More Than Just An Apology

Jealous

Is Spider-man Ticklish?

I Need You

We’re Going Out

Helpless Part 1

Helpless Part 2

Who?

Can I Sit With You?

An Unexpected Friend

Ballet Class With Peter Parker

It’s a Date

Remember The Plan

Saturday Morning With Peter Parker

That Was You?

Me Too

I Don’t Usually Cry

Mystery Girl Part 1

Mystery Girl Part 2

Mystery Girl Part 3

Mystery Girl Part 4

Headcanons:

Being Peter Parker‘s Twin Sister Would Include…            

Being A Parent W/ Peter Parker Would Include…            

Dating Peter and being Ned’s sister would include:            

Dancing W/ Peter Parker

Being short and dating Peter would include..

Playing video-games with Peter would include

You can’t genuinely believe that oppression is systemic and simultaneously believe that police will protect marginalized people & that police brutality is due to individual “bad eggs.”

You can’t acknowledge that oppression is systemic and simultaneously hold that that true equity is achievable within a capitalist institution or that professional environments can be genuinely inclusive when professionalism itself is a tool leveraged against gnc folks and poc and poor folks and disabled folks.

You can’t say you’re against systemic oppression (and mean it) while simultaneously being against all direct efforts to destroy that system.

Sometimes I feel like liberals like to talk about concepts like systemic oppression without actually carrying through with what that understanding implies.

Secret Love Song - Tom Holland x reader

Prompt: Based in Secret Love Song by Little Mix (ft. Jason Derulo). In which the reader and Tom are secretly dating and decide to finally announce their relationship. Y/F/S= your favourite show, Y/F/A= your favourite artist, Y/S/N=your ship name

Featuring: Ellen Degeneres

Word count: 1,905


We keep behind close doors

Everytime I see you I die a little more

Stolen moments that we steal as the curtain falls

It’ll never be enough

“Y/N, I’m going to be really clear here. You’re becoming an international recognised model and you have to focus on your career. I think you need to stop seeing Tom.” Her manager blurted out, making the poor girl choke on her drink. Of course, it had to be something THIS big to have Y/N’s manager take her on a lunch date.

“What? Why? No way! I’m not leaving him. I love him! I… I refuse to keep modeling if he’s not with me.” She fights back, sounding confused and desperate.

Why’d she have to stop seeing her boyfriend? They only had been dating for three and a half months, they loved each other. Both had agreed on keeping it as a secret for a while, so no one knew except for their closest friends, and of course, their managers. But why did they decide they had to break up? What would Tom say? Was it his idea? Little did Y/N know that, on the other side of the restaurant, Tom and his manager argued on wether or not Tom’s manager knew what was best for him.

Keep reading

Burning Like Liquor

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x Reader

Genre: Smut, slow burn(?)

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: cheating (not involving Seokjin), sexual content

Summary: You don’t know why it is you find yourself in front of the rich, arrogant, Kim Seokjin’s penthouse after discovering your boyfriend with your best friend. You wonder why you chose to come to him, of all people, wonder why it’s him that you feel can be your only distraction, wonder why you seem convinced that he is the answer to the equation you’ve never been able to solve. 

Kim Seokjin wonders why it’s you that ignites a raging inferno under his skin when he usually feels nothing at all.

A woman’s bra thrown haphazardly on the floor. That’s the first thing you see when you step into your boyfriend’s apartment. A little further down the dimly lit hall, a pair of pink stilettos that don’t belong to you, a pair of hastily removed black pants, an undone tie, and a deep scarlet dress that’s torn down the front. Two unfinished glasses of wine sit alone on the coffee table. One has the imprint of bright red lipstick smeared along the rim, marring the otherwise perfect chrome surface. It glows crimson in the pale light of the apartment, a scarlet letter. You’re not exactly sure how to categorize how you feel as your heart plummets like a stone in your chest, not sure how to describe the bitter cold that threads its way through your body, every nerve crystallizing into ice until even your fingertips are numb. The room drifts out of focus and you’re seeing double—two pairs of those offending pink heels, two black ties, two sets of those infuriating half-filled wine glasses—and it isn’t until you blink a stinging, humiliating teardrop out of your eye that you realize you’re crying. The entire world slams back into crystalline focus.

You’re numb as you walk down the hallway to the bedroom, movements mechanical and dissociated. The pathway is decorated with hastily abandoned articles of clothing. You aren’t stupid, by any means, fully aware of the scene that’ll undoubtedly greet you, but some perverse, insidious desire for confirmation prickles under your skin. You had noticed how his schedule had gradually become busier and busier, noticed how his responses to your messages became slower and slower, noticed how even when he was right next to you, he felt miles away. So you can’t describe your emotions as surprised when you step into the doorway and see the silhouette of a naked woman in his bathroom and see him in the middle of the room, only a towel wrapped around his waist. He freezes completely when he sees you. But your eyes aren’t on him. Instead, they’re drawn to the oh-so-familiar back of the woman in the bathroom. You can’t help but think about a nearly identical scene two years ago, flashing in your mind’s eye, as the exact same wave of dread drops over your shoulders. It feels like a funeral shroud.

“(Y/N),” he breathes, and she whirls in surprise.

Your best friend’s eyes land directly on yours.

Not again. It feels as if you’ve been kicked in the stomach, all the air in your lungs escaping your throat in a twisted little sound of pain and betrayal you barely recognize. You feel your heart shatter in your chest. The pain is raw and blinding and it tears through your entire body, unforgiving and without mercy. It’s both scalding and freezing at the same time.

She can’t bring herself to look away from your eyes. Even she can’t find any words, tongue stumbling over an empty explanation, and your boyfriend moves to shield her from your view, protecting her even now. Blood roars in your ears as you turn away, a flood of emotions slamming into you all at once, too quickly for you to process. This time you recognize the burn of tears in your eyes. Each one sears a burning path down your cheek as you stumble aimlessly out of the apartment building and hail a cab.

#

You don’t know why you end up in front of Kim Seokjin’s penthouse. You feel empty now, utterly hollow. It seems as if you had already cried out every drop of sadness in the fifteen minute drive, your eyes dry and throat hoarse. You slam your fist on the door twice and cross your arms impatiently, still unable to process the raging chaos of thoughts racing through your mind.

You hear movement inside and a muffled sigh. A glass clinks against a table top. “Jungkook, I told you—” The door opens and Seokjin’s tall frame appears, bronzed hair tousled. A wry grin spreads across his face and he cocks his head as he takes in your disheveled appearance in a slow, sweeping gaze. “You’re not Jungkook,” he says, intelligently. “What a lovely—”

You push past him, thoughts still thundering in your ears. You wonder why you chose to come to him, of all people, wonder why it’s him that you feel can be your only distraction, wonder why it’s him that can make you feel anything at all.

“Yes, come on in. Make yourself at home,” he calls after you sarcastically, scoffing in disbelief as he watches you collapse onto his couch.

“You have alcohol, don’t you?” Your hands come up to cover your face as your head falls back against the cushion. You want to forget more than anything right now. You want to experience everything from the detached, muted haze of alcohol.

You hear him close the door. “Why?” he asks, voice lilting. “Did you finally come to terms with the harsh reality of your dear, cheating boyfriend?”

Your eyes snap open and heat rushes to your face. He returns your glare evenly, head cocked to the side. “What, you didn’t think everyone already knew?” He lets out a biting laugh, but there’s nothing humorous about it. “That’s why you’re here now, isn’t it? To drink yourself into a stupor so you can forget all your problems?”

His words sting, cutting deeper into your already battered heart. “Why else would I ever come to you?” you shoot back acrimoniously.

The smile on his face stiffens, his eyes locking with yours momentarily. After a beat of silence he turns, pulling open a cabinet behind him and placing two crystal glasses on the marble countertop. “What do you feel like?”

“Anything other than wine.” You want to wash the lump in your throat down with the burning fire of alcohol. “The stronger the better.”

Seokjin nods in assent, selecting a short, dark bottle filled with a golden fluid.

When he hands you your drink, he brushes unnecessarily close to you, choosing to walk behind the couch so that he can press the drink into your hand by leaning in so close you can feel his hot breath fanning over your neck. You don’t really mind. The warmth he emits is comforting, and it disappears all too quickly when he steps around the corner of the couch to sink into the leather beside you. “To forgetting everything,” he says drily, raising his glass. His arm nudges yours to indicate for you to do the same.

You grimace in response but clink your glass to his anyway, just to humor him. “To forgetting,” you echo, and bring the liquor to your lips, taking a giant gulp.

It burns like fire going down your throat. You cough and splutter as you struggle to swallow, throat flaming and eyes stinging. The alcohol sears a blazing path down your body as it slides down your chest to your stomach.

“Careful,” Seokjin warns wryly, taking an equally large swallow without flinching. “You’ll only be able to drink like that after many of these nights.”

You ignore his warning and knock back your head with another large draught, grimacing as you swallow. It slides down smoothly this time. The warmth pools in your chest and blooms in a white hot heat that curls slowly outwards and causes your blood to rise to your cheeks, tinting them a bright crimson. Yet you feel a perverse sense of satisfaction at the pain, a bitter smile curling your wetted lips. “Isn’t it funny?” you say into the bottom of your glass, eyes glazed and distant as you watch the golden ichor-like fluid swirl hypnotizingly slowly in your hands. You ask no one in particular—it’s an empty question asked only by those who don’t want answers. Seokjin listens anyway. “I’m not even surprised. You’d think that I would be satisfied now, finally knowing the truth I had suspected all along.” Your eyes burn along with the liquor in your chest. Seokjin doesn’t say anything, only sips on his drink in silence as he watches you from the corner of his eye. You let out another bitter laugh. “You’d think I could feel liberated now, knowing the truth.”

Seokjin scoffs into his glass. “Now, (Y/N), you know better than that, don’t you? That’s never how it works. You should know better.”

Blood boils in your veins.  You want to push him, to force something genuine out him. You want to see something real from the unfeeling Kim Seokjin. You’re destruction in the form of harsh, caustic words, and you want Kim Seokjin to come tumbling down with you. “It was Eunwoo,” you snap suddenly, focusing your blazing glare on him as you say her name so you can watch his reaction. You want to see the pain on his face. You want someone else to experience the same betrayal and anger, the same pure, raw pain. You want to feel something, and there was no one better than Seokjin for that. You don’t want to be alone in someone else’s company. Not now.

He freezes, his glass half tipped back, the drink just barely grazing his lips.

“The girl he’s been fucking behind my back. It’s Eunwoo.” A cruel smile twists the edge of your lips. “You like her, don’t you? I’ve seen you watching her when she’s with me.”

You watch with twisted satisfaction as his eyes darken and knuckles whiten around his glass, still frozen mid-sip.

“My best friend, Eunwoo. Eunwoo, beautiful and intelligent.” Acid in your lungs and saccharine poison drips in your words. “Eunwoo, who all the men fall for. Eunwoo, who has drawn in every man I’ve ever fallen for.” You spit her name like a curse. You don’t know if the burning in your chest is from the liquor anymore. “Eunwoo, who has fucked not one, but two of my boyfriends behind my back.” A sliver of the betrayal you feel slips into your voice treacherously, contorting your words so they fall out with a broken inflection. “Why do you like her?”

“What do you mean?” He lowers his drink from his lips, eyes still storming. Good.

“Eunwoo. Why do you like her?”

He turns his head away from you with a sigh. “I can’t answer that.”

It infuriates you. “Why?” you press, unable to stop yourself from self-destruction. “Are you in love with her?” Your eyes are probing, listening intently with a shameless, desperate curiosity for his answer. You anticipate his yes, his dry confirmation in that viscous, smooth voice of his. Yes, he loves Jung Eunwoo. He’ll say it with pain in his dark eyes, you’re sure. But despite yourself, even as you wait expectantly for his yes, your ears desperately listen for his no. No, Kim Seokjin does not love Jung Eunwoo. No, Jung Eunwoo’s presence in the wistful corners of his guarded thoughts does not mean more to him than your presence here, right next to him. No, what Kim Seokjin feels for Jung Eunwoo does not take precedence over what he feels right now. No, you are not alone in someone else’s company. You can’t bear that anymore.

Seokjin laughs, but the sound is harsh and wrong. “Did you love your boyfriend?”

“Yes,” you say decisively, relishing in the way his eyes flick over to you immediately, eyes dark and intense, knowing he wasn’t expecting an answer. “I did.” Perhaps it’s the alcohol coursing through your veins, or maybe it’s Seokjin’s piercing, heavy gaze, but your tongue is loose tonight and you crave his rapt, burning attention.

“Why?” His eyes have darkened several shades. They pin you and you feel as if they are slowly peeling back the layers you have buried yourself under, exposing you, making you naked under his gaze.

“He cared,” you say finally, after a few moments of dead silence.

Seokjin lets out a harsh breath of disbelief. “That’s it?” He snaps his fingers and widens his eyes as if he’s had an epiphany, pointing at you with his index finger. “So the mailman—you’ll love him too? And Park Jimin, your friend? Ah, and who else, your boss? That’s all it takes for you to love someone? He just has to care?”

You ignore his sarcasm and wrap your hands around the glass in your lap, thoughts far away. Your finger runs absently around the rim, wetting in the condensation. “No,” you say, so quietly it’s almost inaudible. “He cared about me. Like I mattered.” That bitter, sad smile returns to your lips once more. “I wanted to matter to him.”

Seokjin swallows his anger as he watches you, your gaze distant as your fingers slowly slacken around the glass placed so precariously in your lap, the liquid sloshing dangerously.

He leans forward and catches the drink in your hands just as it begins to slip from your grasp. His skin burns hot against yours as his hand wraps around your fingers to cup the glass, his much larger hand easily dominating yours. Your body tenses at the contact. The glass is cold against your palms, but his hands are blazing, the heat pulsating from him igniting you. It’s as if time has stopped completely. Your breath stills completely in your throat, and it seems as if Seokjin’s has too, because he stares down at your small hands in his, unable to move. You watch the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallows, his eyes trained on the light twitch of your fingers as the pad of his thumb sweeps the delicate skin of your hand. The stroke is so light and tentative you barely feel it, but it still sends shivers down your spine.  

“Am I really so dumb to want that?” you breathe, cutting into the silence.

You immediately regret asking. He seems to come back down to reality, pulling his hand away from yours hastily as he straightens. That hand that grasped yours curls into a fist in his lap. Instantly, your hands feel cold again, the ember that he had ignited in you flickering away to ash. You crave his warmth, his touch. You crave the feeling of those burning fingers ghosting your cold skin again.

“No,” he manages, his voice thick and low.

“How do you know?” you press. You don’t know what it is you’re expecting to hear. An admission? A confession? But curiosity boils in your veins nevertheless.

His jaw clenches tightly. He turns to face you, eyes dark and smoldering as he holds your probing gaze. The grayed ember reignites in the pit of your stomach as you look at him, his tousled bronze hair glinting in the light, the top button of his shirt undone and just barely exposing his chest. He watches your eyes travel down to his ruby lips, full and soft, and you can’t seem to pull your eyes away, drawn like a bee to honey, utterly enraptured. His face is less than a foot from yours. Sweet breath mixes with yours. Cologne fills your senses. He draws in closer—there are less than six inches between his mouth and yours. “It was never Eunwoo,” he murmurs, his full lips curving around each word.

It’s only four words, but they carry a thousand meanings. Time seem to slow to a crawl around you. It’s a simple elementary equation. Kim Seokjin is to either Jung Eunwoo or you. If the answer is not Jung Eunwoo, to whom is Kim Seokjin? Yet your mind can’t seem to wrap around the solution.

But you can understand the searing heat of Seokjin’s skin on yours. You can understand the throbbing desire that tears at you from within, craving for the heat of his gaze on you, his lips on your throat. You can understand that it is only Kim Seokjin that can ignite you from within and leave burning trails of fire every where he touches. You can understand the dull ache of pure, unadulterated need to feel that fire again.

Kim Seokjin is to you as you are to Kim Seokjin.

You set your glass down on the coffee table in front of you, slowly, without taking your eyes off of him. “Are you going to do anything about it?” It’s a challenge weakly guised under the pretense of an innocent question.

Kim Seokjin has never been one to back away from a challenge. A flood emotions flash in his eyes as you lean closer. “I won’t hold ba—”

You don’t wait for him to finish, closing the distance and finally, finally, crushing your lips against his. He abandons the glass in his hand, dropping it onto the wool carpet and ignoring the telltale slosh as it spills into multi thousand dollar fibres, undoubtedly staining. He couldn’t care less. The hand immediately comes to rest on the outside of your thigh, applying delicious pressure. You can’t help but notice that the curve of his hand fits you perfectly. You shift, moving your body so that you’re straddling him, your knees on either side of his spread legs. He tugs you closer, the hand once holding his glass slipping under your shirt and pulling your hips flush against his. It’s still cold, damp from the condensation left on his hand, and you shudder at the feeling. You fist your hands in the fabric covering his chest. You can feel his heartbeat through the thin fabric of his shirt, thrumming under your fingertips as he deepens the kiss, his fingers dancing along the sides of your waist under your shirt.

You can taste the liquor on his lips, on his tongue, burning and sweet. Kim Seokjin kindles a fire in you that burns brighter than the alcohol.

You are the one to break the kiss, lips swollen and bitten. Everywhere he touched blazes. Heat blooms in your chest again, stronger than even the liquor in your veins. The memory of your boyfriend’s betrayal is far in the distance, already nearly forgotten, and all you can think is Seokjin, Seokjin, Seokjin, as you latch your lips onto his defined jawline, the sweet taste of his skin mingling with the salty thin sheen of sweat. He groans as your lips travel lower, along the column of his neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. His eyes flutter closed and his head falls back against the couch as you drag your teeth across his skin slowly, teasingly. You unbutton his shirt hastily as he reaches behind you to unzip your dress. His touch ignites a raging inferno as his warm hands push the fabric off of your shoulders and you tip your head with a breathy gasp of yes, Seokjin and he nearly loses himself, right then and there. Your head tips back to expose the creamy, smooth skin of your throat, lips parted. His hot mouth finds purchase in the newly exposed juncture of your neck and collarbone, lightly biting into that sensitive spot that makes goosebumps erupt along the surface and chills run down your spine, your fingernails digging into his shoulders.

He shrugs his shirt off of his shoulders as you fumble with his belt impatiently. He chuckles, a low rumble that you feel against your skin, at your impatience, one eyebrow cocked before gently pushing you off of him so he can do it himself to remove his pants and briefs together. Your skin feels unnaturally cold without him pressing against you. You impatiently shrug off the rest of your clothing and throw it unceremoniously onto the floor. Just as he begins to stand, you push him back down onto the couch, your palms flattening against his toned chest. His eyes sparkle with amusement as he looks up at you, legs spread. He’s bigger than you expected, much bigger than your boyfriend had been. For a second, you worry that you won’t be able to take all of him in. But the need for Seokjin burning hot, so hot, in the pit of your stomach far outshines the slight prickle of worry.

You straddle him carefully, hands gripping tightly onto his shoulders and fingernails digging into the warm skin. Just as you begin to position yourself on top of him, his hands come up to grip your hips, preventing you from moving. You look at his hands in surprise and desperation, unable to move against his firm hold. His jaw is tight from restraint. The muscle in his jaw twitches slightly when you whine, but he keeps his grip steady. His eyes are warm when you meet them, the pad of his thumb rubbing slow circles against the sensitive spot on your hip that sends a flash of warmth straight down between your thighs, where a dull ache burns.

One of his hands comes up to gently brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Are you sure you want this?” His voice is strained from the effort, and he honestly doesn’t know what he’ll do if you say no.

“Please, Seokjin,” you whimper, and he relents, groaning your name under his breath.

You sink onto him slowly, reveling in the pleasure of feeling him stretch you so widely, fill you so deeply, and a gasp of pleasure escapes your lips as he bottoms out completely, rubbing your walls in all the right ways.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “You’re so fucking tight.” His fingers grip your hips so tightly you’re sure he’ll leave bruises, knowing you need time to adjust.

Your head falls to the crook of his neck, teeth grazing his sensitive throat. “Fuck me, Seokjin,” you breathe. He shudders underneath you, a low growl rumbling deep in his chest. His hands burn against your skin as he lifts your hips, guiding you up and down, setting a smooth rhythm.

Your head falls back in pleasure as his hips roll against yours, hitting deep in you. Small gasps fall from your mouth at the pace he pushes into you, your eyes rolling back in euphoric pleasure as pressure builds from that dull ache at your core. Seokjin’s mouth is at your throat. His full, soft lips suck and nip at the sensitive exposed skin, down from your jaw, along your throat, ghosting the tops of your collarbones, heightening every sensation.

You roll your hips to meet his, clumsily at first, but the pleasure increases tenfold as he hits an entirely new spot deep in you and you let out a loud, heady moan, fingernails dragging down his chest as your other hand buries and twists in his silky hair, pulling slightly. He groans at your movements. “Does that feel good?” he manages, thick through his teeth. You can only let out a sharp cry of pleasure as he drives into you with a sudden quick snap of his hips. His grip tightens on your waist as he does it again, impaling you on him the same time he thrusts upwards, slamming into you. “Does it?”

“Y-yes,” you slur, head tipped back as he fastens his hungry lips on your jaw. “G-god you feel so fucking good, Seokjin.”

He hums against you in satisfaction at your answer, rutting into you faster, nipping and sucking every square inch of exposed skin he can reach. You can feel your orgasm building again. It tightens in your stomach and you rock your hips against his faster to convey your urgency.

Seokjin watches you through hooded lids, reveling in the way you’ve become so absolutely wrecked for him, your glistening lips parted in silent cries of ecstasy, your hair messy, eyes clenched shut as you mewl his name, begging for him to go faster, harder. “You’re so beautiful,” he says as he acquiesces and pounds faster, gritting his teeth when he feels your fingers tighten in his hair.

“Almost,” you pant shallowly, vision blurring as he continuously hits deep into you.

“Come for me, (Y/N),” he groans into your throat. “Now.”

You unravel with a sharp cry, your entire body tensing as you reach your release. Pleasure overtakes your body in waves as your nails drag down Seokjin’s shoulders. You can feel yourself tightening around him, desperately trying to milk out his orgasm, but he doesn’t relent, continuing to rut into you as you descend slowly from your high.

He stands, still buried in you, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his slim waist and your lips find his, hair falling forward like a curtain around your faces. There is only Seokjin.

Suddenly, you’re pressed back against a cool plaster wall. The cold instantly seeps into your bare skin, and you yelp in surprise against his lips.

Seokjin smirks and he starts his hips again, rolling against you. One of your arms snakes around his neck, pulling him closer as your other hand tangles in his already mussed hair as he fucks you against the wall. He doesn’t go easy this time around, now trying to achieve his own high.

His hips slam against you relentlessly, forcing your back to rub against the wall with each deep thrust, adding an edge of pain to the pleasure that again tightens in your stomach.

“Seokjin,” you gasp as he hits that spot with a particularly hard thrust, your fingers tugging senselessly at his hair. You’re already on the precipice of your next orgasm, teetering dangerously on the edge as he fucks into you. You dig your heels into the small of his back, forcing him impossibly deeper, and your back arches in white pleasure.

Ff-fuck,” he stutters, his rhythm faltering. You can feel him swell inside you, filling you even more. “Say it again.” His teeth drag along the delicate skin of your shoulder. “My name.”

You smile, though he can’t see it. “Seokjin,” you sigh breathlessly, your lips pressed against the soft shell of his ear, your sharp nails raking down his back.

He tenses, body drawing completely taught, muscles flexing. Seokjin comes violently and messily, you learn. His body shakes as he releases, filling you with rope after rope as he rides out his orgasm, your name falling from his lips like a mantra.

You come undone once again at the feeling of him losing himself in you, your name on his lips, his hips stuttering. Your vision whitens as your fingernails dig so deeply into his back the skin breaks. Good. You want to mark him as yours. You want him to remember you. You want him to remember the burn of your bodies moving in perfect unison. Your lewd moan of release is muffled in his neck as he stills.

You feel his heartbeat thrumming against you, sticky skin pressed flush against sticky skin. You can feel is racing pulse under your swollen lips.

The room is silent except for the sounds of your combined heavy pants. Neither of you move as heartbeats slow and chests still.

You don’t want to move away, you think, even as you unhook your legs from around his back, even as you flatten your palms against his chest and apply gentle pressure. Your legs are unsteady but your push him anyway. Seokjin pulls out and steps away, catching you just as you lose balance.

You don’t complain when he lifts you and carries you back to his bedroom, setting you gently on the plush bed. He takes a few seconds to pick up the clothes you left on the ground in the living room, shrugging his wrinkled shirt back onto his shoulders as he hands them to you.

“Thanks,” you say intelligently. You don’t know what else to say. There are a thousand questions at the tip of your tongue, a thousand thoughts crowding your mind, a thousand emotions coiled in the pit of your stomach.

A small smile teases his lips as he watches you. “I’ll wait for you.”

A/N: J e s u s ok please forgive me for this

~Requests are currently open~

previous works:

Always (M) - Kim Taehyung [BTS]

Neither Innocent Nor Guilty (M) - Shin Hoseok [Monsta X]

How To Make A Writer Fall

TITLE OF STORY: How To A Writer Fall

CHAPTER NUMBER/TITLE/ONE SHOT: A series of one-shots

AUTHOR: winterheart17

WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Loki

STORY GENRE: Romance, Drama, Erotica

STORY SUMMARY: What happens when a struggling virginal historical romance writer and the God of Mischief are thrown together, locked in a mansion and agree to a game of love and seduction?

STORY RATING: M

STORY WARNINGS/TRIGGERS/AUTHORS NOTES: What can I say except feels, maybe a wee bit of angst, and smuttttt!

FEEDBACK/COMMENTS: Thank you to my readers who are ever so patient and encouraging of my work. I’m pretty pleased with how this piece turned out and I hope you enjoy it. I would so love to hear what you thought about it so don’t be shy to hit me up! Tagging @devikafernando @ureyesonly21 @nuggsmum @queen-sands @ihatespoilers @say-my-name-assbut @hsvbabe @jrubalcaba @ilhadabruxa @dandelionlady96

Masterpost of How To Love A Writer

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anonymous asked:

I don't think people understand how important Camren is to us. Everyone has different stories as to how camren impacted them and for me, watching camren grow helped me accept who I was. I was struggling with internal homophobia towards myself and they helped me get out of it and accept my gay and I feel so liberated and free. Never give up on camren guys ❤️

i think one of the big problems with Discourse on sexuality is how many people have accepted that the hypersexuality they see in media or hear reported about–they’ve accepted it as fact, when in reality it’s there to get viewers, sell papers, and keep you invested.

so many people, not just asexuals, appear to believe that the “normal” or “dominant” sexuality is a straight sexuality with a high sex drive and it’s so far from true and accepting this as normal is so damaging. it’s not true for all women and it’s not true for all men. it IS true for some people and that’s fine! but there are as many straight people who haven’t kissed or had sex by 25 or 30 as there are lgbt people with the same experience.

There are teenagers having sex because they want to get it over with who feel no sexual desire and there are teenagers who desperately wish they knew how to initiate a fulfilling sexual relationship but hold out until their 20s or later.
there are a A LOT of men who have foreskin issues that keep them from having sex! There are people who think that crushes and sexual desire only look like what’s on the CW and that therefore anything more low key means they’re abnormal. There are people who’ve never met anyone they feel attracted to and then they leave their homes and experience a vastly more diverse new setting and sometimes they do find people they’re attracted to and the ways they experience attraction aren’t what they thought and it’s different and intimacy is different and more grotesque and funny than what they expected and maybe they never feel attraction again or maybe they do.

and this is all so western centric anyway, so very very late 20th century western centric, this idea people have of a normal sexuality. masturbation wasn’t normal until recently. most straight people can’t imagine any other kind of physical pleasure than the canned in'n'out sex. individual sexuality is always fluid and changing (even if it stays within the same basic attraction to ____ sphere) and levels of desire are always changing and dependent on so many factors and just the idea that some people on the internet have decided to take a recent media construct as “normal” and then define themselves against it and against all the “sexuals” who supposedly adhere to it and can’t think about anything but sex and only value sexual relationships–

i mean thats not real. it’s not good thinking, it’s not useful (except maybe to individual people specifically applying it to themselves) and it is in fact damaging. like you should know that there are thee asexual people out there but you should also know that what you’re defining yourself against isn’t real and that there are millions of people who don’t come close to what’s being set up as “normal” and if you don’t see yourself in that normal it doesn’t mean ANYTHING. it doesn’t mean anything at all except that you don’t see yourself reflected in a particular image created to make money. literally there are as many ways to feel about sex as there are people in this world and while some people feel it in a way that gives them institutional power over others, there STILL are so many others and you can do whatever you want with that but i hope that t feels liberating.

anonymous asked:

I just wanted to say that I love all your headcanons about hair! I recently went through a difficult yet transformative experience, and as a result I cut my hair much shorter than I'm used to, and it felt liberating. I feel like now I have a greater understanding of why Ginny and Ron cut their hair. I just thought I'd share that with you ~ also I think you are very talented ❤️

Omg, this is so nice to know!! Thank you for sharing this with me, it just made me so happy <3

mattykinsel  asked:

What are your thoughts on pot being legalized? I used to be really for it - it's recreational, nobody dies, etc. 1. But I recently learned that it has tar in it just like cigarettes, and that It's pretty damaging to your lungs like smoking is. I don't know what to think. 2. But I suppose getting it off the "black market" is good right? Into safe dispensaries where it's regulated. And the tax $ would be useful too. Thanks so much! Hope you're doing okay these days too. :)

It does contain more mar than cigarettes but the risk of lung cancer is far less:

Large Study Finds No Link between Marijuana and Lung Cancer

But I mean everything has health risks the more you use it.

The important thing is that marijuana is one of the safest drugs on earth. There may be long term health effects after heavy use, but there is very little immediate health dangers by using the drug:

I agree with legalization, but I feel the Liberals are going about it in the wrong way by punishing those with criminal records (Trudeau has said that those with marijuana trafficking records wouldn’t be allowed to work in marijuana industry which is really hypocritical since its going to be legal soon and they would be experts), choosing not to decriminalize it in the meantime (= more people arrested in 2017), and not committing to pardoning anyone who has used it before, as well as strict limits on possession. Marijuana is far less dangerous than alcohol, and alcohol has none of these harsh limits.

My feelings towards OUAT after the HEC have changed completely...

I don’t know if other rumbellers experienced this same feeling but after the Con I feel….liberated. I don’t care about what A&E and the rest of OUAT writes do with the show anymore. Not one bit. I don’t know how to explain it but I feel like now Rumple and Belle belong more to its fans than to the writers. Both the actors and rumbellers understand these characters in a more profound way that the writers even have. And no matter what the writers do, they will never take those characters and that relationship away from us. 
Bobby and Em friendship will transcend this show and we will see them again together in another project. I can’t express how ready and eager I am to see Bobby working in another project where he can shine as the talented actor he is. 

instagram

Please excuse the fact that I haven’t had a shape up in weeks. Today was my first post op appointment and I finally got to see what my chest looks like without the drains and and (most of) the bandages of. There are no words to express how I feel. I’m sure you can see the joy in my eyes. I’ve waited so long for this moment. Spent countless hours on YouTube and instagram looking at all of the folks who have gone through this step before desperately wishing I could be in their shoes and now my moment finally came. I’m overjoyed with my results I think my chest looks great. 2017 just keeps coming with the blessings. Shoutouts to Dr. Rockmore! He did an amazing job. Thank you to everyone who has checked up on me it means so much. This body has been a prison for so long and the only word to describe how I feel now is liberated. I have things to look forward to now. And if you would’ve told me that I could feel this sense of joy 12 years ago I wouldn’t have believed you. Anyway here’s to 2017 and shirtless summers and lots of douchey instagram pics. ☺️🎉🍾 #wepoppinthebiggestbottles

Made with Instagram

✨JUST BREATHE✨ I feel so liberated standing on the edge of the earth, breathing in the ocean air, and listening to the waves crash against the shore 🌊 Here, I am truly reminded of just how beautiful and powerful this earth is. I feel truly grounded and connected to this earth. I am reminded of just how small I am (and all my worries are) in comparison 🌎 Life is too short, remember to breathe, and take it in✌🏼 Ps. I’ve got a HAWAII house tour video, AND a new WHAT I EAT video live on my channel! Have a look! Latest vid link is in my bio ☺️

anonymous asked:

he changes his username because he wants to be taken more seriously and then he goes and does THAT why is he like this leela i'm unstanning his account looks so ugly ew

on the one hand it’s horrific but on another i think it’s v smart–he’s lowkey quelling everyone’s fears/misinterpretations of this “rebrand.” he doesn’t want us to be taking him more seriously or treating him differently. he’s still sarcastic and irreverent and King of Memes and all the other things that his audience loves him for and i think the current icon/layout are to remind people of that in an indirect way. and i also think he feels liberated rn to do whatever the fuck he wants with his “branding” and he’s sort of forcing himself to take himself less seriously than he does. which all seems very healthy to me :)