chick & dude

  • Dude 1: Dude, did you hook up with that chick last night?
  • Dude 2: Fuck yeah, man. She was totally asking for it.
  • Dude 1: Wait... so you-
  • Dude 2: No, I mean she verbally asked me to fuck her.
  • Dude 1: Good. Because consent is important.
  • Dude 2: Word.
  • Both: *turn to camera* Don't be a fuckwad.

Headcanon that tsukishima’s hair grows in nice soft curls… or it would be nice if it wasn’t also really thick, poofy, and uncontrollable. He hates it so he chops it short. Also that boy definitely washes himself throughly with the proper materials so further headcanon that his hair is fluffy and soft like downy feathers. Yamaguchi is still working on convincing him to grow it out so he can play with it.

Shape of You

Characters: Jensen Ackles, Y/N (Reader), Jared Padalecki (mentioned), Misha Collins (mentioned)

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Objectification of reader (sorta - he means well), Implied smut, smut, Dry Humping, Oral (69), unsafe sex (wrap it before you tap it), training kink (is that a thing?), rough(ish) sex, NSFW gifs under the cut.    

Word Count: 3500ish

A/N: This is me proving to myself I still remember how to smut. I haven’t written anything smutty for the longest of times and I have been feeling like it lately. It was harder than I thought getting back into the saddle though. Sorry if it is a bit rough - pun not intended.

It is somewhat inspired by the Ed Sheeran song Shape of You - and maybe a little by the video too.

Thanks to the sweet amazing @mysupernaturalfics for betaing this for me.

“Fuck,” she breathed out, instantly drawing Jensen’s attention. He was sprawled out his couch, waiting for Y/N to return to his side. It was movie night and she hadn’t bothered leaving the room to take the phone call. Jensen never eaves dropped and even if he was to overhear something it wouldn’t matter. There was nothing to two of them hid from each other. Literally nothing.

They had both been single for a while and some drunken night they had come to the conclusion, that helping each other blow off some steam when either of them needed it was much prefered from picking up some random dude or chick at a bar.

“If you want I am game,” Jensen teased her, throwing her his best Dean smirk, making her eyes roll so hard he was sure Jared would hear it across the hall from Jensen’s apartment.

“It’s not funny, Jensen! They offered me the part. I’m gonna be Wonder Woman,” she complained, making Jensen shoot from the couch and wrap her in his arms, spinning her around the air not caring one bit about her objection.

“That’s amazing Y/N/N,” he laughed putting her down but not releasing her from his hold, “what are you so worried about?” Jensen gently stroked her hair away from her face, studying her face and trying to figure out why she wasn’t over the moon about this. She had a tendency to overthink things. He knew that. He literally spent 2 hours on the floor of her bedroom leaning against her bathroom door trying to talk her out after the first night they had slept together.

Keep reading


Please Stay pt 1

Pairing: Archie Andrews x Reader

Warnings: Fighting, Angst, possibly cussing, Bad writing <3

Word Count:771

The chill of autumn was taken off my tan skin as I entered Pop’s with my newest fling. Honestly I couldn’t even tell you his name but he was a varsity… something. A wrestler maybe. It doesn’t matter as long as I had someone to drag my attention away from Archie and his girlfriend.

“Hey Arch, mind if I sit with you guys?” I asked calmly, trying to keep the emptiness and anxiety that was crawling up my spine from showing on my face.

“Y-Yeah Y/N” Archie responded. His eyebrows were raised and his lips slightly parted in surprise at the new face that took its seat next to me.

“Christian right?” Archie began conversation as his girlfriend shot daggers at me. Her dark eyes didn’t leave me as I tried to casually tried to join in on the conversation.

“ Y/N don’t speak unless spoken to ok?” Christian said with a smile before continuing on with his story to a now unpleasant Archie. I put my head in my hand and sighed before Pop came over with two menus for Christian and I.

“What are you thinking about getting?” Archie said with a goofy smile.


“A burger and chocolate shake” Archie finishes causing us both to erupt in giggles.

“Yeah no… I don’t think so… Maybe a salad because you look like a cow Y/N. Time to start slimming down ” Christian laughed, causing my smile to drop clean off my face. Archie’s face also dropped but to a different expression. Anger. His eyes darkened and his brow furrowed as his fist clenched the table.

“Christian, you need to stop ok?” Archie said, his voice trembling with anger.

Keep reading

person: hey are you okay?

me: dean gave cas a mixtape

person: how’s the weather?

me: he gave him a mixtape

person: u wanna hang out?

me: dean winchester, emotionally constipated, no chick flick moments, buddy, dude, no homo gave cas a mixtape

person: so how was that interview?

me: dean´s top 13 zepp traxx

person: what do you want for dinner?

me: it’s a gift, you keep those

me on my deathbed: dean winchester gave castiel, angel of the lord


The finale is just beautiful for anti-CSers.

I mean, short of the best outcome, which would be Emma heading straight for divorce court and then back to Archie’s office to work on her codependence issues, followed by her moving on to her real TL (Regina, resurrected Neal, Jefferson, Lily, some dude or chick she met on the street, I’m down with anyone).

But we can’t have that, so what we got was the next best thing.

1) No TLK, making them the only major remaining canon couple never to have one. (Let alone that Snowing and Rumbelle have MULTIPLE TLKs.) Even a host of secondary couples–Philora, Scarlet Queen, Jaladdin, Ruby Slippers, Brennan and some nurse–have TLK, but not CY. (And they had another failed TLK just the episode before–their wedding ep, LOL.)

2) Emma has a memory of her wedding and it does nothing for her belief. (To be fair, I’m sure she was thinking “I would never be married in such an ugly-ass dress.”)

3) As the book burns, it falls open to Killy’s page (pic of him setting out for revenge, btw)–and again that doesn’t trigger anything. She literally sees him burn up and doesn’t feel a thing, setting out for Boston right afterward.

4) The beanstalk falls, and  Snow’s true love immediately warns her that David’s in danger. Emma gets nuffink about Killy.

5) Killy’s bean quest is ultimately completely useless. The bean does no one any good. 

6) Everything that helps Emma’s is Henry–his book only covers to their first TLK, and he’s the one whose true love kiss saves her after she sacrifices herself. As it should be.

7) When everyone gets back, Emma runs to her parents and hugs them before Killy.

Bonus: Regina’s hope speech to Emma includes “you never gave up on me”–which we know from Rumbelle is another way of saying “I love you.” (Killy used the line, too, back in Camelot–and still gave up on her two  days back in SB.)

In short, Killy through the whole ep:


“Send me a sign God! Give me some hope here! Something to live for!”

Juan Castro (Beleaguered Geek), Ada Chang (Stoner Chick), Cameron La Brie (Preppy Stud), Shauna Satnick (Young Republicanette), Ryan Advincula (Hipster Dork) & David Truong (New Wave Dude).


Originally posted by inacatastrophicmind

Request: Charlie flirts with the sister reader and the boys get overprotective of the reader?

Pairing: Charlie x sister!reader

Word Count: 1,000ish

Warnings: language

A/N: So much big brother Winchesters going on…

Keep reading

Of Love and Fairy Princes

Anonymous said:

YO! Just discovered this gem of a blog!!!! (And I am in love holy moly) 🌚👌Could you write some fluffy prompts between a trickster fairy and his human boyfriend? Thank you and have a wonderful day!

Anonymous said:
So I’m always seeing these prompts on other blogs about chick fairies but never dude fairies? Could I get a couple of prompts about them? It can be love, fluff, discovery, danger, magic, anything is fine for me! Thank you very much for your time!! 😘

1) The trickster loved to perform tricks for their boyfriend - the simplest of magics filled the human with such rewarding and wonderful delight. They had an appreciation for illusion that had long since been passed out of his own kind, in preference for more impressive or wise feats. Changing hair colours for different moods, conjuring flowers and trinkets, making a firework display in the palm of his hand. His boyfriend drank each offering up with glee.
“Now,” his boyfriend said. “I have a trick for you.”
The trickster raised their brows, amused. They knew their boyfriend had been practicing a less magical sleight of hand recently. “Are you going to find a coin behind my ear?” he teased.
“No, but there is this ring.” And then they dropped to one knee.

2) He had always assumed that his boyfriend was not a particularly powerful fairy. He acted like a goof ball most of the time, didn’t generally take anything with much seriousness and certainly didn’t have the air of some of the more dangerous fey who ensnared human heart’s so willingly. Then they visited the fairy realm together for the first time.
“…he’s one of the most powerful fey princes on the planet,” one of the servant’s said, bewildered. “Why do you think your engagement is of such importance?”

3) One minute, their boyfriend was human. Grinning, laughing impish at the one who sneered at them. The next second he was standing next to a fully grown dragon all teeth and snarling. His knees went weak.
Shapeshifter. Right. Holy shit.

4) They lay together in the summer sunshine, light dappling through the forest with a tranquil joy. Elsewhere, birds chirped and bees buzzed. Earlier, an actual fucking fawn had come and nuzzled at their lover like he was a deer whisperer. It was like dating a Disney princess. He couldn’t get over it.
“Do mice make your clothes?” he teased, pressing kisses to his cheek, under his neck, collar bone.
“I could turn you into an ass, you know. Shakespeare got that off me.”
“You’re not going to turn me into an ass.”
“A toad.”
“Only if you kiss me better after.”
The trickster huffed.

5) He felt dizzy, head spinning from the wine. The circus was wilder than any he’d ever seen as the night went on. He wasn’t sure where his clothes had gone but he didn’t much care. The drowsiness lulled everything all else even as the delight in his companion’s eyes turned to fear, and the dance became less pleasure and more manic.
“What’s happening to me?”
“How human’s forget,” murmured the boy he’d been chatting with, flirting with. The smile that had first seemed so charming had a wicked edge now. “The circus is my modern day fairy ring, my dear. And you’re going to make a truly exquisite addition to my court.”

Gone to the Gym: Part 2
I’m not the author of the first part, just so everyone knows. Since that person hasn’t submitted more, and I’ve seen some people asking for it, I decided to just… yknow, write my own. Here you go.

          Your friend drives a bit erratically, speeding down the main road through town and turning onto a side street as soon as he can. You saw at least one more woman clutch at her gut as you guys drove by, but when you turned back to look at her, she wasn’t bloating up like the others. A coincidence?

           With trepidation your eyes steer sideways at your buddy’s powerful arms latched onto the wheel. Occasional muscle spasms cause his arms to ripple. Fuck, his hands look huge. He catches you looking at him, but you’re both used to that—everybody looks at him; he’s impossible to miss.

           “What. The fuck. Was that?” he spits as he pulls to the side of the road.

          “I don’t know man.” You press your lips together. “It was like… I dunno. Something out of a movie. Or a shitty sitcom.”

           “Were they fuckin’…” he covers his face with his hands. His fingers run back through his hair. “Were they all pregnant?”

           “It looked like it. Y’see their tits?” you ask.

           “Actually I was not looking at their giant boobies I am a gay faggot I hate boobies,” he monotones. “Of course I saw their fuckin’ tits.” He bumps a fist into your shoulder, rolling his eyes.

          “Well we gotta get you home, get on the Internet, figure this shit out,” you mutter. Your midriff swoops with the thrill of adrenaline. “Spontaneous human reproduction.”

           “You legit think it had something to do with me?” he asks. “Like… there’s not…”

          You glower at him, causing his sentence to face. “There is like. Literally. Nothing else. What else could’ve caused that?”

           “Well how do you know it was fuckin’ ME though?” he snaps.

          “Ok, fine, I don’t!” you shrug. “How else can you explain it though? Buncha chicks just start blowing up pregnant, everywhere you go? As soon as you get close to them?” A chill trickles through you. “What if like… what if this happens everywhere you go? How are you gonna go anywhere?”

          “I don’t know.” He slaps the steering wheel in frustration and starts driving again. “Let’s just… we’ll go back to my place and figure this shit out.”

           The two of you keep exchanging suspicious, nervous little glances as he drives. Your best bro is a horny motherfucker for sure, all the time ‘accidentally’ displaying prominent public boners to any nearby women who caused them. He bites his lower lip; the tent in his shorts is brushing against the bottom of his steering wheel. His beefy muscles have stopped growing but are still making their presence very well known as each little movement causes a tiny-but-audible creaking noise from the fabric of his protesting t-shirt.

           You can almost smell his arousal.

          He parks and the two of you sprint to his apartment building. He punches his keycode in and leads the way past the lobby. Your heart sinks and your gut clenches when you see another resident, a woman, coming down the hallway towards you both.

           “Shit,” your friend mutters under his breath. You both rush up a set of stairs—it’s not the way to his apartment, but it’s better than running straight into her. You double back when she’s clear. He locks his front door when you’re both safely inside.

           He goes to the bathroom and you head straight for his bedroom—his computer’s still on and you bring up a search engine. The room contains a medley of scents, from cologne to body odor and a deep underlying aroma of what can only be very regular sex. The term “unexplained pregnancies” leads you to Planned Parenthood and other medical-type sites, “rapid pregnancies” leads you to bad fanfiction and fetish art and “sudden pregnancies” ends up on a motherhood forum. Your chest and throat burn slightly when you let out a small belch and swallow back some bile. You head back out to where you dropped your gym bag and grab a drink of water.

           When you head back to his bedroom, he’s leaning over the computer chair reading the results of your searches. He turns back to you, broad shoulders hunched almost shamefully. “Dude what if it is me.”

          “Ok look.” You put your hands up. “I’m not… I’m not gonna just blame you, but like… where’s the precedent for this shit? Has anything like this ever happened before?”

           “Ok what if we tested it out?” he asked. It’s startling to see such a large, confident guy like him anxiously folding his arms and avoiding your gaze. “Like, uh… what if we just… like, you spot for me, find a girl, and I’ll slowly get closer, and then if she starts lookin’ pregnant, I’ll back off and we’ll see what happens… yeah?”

           “How about we, uh…” you burp again. That nauseous feeling is back. Worse this time. You drink some more water and force that burning feeling back down your esophagus. “How about…”

           His eyes lock onto you, wide and fearful. “Dude. Holy. Fucking. Shit. Dude.” His rippling arms hang limp at his sides.

You wince as a terrifying pressure immediately starts to bloom in your lower gut, like a gaseous cramp that refuses to leave. “Fuck!” you grunt as you curl in on yourself. A substantial impact forces you to violently thrust your hips forward, and if either of you were unsure about it before, there’s no doubt that your normally flat, toned, MALE abdomen is beginning to look downright plump.

           You stare down at yourself in disbelief. Slowly you look up at your bro.

           “… Did I get you pregnant?” he asks in a tiny, weak voice. His eyes do not leave your slightly-swollen belly.

          You’re too stunned, too paralyzed with fear and shock, to even nod or shake your head or open your mouth to answer. Instead, when your mouth opens involuntarily, a burst of vomit falls out.

           Normally he’d probably punch you for barfing on his floor. “Holy shit,” he whispers.

          He snaps into action when you look like you’re about to hurl again, and almost carries you into the bathroom as you dry-heave. You don’t make it to the toilet, instead puking in the sink. He turns the faucet on to wash away your vomit and then you head for the toilet. A few more dry heaves and you seem to be empty, but you continue retching for about a minute after.

           Finally you turn your head to stare at him.

          “You’re. A dude.” His hands are clutching his temples incredulously. “You’re not even a chick. You’re a dude. What. The fuck.” Every so often, his normally smooth baritone cracks like a teenager.

          You let out a slightly pained grunt as your stomach bloats forth about another inch around. You hike your shirt up and stare down at yourself, then at your reflection in the mirror over his sink. Your skin is flushed and warm. You swallow. Your breaths come ragged and short.

          He moves a little closer, on your left. You’re not even really looking at him until you feel one of his big hands place itself on the side of your bulging tummy.

           Something seems to punch you from the inside, and in seconds your belly bloats from “two months” to “five.” It looks like a sports ball being filled by an automatic air pump. You pride yourself on your strong, speedy legs, but they turn to wet noodles at his touch, at the feel of your gut swelling months in seconds, and you almost collapse. He wraps his arms around you and helps keep you stable.

           “I gotcha, I gotcha,” he whispers.

           “I can’t. I can’t. How. Why,” you manage to squeak out. Your eyes jump from your stomach to your reflection’s.

           “I dunno. Fuck I don’t. Know.”

          Gently, he reaches around you—you are encircled in a wall of muscles and an almost content, safe feeling blooms in your chest. But then he places his hands on your bump again and you positively explode with growth. The elastic waistband on your track pants folds down to get out of the way. Your shirt stretches tight, then springs up away from your bulging, burgeoning belly.

           “FUCKING STOP, YOU’RE MAKING IT WORSE!” you snap at him, jerking away to get free.

          His arms lock around you though, and pull you back, squeezing you to his chest. There’s no escaping his powerful grasp—he outweighs you by almost a hundred pounds—but it’s a gentle embrace and rather than feeling angry or scared or pained with a new burst of growth… you feel safe again. Something feels simply right about the whole scenario. You don’t know why you moan when you feel him nuzzling the side of your face, but you do—that noise definitely came out of your mouth. The firm dome in front of you zings with a pleasurable sort of jumbling as his hands begin to rub the smooth, tight surface. At the small of your back, a rather stiff protrusion slides up your spine.

           “What… are… you… doing…” you whimper.

          “I don’t know. I don’t fuckin’ know.” The vibrations of his manly voice rumble against your back. All around you are thick slabs of solid, rippling strength, feverishly hot and sleek. One of his fingers hooks into your waistband and slowly tugs your track pants down. He buries his face in your hair and inhales.

           When you look again into the mirror, your reflection’s eyes are sedate and unreadable.

When you hit the pipe and its got that good taste to it?, I mean really its nasty as fuck but you no that taste you taste when its good dope taste. Yeah that taste. Love that taste.:)


Terry Crews knows his lip sync cover of Vanessa Carlton’s 2002 hit “A Thousand Miles” in White Chicks will never be forgotten.