over this ache

u know i’ve expressed my love for fake married/fake dating many, many times but like. is anything better. is anything better on this earth. does any trope or genre truly care for us quite like this one. let us reflect on a few of the gifts that fake married/dating consistently gives us:

  • character a asks “hey, will you pretend to be my date for a week for [convoluted excuse that could easily be solved without a fake relationship]?” character b, fully convinced of the futility of their DEEP AND UNREQUITED LOVE, figures this’ll be a chance to spend time with them and possibly put their feelings to rest. character b is always wrong & it is always amazing.
  • having to SHARE A LIVING SPACE FOR ARBITRARY FIC REASONS. having to see eachother in their pajamas first thing in the morning, messy haired, drowsy eyed and soft faced. going from “you can have the bathroom first” to brushing their teeth beside eachother and feeling like this closeness has always existed (at the same time, painfully aware that it won’t always). 
  • related to the last one – “"practicing”“ their casual touching so that it’s easier when they’re in public. feeling SWOOPS OF ARDOR AND AGONY when they feel the brush of a hand on their neck, or an arm loop around their waist. don’t you love how fake marrieds/dates are always method actors who must FULLY INHABIT their roles. i love it. i live for it. 
  • bed sharing. :^) we all pretend we’re bigger than this but we are not. 
  • "kiss me while everyone’s looking.”
  • the character who wasn’t aware they were in love (maybe always had been) until the fake relationship is in full swing, realizing they have to sort their feelings out before their time together is up. sometimes they succeed and angst is minimal. most of the time they don’t, really.
  • telling eachother “i love you” in public and meaning it, heart aching over it, but bELIEVING THE OTHER 2 BE ACTING. my soul is still 15, this garbage still gets me. u don’t get pining better than this.
  • the days leading up to the end of the arrangement where one of them, still confused and muddy about their Feelings and unsure how to break things off, stiffens to the casual, reflexive touching and puts their walls back up. the other one accepts and respects this as the end of their agreement and squashes back down all the hope they ever had, stuffs it next to the heartbreak they’re ignoring deep in their chest. 
  • when they realize they’re actually fully and enthusiastically mutual about the way they feel and it’s, like, two parts euphoria and one part agony because they just cannOT BELIEVE, the happiness tears them in two. maybe there are weepy or laughing kisses. i don’t know but i’m usually invested like 2000%. i love fake dating/marrieds. 
  • I LOVE EM.
3

I’m so glad they gave Roadhog a more serious comic about what he thinks of the world after he fought so hard to protect his home. 

And then they did what I’d hope they’d do: 

They showed us how they met. 

And how Junkrat apparently just picks and chooses bodyguards out of random bars to take care of him… I guess it was fate.

Anyway, more importantly:

My favorite part, where he says Junkrat is a liar. 

So Blizzard is interested in giving Junkrat more than just the comic relief role. 

Roadhog says he’s a liar who lies to himself most of all.

Lies to himself about what?

I may be wrong and this may be open to interpretation, but maybe he means Junkrat’s hiding his true feelings about his circumstances, about being “happy” and energetic all the time. 

He’s “not the quiet type” so he lies loudly, as opposed to Mako, who hides the truth by saying nothing at all.

Some people bluster and talk to hide their insecurities or their pain. 

I really like this line. It adds a dimension to Junkrat that I hope we see. 

He’s full of bluster, a yappy little mad max chihuahua with smoking hair, but Mako’s smart enough to see more in him. 

He thinks very little of everyone, based on the previous dialogue:

“They deserve what they get” “World deserves them.”

Mako remembers the past, knows how this wasteland came to be and he’s disgusted by the people who’ve settled into it, who’ve made it their home, because they don’t care about what was lost, only what they can now gain.  

He might be looking for treasure and spoils with Junkrat, but I don’t get the feeling that he cares that much about it. 

Otherwise he wouldn’t claim the queen and the others were just fighting over scraps. 

Again, personal opinion. 

But I think he was just looking for a purpose. 

And a way to strike back at a world that never cared about him, that left him and his people and his home in ruins. 

So going all over the world, wrecking rich people’s shit, stealing gold and pachimaris with Junkrat… yeah, I think he’s doing it not because gold is all he cares about, or even Junkrat’s treasure, whatever it is. 

I mean, he doesn’t even know what Junkrat’s treasure IS here. I doubt it’s just money, that would be lazy of Blizzard. 

I think he’s doing it because he’s still aching over a failed rebellion and has nothing to lose. 

And why did he choose Junkrat to stick with?

Out of all the people in the world he could’ve stuck with?

Because Junkrat is a liar, who lies to himself. 

Because other people it would seem, are liars too, but they keep their lies to themselves, and Mako apparently trusts the “loud” type more than the quiet type. 

And like I said before, because he’s on a quest for revenge, because he wants the civilized world that made his home a living nightmare have a taste of their own medicine. And Junkrat, explosions-extraordinaire, noisy but trustworthy, a real idiot, but an honest one?

Well, it really was meant to be, I guess. 

He took him up on that offer quick, didn’t he?

what if medusa was a real woman. i mean: what if the woman with snakes in her hair was once a tiny girl with beautiful braids in her black hair.

what if the stories came from her smooth hands. when she was six she could make pottery that looked like flowers blooming in your palms. could carefully create replicas of any plant she saw.

and medusa was smart. ran from home, tucked up her hair so it looked short, made herself into a little boy. besides, they liked pretty boys. medusa at school with top grades, sending her unknowable stares at the other men. because the whole time she’s learning the planes of their faces, the way they look while they’re thinking, the slight twist of their hand that meant they were lying. 

medusa going home to sketch every little figure. comes to school in the morning with her hands caked in pottery clay. medusa learns. scrubs dirt on her face to mimic their planes. tilts her head the right way when she’s thinking. doesn’t twist her hand when she’s lying.

in her back yard, a little garden grows. statues of ceramic boys only three feet tall. at first, she can’t quite get the faces right. men are not the same as plants. there is something weird about the proportions she uses. medusa frowns.

she starts making animals instead for a bit, annoyed and disheartened. she’d always just been naturally good at it, and the fact she couldn’t just make something felt as if she’d lost her gift.

she makes cats and dogs and her neighbor’s birds and keeps going.

the snake wasn’t her favorite. he just wouldn’t leave her alone, so she gave up and let him sleep on her in the cold nights. besides, he was a small garden snake, couldn’t even bite her hard, just wanted a place of warmth. she let him rest on the angles of her shoulders, right near her neck, even if he sometimes forgot and held her too hard. that was okay. when she was little, she forgot too, sometimes, and shattered the slim walls of her pottery. the snake had a lot of growing up to do.

she loved no one. not because she was cold-hearted. just because it wasn’t something she wanted. she was busy with her artwork.

she chose an apprenticeship under a master craftsman. his sculptures made her breath stop. she was careful in the workshop, kept her things simple, kept her mouth shut. he called her stupid often. she would duck her head. sometimes she would make mistakes on purpose. all the while he only made sculptures of men. said there was no beauty in women. often made savage remarks about those they saw in the market.

and all the while, she watched him. she watched him and she went home and sketched. this is how his hands were when he made a vine. this is how they were when shaping a nose.

and her back yard garden would grow. little boys became her master, over and over and over, until she could get his jaw right. ceramic became sculpture.

he was who took her to athena’s temple. who shouted at her about how beautiful the statues were against her own. every week he’d come back and shame her. asked how the women there were smarter than the man she was supposed to be. medusa ducked her head and grit her teeth.

in her back yard, she made them. she made every god and goddess she’d seen in the city. her favorite was athena. she ached over her features. had spent so long in the world of men, was blinded by the beauty of women.

it was a black night. and medusa thought her master had left the temple before her. she loosened all the bindings that kept her from breathing. took her hair out. worshiped in peace. placed on athena’s alter a small and beautiful thing. the goddess, head tilted, thinking.

when he found medusa, what made him angry was not her small frame. it was the statute. a delicate thing. much better than the ones he had ever made.

he took it and snapped it in half. threw it deep in the temple’s well to rot. pulled her by her hair. demanded to know where it had come from.

medusa, angry, tired of hiding, tired of late nights and being a boy and pretending: medusa, athena-mad, spat on him. “I did it,” her voice is strong and full of hatred, “A woman made something better than a man could.”

He meant to kill her. To bash her head into the temple steps, claim it was an accident - or better yet, the spite of a god made flesh.

when he grabs her hair, the goddess bites back. athena, patron of creators, patron of the arts, patron of girls and those who are smart - she turns medusa’s hair into snakes. 

it is a quick little thing, darts out and draws blood, almost falls from her hair as a result. she catches the creature and runs, runs until she feels numb.

and what if - while her master is making up a story about poseidon and athena’s rage, explaining medusa’s back yard full of frozen men as being evidence of her evilness - what if medusa finds friends in blind women. and they teach her how to feel what she is seeing. how to use her hands with her eyes closed to make maps of whatever she holds. she starts with plants again. her snake is big now, and has babies. she moves on to their little wiggling forms, amused when they make tiny rings around her fingers. she does not live in a cave. she dresses as a man again, goes to market, sells her roses and vines and beautiful (simple) things. buys herself and the women a nice house out beyond all the noise of it. fills their garden with frozen men.

when the men come to kill her - because now her name is known, it is whispered, sticks in the throat - they don’t find her. they find a tall man who tells them: look in the mountains. when they don’t come back, it’s no fault of medusa’s. frankly, she thinks they should have brought more supplies than their swords into the deep woods. she’s not cruel. when they leave, she makes a statue of them, as her version of a memorial.

but one man is not like the others. he finds her with her hair down, humming, dancing around a marble stone. her snakes are warming in the sun.

medusa? he asks her. it’s a name she hasn’t heard in a long while.

she is tired of being hunted. she just wants to make art. she waits for the sword point. but he hesitates. looks at her full in her face.

strikes a bargain. if she makes him a head for his shield, he will tell the others that she is good and dead. and he will sell her art to better patrons when he could - although he suggests at least hiding the signature she has with maybe a little less snake-like scrawl - he would make her name known.

but medusa knows men. knows they will chomp down on a horror story faster than that of the artist. she is already permanent. she says: no, here’s what happens.

after many months, he has his shield. she wouldn’t let him leave with the first nine hundred versions, always found something wrong with them. he grows fond of her in this time, agrees to her terms. even he can’t really look at the shield head-on. she has captured a scream, a rage, too much. it is so utterly human and at once not that it makes his skin crawl.

where medusa’s blood drops, serpents sprawl. or at least, that’s the code she uses. when he finds little girls who can make art, he sends them to her. 

medusa does not expect to be known for the school that she starts. she is a women artist in a time of men, and her name is already dead to them. but i know medusa. i know her. she is known for her work.

after all, who can speak about medusa without mentioning how she froze the world?

2

Longing

Another Kuroken collaboration​ ~
Story by @nimbus-cloud
Art by @mookie000

Our previous collaboration, Something Old, Something New (x

Fic continues under the read more

“It’s rare for you to prefer sitting outside instead of in away from the bugs,” Kuroo mused softly.

He had finally found Kenma sitting by himself on the hill by the cafeteria building.  His friend was tucked against the roots of a tree, knees pulled up to his chest and his hood pulled down low.  It was late, and the night was cool.  Chilly even, thanks to Kuroo’s freshly-washed hair.  He and Lev had returned to the Nekoma room from their extra practice to find Kenma had ‘gone off somewhere’ according to Yaku.  And although Kuroo doubted that even Kenma could get lost on a school campus, it put his mind at ease to go looking for him.

“You’re not cold?” Kuroo lowered himself onto the grass beside his friend.

Kenma’s only response was to shake his head, bringing his arms up and folding them across his knees.

Ahh… he’s upset about something.

Keep reading

melodrama (track by track)

green light: the haunting revelation of being free after the break up. but you don’t know what to do with that freedom. it’s frightening and beautiful and inspiring and it makes you lonely and excited all at once. you want to dance with friends and scream out the car window but you hit every red light just at the mere thought of ever moving on.

sober: depression and anxiety is wasting away your youth. you live for the weekend to come. you live for any kind of buzz. you sleep until the bright orange afternoon creeps into your window. but the night is always there for you. the parties, the confetti and the blue lights that rain down, is all worth it in the moment. until you realize you’re all alone.

homemade dynamite: all your decisions and all your actions are self destructive. every bottle of liquor you finish and every house you destroy, you know it’s a form of self hate. but it’s how you cope through all the bullshit.

the louvre: a evening drive through the city with your lover. the day is warm and the tar on the road is hot. the window is down and the air feels liberating. you want to love them forever. but it’s a sunday and your stomach sinks and nothing lasts forever. and now your at a house party months later and everyone is high and the music is booming and you see your ex across the room and you feel like you know no one there and you want to hide away so you leave and no one notices anyways.

liability: you blame the break up on all your insecurities. you blame it all on the way you’d call them every night crying. you think that maybe your sadness is contagious. you should’ve known to sterilize yourself from the start.

hard feelings/loveless: you pack up everything that belonged to them and put it into a box. you practice not having their name on your tongue. you attempt to forget the taste of them. you consider holding on and staying friends, but that anger overrules and you throw that box off the highway bridge. you’re over the aching and now you moved onto the hard feelings. you want to blame them for everything. summer nights are too long. mornings are empty without their texts of “good morning” and you taste this endless nostalgia for the rest of your life. but you don’t let them see this side of you. you let them see the anger. you let them think you’re indestructible.

sober II: growing up with drama stuffed inside of you like all the drugs and alcohol you consume, is tiring. you go through the motions and you nod to their questions and laugh at their jokes. but you know that this misery and that this young love is timeless. so you continue to go through the expected motions.

writer in the dark: that hollow ache in your chest when you realize that the break up is permanent, that this feeling of loss is forever. that nervous ache as you stalk their snapchat and Instagram and any other social media outlet, trying to see if they found someone else. that obsessive need to know if they still miss you, if they still love you and need you. that sickening feeling that makes you numb as you send them text after text but they never reply.

supercut: all the memories are blurry footage winding through your head. the time you ran down the hill, drunk. the time you said “I love you.” the time you looked at them on the roof of the car while you thought “I’m gonna be with you forever..” all the memories are fast forwarding and rewinding and pausing in your head and it is perfect and it is never going to happen again.

liability (reprise): you warned them from the very start. but did you ever listen when they warned you?

perfect places: everyone has a perfect place that is their getaway. but the reason for getting away isn’t perfect. it’s ugly and damaging and it’s cold nights like this that make you realize that nothing will ever be perfect. only for the moment will it seem like a person or a place can be your sanctuary. but the feeling never goes away. remember that.

Reasons to adopt Otabek

iNow that everyone has been revived after getting ‘good’ slaughtered by victuuri in ep.10, do you have some time to talk about Otabek Altin? The precious cinnamon roll and Yurio’s new friend?

Let’s get to know this Dark Horse.

Originally posted by sarapyon

So he’s 18, he was the first to qualify for GPF, won last season’s bronze and represents Kazakhstan.  

Many of you might not even be aware of the existence of this country, so in brief: Kazakhstan is a post USSR country in the centre of Eurasia, right between Russia, China, Middle East and Europe continent.

So, why would Kubo-sensei even include someone from there?
The answer is Kazakhstan’s real life figure skating hero - Denis Ten.

Originally posted by fyeahskatinggifs

Originally posted by hanyuedits

Denis Ten is: 

  • the first skater to represent KZ in international championships  
  • currently 23 years old
  • is from Kazakhstan but of a Korean origin
  • Olympic bronze medalist, World silver and bronze medalist, 4 Continents gold medalist, Asia Winter Sports gold medalist
  • cinnamon roll like you wouldn’t believe how sweet

Otabek is definitely inspired by Denis, and therefore I will take his perspective to judge his background.

The thing about sport athletes in Kazakhstan is that they’re ALWAYS self-made. Neither education system nor sports practice is well-developped here yet. Which is understandable since the country is still young (25 years of Independance, yay) and confused in many aspects. That’s not fine but we manage. That however does not change the fact that Kazakh sport education is a complete bullshit when compared to Europe, USA, Asia or Russia (with the exception of boxing and martial arts, probably). 

Therefore if you are from KZ and want a world champion for a kid, these are the steps you need to take:
1. Sign them up for sports club early. No team sports, only individual. Team sports have no future here yet.
2. Once they start to show a talent, interest and/or competitive spirit send them to Russia. Russia has better coaches, facilities and programme. Russia is close, cheap and easy to travel to, and not emotionally stressing for the kid, since it’s the same environment there. 
3. Once they come of an age to participate in a competition SEND THEM AS FAR AS YOUR BUDGET ALLOWS YOU. USA and Canada for figure skating. USA, Europe and Australia for swimming and tennis. Why? Because it’s one thing to train in your rivals’ adobe, all of them young talented and ambitious, being coached by their coach, at the same time as them, and completely other thing to be enrolled in a kind of sports boarding school where the coach is from some France and other students are from all over the world, struggling to get better same as you. Goverment does not provide any stable scholarships for this, btw. It’s all up to parents to find, choose and pay for. If you happen to have a kind, well-educated and persistant coach in KZ, they might win you some bonuses in a harsh battle against bureaucracy, but it will not be enough to cover for all or even half of it. 

LAST YEAR!!!! You hear me?? He was 17, and already a bronze medalist when he returned to his hometown!! 

That means that all the time before he spent overseas. Can you imagine that?? A 13-16 year old Otabek in another hemisphere from his home. That’s like half an equator, one ocean and 11-14 timezones away. 

a l l   b y   h i m s e l f

struggling with language barrier (think he had time to perfect his English before? not likely), with harsh training and obligatory schoolwork - all on top of taking care of himself all by himself.  

Can you imagine Otabek coming back on one of those days to an epmty room in a dorm and messages from his family. Calls might be very hard to time up with such time diference. His mom inquiring how he has been, if he eats properly and does his laundry in time, scheduling for skype calls, updating him on his relatives and friends, giving advice on treating colds and stomach ache, and all those other things that most of the boys his age get for granted. 

My heart aches over thinking how lonely he must’ve felt. 

And, he probably wouldn’t be able to tell them, if anything would not go well. Because there would be nothing they could do from over there, it would only cause them to worry more. Even more than they already would have been.

So there was only one way for him: to suck it up, train hard, suceed and make them proud.

He is not trying to prove himself to himself as Yuuri, nor does he need to prove himself over others like Yurio. He doesn’t want it for fame like JJ, he wants it for his family, his people and his country. That’s any Kazakh’s default mission in life - make your parents proud. Especially after he had returned home with a medal and proved himself to be capable of competing at the same level as Victor fucking Nikiforov and Christophe Jeacometti!!!!!! Him! A Kazakh boy of 17 years!! Kubo-sensei does not joke around when calling him a hero, because he is one! A hero and a history-maker, same as Phichit.

We haven’t seen his coach or team yet, but I have a feeling that it would be the same situation as Denis’s. Meaning, he doesn’t have one. 

Denis Ten often travels (or used to travel) to the competitions by himself. There is no staff assigned to help him out. He is used to do trivial things like filling paper forms, booking time for practice, booking hotels, turning in audio tracks for the performance, etc. There have been numerous times when they had either messed up the music at the start of his performance or even played the wrong hymn during the awards ceremony. In his interview, Denis admitted to being totally lost at what to do at those time. There’s also no one to defend/protect him when something comes up, since there’s no one from KZ who has a weight in figure skating world. 

I have a distinctive feeling Otabek will be the same.  

I mean, how the hell would he be comfortable enough to rent a bike and ride all over Bar-freaking-celona, with no fear to get lost/in trouble, if he wasn’t used to this kind of responsibilities? Again, he’s 18. 

At the same time Yurio is like: 

 

Therefore his friendship with Yurio is truly a blessing. They do have a lot in common, they’re practically from the same background: the lifestyle in KZ and Russia does not really differ. It’s the same culture, the same language (KZ is bilinguial: both Kazakh and Russian are widely spoken), a really similar mindset, educational system, environment, custom etc. They’re both outsiders in the current lineup, striving to make a name for themselves. It’s almost the same as 5 years ago in that camp when both Otabek and Yurio were new to the rink in Saint-Petersburg. That’s what Otabek referring to, I think, when he says Yurio had eyes of a soldier. In that environment they’d be both treated the same, you know. Otabek as a no one from nowhere and Yurio as a that guy from Moscow. Not even sure what’d have been worse.

Also there’s a post going around about bad realtion between Russians and Kazakhs, stressing that Kazakh is an inferior race to Russians - PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE DO NOT BELIEVE IT THAT IS NOT TRUE!!!!!!! 

Our nations have always been close, we have a long and complicated history but the friendship between two countries and people is very strong. 

There are some issues in terms of racism on both sides but it is very rare/obscure case and is usually triggered by something.

Therefore I ask you to support Otabek Altin and his friendship with Yurochka!
Please do adopt him! Please do dote on him! He really deserves and needs that! 

Originally posted by christinophern

and if you have some more feels to spare, please take a look at  Denis Ten too :3  

Thank you for reading, 
with love from Kazakhstan

Some of my favourite moments from Call Me by Your Name (the film):

1. Elio sneaking into Oliver’s room to sniff his shorts. He puts the shorts on his head and inhales the crotch like he’s taking his last breath on this earth. You’d think this scene would be played for laughs but Timothée is dead serious. He gets on all fours and sticks his ass in the air and you know exactly what he’s thinking. IT’S SO HOT HELP

2. When Elio and Oliver change into their bathing suits and we see both their asses. Incredible.

3. Dancing to The Psychedelic Furs. Oliver is an 80s god on the dance floor. Just when you think this scene can’t get any better, Elio busts out his own little moves and completely steals the show! Bless.  

4. Elio shaving his non-existent mustache before dinner and then Oliver doesn’t bother to show up! AHAHAHAHAHAHAH

5. Mrs. Perlman saying Vimini’s line about Oliver liking Elio. Nice work, Mrs. P!

6. Elio licking Oliver’s mouth the very first time they kiss. TIMOTHÉE CHALAMET WHAT ARE YOU?

7. When Elio gets the nosebleed Oliver massages his feet to make him feel better. He’s pretty rough so Elio moans (!!!) and grabs his shoulder. Then he starts caressing Oliver’s neck. THEN OLIVER KISSES THE TOP OF ELIO’S FOOT. Play this at my funeral.  

8. Marzia laughing hysterically at Elio when they have sex and he comes too soon. DRAG HIM.

9. André Aciman and Peter Spears’ cameo as the gay couple from Chicago. I want to hug everyone in this scene!  

10. Elio and Oliver kissing before they have sex for the first time. Nothing could have prepared me for this. Elio throws his body at Oliver and climbs him like a fucking tree. OUR SON IS AN ANIMAL

11. When Elio cries during the peach scene and Oliver holds him. The purest thing I will ever know in this life.

12. Winter Elio wears a beret! Why wasn’t I told!?

13. When they speak on the phone during Christmas and Oliver tells him that he’s getting married. Elio calls Oliver by his name over and over until your heart aches, “Elio, Elio, Elio.” Oliver then calls Elio by his name once, “Oliver,” and it destroyed me.  

in which jack bodyswaps with his older self and realizes his priorities

CW: mention of panic attack, dubious consent (kissing, being in bed with a naked person who doesn’t realize you’re not 100% the person they think you are), anxiety (year 1 Jack)


When Jack went to bed that night, he only spared a moment within his post-panic-attack stupor to feel slightly remorseful for what he’d said to Bittle after the game.

When he awoke, he wasn’t alone.

Keep reading

Just because we broke up doesn’t mean I’m going to regret being with you. I’m not going to regret getting hurt, or crying over you. My heart aches and my throats feels like I’m choking on my own oxygen, but that’s fine. I knew what I signed up for whenever I said yes, and because we both knew deep down it wouldn’t last. But if I could go back to the first day I ever fell in love with you, I’d go back in a heartbeat to relive every memory we ever made. You were the best god damn thing that ever happened to me.
—  An excerpt from a book I’ll never write. (#56)

The time I spent trying to get over you
Is too much time I have spent
Under your spell
I wouldn’t call it a waste
But it wasn’t well.

The time I spent trying to get over you
Is too much time I have spent
Hating myself
For not being enough for you to stay

The time I spent trying to get over you
Is too much time I have spent
And I don’t regret it, it was not a waste
For now I not only love myself
But I wish you, well.

—  Drunk at 2am
BTS making you squirt for the first time

“Can you do a reaction with Bts of them being the first person to ever make you squirt?” - anon

Happily!  I hope you enjoy! XOXO - Lace


Seokjin

Your grip on his hair tightens as you feel the unfamiliar pressure just north of your heat begin to release.  His thrusts never halting as he brings himself over the edge with you.  As you both come down from your highs, he kisses you sweetly on the lips. 

“I’ve never seen you do that before,” he says in reference to the bit of liquid that flowed out of you during your orgasm.

“It’s never happened before.”

Jin’s look of slight surprise quickly turns into one of pride.

“I’m happy I’m the first one to make you feel so good.”


Yoongi

“Ah, oppa…" 

You moan as you feel your high getting closer by the second.  Your back arches, pressing your body even closer to Yoongi’s as the pace of his hips continues to get overwhelmingly faster.  He suddenly stops his movements when he feels something gush over his aching member upon your release.  Seeing you beneath him, squirming as you drag your nails across his back, is enough to make him almost collapse on top of you with the power of his own orgasm. 

“That was new,” he said finally catching his breath after a while.

“We should try for that more often.”


Hoseok

His fingers are becoming too much for you to bare.  With a wave of heat rushing over you, you knew you were getting close.  Everything about this moment is only adding on to the great pleasure you’re feeling.  You back against the wall, your hands being held firmly above your head, and Hoseok’s fingers hitting your g-spot every second like clockwork while his lips work at your neck.   You become fully aware of everything happening at once and that’s it, you’re done.  Your legs begin to shake to the point where he has to press his body against your’s in order to keep you standing.  He feels a large amount of wetness hit his hand, but it doesn’t phase him for a minute.  He guides you down from your high before removing his hand.  He looks at his drenched hand and at the small puddle on the floor before looking at you and laughing lightly to himself. 

“Did I make my baby girl feel that good?”


Namjoon

“I’m close baby…”

Hearing his words combined with the tight grip he has on your hips as he controls your movements on top of him, it’s all so good.  Before you even have time to process everything, you throw your head back in pure ecstasy.  You place your hands behind you on Namjoon’s knees to support your shaking form.  Seeing you this way and feeling your warm juices flowing over his hips and onto the bedsheets below, god it’s breathtaking for him.  He explodes inside of you with a groan of pleasure.  As both of your breaths become more relaxed, you collapse on top of his chest.  You feel him vibrate as he chuckles, looking at the messy sheets.

“I like your new trick, baby.  Let’s just maybe get a towel next time, yeh?”


Jimin

You feel your muscles tighten around him which only causes him to be pushed agonizingly closer to his end.  With one hand at the side of your head against the shower tile wall and the other wrapped around your back pulling you closer, you hear your name breathlessly slip from his mouth as he cums.  His relentless pounding not ceasing or losing rhythm for a moment is exactly what you need.  You lean your head on his shoulder as your orgasm rocks through you from head to toe.  You juices come flowing out, only to be mixed with the stream of the shower and promptly washed down the drain. 

“I’m glad we’re in the shower,” he says after a few moments. 

“Easy cleanup."  He shoots a smug wink at you before kissing you sweetly.


Taehyung

"Taehyung, ah…please don’t stop…”

You lean your head back against his shoulder.  The feeling of two of his long, slim fingers wreaking havoc on your g-spot as he tells you what a good girl you are is a feeling that is unmatched.  Your stomach tighten and your hips begin to move with his hand, your eyes screw shut in pure bliss. 

“Does that feel good, baby?”

Unable to speak, your soon arched form answered enough.  Your pleasure comes flowing out of you both verbally and and physically.   Taehyung slows his pace you ease you back down, all the while looking at the new wet spot on the couch cushions you were both sitting on.

“I didn’t know my princess could do that.  You never stop surprising me,” he says with a smile and a giggle as he places a soft kiss on your temple.


Jungkook

You feel your stomach tighten and your skin feels like it’s on fire.  You pull harder on the strands of Jungkook’s hair that are currently laced through your fingers.  He stops at your clit after he licks a few stripes up and down your heat as he slips two fingers in your entrance.  It’s clear he knows exactly what you need as he begins to curl his fingers against your sweet spot.  It didn’t take long after he’d started sucking on your clit for you to meet your finale.  A gasp of air sounding somewhat like his name comes from the back of your throat as your juices cover his chin and shirt.  Your breathing steadies and he leans back from between your legs to examine his soaked-through t-shirt.  A visible smirk appears on his face.

“I was planning to strip anyway.”


I hope you enjoyed! XOXO - Lace

Slow and Steady

Word count: 1,236

Warning: LOTS of fluff, smut, oral (female receiving)

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Request/Summary: Thank you for your request (I’m so sorry I just re-read the request and it said massage, not shower, but oh well. I probably should have done that before but I could have sworn it said shower.)

After a particularly rough hunt Sam takes good care of the reader in more ways than one.

Originally posted by out-in-the-open

It had been a particularly difficult and strenuous case, but it was finally over. All of your muscles ached, you were bleeding from what seemed to be everywhere, and dirt and grime covered your body. After making it back to the motel you slumped onto the bed, relishing in the sweet rock-hardness of the mattress and the course brush of the cheap sheets against your tired skin. Dean had gone to his room, refusing to drive you back to the bunker until you had all had a night’s rest and recovery. Sam returned to the room half an hour later once he had patched Dean up and vice versa.

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Early Morning

Summary: Lance seems to have found his soft spot, thanks to you.

Pairing: Lance Tucker x reader

Warnings: Language; very vague mentions of physical domestic abuse

Word Count: 2,650 (sorry)

A/N: Here is my entry for @marvelous-fvcks’ writing challenge! My prompt was “Stay here tonight.” Note: flashback is set aside, in italics. Hopefully you all enjoy some more soft, caring Lance, because he’s my favorite. | masterlist


Originally posted by love-buckybarnes


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If You Stayed

Peter Parker x Reader

Prompts:
“I love your freckles.” “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, do you?” “I’d like it if you stayed.”
Or in this case: the truth comes out.

Summary: Peter finally feels like he’s in the right place to tell you what he does. Intimacy helps that along. The first time. And maybe a second. Peter is 19/20ish.

Part I  Part II  Part III Part IV Part V  Part VI

Warnings: A lot of very heavy, very obvious insinuation. Listen, I don’t write smut, I write lovin, because let’s be real here guys, that boy would be the sweetest.


As your brain emerged from the foggy, comfortable place of sleep, the first sensation you recognized was that of the light of the sun beaming in through your bedroom window, the warmth of it enveloping your skin. The backs of your eyelids flashing in time with the clouds as they lazily drifted past the sun. Your ears took in the signs of life outside your window: car engines and their various rumblings, the loud pumping siren of horns as one too many motorists signaled their impatience, the chiming bell of a bicycle, the yip of a dog, and the pealing laughter of a woman and child.

Then there was the lovely sound of the steady, familiar breaths being taken by the body next to yours.

You smiled tenderly as the happenings of the last couple of hours played out on the darkened screens of your lids; your memories fresh, your heart light as it floated within your chest.


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Summary: Five snapshots of Jughead’s and Betty’s life when Jughead had nowhere to stay and Betty was hiding him in her room. 

Read on AO3

(Okay, I know this is long; I know. But seriously I can’t help the fact that I want to fill entire books with how adorably cute those two are! <3 So grab your snacks and drinks and dive in hahaha! Also I’m sorry if there are any typos, it’s really late and I’m way tired to notice my mistakes. I hope you all like it guys!!!) 


Two days had passed since the night Betty Cooper had stormed inside the Blue & Gold office like a wild force of nature, catching Jughead on the act as well as learning about his secret of not having a place of his own anymore, and coexisting under the same roof was going smoothly for the two friends. Every morning they would wake up way earlier than most people in their town, and especially than Betty’s parents, and Jughead, although not being a morning person, would sneak out with a grateful smile plastered on his lips and hands full with every new snack Betty seemed to always prepare for him, and every night she would sneak him back in once she knew her parents were retired to their bedroom for the night. Their system seemed to be flawless.

Today was a low-key Wednesday night and the first time they had the house entirely to themselves, since the Coopers had yet another late night at the newspaper, the two teens finally enjoying some peace and quiet without closed doors and hush whispers. Betty was sprawled over the bed, text books and colorful markers all around her as the blonde girl was trying to finish her homework, elbow holding herself up and chin resting on her palm, head aching over an answer sheet and calves crossing and uncrossing behind her. Jughead was over the window with blinds shut – he had made Betty promise that his secret would stay between them – sitting comfortably on her white desk chair and having his long legs crossed at the ankles, outstretched against the wooden window frame, while typing furiously on his laptop that rested on his lap. Since no one was at home he didn’t have to lurk at his usual booth at Pop’s. Plus, he found Betty’s presence a very good remedy for writer’s block.

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Woman - Bucky x Reader - One Shot

A/N - Woman by Harry Styles was a huge inspiration for this song and my imagination.

Bucky x Reader - You want to play office.

Warnings: Smut.

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lamniformes  asked:

How do you move on from someone you're deeply in love with?

It’s possible to move on from someone, even if your heart refuses to let go. And it’s not something you need to consciously do. It will just happen gradually, over time. The ache will always be there but the intensity will fade and you’ll find other beautiful things to fill your days with.