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oh my god.

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I love that Jimmy Olsen is exactly the type of photographer Peter Parker pretends to be. Just bat-shit insane.

Whenever someone asks Peter how he took a picture he's like "Oh! I uh-, climmed a flagpole. Totally"

And very mortal, normal-human Jimmy is like "See, Clark, is not that weird"

I mean, look at this nutjob.

The world could be ending, lava on the streets and Jimmy would be out there photographing away. No powers, no sense of self preservation. Just khakis, a camera and a dream.

I like to imagine Peter meeting Jimmy and immediately being mortified about it.

Jimmy: –and so luckily I was able to take the picture before the building collapsed on me... Superman was super pissed at me but, photographer to photographer, it was totally worth it.

Peter: Right, no– See, this is actually my first time hearing how fucking insane that sounds. No wonder people at work look at me weird.

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ready | joaquín torres x f!reader

pairing: joaquín torres x f!reader

summary: Joaquín's packing (😉) and you're impatient.

content: 18+ content minors dni!!!!, PinV unprotected (please use protection!!!!!!) intercourse, reader has afab genitalia, size kink, dirty talk, pet names ("baby", different variations of "my girl"), doggy style, kinda brat tamer!joaquín, creampie

note: this is just a lil porn w/o plot baby-fic—i have nothing to say for myself. filthy asf. no use of (Y/N). established relationship. joaquín def says "i love you" when he comes sorry i don't make the rules. this was crosspossted on ao3.

word count: 1121

“I’m more than ready, Quíno, come on.” Your voice was slightly muffled from the way your face was pressed into the mattress. 

“I know, I know,” Joaquín tutted softly from behind you. “Just making sure.” He ran both palms over the round globes of your ass. “I don’t wanna hurt my girl.”

Leave it to him to have you blushing at his words even when you were naked and ass-up in his bed.

You’d practically jumped on him the moment you walked through the door after dinner, tugging his cock out of his nice slacks. “Woah, baby,” he’d laughed against your lips. “Slow down, I gotta get you ready for me.”

So, here you were, nearly thirty minutes and two of his thick fingers later. To say you were growing impatient would’ve been an understatement.

“It won’t. And I mean, it’s okay if it does.” You peeked at him over your shoulder, voice growing quieter as you continued, “I want it to hurt a little.”

“Fuck.” You watched as he swallowed deeply, tugging one of his big hands down the length of his cock. ��You can’t say shit like that.”

“Can’t say shit like what? Like I wanna feel you splitting me open?” You made sure to lock eyes with him over your shoulder. “It’s all I could think about earlier at dinner. How bad I just wanted to crawl into your lap and bounce on your fat—oh!”

Joaquín pressed the head of his cock into your tight hole. “Hm? What were you saying, baby?”

You only nuzzled your face into the mattress. “Keep going.” You attempted to grind back against him, but he quickly grabbed your hip.

“What’d I tell you, hm?” He pulled it out, just to sink the tip back in, thrusting shallowly.

You whined. “Please, please—”

“No, I don’t think that’s what I said.” 

“I’m ready.” You knew you should’ve been embarrassed at the desperation in your tone, but you were already too cock-drunk to care.

He released your hip to plant a smack across your ass, still fucking you with the tip of his dick. “What’d I say?”

“More, please, please, please,” you were practically blubbering. “I need it.”

“You need it? Baby, I just…I dunno.” His voice had a mocking lilt to it as he paused, pretending to be in deep thought. “You can’t see what I see back here—looks like this cock’s about to split your little pussy open.”

You whined into the mattress. “Please, I want it to split me open. I need it to. I need it so bad. I’m so wet for you, please, please—”

You practically sobbed as he slammed into you, the loud squelch of your pussy paired with the smack of his thighs hitting your ass was downright pornographic. 

“This what you wanted?” He pulled out to slam all the way back in, leaving you gasping for breath. “Little pussy’s sucking me right in, baby, fuck.” He set a slow but deep pace, one hand pressed against the small of your back, keeping your back curved into an arch, while the other stayed glued to your hip. 

With a shuddering breath, you reached back, hand searching for him. “It—it’s so big.”

He moved his hand from your back to clutch your own. “I know, but you’re taking it so well.”

“H-Hurts so good.”

“Fuck,” Joaquín swore, grip tightening on your hand as he quickened his pace. “You don’t know what you do to me, baby.”

Your nails dug into his hand, grinding back against him. The heavy weight of his balls smacked against your clit with every thrust, drawing desperate whimpers from your throat.

“There's my girl. My dirty girl. You like it when it hurts, huh?”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh.” You furiously nodded your head against the mattress. “Wanna feel you for days after.”

“Fuck, baby.” His hips stuttered against your own, but he swiftly regained his steady pace, pressing deep into you. “Play with yourself.” He removed his hand from your own as you scrambled to circle two fingers around your clit.

He used his now-free hand to clutch your shoulder, nestling further into your warm cunt and hitting that spongy spot that had you nearly screaming. “That the spot, baby? Right there?”

He continued to bruise your g-spot as you practically sobbed into the mattress, words jumbling together. “Fuck, yes, right there, right there, don’t stopdon’tstopdon’tstop—”

“‘M not stopping, I got you. Just play with that clit—fuck, you’re so fucking wet.” Hearing the obscene squelching made it easy for you to imagine the way your juices were covering his thick shaft, leaving a white ring around the base of him.

Just the idea of it had your orgasm sneak up and hit you like a freight train, leaving you shuddering and clenching around Joaquín’s thick cock as you came. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m coming, I’m coming.”

“That’s right, come all over this big fucking cock.” He began pounding relentlessly, leaving you squealing. “Fucking soaking my dick, can feel it dripping down my balls—fuck.”

Your mouth hung open as you panted into the bed, overstimulation creeping in.

“I’m close, baby, just a little more. My sweet girl’s so good for me, fuck. My good girl, my baby, I love you so much, baby. I fuckin’ love you.” He leaned over, chest pressing against your back and arms wrapping around you.

He held you tight against him as he spilled deep inside you, flicking your hair over your shoulder to plant sloppy kisses along your shoulder and back. “You okay?” He murmured against your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you answered, a lazy smile on your face. “But my legs are about to give out.”

He quickly shifted off you, flipping back onto the bed, with a quick “Sorry!” as he tugged you into his side.

You rested against his bicep with your eyes shut and a sated smile on your face. “That was good. Really good.”

“Yeah?” He laughed a little, raising a hand to brush your hair, which was sticking to your forehead with sweat, out of your face.

“Yeah.” You snuggled further into his ribcage. “But I really gotta go to the bathroom. I can feel you leaking out of—” He abruptly pulled you onto his chest, making you squeal. “Joaquín!”

“I know, I know.” He buried his face into your neck, teasingly nipping at the soft flesh there. “Just lie with me for a second.”

You inhaled deeply into his chest; the smell of his soap paired with the musky scent that only came after sex was intoxicating. Wrapping your arms around him, you nodded.

“By the way,” you said with a smile, chin resting against his chest as you looked up at him. “I love you too.”

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did an hour ish study based on the concept art yesterday

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FINALLY!!!!!

(via michael mando’s instagram, captioned: st!ng #spiderman)

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#Love him

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The BlackHawks football champions for @avalencias 🤭

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LMFAOOOO

Bucky says this to make fun of him

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this is so cute i’m sobbing

Orbit ☽｡⋆

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x GN!Reader

Summary: You loved solitude, so, naturally, you end up with one of the clingiest boyfriends to ever walk the Earth. You wouldn’t change him for the world.

Warnings: None, very fluffy, very domestic, he is so incredibly babygirl to me.

Navigation | Prompt List | Requested

You’re the kind of person who thrives in silence. Not the eerie, heavy kind, but rather the weightless hush of early mornings before the world has had its coffee. The kind of quiet where you can hear your own thoughts echo back at you, and everything makes a little more sense. You like the way solitude fits you like a well-worn sweater. A space to breathe, to think, and just to be.

So, naturally, you fell in love with a man who treats personal space like a shared resource. Joaquin doesn’t just walk into a room. He enters like he’s always belonged in it, like it’s never been quite right without him. And somehow, he always manages to make it better. Warmer. Lighter.

You’ve never met someone who operates like gravity the way he does. Like you don’t even realise you’ve started leaning towards him until you’re already in his orbit.

It used to drive you a little bit mad. The way he’d end up pressed to your side on the couch, full of casual affection. The way he’d slide into the kitchen behind you just to rest his chin on your shoulder and say ‘whatcha making?’ even when the answer was very obviously toast. The way his knees bumped yours under the table like it was his version of Morse code.

Joaquin Torres is a barnacle. A charming, golden-hearted barnacle. And you, reluctantly and then all at once, grew fond of the barnacle life.

Saturday mornings are Joaquin’s favorite. He’ll never say that out loud, not in so many words. But, it’s more than obvious in the way he lingers in bed just a little too long, humming under his breath, nosing at your shoulder like some overgrown, needy cat. It’s in the way his arms snake around your waist when you try to get up, anchoring you back to him with a lazy groan of protest.

“Stay,” Joaquin mumbles into your shirt, muffled and warm.

“Baby, I need to pee,” you laugh, gently prying at his arms.

“Betrayal,” Joaquin whispers, dramatically. “Is this what our love has come to?”

You untangle yourself with all the grace of a tired octopus, padding to the bathroom while Joaquin turns and flops face-first into your pillow like the world’s most dramatic boyfriend.

By the time you return, Joaquin has commandeered your side of the bed entirely, limbs sprawled like a starfish, blanket kicked off halfway. The sun’s made a golden square across the sheets, and his hair, ever disobedient, is sticking up in odd angles. He looks up at you when you climb back in, all slow-blinking affection.

“Mornin’,” he says, voice still rough with sleep.

“Good morning,” you reply, pressing a kiss to the edge of his jaw, just because.

Joaquin grins, eyes closing again, and that’s how you spend the next twenty minutes, with your limbs tangled, skin warm, the world held at arm’s length.

You’ve never been a morning cuddler. You’re the type to wake up and immediately crave space. Clarity. A cup of coffee in silence, maybe the gentle sound of birds through the window. You used to slip out of bed like a ghost, careful not to wake anyone.

But, Joaquin changed that.

Now, you find yourself lingering. Letting yourself be pulled back into the gravity of him. You’ve learned to love the way he holds you like something precious and irreplaceable. Like your heartbeat is something he needs to sync his own to in order to keep it steady.

The kitchen is your sanctuary. Everything in it is arranged by you, from alphabetised spices, stacked mugs in their allocated corners, cutting boards cleaned and leaned against the backsplash at perfect angles. It’s not about control, exactly. Just peace. Order. A quiet kind of joy.

So naturally, Joaquin makes it his mission to invade it at every opportunity.

“You don’t need to be here,” you tell Joaquin one evening, as he looms behind you while you stir pasta.

“I want to be here,” he says, resting his chin atop your head with an exaggerated sigh. “You smell like garlic and joy.”

“You’re bothering me.”

“Am I?” Joaquin asks, arms wrapping around your middle, lips grazing your ear. “Or am I enhancing the experience?”

“You’re going to get hot oil on your face.”

“Worth it.”

You elbow him gently, but don’t tell him to leave. Because, the truth is, you kind of like the way he’s always there. It’s maddening and sweet and weirdly grounding. He makes the space feel alive, like the scent of basil and the sound of his laugh belong together. You pass him a spoon to taste, and he dips it into the sauce with great ceremony.

“Mmm. Yup. That’s marriage material right there,” Joaquin declares, eyes sparkling.

“You say that every time I cook something edible.”

“And I’ll keep saying it until we have a courthouse date, beautiful.”

Your cheeks heat, even though he’s said it a dozen times before. You roll your eyes, and he beams like he’s won something.

You’re curled up on the couch that evening, legs tucked beneath you, a book open in your lap. Joaquin flops down beside you, entirely uninvited, entirely unsurprising

You’re three chapters in and doing your best to focus, but it’s hard when he keeps scooting closer in tiny increments. First it’s a knee brushing yours. Then a shoulder leaning in. Then an arm slung casually over the back of the couch.

Joaquin doesn’t say anything. Just orbits. Eventually, he rests his chin on your shoulder and sighs dramatically. You glance at him from the corner of your eye.

“Yes?”

“I’m bored.”

“I told you to watch your show.”

“It’s not fun without you.”

You close your book with a resigned sigh. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m adorable,” Joaquin corrects, eyes wide with feigned innocence.

“You’re both.”

Joaquin grins, triumphant, and curls into your side like a loyal puppy. You stroke his hair absently, and he hums like a man thoroughly pleased with his life choices.

You used to think you needed solitude to feel whole. That space was sacred. A kind of armor. Joaquin never tried to break it, he just made room for himself inside it. With patience. With laughter. With all the warmth of someone who never needed to be invited because his love was always soft and sure and certain. You didn’t know how much you needed that until he gave it to you.

One afternoon, you catch Joaquin reorganising your bookshelf. It should set off alarm bells. You’re territorial about your books. They’ve been curated with the kind of precision normally reserved for museum exhibits.

Joaquin is squatting on the floor, tongue poking out in concentration, rearranging them by vibe of all things.

“I’m switching it up,” Joaquin says when he notices that you’re stood there staring. “This shelf is books you’ve cried over but keep recommending anyway. This one is things that feel like late autumn in New York. This one is sapphic yearning with a lot of trauma.”

You stare at him incredulously.

Joaquin just grins. “You like it?”

You open your mouth to argue. To say something about spines being even or the sanctity of the color gradient. But, then you see it. The way Joaquin’s fingers linger on the cover of your favorite novel. The way he’s handled your books with the same delicate care he gives to old flight gear or archived Falcon wings.

You close your mouth, cross the room, and kiss him stupid.

Joaquin blinks up at you afterward, dazed. “So, that’s a yes?”

“Touch them ever again and you die,” you reply, deadpan, but unable to suppress a loving grin.

“Fair. Noted. Love you.”

“Love you more,” you say, and mean it so hard your ribs ache.

You wake up one night and find Joaquin on the balcony. He’s leaning against the railing, barefoot in one of your oversized sweatshirts, hair tousled from sleep. The city hums softly below, streetlights blinking, a distant siren wailing, the quiet heartbeat of something bigger than both of you. You step out beside him, arms crossed to ward off the chill.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “Too quiet without you.” You bump your shoulder into his. He reaches for your hand without looking, fingers intertwining easily.

“I used to love my own space,” you murmur.

“Used to?”

“Now I just love sharing it with you.”

Joaquin smiles, soft and sleepy and full of something that feels like forever. “I promise I’ll always make room for you too,” he says.

And in that moment, with the city below and the stars overhead and Joaquin’s hand warm in yours, you believe him.

You still love your space. The quiet. The stillness. The little sanctuaries of your mind that no one else gets to see. But now, they’re filled with pieces of him. A hoodie slung over your desk chair. A mug with his initials beside yours. You wouldn’t change it for the world.

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was already trying not to lose it in the theater about to watch f4……….

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i have caught a jeremy allen white brainworm omgmgmgmgkfkskekmdkxc what a man

(i have not shut up about this man in months just ask @tinkcantwrite)

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they are best friends

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just finished superman and i just wanted to come clean to everyone…i’m actually a monkey posting from inside a pocket dimension

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happy falcon friday everybody, here are some random danny pics from my camera roll please enjoy

s/n: danny reposted my story to his story so i’m freaking out

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for the piano tiles trend on tiktok but I just really liked how I drew sam so tada

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