#*whimpering*

[officalgeorgestaniel]

as per the tags on my previous reblog, i would like to write a himbo George fic cos that is the vibe that he brings to the function.

[onecooooooolcat]

suddenly very nauseated and in slight pain again yeeee

[tenderheartedbrat]

[delicatelymorbid]

fingering a shy girl and telling her how pretty she is and how perfect she feels around my fingers while pretending to not know why she’s so whiny

[lqte4class]

has this been done already

[justghostthings]

Being disgustingly perverted is also actually extremely romantic

[dumbgoonpup]

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Boys whose voices get higher and whinier while ur fucking them I love you. Boys who speak in a lower register when they're around their friends but lose control when they're begging and whimpering for me I love youuuu

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

[o3o-lapd-o3o]

*after the events of the odyssey*

*telemachus and odysseus walking down to the docks, after odysseus said he'd go sailing with his son*

(listen the man had missed 20 years of his son's life, he could ask ody to dress in drag & do the hula and odysseus would already be shouting "LUAU" in a grass skirt before tele finished his sentence)

telemachus: i'm so excite- *looks ahead*

telemachus: *stops walking* oh no *sad noises*

odysseus: *still walking* what's wrong son?

telemachus: *points to the sea beyond ithaca's shores* poseidon must be angry today, look at the storm in the distance

odysseus: *looks ahead but without worry on his face* no need to worry, we can still go sailing, follow me

telemachus: *confused but follows his dad*

*both make it to the docks*

odysseus: you get started, i've just got something to do & then i'll join you on the ship

*telemachus hops on the ship and odysseus turns to face the sea*

odysseus: *red eyes activate* i'm. going. sailing. with . my. son.

*the sea storm dissipates in record speed*

odysseus: good.

odysseus: *red eyes deactivate*

odysseus: *turns to telemachus smiling like nothing happened* shall we go then?

telemachus: *happy but very confused*

telemachus: *mumbling to himself*what just happened?

(this has now become its own little au! friends in higher places au masterlist here!)

[canisalbus]

Machete reminds me of a wet rat

[gooobraghhh]

When a trans guy’s voice drops on t and he suddenly has that bit of bass in his voice every time he moans like a little bitch. Hottest thing ever actually.

[h0tdog-water]

i don’t give a shit that he’s 6’2 i want him MOANING and WHIMPERING

[lilislegacy]

this is my roman empire. and after all these years, i finally have to say something.

GRUNT-WHIMPER??? GRUNT-WHIMPER!!!!???

ANNABETH GIRL ARE YOU OKAY??

forget her just standing there gasping for air. forget her very audible sigh. forget the fact that annabeth initiates 80% of their kisses and literally has to restrain herself from kissing him in front of all of New Rome in MoA. i could go on and on about how many times percy calls her beautiful and attractive (let’s not forget how his heart races and his skin tingles at her touch) and all his boyfriend-ly thoughts about her, but lets focus on annabeth for a sec. BECAUSE ANNABETH CHASE IS GRUNT-WHIMPERING??

our girl was feeling ALL the things in this scene. she’s so weak in the knees for him that she can’t even hide it in front of piper. also percy must be a fantastic kisser? BECAUSE GRUNT-WHIMPER??

do not EVER tell me percy and annabeth don’t have romantic feelings for each other. do not EVER tell me it’s purely platonic. if you’re someone who thinks “nah i can’t see them getting married and having kids cause i don’t think they feel that way about each other” you clearly did not read about the grunt-whimper (well, you can hc whatever you want. i respect all opinions. but i do think you need to re-consider and account for the grunt-whimper)

BECAUSE GRUNT-WHIMPER?? ONE GOOD KISS FROM PERCY IS MAKING ANNABETH CHASE GRUNT-WHIMPER?? IS THAT RICK’S “CHILD-APPROPRIATE” WAY OF SAYING SHE MOANED?? HE SHOULD HAVE JUST SAID SHE MOANED. GRUNT-WHIMPER IS SO MUCH WORSE. THAT GOES SO FAR BEYOND A MOAN. A MOAN IS TAME COMPARED TO A GRUNT-WHIMPER.

GUYS I-

[discord-weeper]

Men who moan and whimper loudly>>>>

They're like one of the sluttiest men out there with their voice begging and moaning uncontrollably.

[cattysapien]

10 years. at LEAST!!!!!!!!!!!

[lazy-ahh]

I THOUGHT OF YOU BETWEEN THE BLOODSHED

pairing jason todd x gender neutral reader

jason todd comes home to you with bruised knuckles and a heart too full to name. the red hood is all sharp edges and violence, but with you? he's just jason—achingly tender, disarmingly soft, hands that break bones cradling your face like you’re something sacred.

"you taste like gunpowder," you murmur against his lips, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket, pulling him closer. his breath is warm, a little ragged, like he’d sprinted up the stairs just to get to you.

"that’s ‘cause i was shootin’ people," jason huffs, but there’s no bite to it—just that low, rough voice curling around the words like smoke. his hands are big where they settle on your waist, thumbs pressing into the dip of your hip bones like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

you hum, tilting your head to kiss him again, slow and lazy. his mouth is chapped, the faint metallic tang of blood lingering from where he’d bitten his own lip too hard earlier. but he sighs into it, lets you lick into his mouth like you own it, like he’d let you take anything from him if you just asked.

when you pull back, his eyes are half-lidded, dark with something that makes your stomach flip. the white streak in his hair is mussed from your fingers, and you reach up to smooth it back, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. he leans into the touch like a cat, a quiet rumble in his chest.

"missed you," he mutters, like it’s a secret. like he’s embarrassed by it.

you snort. "you saw me this morning."

"still missed you."

his nose bumps against yours, clumsy with affection, and you can’t help but smile. jason todd, red hood, the crime lord who’d put a bullet through six men’s kneecaps tonight, is nuzzling into your hand like he’s starved for it.

his fingers trail up your sides, over your ribs, like he’s counting them. when he speaks again, his voice is softer. "thought about you. when i was out there."

"yeah?" you tease, but your heart stutters anyway. "what, in between breaking bones?"

"especially then," he admits, and his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, catching on the swell of it. "kept thinkin’ about how you’d laugh if you saw me. how you’d roll your eyes at me for bein’ dramatic."

you do roll your eyes now, but he just grins, that crooked, boyish thing that makes him look younger. makes him look like jason, not the red hood, not the ghost of robin. just yours.

"you’re such a sap," you tell him, but your hands are gentle where they frame his face, where your thumbs trace the scars on his cheeks.

he turns his head, pressing a kiss to your palm. "only for you."

and god, if that doesn’t make your chest ache.

for some reason, tonight felt more... intimate. more warm and safe. soft and right. so right. the two of you sitting on the couch, with you situated on jason's lap as you cuddled and shared soft, tender kisses.

and you can’t help but stare.

because up close, he’s beautiful.

the way his lashes cast shadows over his cheeks when he blinks, long and dark like ink smudged on paper. the faint scar cutting through his eyebrow, a story he’d shrug off if you asked but you love anyway. his nose, slightly crooked from one too many fights, and the way it brushes against yours when he leans in, clumsy and sweet.

his lips are chapped, but they’re warm, and they part so easily under yours—like he’s been waiting for this, like he’d let you take and take until there’s nothing left.

and his hands. god, his hands. big and rough, knuckles bruised and fingers calloused from years of gripping guns and knives and the edges of his own rage. but right now, they’re gentle. one cradles the back of your head like you’re something precious, the other tracing idle patterns on your hip like he’s memorizing you.

you reach up, thumb brushing over the white streak in his hair, the strands soft between your fingers. he leans into the touch, eyes fluttering shut for a second—like he’s savoring it, like he’s starved for it.

and you think, this. this is the jason no one else gets to see. the one who sighs into your touch, who lets you trace the scars on his skin without flinching, who kisses you like he’s trying to say something words could never hold.

"what?" he murmurs, catching you staring.

"nothin’," you whisper, but your fingers don’t stop tracing the curve of his jaw. "just thinkin’ about how pretty you are."

his breath hitches, just a little, and you watch the way his throat bobs when he swallows. "pretty?" he echoes, voice low, disbelieving. like no one’s ever said it to him before. like he doesn’t know what to do with the word.

"yeah," you murmur, thumb brushing over his bottom lip. "so pretty it hurts."

his cheeks flush, just a little, and he ducks his head like he’s trying to hide it. but you catch it—the way his lashes flutter, the way his grip on your waist tightens, just for a second. like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

"shut up," he mutters, but there’s no heat in it. just that quiet, aching vulnerability he only ever shows you.

your hands reach for his face, cupping his cheeks, thumbs brushing over the high curve of his cheekbones. his skin is warm under your palms and you tilt his head up just enough to see the way his lashes flutter, the way his lips part—just slightly—like he’s already waiting.

and god, he’s beautiful like this.

you press the first kiss to the corner of his mouth, soft and teasing, feeling the way his breath stutters against your lips. the second lands on the bridge of his nose, right over that little scar he never talks about. the third finds the dip under his eye, where his skin is unfairly soft, and he lets out a quiet, shaky exhale, his fingers tightening where they grip your waist.

"fuck," he whispers, voice rough, and you can feel the way his pulse jumps under your fingertips.

you don’t stop. you kiss the crease between his brows, the spot just below his ear, the sharp line of his jaw—every touch feather-light, reverent. and jason melts, his shoulders slumping, his head tipping back against the couch like he’s surrendering. like he’s letting you take him apart piece by piece.

when you finally press your lips to his, it’s slow. sweet. his mouth is warm, yielding under yours, and he makes this quiet, desperate noise in the back of his throat when you suck gently on his bottom lip. his hands slide up your back, fingers trembling just a little, like he’s not sure whether to pull you closer or hold himself back.

you pull away just enough to murmur against his lips, "let me worship you, dearest."

his breath catches, and for a second, he just looks at you—eyes dark, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen and parted. then he’s surging forward, crashing his mouth against yours like he’s starving for it, like he’s trying to say yes, yes, yes without words.

and you let him. you let him take, let him press you closer, let him kiss you like he’s drowning and you’re the only air left in the world.

he kisses you like a man starved, all rough edges and clumsy hunger, but you slow him down with a hand fisted gently in his hair. "easy," you murmur against his lips, and he whines—actually whines—high in his throat, his hips jerking up against yours like he can’t help it.

you swallow the sound, kissing him deeper, slower, until his frantic movements still and he’s just shaking beneath you, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. his breath comes in ragged bursts against your mouth, his chest heaving, and when you pull back just an inch, his eyes are blown black with want, his lips slick and parted.

"please," he gasps, and it’s wrecked, broken, like he’s begging for something he doesn’t even know how to name.

you shush him with another kiss, this one lingering at the corner of his mouth, then trailing down to his jaw, his throat. he tilts his head back with a groan, baring the column of his neck to you like an offering, his pulse fluttering wild under your tongue. you bite down—just a tease, just enough to make him curse—and he arches off the couch, a strangled "fuck—!" tumbling from his lips.

his hands scramble at your waist, tugging at your clothes, but you catch his wrists, pinning them gently to the cushions above his head. his breath hitches, his thighs tensing beneath you, and when you finally meet his gaze again, he looks ruined.

"let me take care of you," you whisper, and his throat works around a swallow, his lashes fluttering.

he nods, once, sharp and desperate. "yeah. yeah, okay—please."

and so you do.

…1.4k full of soft jason- WHAT CAN I EVEN SAY TO THIS AHHHH I NEED MORE BUT MY BRAIN IS SO AHHHHHHH sorry, guys—i'm hopeless at writing anything steamier than slow kisses and yearning glances and whatever this is. maybe someday, when i've deemed that my skills are worthy enough, there'll be a part two. maybe-

[kittykatninja321]

there are characters for whom “poor little meow meow” doesn’t quite cut it. To me he’s like a traumatized pit bull mix with a bite history and I’m the white girl with a savior complex trying to stop them from putting him down