#and the stubble

[eterniravioli]

balaclava lines… save me balaclava lines…

[kingofdorkville]

you can't dress a hot man like that and not expect me to get sick about it

[whamber]

started playing the AA trilogy again. I'm shifting into gay lawyer mode".

[reumv]

Why's he got so many critters representing him

[beesinmymoth]

What if Shadow was a pathetic old man like stan pi—(gunshot)

[magicalgirlmindcrank]

There was something a trans woman said to us long before we came to realize ourselves. I think this was back in 2008 or so, I can hardly be sure of the time or site, and those specifics aren't important. We had exchanged DMs on most days for a while, and I asked her how she was doing. She replied, "I looked in the mirror and there was a pretty woman with stubble staring back at me."

I recall asking her whether this was a good thing or not, and she affirmed it was. Her body felt like hers, and she could only see herself as a girl, regardless of such things. She had simply admired her reflection for what it is, shaved, and moved happily on.

I think why it stuck with us for so long, was that it was the first time I had heard a trans woman talk about herself in such a way. I was in a few lgbt groups at the time, identifying as a gay man, and had interacted with them a number of times, finding them good company and relatable for reasons that needed another few years to come out. They had always couched such things in disappointment, as though any incongruence with femininity had snatched all the joy it brought them.

This was the first time it occurred to me, that you could learn to see yourself as inalienably feminine. That your body is a woman's body, if you want it to be, and nothing can take from you.

[skltart]

their version of having a cuddle

[gravitysoupbowl]

i use my artist powers for good i promise

original meme under cut

[mark-the-snark]

The reward for the quickest a media made me do fanart goes to these guys ☝️☝️☝️

Also if it's hard to tell what's happening, the kitty made him a new tail. U may not believe it, but I almost cried drawing this 😔

[vodkaing]

the problem is im so used to urasawa/satoshi kon/katsuhiro otomo men that whenever someone asks to show me "an old anime man" with no wrinkles no gray hair no big nose no different face shape at all i feel like ive been cheated

[hummise]

this came to me in a vision

[dimeadozencows]

I redrew rambs sprites is there a power strip emoji

🔌 does this count

The descriptions I gave each expression are what they're called in the files :]

Like and subscribe if you'd shed a tear for a bloke who does fuck all

[acesluvrxx]

NO ONE TALKS ABOUT HIM.

ughh him at 40 is so MMMFHGGFHUJVKUVIFHKDJDSLK the way we're growing old together :3 WE DO IT EVEN WHEN HIS BUSH HAIRS TURN GRAY or idk maybe i really REALLY like him with stubble BUT?? HES HOT WITH STUBBLE LIKE IM SNIFFING THE SCREEN SO HARD UGHH I CAN SMELL HIS MERA MERA

[deansbeer]

face riding with dean but your thighs are burning.

warnings 𓏵 smut | oral sex (fem!receiving) | face riding | slight muscle fatigue | praise kink | dirty talk | overstimulation | stubble!dean | multiple orgasms | dean has an oral fixation (of course he would let’s be so real) | hair pulling | begging.

sticky notes 𓏵 everybody thank that one dean gifset with his stubble because this was the inspo behind it <3

the motel room is dimly lit by the flickering vacancy sign outside, casting everything in alternating shadows and neon red. you’ve lost track of how long you've been like this — knees planted on either side of dean’s head, thighs trembling with exertion as you rock against his mouth. the cheap headboard creaks with every movement, and you’re grateful sam decided to get his own room tonight.

“dean,” you gasp, fingers twisted in his short hair. “i can’t... my legs...” the burning in your thighs has graduated from pleasant ache to genuine fatigue, muscles protesting every roll of your hips. you try to lift yourself up, give yourself a break, but dean’s hands on your hips keep you firmly in place.

“you can,” he murmurs against you, the vibration of his voice making you shudder. his stubble scrapes against your inner thighs, a delicious contrast to his soft tongue. “doin’ good for me, sweetheart. just a little more.” one hand slides from your hip to tap gently against your thigh — once, twice, encouraging you to keep moving.

the thing about dean winchester is that he’s relentless. whether he’s hunting monsters or taking you apart with his mouth, he doesn’t do anything halfway. his tongue works against you with the same single-minded determination he brings to everything else, and even though your legs are screaming, you can’t help but rock down against him.

“that’s it, baby,” he praises when you find your rhythm again, his free hand sliding between your legs to join his mouth. his thumb finds your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to make your hips jerk. “fuck, you taste so good. could stay here all night.”

“you practically are,” you manage to say, which earns you a chuckle that sends vibrations through your core. it’s true though — dean’s been at this for what feels like hours, drawing out your pleasure until you’re a shaking mess above him. the man has the oral fixation of someone who’s spent too many years eating gas station food and is determined to savor anything good.

your thighs are properly shaking now, not just from arousal but from genuine muscle fatigue. you’ve been essentially doing squats for god knows how long, and even though the pleasure is incredible, your body has limits. “dean, please, i really can’t—”

he pulls back just enough to speak clearly. “yes, you can. know you can. you’re so fucking strong, baby.” his green eyes are dark in the low light, pupils blown wide as he looks up at you. there’s something wrecked in his expression, like getting you off is getting him off just as much. “love seeing you like this. using me, taking what you need.”

the praise shoots through you like lightning. dean doesn’t often get verbal during sex — he’s more of an action guy — but when he does, it never fails to affect you. his thumb presses harder against your clit as his tongue dives back in, and you cry out, grinding down despite your protesting muscles.

“there ya go,” he encourages, the hand on your hip tapping another rhythm against your skin. stay, it seems to say. keep going. i’ve got you. “so fuckin’ perfect. look at you, riding my face like you own it.” his voice is rough, muffled but still clear enough to make you flush. “that’s cause you do. you know. all yours.”

the combination of his words, his mouth, and his thumb on your clit is devastating. you’re close, have been close for a while, hovering on that edge as dean works you over. but your trembling thighs keep breaking your rhythm, making it hard to chase that final push over the edge.

“can’t, baby,” you whimper, frustration mixing with pleasure. “dean, i can’t move anymore.” your legs are jello, muscles completely shot, and you could cry from how badly you need to come but can’t get there.

“shh, i got you,” he soothes, and suddenly both hands are gripping your hips. “don’t need to move anymore, sweetheart. just let me...” he lifts his head, sealing his mouth over your clit and sucking hard while his tongue flicks rapidly against it. at the same time, he uses his grip on your hips to rock you against his face, doing the work for you.

“oh fuck,” you sob, hands scrambling for purchase against the headboard. “dean, dean, baby, fuck—“ the new angle and intensity are perfect, and within seconds you’re coming hard, thighs clamping around his head as waves of pleasure crash over you. he doesn’t let up, working you through it until you’re begging him to stop, oversensitive and shaking.

when he finally lets you collapse next to him on the bed, your legs feel like they might never work again. dean’s face is a mess of your juices, his stubble glistening in the low light, and he looks supremely pleased with himself as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“told you you could do it,” he says smugly, pulling you against his chest. you can feel how hard he is against your hip, but for now he seems content just to hold you. “fuckin’ incredible, sweetheart. could watch you fall apart like that every night.”

“might need a few nights off,” you mumble against his chest. “pretty sure you broke my thighs.”

he laughs, pressing a kiss to your hair. “worth it though?”

“shut up,” you say, but you’re smiling. yeah, it was worth it. with dean winchester, it always is.

[sammy-bryant]

I just wanted to say thanks for another great TikTok session. Bye.

[numbuh424]

maybe don't let your top murder suspect intimately hold a razor to your face