#can he smell flowers

[carlthethoughtfulsoul]

I like to think that our reflections give us a peek into our alternate lives. I wonder if he can smell the flowers in his world.

[ryllen]

this PSA is brought to u, by first year farmer ・゚ *✧

[mechaness]

can you believe nasiens became best girl

[acesluvrxx]

sometimes i want to explode my ipad so here’s paper art !! the first sketch is unedited and the second i used liquify to fix some stuff bcus im not pro 😔

[dawnbirdwhistle]

"Flower Crown Martial God" Xie Lian 🌸 (TGCF)

Celebrating spring with this baby 🌸👑

[pompurumi]

do you think salad, if he had a choice, would care abt hygiene? because I hc him as a bit of a clean freak but due to the living conditions he was raised in and the baren wasteland he's been forced (in my opinion) to endure he's had no idea what it feels like to be truly clean. his mindset is more "to be as less dirty as possible" than "to be as clean as possible"

[firstroseofspring]

sirella telling a little of how she and martok met in the left hand of destiny

[bamfwizard]

saraswatan orchids; Old Spice Oasis? more likely than you think

[jotaroslooseeyebrowhair]

Hc that when Danny goes through Ghost Puberty™️ he gets a forked tongue

Both in human and ghost form obv

So (naturally) whenever he smells something weird his lil tongue flies out like a snake and flipflapflipflipflap to taste it too

Which naturally leads to the best pranks you can imagine from Sam and tucker

“Hey Danny, do you smell that?” *sprays axe body spray directly in Danny’s mouth*

[the-jam-to-the-unicorn]

Jam, now do NOT talk about young Ze not being able to concentrate in class if they were in one because i will immediately want a fic like this🥲

Don't tempt me, anon. Don't tempt me. 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

[edandstede]

can’t believe anyone can ever be mean to you when you put a lil nose when you’re typing ‘ :) ‘. it should make you immune to terrible anons

omfg lyse!! he’s just a little guy. look at him :•) <- just minding his own business

[chiropterx]

"Cute-Bat! For you my dearest sweetest little bat!" Joker waved over her people as two of them hesitantly and begrudgingly carried over a crate filled with Bananas. And just as they put it down she pulled a pistol from her breast pocket and shot the two of them in the back. Causing them to go limp against the crate. "Bananas! And people! Lots of love from your Auntie J!"

Pointed ears prick at the sound of that familiar voice, Man-Bat chirping back excitedly in response. Auntie J was here, and her presence always meant good things! Immediately he flutters down from the overhead beams he'd been hanging from, curious as to who these other people were that his favourite human had brought along with her... though any concerns soon slipped out of his mind as he watched them carrying the heavy cargo they'd brought along - a crate jammed pack full of bananas! Was he dreaming? The heady sweet scent of bananas told no lies and just when he thought things couldn't get any better, Autie J then brought out a pistol, shooting the newcomers right where they stood! They slumped heavily against the crate, scent of fruit mingling with the even sweeter scent of warm human blood that was much better than any of the unfamiliar new smells outside. Happy as a bat with a fruit basket, Man-Bat hopped forth, letting out a joyful squeak as he plunged his head into the crate. Bananas! There were so many of them to eat, ripe skins coated in a lovely splatter of crimson blood which only helped the plump yellow fruits go down his gullet more easily. His tongue lapped messily around his ivory fangs; table manners had never been his strong suit but if he could speak he would surely be thanking Auntie J for her most generous gift, and that he loved her just as much in return!

[hum--hallelujah]

and if I wrote a platonic hanahaki AU about the venom siblings? then what?

[erabundus]

ren  smells  like  rain,  petrichor  and  something  vaguely  floral.  the  flower  scent  is  a  direct  result  of  his  tendency  to  immerse  himself  in  nature  —  and the  reason  why  it's  impossible  to  pin  down  a  specific  smell  is  because  he's  always  moving.  he's always surrounded by new plants, never staying long enough for one aroma to assert itself over all the others. some days you may be able to pick out notes of violetgrass or cecilia ( depending on where he's been ) though it's gone by the next time you see him, absorbed into the floral medley.

additionally —  because it's  directly  from  the  wilderness,  the  scent  is  less  perfume-y  and  more  akin  to  a  well  loved  greenhouse.

rain  and  petrichor  stem  purely  from  frequent  bouts  of  insufferable  stubbornness.  ren  walks  right  through  storms and most other forms of bad weather  —  often.  unless  it's  to  the  point  he legitimately  can't  navigate,  he  won't  bother  taking  shelter. the hat has nothing to do with it; he's just mildly self destructive in little ways whenever he reasons the consequences can't actually inconvenience him. he won't get sick. clothes can dry. what does it matter? ( it is, also, slightly spite motivated by virtue of the negative association thunderstorms hold in his mind. )

[cockaiine]

nanami’s side of the bed wouldn’t even be called nanami’s anymore. you sleep there nearly every day, blaming it on how the pillows smell of him.

nanami’s clothes aren’t his anymore, you're sleeping in his shorts and t-shirt tonight. you wore his shirt yesterday, and took his ties for some clothes experiments last week.

nanami’s sacred pens are no longer his own, he finds them on the table after you tried to scribble up something and forgot to put them back.

nanami’s mugs are now shared, always in the dishwasher even when he doesn’t recall using them at all. 

nanami’s thoughts don’t belong just to him anymore. you’d bug him about it all day if he doesn’t share what he’s thinking — so he, with an exasperated sigh, tells you what’s on his mind.

nanami’s salary doesn’t go straight to his savings account like it used to, instead taking a portion of it to spend on you. ‘you’ means gifts, flowers, dates, trips, trinkets, and so on.

nanami’s weekends aren’t as quiet as they once were; now they’re chaotic, full of so much of you. 

nanami’s fridge is full nowadays. candy, leftovers, ice cream, cheese, cake, bread, and the list goes on. so many things that don’t go along with his diet fill the once-empty shelves.

nanami doesn’t spend as much time in his study as before you moved in. now old books are left to collect dust, long forgotten in a room that’s never lit. even when he decides to pick one up and read it, it’s the minute that he sees your face the book is tossed away.

nanami’s happiness still comes from days off, but now it’s because those days are spent with you. days when he slept long and ignores the world are long gone, now he gets to sit and focus on you, watching as everything else becomes nothing but background noise.

nanami has always been sure he’s not looking for marriage, at least not right now. but he swears that ring looks so perfect for you. there’s no way he’d miss it. 

nanami stands in front of the bathroom mirror 5 minutes late every day because you’re still figuring out how to fix his tie the right way without any help. he can’t seem to rush you, though — what’s being precisely on time have on your little giggles as you sit on the sink and struggle to finish a task he could have done in under a minute?

nanami has been spending so much time eating as of late, more time than he can afford. while he used to finish a meal in approximately fifteen minutes, now dinners could stretch to two hours. he couldn’t get off the table early when you sit across from him, talking and joking and doing anything that’s not eating. he simply can’t possibly not indulge in the little conversations, appreciating every moment he gets to spend in your presence. nanami’s life wouldn’t even be called his anymore. you’re a storm, invading his life all at once, bringing in your chaos along with you. you’ve infatuated him, you’ve assailed his senses and changed his very being. every time nanami’s eyes align with yours, he prays your presence isn’t a fleeting one. he silently hopes you don’t leave as suddenly as you came, that you plan to stay.

[ghostsangel]

your new neighbor has taken a liking to you

simon “ghost” riley x fem!reader

tags/warnings: mdni, infidelity (ghost’s marriage sucks), size kink, breeding , unprotected sex, degradation/dumbification, squirting, corruption kink if you squint

Simon is in a loveless marriage.

It’s sad—he knows that. Ever since he got back from deployment, things with his wife weren’t the same. She would stay at work late, come home smelling of someone else’s cologne, trying to hide her swollen lips.

Military service took a toll on him. The torture, the abuse, the loss of life—sometimes it was too much for him to bear. His wife didn’t understand, and he certainly couldn’t talk to her about it. She was too busy being fucked by other men to speak to him anyway. So, he kept his trauma close to his chest.

Then he met you.

You moved in next to him while he was away. When he left for service, the house was empty—vines withering up the creaky wood, yard overgrown and barren. As soon as he drove into his front yard, he knew that changed.

The house was fixed up, vines trimmed. A new coat of paint covered the old wood and made it look new. A hammock hung between two large trees in the yard. And one other thing was different.

Flowers. They were everywhere in your yard. Rose bushes, lavender, tulips, sunflowers—the yard was a rainbow of color. Simon could smell them from his front yard when he went outside to smoke or to get away from the confines of his house.

It wasn’t until he was smoking one afternoon that he saw you. Fresh-faced and young, gloved hands trimming back your rose bushes. It took him a while to say hi, but he did eventually. You were everything his wife wasn’t—kind, bubbly, thoughtful…innocent.

He found himself in your front yard more than he was at home, offering to help you trim your flowers or plant new ones. He was always filling the heavy watering can and watering for you—“I got all this muscle, sweetheart, let me use it for somethin’.”

Simon wasn’t sure when he began spilling his trauma, but one day, he sat on your couch with a glass of lemonade telling you about the war. The torture, the loss of his military brethren—everything. He told you about his past and his present, about his failing marriage; and most importantly, that he trusted you.

The first intimate actions were small. A brush of a hand, a squeeze of a thigh. Lips brushed against an ear. Small actions that made your tummy clench and his face grow hot. Eventually, it led to something more. Soft kisses on tender lips, hands running over scarred skin and muscle, strong arms wrapped around you.

And tonight, you kissed him with a hunger he couldn’t ignore anymore. Your tongue swiped so slowly along his that his knees buckled and his heart slammed against his chest. His fingers gripped your ass so tightly, you thought it would bruise, but it sent heat to your core all the same.

That’s how you find yourself now—on your back in your bed, sheets sprawled around you and Simon eating you like a man starved. His tongue flicks so deliciously against your clit that it makes your toes curl and your grip tighten in his hair.

“Simon,” you whine, hips bucking as he sucks hard on the sensitive nerves. His response is a grunt, his middle and ring finger gathering your juices and teasing your tight entrance.

Your breath stills when he pushes his two thick fingers inside of your pussy, back arching and hips drawing back.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Simon mutters against your clit, tugging your hips down with his other hand and curling his fingers inside of your wanting cunt.

All you can do is whine as his fingers scissor and stretch your squelching pussy, juices dripping down to your ass. His tongue rubs circles around your clit like he’s painting a fucking picture, and you can’t help but moan out at the pleasure. His fingers hit that spongy spot that sends an electric jolt to your toes, and tears prick at the corners of your eyes from the pleasure.

“S-Simon, I can’t—I’m gonna—” You can’t even finish your sentence, your voice breaking off in a moan as he speeds up.

And then you’re coming, babbling nonsense and his name like a prayer as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you. You don’t even comprehend that you squirt all over his hand and mouth, or that he’s rutting his hips against the bed and moaning into your cunt as he tastes you.

Slowly, he withdraws his fingers, his hands running up to your waist. Your eyes flutter open—when did they shut?—and you look up at him staring down at you, his lips curled into a smirk.

“Such a nasty fucking girl,” he murmurs as he leans down, teeth grazing across your neck. “Squirting for me like that. Gonna do that on my cock, too, sweetheart?”

All you can do is moan in response, and Simon chuckles before pulling back and tugging down his boxers. Your eyes widen as you take in his fat cock—thick and veiny and leaking precum. He holds eye contact with you as he moves to hover over you, rubbing his tip along your soaked folds.

You squirm and whine, nails digging into his shoulders. “Don’t think it’s gonna fit.”

Simon grins, positioning his tip against your throbbing hole. “Gonna make it fit.”

Your lips part as he slowly slides his fat cock inside you, stretching you out in such a painfully delicious way that you almost forget to breathe. You can feel every vein in his cock, and Simon lets out a guttural groan when he sheathes himself fully inside you.

“Relax, doll. Squeezing me so fuckin’ tight and I haven’t even moved.” His voice is strained, and he lets out a breath as you try to relax.

His hand moves to your throat, squeezing slightly as he begins to move. Slow at first—painfully slow. You hold eye contact with him as he slowly ruts his hips against yours, his lips parted as breathy groans slip past. When you start to whimper and moan, he speeds up, his pace becoming almost animalistic in nature.

The tip of his fat cock hits a spot that makes you see stars, and you let out a soft cry as tears prick at the corners of your eyes. It feels so good, and you drag your nails down his chest because you don’t know what else to do.

“Fuck, you like that, don’t you?” He asks, grip tight on your throat. “You like my cock stretchin’ you out?”

You can’t even answer him, responding with whines and moans, tears sliding down your cheeks from the pleasure. Simon smirks, fucking you faster, and you cry out.

“Didn’t think I’d fuck you dumb, sweetheart. Can’t help it can you? Cock makin’ you stupid?”

You whine out, hiccuping out a moan as his other hand moves to your clit to rub in precise circles. Your eyes glaze over and you’re gone—submitting completely to him as he fucks you with his fat cock.

Your vision goes white as your orgasm hits you unexpectedly, stealing the breath from your lungs as your legs shake. Simon grunts and groans as you come on his cock, throbbing so tightly around him that you almost force him out. He simply fucks you harder, pressing against your cervix as your juices gush out of your cunt and you whine out, hips jolting.

Simon moves his fingers from your clit to your face, wiping your tears away and leaning down to kiss you. The kiss is hot and surprisingly sweet, and when he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours.

“Good fuckin’ girl. My girl. Gonna fill this sweet pussy up so good, baby,” he whispers against your lips, his arm hooking through your leg to open you up wider. His hips slap against yours, his breathy moans hitting your skin softly.

“Please, Simon,” you breathe out, voice catching as he fucks into you. “Need it. Please.”

That’s all it takes for Simon to crumble, moaning out curses and your name as his cock throbs inside of you. He gives one, two, three more thrusts before he buries his fat cock inside you, tip against your cervix, and you can feel his hot seed pumping inside of you.

He thrusts lazily for a moment before sliding out of you, pulling you to his chest. Your lips meet in a sweet, lazy kiss, and you feel his cum dripping out of you. Simon’s fingers trace down your back, and he looks at you so delicately, he’s afraid you might break. His hand moves to cup your face, thumb brushing right underneath your eyes. Then he utters four words that make your heart stop.

“I’m getting a divorce.”

—————————————

see this one shot’s counterpart here