#im h word

[poppy-metal]

mmmmhhmmmm my pussys heartbeat is like an edm concert w this thought

imagine patrick sitting behind art , tweaking the fuck out of his nipples, kissing his neck

all while ur deepthroating the fuck out of arts cock

patrick would talk abt u like ur not even there to him

“isn’t she sucking ur cock so fucking good”

“poor baby wants to cum down her throat but u gotta wait, art”

want nothing more than to be a fleshlight for them. patrick would absolutely slut you out to art, especially in college when art is less confident - more likely to fumble with the women he wants to pursue. its good that patrick offers his girlfriends mouth whenever hes pent up, so sweet really. definitely not because he wants to feel the feather light softness of arts hair as he throws his head back against patricks shoulder, definitely not because he wants to see the heaving of his pale chest, his pink nipples, the dip in waist leading to his adonis belt. definitely not because hes mesmerized by the sight of arts cock as it dissappears in and out of his girlfriends throat, its already fucking hot to see you gag on his - he'd fucked that gag reflex right out of your throat - seeing your lips spread so lewdly for art as you take what you're given has him leaking like a fucking girl from his tip. you're both so fucking sexy.

cant help himself from reaching down to wind a fist in your hair, really bounce your skull off his cock, making art arch his hips and plead in a broken moan "fuck, patrick - she's - im gonna -"

"yeah?" cant keep the excitement out of his voice, locked in where arts dick pistons in and out of your wet maw of a mouth. you're so good at being used. the fucking best. "feels good? gotta let that nut out, buddy, c'mon. you're such a little bitch when you're pent up. nothing a tight wet hole cant fix - "

"oh god." art will apologize to you profusely after this. refuse to meet your eyes, cheeks flushed and red. he'll avoid your eyes everytime you two meet, until the time comes when patrick is inviting you over to his dorm, and he hasn't kicked art out. and then art wont be able to stop looking at you. he looks down at you now, his fingers brushing against your cheek in soft contrast from the hard grip patrick has on your hair. blue will meet yours and you'll feel his cock twitch in your mouth, the head thumping the back of your throat. "you're so fucking pretty - fuck - cant believe you let me do this - "

"fucking cum." patrick tells him, and he loses himself a little. licks a stripe up arts neck, "shoot that shit down her throat, make her gag. now, art."

you do gag. you try to swallow the splash of cum flooding down but its hard to work a swallow down with a cock crammed down your throat. art cock slides from your lips as you sputter, his pink tip resting against your mouth as you breathe and you dont even catch your breath properly before you're being yanked up and patricks tongue is in your mouth, and you're in arts lap and then you're in patricks and art turns to watch as patrick lifts you, quick and easy, punches you down on his hard cock.

arts cum is still in your mouth and patrick licks it out, moaning loudly as he starts to bounce you hard and fast. neither of you ask art to leave, and he doesn't make a move to go.

[gemeenteurk]

random cold snap and well.

[beserkerhealer]

.

[nylwnder]

YOU TELLING ME GIO TALKING HIS SHIT FROM THE BENCH TO AN OLD TEAMMATE?? THATS RIGHT

[greenorangevioletgrass]

tuesday in the park (a.d.)

pairing: divorced!art x reader

synopsis: your alone time at the park takes an interesting turn when a little girl breaks the quiet, but maybe... her dad is a good company.

warnings: language, smoking, mention of divorce, lily is an adorable lil oblivious cupid, sooo much tension tho, maybe smut in future parts? idk

notes: i am back and pathetic bitch boy art has officially given me a brainrot. this is also very self-indulgent and heavily based on my irl experience (except the fact that it's art, sadly) soooo... enjoy!

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City parks are fucking depressing. Especially the industrial type that’s square, and covered in concrete and has, like, four trees. They’re all well-manicured and hung with string lights, but there’s still barely enough greens to call it a park. And to add insult to injury, a Tiffany’s installation art currently sits at the head of the park—a giant diamond ring in a lush velvet box the size of a Range Rover. It’s gaudy as shit, and the massive Aston Martin billboard overhead is an assault to the eyes. You honestly have no idea why you’re sitting here.

Oh, right. It’s like 2PM on a Tuesday afternoon in some downtown office area, so there’s nobody else there. You can just sit and smoke and watch the water spout from the ground in pretty patterns. The steady rhythm of the fountain jets quiets the chaos in your mind.

Inhale. Exhale. As the fountain hisses and ceases, hisses and ceases…

And then suddenly… another pattern.

A pitter-patter. Like little footsteps. Quick moving, and then it stops. Right to your left.

You turn your head and see a little girl sitting right next to you. Her white sneakers look so small next to yours. She pushes a lock of dark ringlets off of her face as she watches the floor fountain in quiet curiosity and awe.

It takes you a moment to realize you still had a cigarette in your hand. You quickly stub it out as far from her as you can. “Uh… hello.” You frown at your own words, but how the fuck do you talk to kids in this situation?!

But the kid looks up and smiles at you politely. “Hello.” she nods and then returns her gaze to the water bursting in canon.

You’re even more confused. She doesn’t even seem deterred by sitting next to a stranger—willingly, at that. “Well, are you… are you alone?” 

“No. With my dad,” she answers, light as a feather.

“Oh, good. Good.” You sigh in relief and look around for any sign of a parent, adult, anyone looking for a missing child. “Where’s your—”

“Lily! There you are!” A man’s voice cuts through the dull noise of the city. You turn around to see him rushing over to the little girl, grimacing apologetically at you. “Sorry. I’m not a negligent father, I swear. I just… turned around and this little monkey’s run off.”

The little girl—Lily, apparently— giggles as her dad throws her a look, gentle but firm. “You said we could watch the water fountains, Daddy!”

“Yeah, but don’t run off like that…” He rolls his eyes, though you notice his sharp jaw twitching with a hidden smile.  And then, leaning into Lily’s ear but still loud enough within your earshot, “And you certainly weren’t supposed to invade this nice lady’s personal space—”

“It’s no trouble. I was just sitting here,” you quickly wave him off.

“Daddy, can I play over there?” Lily points at the streaming water at the center of the park.

The man pulls a face. “I don’t know, Lil—”

“Come on, Daddy…” 

“No way.”

“Just for five minutes. Please?” She bats her eyelashes, and you can immediately tell it’s her father’s Achilles heel. Because as much as you try to stay out of the conversation, you can hear the audible sigh coming from him, followed by,

“Fine. Five minutes, okay?”

The little girl bolts off to the fountains, tiny hands reaching out to the jet streams, testing out how strong it is. Figuring out the fountain pattern and stepping on each jet right as it shuts off, one foot after the other. It makes you wish it was socially acceptable for adults to do that, too. 

“You’re free to sit and watch her from here, if you want.”

He looks at you, like really looks at you for the first time. At your rolled-up button-down, the chain around your neck with a pendant he can’t see under your collar. But mostly at your kind eyes—weathered, witnessed, but somehow not judging.

He pushes his short blond hair out of his face the same way the little girl does, and the similarity almost makes you laugh… if you weren’t so worried about making a fool of yourself in front of this handsome man. “You sure? I… didn’t want to intrude.”

You shake your head softly and scoot over on the steps, allowing him just enough space to sit down.

He notices the stubbed cigarette between your forefinger and middle finger. “You got another one on you?”

It takes you a beat to realize what he’s talking about. “Oh!” You reach for your pack of Camel, and offer it to him, one cigarette stick already pushed out for easier access.

He takes it with a polite smile, but then pauses upon realizing he has no lighter either. “Um, do you mind if I borrow—”

You lean in as he puts it between his lips, one hand cupping the light from the breeze, and his heart stops at how close you are. Close enough to notice the gloss on your lips. Close enough to get a faint whiff of your floral perfume.

(And unbeknownst to him, your heart stutters a little, too, and you hope he doesn’t notice the way you fumble lighting your own cigarette.)

“Thanks, um…” he trails off. 

You tell him your name, and he repeats it almost thoughtfully. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, like he’s chasing the taste of your name as it leaves his mouth.

He nods. “I’m Art.”

He does look like it. The navy blue sweater hangs just right on his broad shoulders, understated but high-quality. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, showing a sleek black Piguet around his wrist. A simplicity to complement his refined features. His bone structure is cut like the gods, but the permanent frown etched between his brows, casting a shadow over his deep-set eyes, tells you that he is facing the troubles of man. And the awkward way he’s holding his cigarette makes him look like a boy. Of course, you can’t say any of that to him, so you settle with,

“Nice to meet you, Art.”

He can’t remember the last time somebody said that to him and meant it. And right now, sitting in this concrete park alone, he can see no pretense coming from you. No ass-kissing, no sizing-up, just a genuine kind gesture of a stranger. And it makes him so fucking relieved. 

“So what brings you out here?”

“Work, actually. A meeting,” Art replies somewhat vaguely. He’s not really keen on divulging the details of sponsorship and endorsement deals. Not when you don’t seem to know who he is. “Lily saw the park from the window and insisted we check it out when we’re done.”

“Ah, does she normally tag along with you to work meetings?” You ask with a playful glint, although the unspoken question of his whole situation is well heard. “She should. She looks like a great negotiator. Just saying.”

He chuckles. “Maybe she should. My, uh…” Art stops himself before he could say ‘wife’ because Tashi isn’t that anymore. Not his wife because they aren’t married anymore; not his coach either, because he doesn’t play tennis anymore. “Lily’s mom and I take turns every other week.”

And there it is. Your lips pull up into a soft line, not quite a smile but a gesture of understanding. “Must be tough.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s a lot of changes. But she’s doing okay, I think…” Art pauses, “I hope.”

You follow his gaze and look at Lily, who must be playing some kind of Indiana Jones fantasy scenario with the water fountains. Not an ounce of care in the world. “She looks like a tough kid.”

“She is.” Art smiles bittersweetly. “Anyway, you didn’t come here to listen to my sob story. What brings you to this park?”

The air that pulls both of you in releases, and you lean back on your elbows against the concrete. “Oh, I just finished work and I… needed some air.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m an interpreter.”

His eyebrows shoot up in interest. “Like the Nicole Kidman movie?”

“Exactly.” You point your half-cigarette at him, and share a tentative smile with him.

“Do you do, like… high-profile, UN-related assassination investigations, too?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “It’s not nearly as cool in real life. Most of it’s pretty boring, like contract negotiations and focus group discussions…”

“But the stories you must’ve heard, right? Or do you just… zone out at some point?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes you end up shutting off your brain and go on autopilot.”

“But not today?”

You smile ruefully at him, and he knows the answer. You take a thoughtful puff of your cigarette. “It’s… a bit hard when they’re talking about… how they had to jump off of the ship and swim across the channel in the dead of night, because they would rather die in the open water—a couple of them did— than die working in the fishing vessel…”

“Fuck.”

“And I know it’s not really meant for me—they’re talking to my client sitting next to me. But when they look you in the eyes and speak to you…” you trail off, taking a long drag of your cigarette.

Art takes it as a cue for his cigarette, too, although he notices you tapping the ashes off one, two, three times. “Must be tough.”

You roll your eyes playfully at him for quoting your own words back to you. “Ah well, it pays the bills. Besides, I get to clock out at 2PM on a Tuesday and enjoy this…” you inhale through your teeth disdainfully, “beautiful, brutalist… Soviet-core park.”

He laughs, the real kind of laughter that throws his head back, and it warms your heart enough to laugh, too. “It’s bullshit, isn’t it?”

“It’s bullshit! And what the fuck is that horrendous giant ring doing here?” The two of you cackle over the installation art across the park. “And that billboard… it’s ridiculous.”

Art’s laughter dies down on his lips as he looks up at the billboard in question. The Aston Martin “Game Changers” campaign from last year. Fuck. Even when he’s completely separated from Tashi, her presence still looms over like a panopticon.

You turn to him with a smile still etched on your face, completely oblivious to the storm in his head. “What?”

But he looks ahead, too caught up in the hurricane to hear you. He just… looks up at the billboard, his face darkens.

Oh.

You feel silly for not putting two and two together—you’ve been staring at the billboard mindlessly for a good fifteen minutes, goddammit— so you tread very carefully. “That, uh… Lily’s mom?”

Art looks down on his lap, as if not daring to look at Tashi’s picture. Or at Lily, or at you. “Yeah.”

There’s no right word for it. There’s no coming back from this, nothing he can say can make this better, and he can’t help but kick himself for fucking up. What he is fucking up, he’s not entirely sure. But he’s not ready to end this conversation with you, not on such a weird note.

“I can’t imagine what it must be like…” because you can’t. Losing a spouse is hard enough, but to have it out there in the open…

“It’s tough,” he nods in confirmation, and you smile feebly at his attempt at a callback to your little inside joke. To the moment where things are fine, all things considered. 

If the air ebbed and flowed earlier, it must’ve just… froze now. You don’t even remember the cigarette in your hand until the ash falls onto your hand and you gasp at the sudden heat, putting it out on the ground.

“I’m sorry. I should get out of your hair—”

“Do you wanna get a drink some time?”

The question catches both of you off-guard, eyes blinking at each other in shock. He didn’t think he heard you right, and your mouth seems to work faster than the filter in your brain.

Your face runs hot, and you chuckle sheepishly. “Sorry. You probably don’t wanna hear that—”

“I do.” He’s not sure which question he’s answering. Maybe both? Definitely both.

“Oh! Um…”

And right in that moment, Lily comes padding over with squelching steps in her shoes, completely drenched but over the moon. “Daddy, Daddy, that was so much fun! Can we come back here? I see lights on the floor, and I think the fountain lights up at night!”

Art puts out his cigarette under his shoe, chuckling at his daughter,  “Baby, you’re soaked! Did you try to take a shower there or something?” immediately wringing water out of her hair.

“I’ll take a real shower when we get home.”

“Well, duh. But I don’t want you to catch a cold… come here.” He crosses his arm to grab the hem of his sweater and tug it over his head to put it on his daughter.

The girl looks thoroughly unamused as the clothing item falls halfway down her calves and the sleeves nearly touch the ground. “Daddy, this is ridiculous.”

You grin, and you can’t help but wonder how much of that sass came from Art. “Looks pretty chic to me.”

He nods at you, glad that you’re backing him up. “Thank you.” He then turns to Lily pointedly.

Lily half-smiles at you. “Thank you,” although she still isn’t quite convinced.

“I’m sorry, we really gotta go. But how do I, um…” he trails off. Gosh, he was hoping to do this out of Lily’s sight. Lily’s sight means Tashi’s sight, and he’s not ready for that talk just yet.

“Take my card.” You whip out a neat stainless steel case, and slides out a white-and-blue business card. Your name is printed in a sleek black font, right above ‘Interpreter’ in a smaller case. Your email and phone number follows.

His fingers brush against yours as he takes it, and he prays to God or whoever is up there that he doesn’t give anything away to you or Lily. Not a quirk, not a peep. Just two strangers connecting by chance.

“Thank you.” He nods evenly as he pockets the card, trying to contain the butterflies in his stomach—he’s always thought he was too old for that by now, but maybe… just maybe… “You have a nice day.”

“You, too.” You squint up at him under the sun, and then smile and wave at the little girl. “Bye, Lily.”

She waves at you as Art sweeps her up into his arms, and you don’t let yourself turn all the way around to watch them leave. Instead, with one final look at Art’s “Game Changers” billboard ad in the distance, you grab your pack of Camel and light another cigarette between your lips.

[lineffability]

need Crowley in danger from Heaven, need Aziraphale stepping in front of Crowley, need the Guardian of the Eastern Gate, the protector of earth and humans, to protect his world, need the angel to shield the demon, need him to be ready to die for him but so much more willing to live, need Aziraphale to save him, need him to face Heaven and walk backwards into hell, to stand between Heaven and Crowley and choose Crowley, without a doubt and without hesitation

(because he might have chosen heaven when they offered him Crowley's supposed salvation, but as soon as they threaten Crowley's existence the choice will be so SO easy)

[strangerhands]

i actually have no words. real tears streaming from my eyes right now

hes just so so so so so so so so so so so so so pretty. unbelievably so.

[catcze]

NSFW!! 18+ ONLY !!

「 CWS : 」 GN reader with no mentioned prns and an ambiguous body !! Size kink lowkey (wrio's sooo big <3) with Wrio being so in love with you and praising u and cumming inside ♡

Wriothesley loves seeing you open and splayed out underneath him, your skin glistening with a sheen of sweat, jerking with each push of his cock into you. He loves seeing the euphoria on your face, the shake in your hands as you hug your thighs close to your chest. He loves hearing you call his name when your voice is so rough, abused from his cock down your throat just minutes before.

You look like a wet dream— his wet dream. Oh, but you're so much better, because you're real and you're actually here, taking the stretch of his cock so well with each breath it punches out of you. Even if you swear you feel him in your throat, you swear that he's too big for you each and every time, you always take all of him inside you so well. So greedy for each inch of his cock to fill you up, even if it feels like you lose your mind in the process.

"You're doing so well for me, honey," Wriothesley says low in your ear, punctuating it with a languid lick to your neck.

"Wriothesley—" You gasp in response, a shiver raking your form just form his voice. Nails rake up and down his back, no doubt leaving angry red scratches that he will wear with pride come the next morning.

"Taking all of me so well, making me feel so damn good," he moans, voice trembling. His hips move with purpose, with the urge to fuck you so thoroughly that you forget everything else that exists outside of your bed. With each rough thrust into your willing body, you raggedly gasp and sob, clutching at your sheets— your pillows— at Wriothesley. You're going to be tender, and walking will be a difficulty, but you can't bring yourself to care.

"More," you whine, "Wrio— More, please please please—"

And he shakes, trembles, his own whine low in his throat and all his willpower suddenly diverted into not cumming inside of you right then and there, because it is a sin how you beg with his name on your lips.

"More?" he chuckles. His hands grip your hips tighter, cock twitching inside of you. "Whatever you want, my love."

Then each push and pull of his cock from within you turns punishing, the wet slap of his hips against yours becoming a deafening echo. With every thrust, he pulls you to meet him by your hips, using his strength to fuck you back on him and making it feel like he's deep enough to mold you to his shape.

You're sobbing now, fat tears of pleasure rolling down your face. Wriothesley licks up each and every one, leaning down to plant a deep, devouring kiss on your lips after. The hold you have on his keeps him close, close enough to see the lovesick, half-lidded gaze he keeps on you.

His hand comes to stroke your cheek, a tender touch so at odds with the rough pace of his thrusts. "Are you going to cum, love?"

You can only nod, voice lost in your pleasure. WIth each tremble and shake, he can see you come apart at the seams.

Wriothesley gives one last thrust, filling you up to the brim and you shatter— you bury your face in his neck and fall apart, gasping and trembling and squeezing his cock so well that you drag him with you. WIth a deep groan, Wriothesley holds you close and empties himself out inside you, pushing his cum, so deep that he swears it reaches your tummy.

He presses soothing kisses all over your face, cooing and whispering words of love and he holds your trembling form.

"Thank you sweetheart," he mumbles, pressing one last kiss to your lips. "I love you."

You hum, voice shot and thoroughly overworked. Still, there is a smile on your face. "I love you too, Wrio."

[lilcowzia]

i learned today that the growth hormone implants used in livestock are available over the counter (which i was feeling very normal abt, definitely not having any strange urges), and i was looking them up (for... no reason), and i discovered that birth control has literally the same ingredients of some of them, estrogen and progesterone. microdosing livestock growth hormones 😷💕 i rlly am no different than a cow, huh~?

[mimi-croissant]

Okay but can I just say I’m in love with the parallels that they gave gumlee and petrigof… like the “I’m giving it all up for you after barely any time” LIKE YOU SEE IT RIGHT…

[poppy-metal]

miguel being so sexually repressed he's been too busy and heartbroken to indulge in self pleasure or the touch of a woman in years. sometimes he jerks off in the shower but its always mechanical, a means to an end. he doesn't take his time. doesn't relish in it. miguel who suddenly has so many sexual thoughts and desires bombarding him because you came into his life and his dick has a mind of its own out of nowhere. miguel who has to take matters into his own hands, literally, because he can't take it anymore and he takes time he never has before on his body all because of you. thinks about where your soft as he strokes a hand down the hard lines of his stomach, thinks about how much softer you'd be between your legs as he wraps a hand around his thick and leaking cock. twists one of his nipples cause he imagines you'd be a little brat who'd nip and paw at him as he pushed into your tight cunt, split you wide open on him. moans into the quiet of his room as his fist works over his hard flesh in languid strokes. squeezes his head to try and mimic the feeling of your plush hole enveloping him. has to spread his thighs, his toes curling into his sheets because hes so lost in the sensation, just from fucking his own hand like a mad man. his balls fat and heavy, bouncing against the bottom of his fist and the wet slap makes him think about the sloppy slide of your bodies meeting, and that makes him needier. the need to fuck, to fill, to breed has never been so prominent in his life as it is now and he kinda wants to bite your head off for it. he's no longer a sensible man. you've turned him into a beast, a pathetic panting man who can't be around you for a day without beating off into his cock fantasizing about punishing you for what hes become.

[cassettemoon]

You are eight years old

You have to kill your dad

[skitskatdacat63]

Every time I read Fernando cursing in fic, I can only think about this clip and then my brain short-circuits

[luc1ferian]

So I read "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" by Robert Louis Stevenson and I

[shalomniscient]

HELLO ?

[silouvertongues]

something about the sort of immortalization of louis' voice with the fans voices on an official album is making me so emotional