#laddy all day

[nothalfgood]

Toast to the Laddies

Oh, Sweet Laddies, all I must say, is we’d be fine without you

Although we find a pity there to think of you in cow loos

Why, without you, we’d be drinking, dancing, cleaning out the bar

But of course, we thought to give a chance to men, and here we are

Dear, Sweet Laddies, we know the best of how much we are a treat

We must be so delightful to have servants at our feet

You might do all the chivalry, but it impresses only oxen

But truly, you could make more of things, if you listened to us talkin’

At last, alas, you finished your toast, and gave us time to mention

That you certainly are on the edge of being single, in detention

Now, my dearest ladies, I ask you now; please eye those who make you happy

And join me in a finer toast: “to the betterment of the Laddies!”

[poptartmochi]

[anniebass]

cozy snoozin'

complimentary fluff ficlet to be read here, or in the snippet below:

To be honest, place was a total fucking dump.

But, the summer days stretched long with swimming and fishing and games and just hanging out by the lake, and the evenings lasted well past midnight, warm and abuzz with cicadas looking for a tryst, not too humid either (Eddie’s hair was a clear tell), so it didn’t really matter that the cabin they rented was a dump. For two nights, it would do. For stumbling into bed after a goodnight joint, it was enough. 

The inside was clad in wood, with dusty sconces on the wall that barely dispersed the darkness, but eh, the dark had its mercies, hid all the little imperfections, cast shadows over eyes that shone a bit too bright after a kiss. But even under that warm gluey light the sunburn stood out, new redness sheathed over the skin; not Steve though, with his good genes he tanned easily, plus sulking by the pool always gave him a headstart.

Most of Eddie’s sunburn was hidden under that dumb lavender t-shirt Steve got at the Indiana State Fair with Robin, after she insisted they’d get identical shirts, let’s be twins, Steve!, choosing about the ugliest design he’s ever seen. Of course, the ugliness delighted Eddie, so much that he stole the t-shirt from him earlier today, acting like a fucking girlfriend or something, rolling his eyes over a lit joint: you weren’t wearing it, Steve, and as enticing as it might be, I can’t be sitting around tits out in nature, mosquitoes would absolutely eat me whole. 

Then he leaned in, adding in a terrible Scottish accent: leavin’ eatin’ me whole to ye, laddie.

rest on ao3 :D

[sucre-blue]

so like everyday my brain goes numb from having to do the same thing over and over again and i am fighting against the brain fog so i can seem on task and like a good employee but like. how am i supposed to live like this. when do i have time for activities

[chaosandmarigolds]

More Simon Riley and Pre-k teacher? Duh, cause I've been thinking about it for too long :0

Thinking about how the first day retirement!Simon would've gone when he was babysitting pre-k's little boy

Simon actually spent forty-two hours getting the house 'Ollie' proof, after you sent a two-paragraph long essay on how 'rambunctious' and 'high-energy' your three-year-old could be

Simon that never felt so happy as he opened the door to see you with Oliver on your hip, a small part of him wishing that you didn't have to drive to see him

Simon who never wanted the moment to end when you gave him a hug once you told Oliver to go run inside, smiling ear to ear as you handed him the backpack and lunch pail and a small remark on 'how he would make just a fine dad'

Simon which when Oliver wanted ice cream quickly whipped out his phone to text you to make sure the little guy didn't have any allergies

Simon who has your name saved with a <3 beside your name (something he will die with...and that Oliver noticed)

"dat's mommies name."

"right-o, laddie."

"Has heart, ooo, mommy likes hearts, 'ister Riley."

Simon with an ice cream in one hand and Oliver's hand in the other walks through the park, ensuring his silence on the matter

Simon who pushes Oliver onto the swing set at the playground about ten minutes from his house, not caring to look at how all of the mom's looked at him in awe because he had you, and you trusted him with Oliver- an honor he would never forake

Simon who carried Oliver park for two hours at the park since the little guy was just...so so tired, and began to think you got the kid all wrong, this little thing couldn't be so high energy that you had to warn him about it

Simon as he sat on the ground watched Oliver in the backyard, spending the next forty-nine minutes jumping on the tiny trampoline Johnny had given him as a prank gift- was carefully sweeping up the broken glass on the ground since Oliver sent on a little...run through the house as soon as they got home

Simon was exhausted when your car pulled into the driveway around six pm, your clothes a little worse for wear, and your hair frizzled out from the humidity

Oliver who took the opportunity to go through the zipped up and dusty bag that sat on the side of the sofa, finding Simon's old balaclava, being three chose to put it on

Simon who lets the hug linger as you thank him again for watching Oliver, only lets go when he hears your faint gasp and you move to walk in

Simon who swore his heart fell into his stomach when he saw the three-year-old with the old tattered thing- no! He hadn't washed it in- The kid was too-

'Oh my gosh! baby, where'da get that?'

'Ister Rileys."

'Really? well you look so so handsome but I think Mister Riley doesn't want you goin through his stuff'

Simon never though he would be affected by a little kids puppy dog eyes until he saw Oliver's, so he quickly shakes his head and tells the little dude that when he gets it washed its all his

Simon who would give so many more things than a war-run balaclava to see you and Oliver smile again

Simon who helped Oliver take a few of his things and was confused by the boys insistence on leaving his dinosaur with him

Simon was never more flattered when you explained that you always told Oliver that you would come back for his dinosaurs, so his want to leave them meant Oliver wanted to come back

Simon who really should've invited you in for dinner...Well, he would have all of summer to try again

[smolestboop]

Bagginshield-tober / Day 4: Company Dialogue transcript below!

Bofur: Now laddie, don't be shy, tell us all about how you got into His Majesty's good graces? Ori: Oh, Master Baggins! So the rumors are true about you and Thorin Oakenshield? Tell me everything in detail if you can. Bombur: With how loving he was hugging Bilbo on the Carrock, I knew he was smitten, Ori! Nori: Bofur, quit teasing the poor thing. He's turning bright red! Dwalin: Master Baggins seems just like your type, Thorin. A gentle fellow, hmm? Balin: Say the word Thorin. Once we reclaim Erebor, I'll have the wedding planned within the week!

[macfrog]

rack 'em

the girlies watched triple frontier last week and it was the single most inspiring thing i have ever seen so here’s a lil frankie fic to cleanse my mind. dedicated to my babies @gracieispunk (who put this concept in my head for the wee laddies), @hellishjoel & @strang3lov3 🤍

pairing: bbf!frankie morales x f!reader

summary: when your parents ask you to housesit for them, you take the opportunity to spend some quality time back in your hometown, hanging with your older brother and...getting reacquainted with his best friend

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) reader is santiago's younger sister, she and frankie do not get along, teasing & touching, dubcon (reader is a little drunk, frankie is not), oral sex (f receiving), alcohol consumption, quick mention of dr*gs, cursing, frankie's a bit of a dick but reader gives as good as she gets

word count: 6.1k (cause apparently i don’t know how to write short fics 🤪)

main masterlist

When you were four, a new family moved in across the street. Nobody knew them – your mom spent two straight days trying to scoop for information. Who they were, where they’d moved from, what was with the banged-up Ford pickup they drove. Nobody knew a thing.

You didn’t take much interest, being four years old – two months shy of your fifth birthday, by the way – and too invested in whatever politics a woman of your age finds herself wrapped up in, but you noticed one key thing about them.

The mom had tattoos.

Two full sleeves. Colorful ones, too. A bright red heart on her shoulder, a green snake wrapped around her forearm – among others. It was fucking cool, alright? No matter how much your mom whispered to Ms. Teller over the fence about them.

One night, when you were supposed to be in bed, you snuck out of your room and crossed the landing to your brother’s. Santiago and his friends were all staying at Tom’s, and you knew that in his desk he had permanent markers. You clicked the door open, as quiet as you could, and crept over his matted carpet to the drawer. You took one Sharpie, and spent the night adding snakes and hearts and whatever else came to mind to your Barbies’ arms, legs, faces, necks.

They looked fucking awesome. Just like that mom across the street.

But somehow or other – and I’m not blaming anyone – the next morning, a drawing appeared on the bathroom wall. In Sharpie. Your mom hit the roof.

As soon as Santi got home, she dragged him by the ear into the bathroom and pointed a trembling finger at the drawing. You forget what it was – it’s been years, and you were never much of an artist.

His plea of innocence helped him none; she knew he owned Sharpies, knew he sucked just as bad as you did at drawing, and he was grounded for three whole weeks. No soccer practice, no TV, no PlayStation. Which, at thirteen, is basically a stint in Rikers.

Your brother, though…he was always better than your mom at reading your mind. He saw the guilt on your face plain as the black marker behind the toilet tank. He cornered you in your bedroom as soon as she went back downstairs, and established three key rules going forward.

One: do not enter his room ever again.

Two: no touching his stuff.

And three: anytime he took the fall for you, you owed him. Big time.

You’ve followed the rules ever since. You barely knew what the inside of his room looked like, growing up. But it worked, ‘cause ever since the Sharpie incident of ’99, you two remained closer than most siblings with an eight-year age gap.

So, now, two days into a two-week stay back in your hometown to housesit while your parents head off on a cruise to celebrate their anniversary, you’re in the car with him. Listening to music, bitching about your mom, arguing over the best Cola flavor.

It’s like old times.

“She said, How’s my baby girl?” you yell over Stevie Nicks’s voice, reading from your phone.“And when I said I’m fine, she said, No, I meant the dog. Is she fucking serious?”

Santiago’s head tilts back with laughter, dark curls nudging against the headrest. He’s driving you to Lucky’s, a local sports bar he and his buddies frequent. He promised when he picked you up at the airport he’d take you out, get you drunk, and he was holding to it.

You pull your legs down off the dash as he turns into the parking lot, pulling in right under the white fluorescent sign, four-leaf clover flashing under it.

“She’s looking forward to seeing you when they get back,” he tells you, switching the engine off.

“Oh, yeah? That why she didn’t even hang around to see me before they left?”

He hands you a smug grin, shrugging his shoulders. “Can’t have it all, big shot. You move a thousand miles away, you forfeit your chance of being the favorite.”

You swing your door open and hop out, chasing him around the car to follow him inside. “You say that like I was ever in the fucking running.”

He snorts, pushing the door open, and a loud cheer roars through the bar. You blush as you follow your brother across the room to two tables full of familiar faces.

“Hey, baby.” Your best friend’s arms pull you in, her gold hoop earrings cold against your cheek. She smells like rose and cedarwood.

“Mal,” you hum, smiling as she pulls away.

“My mom said your parents only just made it on board,” she says, detaching strands of her long, black hair from the cuff of your jacket. “Said they had a flat tire and had to race to get to the boat.”

Your head jerks back. “She never told me any of that. Just asked how Ange was.”

Mal snorts.

“Hey, lil Santi!”

You glance over your shoulder to watch as Benny Miller stalks over, almost shoving some old guy off his feet, arms wide open, wide grin spread across his lips. His brother, Will, follows behind, and gives your shoulder a loving slap when Benny pulls you in for a hug.

“How’s Boston treatin’ ya?”

“Good,” you reply. “How’s…MMA treating you?”

“Good!” he echoes, eyebrows almost reaching his hairline.

It’s kinda part of the deal that your older brother’s friends become brothers in their own right to you, especially when you’re as young and easily-influenced as you were. They used to use you in their elaborate plans – send you in as a distraction while they filled their pockets with food at parties, or use your smaller stature to their advantage when attempting to break into places they shouldn’t.

By the time you were old enough to follow their orders, they were well into their teens. Which is basically grown-up, as far as six-year-old you was concerned. They were always allowed to do things you’re still not sure your mom would permit you to do at twenty-eight, like disappear all day without checking in, or come home black and blue after an organized street brawl with the boys from the other side of the neighborhood.

But there was no denying they cared about you. Will, Benny, and Tom, at least. They showed their affection by ruffling your hair as they passed, or sneaking you candy under the table even after your mom had told you you’d had enough. They’d christened you ‘lil Santi’, a name that – despite the embarrassment it always casts over you anytime you hear it – still sticks to this day.

Your brother’s friends were family to him, and, by extension, family to you.

Well. All but one.

Frankie Morales – nickname Catfish: long-time best buddy of your big brother, and long-time fucking asshole. There isn’t one thing on Earth that you two see eye to eye on, except for that very fact: he hates you almost as much as you hate him.

Always have, always will.

He’s in trouble almost regularly for drug-related stuff you don’t bother asking Santiago about. You don’t need to hear details to know he’s a pain in the ass. He’s been antagonizing you for as long as you’ve known him – where the others ruffled your hair, he’d shove into your shoulder as he passed, sending you – and whatever you were holding – flying. Any attempt you made at conversation with any one of them resulted in an argument between you and Frankie.

You hated him. Fucking hated him.

And tonight, you almost think yourself lucky. Almost go over to thank Santi for not inviting him, when you notice the silhouette of his baseball cap and that denim button up hunched over in a bar stool, and your eyes narrow.

You can’t help yourself. It’s been a years-long feud. And you’re old enough to take him on now. So, you stride over.

“You here to poison my drink?”

“What?” he asks, shaking his head. Already exasperated just by the sight of you.

“I bet you cheered the loudest when I walked in.”

He shrugs. “Cheered when your brother gave me fifty bucks to show face.”

Your upper lip curls. When the bartender notices you standing, elbows propped on the bar, he leans over.

“Beer, please.” Your smile twists into a grimace when you catch Frankie watching you. “What are you doing here? You have to be the person least excited to see me home.”

“I told you,” he says, lifting the bottle to his lips, “I’m bein’ paid.”

���Alright, so what do I gotta pay you to make you leave?”

Frankie scoffs, opens his mouth to answer what you’re sure is a comment laced with just as much venom, when Will’s strong arms slap down on each of your shoulders.

“We buyin’ our favorite veterinary nurse a drink, Francisco?”

You take your beer from Nick’s outstretched hand, sliding him the cash in return, and hold it up to Will in reply. “I’m good, thanks. Wouldn’t wanna eat into that fifty bucks, Catfish,” you mutter, turning to wander off.

You weave in and out of bodies, making your way to the opposite side of the bar where the pool tables sit. Doused in the warm strip light over the green felt, Santi chalks his cue ready to play against Mal, who’s already lining up her shot.

You hop up on a stool right next to the table, glancing back over to the bar where Frankie sits, now turned to face your direction. His elbow sits on the wooden surface, head turns from the football game showing behind the bar, over to you. And when he sees you looking, turns back to the TV screen, cool expression never changing.

“You done?” Mal asks Santiago, feeding the cue through her ring-decorated fingers.

He nods, tossing the chalk back over to you. “Better get your purse out, Bennett. Lotta sober people in here, all gonna want a free drink once you lose.”

“As if,” she breathes, and breaks the rack.

Somewhere throughout the game – a grueling and controversial one, by all accounts – Frankie makes his way over, following Will. You’re thankful when he plants himself on the other side of the table, one hand in his jeans pocket, the other around a bottle of beer. Though the light only comes up to his chest, right where the last button is done up, you notice him looking. Every fucking glance.

It pisses you off. Not the glancing. The way it makes you feel having him watch you. Wherever it comes from, you swallow it down with one big gulp of alcohol.

The game ends in a questionable loss. This side of the table swears the white skimmed off of Mal’s final solid when Santi hit it, right before it potted the black. The other side objected, claimed it was a clean shot ‘n you all know it. A winner wasn’t officially announced, but, being that Mallory Bennett is a force of nature where her competitive nature is concerned, Santiago was forced to buy the loser’s round.

She saunters up to you with her free whiskey in her hand, silver jewelry clinking off of the cold glass.

“Proud of yourself?” you ask, smirking.

She hands you your third beer of the night, sweeping her silky hair out of her face. “It hit it, alright? I saw it move.”

“Was that before or after you nudged the table?”

Mal holds a finger to her lips. You swat her hand away and the pair of you giggle, leaning into each other like schoolgirls whispering secrets in the playground.

“You know something,” Santiago materializes over Mal’s shoulder, shaking his head, “if you gotta cheat to beat me, I’ll give you the win.”

“Oh, get out,” you throw back. “Don’t blame her for your bad aim. Ms. Teller could’ve hit that shot and she’s got cataracts in both eyes.”

Your brother nods at you, tongue in his cheek. “Alright, smartass. Grab a cue.”

You scoff. Look around the room, shaking your head. The crowd has dispersed a little, folks have turned back to the TV screens, shifted focus back to the alcohol in their glasses. And then you look back to Santiago, holding his arms out.

“Alright. Fuck it.”

You hop down and snatch the second cue, wandering around the table while he racks the balls. He lifts the triangle, rolls the white over to you, and tells you to break.

The multicolored balls scatter in a fleet, two stripes tumble into pockets, and you stand back to survey your options. There’s a third stripe close to a pocket on the right, so you wander around to your left and turn.

“’scuse me,” you mutter, nudging Frankie’s stomach with the bottom of your cue.

He shoots you a dead-eyed stare, and takes one step back. And then his eyes drop, and you feel like you could slap him.

But you’re three – almost four – beers deep, and there are heads turning to watch how this plays out, and you can feel the bassline of the music rippling up from the soles of your feet all through your body, and you can feel the heat of his stare on the backs of your thighs, right where the hem of your dress sits.

Suddenly, slapping isn’t what you want to do to him.

Your head turns back to the pool table and you bend over, drawing the cue back between almost shaking fingers, and slam it into the white. It fires into the red striped ball, which hits the corner of the cushion, millimeters away from falling into the pocket.

You sigh, straightening up and waiting for your brother to begin his taunting, but it never comes. Instead, he fishes into his pocket for his phone, tapping the screen and holding it to his ear.

“Yep?” There’s a pause, Santiago’s face sours, and then he glances around the bar. “Right now? Really? No, it’s just…” He sighs. “Alright. I’ll be there. Just…I’m coming. I’m coming.”

He hangs up the phone and curses under his breath, then turns back to you, answering the question on your expression with: “One of our informants just got himself killed. I gotta go.”

“You haven’t even taken a shot yet,” you huff, taking his cue when he holds it out.

“I’ll make it up to you, hermana, promise. How are you gonna get home?”

You shrug. Mumble an, “I dunno.”

His eyes scan the room, passing over Will – already worse for wear, leaning shakily against a nearby table slurring to a group of strangers, then to Benny – stumbling out of the bar door with some girl on his arm, and finally land on the figure behind you, sliding a bowl of peanuts across the table to himself.

“Morales,” Santiago calls, and you throw the cues down on the felt.

“No, no way,” but your brother is already pushing past you to get to his friend. “Pope, no fucking w–”

Frankie turns, handful of nuts, cheek full and chewing.

“I gotta go, trouble at work. Can you do me a favor, man, ‘n make sure she gets home alright?”

“No,” you repeat. “He is not taking me home.”

“Baby,” Santi pleads, “just go with him, please?”

“I’ll walk. It’s, like, a twenty-minute walk.”

“No way. Mom would kill me.”

“Well, then, we just don’t tell her. Pope, please.”

He ignores you. “You are not walking home after dark. No.”

“Probably be safer than in the truck with him.”

Frankie’s head stops flitting between the two of you and his glare settles on yours. “Fuck you,” he spits, shaking his head.

“Right back at you,” you reply, insincere smile on your lips.

Santiago puts his palms together and holds them out to you. “Look, just – please. Just this once. I’ll owe you one.”

He doesn’t owe you one often. Makes a point of deliberately trying not to owe you one. This is an interesting offer. You sigh, and roll your eyes.

“Fine. You better fucking pay me back, though!”

“You got it,” he says, patting your shoulder. “Thanks, man,” he whispers to Frankie as he passes, slipping through the crowd toward the exit.

You and Frankie are left, two feet apart, filled with silence and resentment.

“You looking for someone else to hand your ass to you, lil Santi?” he asks, tossing another handful of peanuts into his mouth.

“You’re funny.” You hand him a smile, which drops the second he looks at it.

But when you turn back to the table and lift the cues, you hand one to him. Push it into his chest, shoot him a narrow-eyed glance.

“One game. And only ‘cause I need a sub.”

He dusts his hands together, shrugs. “Shouldn’t take me too long.”

You stalk back over to Mal, who’s giggling into her glass. “You two are unbelievable.”

“Don’t.” You hold your hand up, taking another swig of beer as Frankie lines up.

On his first shot, he pots that same red you were trying to hit before. His eyes lift only for a second, but you catch the cocky look he throws you and screw your face up.

“Fucking…ass,” you whisper.

Frankie’s shoulders jump, his teeth take his bottom lip. He’s laughing to himself when he takes his next shot, and pots another stripe. And then he stands up straight, holds his hands out.

“Just tell me when.”

“When what?”

“To start going easy on you.”

Fuck off. Fuck off, fuck you, fuck this. Fuck!

One more ball potted and finally, fucking finally, he misses a shot. It’s an impossible shot, anyway, there’s no way in hell he was gonna make it, but that’s not what matters. What matters is the way you twirl your cue in your fingers, then lift it and wander around the table, squeezing between Frankie and the wooden edge to get to your shot.

Your ass brushes past his jeans, and when you turn your head to whisper a sarcastic Sorry, he fucking growls. Low, almost inaudible. But just enough for you to notice, and enough for you to keep pissing him off.

The buzz you’re getting from antagonizing him this much must awaken some sort of billiards skillset you never knew you fucking had, because you pocket four balls in quick succession. Red, then green, then blue, and purple. There’s one ball between you when Frankie rounds the table, eyes scanning the felt for the next best shot he can take.

“Hurry the fuck up,” you mutter as he passes by you, on his third lap of the table.

He tsks. “Impatient,” he replies, shoulder brushing yours heavily. You feel the rough denim of his jeans graze your thighs, the weight of him against your backside for the second time. You push back, leaning into him as he moves past, then leans over, slinks his cue between his fingers, and takes his shot.

The yellow sails into the nearest pocket like there’s a magnet pulling it. The purple does the exact same – he barely has to tap it with the tip of the cue and it’s dropping in atop its predecessor.

Frankie turns, shimmying a little up the table, hip nudging yours out of the way. “Move,” he mumbles, shutting one eye to aim for the black. “Come on…” he breathes, and then shoots.

It bounces off of the opposite side of the table, thudding off of the cushion before it’s rolling toward the pocket and dropping in with a plunk.

He stands, fixing his baseball cap, and leans the cue against the table. “Good game, loser,” he says, ruffling your hair as he passes you.

“What age are you?” you sneer as he wanders back off to his beer, waiting for him on the table next to his bowl of peanuts.

Will wraps an unsteady arm around your shoulder as Frankie tips his bottle against his lips. He’s swaying, dragging you left and right with him as if you’re on a boat.

“He’s…he’s always been the best outta us all,” Will slurs, using his bottle to point at Frankie. “’s why he’s such a good pilot. Good aim.”

You sigh, pushing his heavy arm off yourself and slip back over to Mal, who hands you a sad smile and fixes your hair.

“It was a good attempt,” she says.

“Oh, shut up,” you reply, tossing your bottle up and draining the last of it onto your tongue. “I need another drink.”

You cross the room, suddenly less blurry and tilted, more boring and flat, and lean over the bar. “Nick,” you call, and he twists around, “grab me another–”

“It’s alright, Nick,” a voice yells over your shoulder, “I think she’s good.”

You spin around and it’s that stupid fucking baseball cap and the stupid denim button up again.

“What, I’m not allowed to drink now?”

Frankie’s head cocks. “You don’t think you’ve had enough?”

“I’ve had three. Three beers. The fuck is your problem?”

He tuts, glances left and right, and then back to you. “I think I should get you home.”

“I think you should mind your business.”

“Are you this fucking difficult with everyone when you’re drunk?”

“Nope,” you beam at him, “just you.”

He lets go of the grip he has on your arm and starts backing away. “I’m leaving, baby,” he tells you, nodding goodbye to Nick. “You’re either coming, or Pope’s gonna hear all about it.”

You ball your fists, watching the door swing closed behind him. Your feet stay rooted to the ground, eyes flitting from the parking lot over to Mal, who lifts her arms in a question. You shake your head in response, and her shoulders drop.

Sorry, you mouth, beginning to walk off in Frankie’s footsteps.

Mal blows you a kiss, winks once, and then salutes you goodbye. You shoulder out of the bar.

The ride back to your parents’ place is silent, except for the dull drone of whatever fucking music Frankie has choking out of his radio. You watch your hometown pass by, never taking your eyes off of the blurry streetlights or passing mailboxes, refusing to turn your head further than the middle of the windscreen at him.

He’s humming along to the song, jaw swinging as he chews on gum, arm hanging out of his open window. Everything he does is so fucking irritating, like a constant buzzing in your ear, an eyelash stuck in your eye, the feeling of stepping on a wet floor in socks.

So why, every time you do sneak a glance of him out of your peripheral, does the sight of those focused brown eyes, the strands of gray in his beard, the way his curls flick under the brim of his cap – why does it all stir something inside of you?

Frankie pulls up across the street from your house, white wood a milky blue in the moonlight. You unbuckle your seatbelt and let the strap whip off of your body, rattling against the interior of the truck. The most you’re willing to offer him is a nod of the head in thanks, which he returns, and your fingers hook around the door latch.

“Hey, mind if I come in ‘n use your bathroom?” he asks.

You pause. “Uh, yeah. I mind. No.”

“Come on, baby, I gotta piss like a racehorse.”

You scoff, ignoring him and slip down out of the truck. The door slams closed and you wander over to your parents’ drive, hearing a second slam as you cross the street.

“Uh, where do you think you’re going?”

“If your mom knew you weren’t letting me use her bathroom, she’d kill you, ‘n you know it.”

“My mom doesn’t know you like I know you, asshole,” you retort, but he’s still following you to the front door. “Just – alright. Do me a favor and disinfect it once you’re done. I don’t need them coming home to piss all over the floor.”

“You think my aim’s that bad? Just schooled you in a game of pool.”

You sigh, refusing to rise, and open the door. There’s the gentle scuffing of claws on the wooden flooring, trotting nearer and nearer in the dark hallway, and then the weight of your childhood dog shoves into your body.

“Hi, Angie. Hi, girl,” you whisper, scratching the dog’s white fur, her front paws against your tummy.

She jumps down when Frankie slips in behind you, wandering over with her tail swinging back and forth. He crouches down and holds his hand out, cooing, “Hi, baby,” as she nuzzles against his palm.

“She likes most folks who come by,” you utter, hanging your coat over the banister. “Don’t think you’re special.”

“She always loved me most,” he says, still fussing over the pup, “didn’t you, girl? Yeah, yeah you did.”

You roll your eyes and wander upstairs, leaving Frankie to find the bathroom, use it, and fuck off on his own.

It’s been almost eight years since you last lived here, but your room still looks oddly similar. Same bedframe, different sheets. Same wallpaper, only not covered in posters of your favorite bands. Same shelves, too, just that they hold stuff like vases and seashells and other random ornaments your mom’s picked up, rather than a collection of your favorite movies or framed photos of you and your friends.

You pull your dress over your shoulders and kick your boots off, grabbing a tee from your bag to sleep in. The Nirvana logo lies loose across your chest, the hem dancing along the line of your panties.

As you kneel on the mattress, tossing the million and one fucking pillows your mom has stacked down to the foot of the bed, you hear the door creak open.

“Damn,” Frankie mutters, glancing around the room, “haven’t been in here since I was, what, seventeen?”

“Weren’t welcome then, still not welcome now.”

“You still got that Black Eyed Peas poster rolled up somewhere?” He’s walking in, boots scuffing along the wooden floor.

“Are you lost?”

He looks over to you, stood by the bed, t-shirt barely reaching your thighs. “You know something, you ‘n your brother are so fucking different, it amazes me you’re related.”

“I imagine there’s a lot that amazes you, dumbass.”

He scoffs. There’s a hint of genuine humor in it. Like he’s impressed. And then his eyes scan down your body, lingering on the bare skin of your legs, shifting up to the pink cotton of your panties. They shoot back up when you speak again.

“Seriously, dude. What are you still doing here?”

Frankie turns to the dresser by the window, adorned with framed pictures of you and Santi as kids. “Making sure you get home alright, like Pope told me to.”

“Well,” you shrug, “I’m home, ‘n I’m alright. So…”

He picks up a silver frame; inside, faded by the sun and years that have passed, lives a photograph of you and your brother. He’s on his BMX bike, wide, toothless grin, and you’re behind him, standing on the pegs and gripping onto his t-shirt sleeves as you battle not to fall off.

Frankie laughs a little, turning the frame to show you. “You were always so fuckin’ annoying, you know that?” And then, with a shake of his head as he sets the frame back down, “Still are.”

You cock your head, throwing your hands up with an infuriated sigh. “If I’m so annoying, then why are you still here?”

The look he gives when he turns back around answers that question for you, in a way that his words never could. Never would, to be honest. He’d never admit the thoughts running through his head right now, same as you won’t admit that, likewise, they’re running through yours.

It’d be fucking weird. It’d be wrong, hooking up with his best friend’s little sister. Santi only asked him to get you home safe, not follow you inside, walk straight into your bedroom, look at you the way he’s looking at you right now, silhouetted by the streetlight shining through your still-open shades.

So then, why can’t he walk away?

You make to step forward, and Frankie’s already moving. He meets you halfway, stood on some fancy-looking rug your mom probably spent too much money on, his arms instantly finding your waist underneath your short tee.

“You fuckin’ piss me off, you know that?”

“I know,” you breathe, bottom lip brushing against his, “I know.”

He pushes you backward, sends you stumbling across the floor on your toes until the back of your calves hit the mattress and you fall, dragging him down on top of you. You knock the baseball cap from his head and run your hands through his brown curls, pulling him nearer as his hands begin to move north under the worn cotton of your shirt.

His rough hands cup your breasts, kneading and pinching your nipples as his lips fall to your neck, sucking a bruise into your soft skin.

“Frankie,” you breathe, “what the fuck are we–?”

“Shut up,” he whispers back, teeth grazing over your collarbone. He’s moving down, kissing over your tee as he goes, until he’s kneeling on the floor, your legs dangling off the bed either side of his body.

You push yourself up onto your elbows, watching him as he presses fleeting kisses to the insides of your thighs, making his way closer and closer to your center, covering ground painfully slow.

“Would you – just – fucking – get there?” you ask, head tilting back with a groan.

“Always so fucking impatient,” he mutters, pulling your legs further apart. “Makes sense, though,” he whispers, finger hooking around your underwear, “already so wet.”

“Dick,” you hiss, laying back flat on the bed.

Frankie holds the lace off of your core and then dips his jaw, lips lightly ghosting across your folds. You hum with a mixture of pleasure and annoyance, ready to buck your hips up to him if it’ll just make him move faster.

But you don’t have to wait a second longer. He licks one broad stripe up your center, pressing one chaste kiss to your clit before his tongue dips where you need him most. Your legs go to clamp shut, stopped by his shoulders.

“Fuck, Frankie,” you moan, hand coming down to knot your fingers in his hair.

He hums against your pussy, tongue lapping inside you, nose at the perfect angle for you to rut your clit against.

“Fuck…” you repeat, and he fucking laughs against you. “Quit it,” you hiss, and he lifts his head.

Your eyes shoot open, finding his. Alarmed meeting cool.

“Fine,” he says, smirking. “I’ll quit it.”

“Don’t you fucking– Frankie.”

“Your words, baby.” He shrugs, eyes flitting down to your cunt, soaked under his touch.

“I didn’t mean it,” you moan. “Why are you such a fucking asshole?”

He looks back up. The corners of his mouth pull his smirk into a grin. Some devilish grin, thick with arrogance.

“I’m an asshole,” he echoes, elastic of your panties shifting up to his knuckles.

He watches your cunt as he does it. Runs two fingers between your folds, coating them in your arousal, dipping them deeper until they’re at your entrance.

Your head hits the bed heavily, your body writhing over the white sheets as he pushes closer and closer. His free hand comes up and pushes down on your tummy, holding you steady to the mattress, then –

“I’m the asshole.”

He inserts his fingers, curled, thick, stretching you out over his hand as he pushes in deep. A gasp passes through your lips, exchanging itself for a throaty moan when Frankie begins fucking you on his hand, lowering his lips to your clit again.

His wrist pumps in and out, tongue swirling over the swollen bud, palm pushing harder into your stomach to keep you from upsetting his rhythm with how badly you want to move around.

Your fingers lock a vice grip around his hair, your hips the only part of your body he’ll let you move. You establish a pace of your own, fucking up to meet his fingers, grinding yourself on his wet tongue.

“I’m close,” you pant, Nirvana logo distorted in ruffles at the base of your neck. “So fucking close, Frankie.”

And he can feel it. Feel you tightening around his hand, feel the rhythm of your hips start to miss beats, move clockwise instead of up and down. He can hear as your mouth stops rounding the words, fading into slurs and breaths and moans instead of coherent language.

“F-Frankie,” you cry out, and it’s like music to his ears. “’m there, I’m–”

“On my mouth, baby,” he mutters, withdrawing his fingers and replacing them with his lips again, tongue pushing inside you as you fall apart all over him.

Your back lifts from the bed, fists ball around his hair, pushing his face even harder against your cunt as you ride out your high. You’re moaning his name over and over, echoing off the walls of your little room, escaping out the door and swirling around the hallway.

If you could hear yourself, or cared enough to try, you’d feel fucking embarrassed at what you’re doing – coming apart under Frankie’s touch. It’s Frankie.

The same Frankie you started an argument with one Fourth of July over which was better: ketchup or mustard; the two of you spitting insults over the striped tablecloth, obscene hand gestures being thrown up over plates of burgers.

The same Frankie who’d found out it was you who drew on the wall, and from that day on used it as leverage anytime you set a foot out of line. Used it to shut you up, anytime you so much as thought about talking back, or ratting on the boys.

You’re supposed to hate him. Ask anyone – Santi, Mal, your parents. They’ll all say the same. Like cat and dog.

And yet, here you are. Begging him not to stop, keep his hands and his mouth on you; gasping for breath when he eventually lifts away from you and you collapse back into the bed.

You glance down from under heavy lids, watching as he kisses your thighs again, slowly bringing you back to the room. His chin’s glistening, covered in your cum, beard soaked in you.

You slowly sit up, holding yourself steady with two palms pushed into the mattress. Frankie readjusts your underwear and sits back on his heels, running a hand down his chin and wiping himself clean.

“That was…” you pant, waiting for him to finish the sentence.

He just nods, breathing heavy himself. “Yeah.”

“I gotta…I gotta let…Ange out,” you say, words swaddled by your breath.

Frankie nods again. “I should go.”

You stand at the same time, straightening up face to face. His right side is lit warmly by your bedside lamp, the brown of his eye reflecting a tiny yellow orb back at you; the left side is darker, flecks of hair lit in the pale light from the street, face dark and unreadable. Like he’s two different people, split down the middle now, a before and after.

You’re staring at one another, mapping every inch of the other’s face. Learning it, like it’s new. Like you’ve never really seen each other until right now.

And then he’s turning, picking his hat up from the floor in one swooping motion, and walking out of your bedroom. A deep sigh passes your lips as he goes, relief mixed with satisfaction. And then you follow.

Angie circles him when his boots thud down from the bottom step. He bends to give her more attention, waiting for you to softly pad down alongside him. The dog trots off toward the kitchen, and he turns to you.

He’s back to his unphased self, jaw circling around the gum that he’s still fucking chewing. “Two drinks you owe me, now, lil Santi.”

You cock your head. “Hm?”

“One for showing your ass at pool, ‘n another for that.”

“Get the fuck out of my house, Morales.”

He snorts, wandering off down the hall. You spin on your heel and follow the sound of Ange scraping the back door, throwing a glance over your shoulder.

Frankie meets your eye, and like a reflex, the pair of you toss the finger to one another. He laughs, stepping out onto the porch.

“Anytime you feel like losing again, you know where I am, baby.”

----------

taglist: @serenaxpedro @bitchwitch1981 @brittmb115 @stormseyer @scarletthefierce @pattwtf @pascalpvnk @jediknightjana @mrsquill @uncassettodiricordi @gracieispunk @hellishjoel

(lmk if i’ve missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)

[professional-termite]

imagine if the star trek tos gang had tumblr lol

🔄 vulcanfuckerjt reblogged 1stofficerspock

😍 vulcanfuckerjt Follow

mannnn why are vulcans so.... ahfhfjfj lik????

🖖 1stofficerspock Follow

Hello captain.

😍 vulcanfuckerjt

sPOCKWHEN DJD YOU GET TUMBLR

🖖 1stofficerspock

Dr. McCoy reccommended this app to me this morning.

😍 vulcanfuckerjt

okkkk i think me and dr mccoy need to have a TALK

#in the meantime i need to purge this blog eughhhh

12 notes

🔄 cptnjtkirk reblogged 1stofficerspock

🎶 music-by-nyota Follow

rb for reach!!

🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿 scottishthings-daily Follow

FLOWER OF SCOTLAND SWEEP!! 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿

🇷🇺 russianthings-daily Follow

RUSSIAN ANTHEM SWEEEP!!! 🇷🇺🇷🇺🇷🇺🇷🇺🇷🇺

🟥 redshirt-ensign Follow

who tf submitted a mitski song

🦴 bonesbonesbones Follow

i did. it reminded me of how @'cptnjtkirk feels about @'1stofficerspock :]

🖖 1stofficerspock Follow

What?

🌠 cptnjtkirk Follow

IGNOREE HIM PLEEASE

#bones istg

1.2k notes

🔄 scottishthings-daily reblogged russianthings-daily

🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿 scottishthings-daily Follow

if the enterprise was a woman id want her to sit on my face

🇷🇺 russianthings-daily Follow

🤨

🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿 scottishthings-daily

wRONG BLOG

26.7k notes

🔄 redshirt-ensign reblogged redshirt-ensign

🟥 redshirt-ensign Follow

abt to go on my first mission, wish me luck!!

🟥 redshirt-ensign

med bay

56.8k notes

🔄 cptnjtkirk reblogged klingon-commander

🤬 klingon-commander Follow

this is a callout post for @'cptnjtkirk hes a vulcan fucker and a war criminal

🦴 bonesbonesbones Follow

you say that like theyre equally bad..?

🤬 klingon-commander

they are.

🌠 cptnjtkirk Follow

too bad im not actually either of those things lmao

#i wish... #not about the war criminak thing obv i mean #wait dammit spock can see this blog nvm

10 notes

🔄 klingon-soldier-6 reblogged scottishthings-daily

🇷🇺 russianthings-daily Follow

Posting Russian things every day, day 567: Nevsky potatoes!

😡 klingon-soldier-6 Follow

they look stupid

🇷🇺 russianthings-daily

i have your family name and home coordinates. you have 3 days to delete that post.

🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿 scottishthings-daily Follow

ay, laddy...@'cptnjtkirk said to quit yer fighting!

😡 klingon-soldier-6

stfu ur in love with an ugly ass spaceship

#istg you starfleet ppl are like asking to get bullied or smthn #not my fault ur easy targets

756 notes

🔺️ engineerthrowaway74859 Follow

@'klingon-soldier-6 's full dox

130 notes

🔄 cptnjtkirk reblogged romulan-invasion

🗡 thereal-mrsulu Follow

@'cptnjtkirk Sir, there's an asteroid coming towards the ship at an alarming speed! 3 hours until impact!

🌠 cptnjtkirk Follow

cant we just move out of the way.? or blow it up

🗡 thereal-mrsulu

I can't, sir! Our controls are all jammed!

🪆 russianthings-nav Follow

can confirm, @'cptnjtkirk sir!! nothings working!!

🌠 cptnjtkirk

how?? how could this have happened???

😈 romulan-invasion Follow

:3

🌠 cptnjtkirk

shit

4.3k notes

🦴 bonesbonesbones Follow

"ooo mccoy what do i do" "oooh mccoy im in love with my first officer" "ooh mccoy--" boi stfu im a surgeon not a matchmaker

#go talk to someone else if you want help with that bucko #bones rambles

2 notes

🌠 cptnjtkirk Follow

i wish people would stop vagueposting about me :( at least @ me if ur gonna say something rude

#personal

0 notes

🔄 cptnjtkirk reblogged bonesbonesbones

🦴 bonesbonesbones Follow

@'cptnjtkirk is a massive simp

#not what i meant but thanks i guess

36 notes

[prettyboypistol]

TF2 Mercs x M!Reader || How the Mercs Jerk Off +18

minors dni and get blocked

ambiguous genitals for Pyro

Scout

The stereotypical setup of "makes a night of it" sometimes only to end up frantically fucking his fist 10 minutes later as he gasps out your name breathlessly.

Most of the time though his man is a horny mess. Sneaks off to jack off frequently (like 2/month).

Has jerked off in the showers before but prefers his bedroom to relieve himself.

HUUUGE on fantasies. Always talking to himself and imagining you in various ways. His favorite is imagining you blowing him.

Usually lasts a short amount of time, but can recover extremely quickly.

Pyro

Oh. My. God. This is the HORNIEST mf alive when they're lucid. Yeah, they're a little awkward about how close they get to you, but everyone shrugs it off as them being socially unaware.

You smell so amazing to them, the smell of you looks so pretty to them in their head because of their synesthesia. Has embarrassingly gotten off to the colors and feeling of your voice and smell.

Your voice is a calming purple to them with a gentle rumbling against the bottom of their mind, the sound feels a sort of comfortable chilling ironically.

They refuse to do anything outside of their safe space- hell, considering that nobody even knows if Pyro needs to jerk off-

It HAS to be: right vibes, 3 am, locked door, calming smell candles, windows shut, etc etc

Soldier

Has a love/hate relationship with jerking off, he sees it as manly and masculine to release urges, but also weak to indulge himself in base desires.

A manly man thinking of another manly man like yourself? Well technically that's twice the amount of men. At first he assumed he was jealous of your physique, but then he drempt of you on top of him right about to push your-BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEEEEEP 0600 SOLDIER TIME TO WORK

Awkward boners are his specialty, excusing himself to "go oversee the maggots" when you flex a particularily nice deadlift.

Less private than Pyro but still prefers a more private setting like in the woods, a bathroom stall, or just a spot he deemed far away enough from everyone else.

Most embarrassed about wet dreams where he can actually get off in his dreams, deeming that day "surprise laundry inspection/washing day"

Demo

He's pretty lax about jerking off to be honest, has probably drunkenly teased you about you should be careful about how often you keep your shirt off.

"Ey laddie, careful showin' those pecs around! Cannae imagine you'd like a man eyein' those tits of yours!" Of course it was a joke, you two were close like that. of course he was just teasing you.

Oh god he wanted to fuck your pecs. Unabashedly staring at your chest he imagined how nice his dick would look in-between your pecs, maybe scrunched against a tight wifebeater too oh fuck-

Reletively respectful of everyone's decentcy and only relieves himself either in his room or in the empty showers at 4 in the morning. He's probably only been caught once but never agains after that.

Cums a lot, that's why he prefers the shower wanks to quickly wash away the evidence.

Engie

This man is so fucking ashamed of touching himself to thoughts of you- much like he would be about thinking of anyone. He's got such a huge shame surrounding the whole thing but the evil voice in his head only made him strangely harder.

He imagined you wakling in on him as he whispered out your name and you shaming him as you slide up behind him as your hand wraps around his jerking him off all while telling him just how much of a pervert he is.

This man has the biggest undiscovered humiliation kink god it's so fucking pathetic (i deeply desire him)

Has jerked off in his workshop multiple times with the door deadbolted shut and a drill running to hide what he's doing.

Honestly prefers the feel of vaseline/nonsexy lube on his dick and it's a lot less suspicious to have that around.

Heavy

Doesn't often feel the need due to how high alert he is.

When Heavy is at ease he's more bearlike and chill rather than a hotblooded, horny-brained mess. When he does actually touch himself, he is extremely quiet in his bedroom and quick about the whole ordeal.

Has a nasty "habit" of thinking of you. He assumes it's because you're actually nice to him and he's not been around a woman in god knows how long. You're not womanly-like in the slightest but Heavy likes to think about his hands on your hips as he makes you whine.

Feels a stinging sense of guilt afterwards but generally shrugs the feeling off. It's not really such a bad thing if he keeps it to himself and keeps everything professional, right?

Sniper

I wrote a fic about how I generally feel Sniper jerks it here but I'll rephrase it here as a TLDR

This man is really fucking weird about jerking off to you. He HAS stolen something of yours to smell and fantasize with and if given the chance he WILL steal again.

HUGE scent kink and voyeur/creeping kink kind of like Engie in a way where he wants you to call him out on his bullshit.

Probably the most unprofessional about it. He has fondled himself as he watched you through his scope during battle and he will do it again.

Pretty quick ordeal overall to keep himself sane. He jacks off often and quickly to keep a baseline sense of sanity (pre-nut insanity is a thing and his diagnosis is terminal RIP)

Medic

Honestly I headcanon Medic not feeling a need to masturbate. His lust for you oozes out in his operations in some sort of gorey satisfaction in operations on the team. (think like, the taboo passion of physically rearranging someone's guts gets him off in a weird way.)

This isn't to say he gets sexually aroused by his experiments, it's just that the excitement of the thrills get cross-wired in his brain. When you drop your shirt on the floor to prep for an operation his dick twitches in his pants but that's literally it.

Flirts with you on the operating table <3

The only time he's actually masturbated is for experiements. (One was if he could create life without an egg and the second was to see how much cum could a healthy man extract out of him.)

Spy

This man is so hoity-toity about getting off it's almost a pain to write. It's an actual whole night for him. It starts with a nice bath with oils more expensive than your paycheck, then a professional massage, then a calming cigarette mixed with some top-grade cannabis in either a blunt or in a nice dessert. THEN FINALLY he lays himself down onto his pretty little bed and fucks himself.

And even then Spy has a routine to jerking off to really indulge himself. He starts slow and gentle with teasing touches that go lower and lower until he's strained against the fluffy bathrobe he is cuddled in.

Imagines you riding him a lot, but if he's in the mood to bottom, he slowly fucks himself with a pretty nice vibrator as he imagines you fucking him as your dick brushed against his prostate in the most delicious of ways.

This man is convinced that every other merc assumed that he gets too many bitches to need to masturbate and he fully intends to keep that assumption alive and well.

[tac-the-unseen]

What the Lost Boys think of vampire related media pt.2

After your last vamp media talk you had more questions you absolutely needed the answers to. Some of those answers came more naturally than you thought.

What we do in the Shadows:

-This is their absolute favorite show. It's just something they can all sit down to watch and get a nice laugh.

-David was actually the one that suggested it to the group

-He thinks it's about as close to what being a really vampire is like.

-You brought up your last conversation about why no vampire media could be so close to the real thing and he quickly responded with “Vampires are made up to be these gross demon creatures with no self control, when in fact most vampires were just normal humans going about their life.”

-He knew that no one in this show actually knows any vampires because of inconsistencies, but it's as close to it as they can all get without having to kill anyone for it.

-”Are you off your tits, boy?” “He is.”

-Paul quotes the show all the damn time (And so do the others but he is the main culprit.)

-you actually can't get him to stop

-”I became a vampire to suck blood and to fuck forever.”

-”No fuck off. Can't be side tracked with cheap sex potions.”

-Need an answer to any questions? Paul will respond with “Coprophilia.”

-Marko is giggling at Paul's quotes and answers with his own

-”Pizza pie” :D

-”He's my sweet cheese!”

-”She speaks the bullshit.”

-His favorite character is Nadja of course

-You have to pry him away from the T.V if you need him to do something else

-Dwayne will stop whatever he's doing if you offer to watch WWDITS with him

-He loves the historical references and gags

-He relates to Guillermo most of the time, being one of the voices of reason in his Chaos Coven

-”i was thinking w-” “we should finish each other off and tell no one?” “I’m game if you are.” ✨Spooky music✨

•This show is permanently engraved into their brain

•You can take the boys out of WWDITS but you can not take the WWDITS out of the boys

Hotel Transylvania:

-Paul squints at the T.V “This has to be a crime to watch.”

-Dwayne without turning away from the T.V “Dracula is going to go ape shit when he sees this “

-David eats his popcorn slowly “at least there is other monsters in this movie.”

-Marko is giggling at the Blob and Scream Cheese “I fucking love kids movies.”

-All of them hated the village scene though.

Kid vampire:

-They all watch it because Laddie wanted them too

-All you can hear for the next few days is “Kid Vampire!” in that accent

-David and Dwayne thought the bogger nose bleed drink was absolutely disgusting.

-Like to the point the both gagged.

-Paul thinks it a cute little project

-Marko likes how they say ‘blood’

-Dwayne uses the song “Vampire brush” to get Laddie to brush his teeth

Monster High:

-Marko and Paul sing the theme song semi consistently

-”Monster-monster high! monster high! monster-monster high! Freaky, sheek, and fly, monster high, where student bodies lay.”

-”We got spirits, yes we do! We got spirits, how bout you!?”

-This is another show they all watch with Laddie

-David isn't a raving fan, but he can stand it

-”Draculaura is a bit of a lazy name.” “Clawdeen wolf? Lagona blue? Cleo De Nile? Everyone has a lazy name because it's a kids show!”

-Dwayne is secretly into it and asks Laddie to watch it with him so he has an excuse

Thanks for reading <3

Yes I saw the comment you wanted me to see. Don't think I was ignoring you, I just had to find other media to talk about. (I stalk my own page like a Hyena. It's a little sad tbh lmao)

[shirefantasies]

Hello! 👋 Your work is amazing! I was wondering, how do you think the LOTR characters would interact with their companion/crush who has a loyal dog/wolf companion? How would the dog react to the characters? I just like the dynamics between people and animals. Take care!

SUPER OLD REQUEST I’M SORRY!!! Hmmmm interesting 🤔 I'm a huge animal girlie, though it's cats for me hehe! Love imagining my faves with animals omg 🥺

LoTR Characters + Your Loyal Canine Companion

Aragorn

✧ As someone who bonds with animals, he understands immediately and feels a sort of trust toward you because you respect other living things.

✧ He approaches the beast with great caution, near-reverence, offering a tentative hand. It is your turn to smile as your companion warily accepts, butting its head into his palm as he whispers gentle encouragement in Elvish.

✧ With your permission, takes it out tracking, curious to compare skills and see how the beasts of the world are truly made for their roles in a way even the greatest ranger cannot be.

✧ He sees firsthand the way you trust each other, move in battle as if carefully choreographed, and remarks how truly lucky you are.

✧ It moves your heart to see Aragorn’s grin one night when your companion practically knocks him off his seat by the fire.

Legolas

✧ You can see the surprise coloring his eyes before he actually speaks, the way they trace your motions and the furrow of his brows.

✧ Fearing it is judgment, you cross your arms and bite out a “Don’t tell me- an elf who’s not one for beasts?” Calm as anything, he replies in a tone dripping with wonder that he has never seen one so in tune with the world of nature, and at that, in the face of his satisfied smile, your jaw and tone drop.

✧ Naturally, your guardian is completely calm in Legolas’s presence, regarding him with a politely cocked head and an inquiring gaze sated by the elf’s hand upon its head.

✧ Legolas sees the way it curls up in the dirt at your feet, shakes his head and takes one of his blankets, wrapping the fabric into a nest for it.

✧ You catch him having a race with it one day, claiming with great merriment that the dwarf bet him he was slower than the animal.

Boromir

✧ Chuckles deeply at the sight of who trails you, shaking his head in wonder. “Don’t you two make quite a pair?”

✧ Asks right away if he can take the beast hunting, saying he envies you such a great hound.

✧ This leads to Boromir sitting at your side and recounting grand tales of Gondor’s best hunts, idly stroking the beast at your feet as he reminisces.

✧ He loves tossing sticks for the dog/wolf, amusement and peace clear upon his face as he opens his arms to the returning canine. “I could get used to this.”

✧ Your companion serves as an avenue for him to admit his feelings, starting with telling you your home must truly be a happy place with such a beast in it.

Gimli

✧ You probably meet because your companion goes bounding up to the dwarf at once, all but knocking him over. “Control your dog or I shall have to!” We all know, of course, that he is all talk.

✧ It surprises you how friendly your guardian is with a stranger, but his merry chuckles are quite infectious, bringing a smile to your lips.

✧ When you begin your travels together Gimli builds up a teasing friendship with the canine, playfully arguing with it as it noses against him for the meat he is eating and he shoos it, only to sneak a bit down anyway.

✧ Can be a bit rough with play sometimes, but you know your beloved beast can handle it, especially if it’s quite large, then they are evenly matched! Sometimes they all but wrestle in the dirt, tug-of-war somehow having turned much more silly and personal.

✧ Knows your companion’s name, but still always calls it Laddie/Lassie.

Frodo

✧ “How did you come by this creature?” Frodo is the only fellowship member to ask questions rather than whisper to themselves, and you appreciate that, telling him the story one night.

✧ Since then, the young hobbit offers plenty of secret little smiles your way and you ask for stories of his people in return.

✧ When the weight of the ring gets heavier Frodo finds himself curling his fingers through the fur at the top of the beast’s head idly, bringing him that much closer to reality’s solid ground.

✧ He even finds a special form of companionship in the moments anxiety overtakes him, your canine friend sensing his unease and draping itself upon him like a warm, heavy blanket.

✧ Grateful is an understatement. Frodo tells you in a soft voice that he doesn’t know what he would do without you two by his side.

Sam

✧ Before he even has a chance to get defensive your companion melts for him, warming up to the hobbit like none you’ve ever seen.

✧ The way they take to each other surprises you, Sam keeping aside bones from the broth to give it and your guardian taking circling Sam just as seriously as with you.

✧ Maybe it has something to do with the way Sam looks at you, the awe glistening in his eyes and the way he says your name like he isn’t worthy of it, though of course he’s the most worthy of the whole lot.

✧ Uses your companion as a sort of proxy to say things to you he’s too shy to say to your face, telling it how amazing its owner is and the like.

✧ Refers to the wolf/dog as Miss or Mister partially because he thinks it’s funny and usually says it in a jolly voice but also so you know how much respect he has for it.

Merry

✧ “Well, I haven’t seen a dog this big since outside that bar in Bree! What’s his name?”

✧ Sees your companion as a pet, which though not entirely wrong creates a more playful dynamic between them once they both understand neither is a threat.

✧ Merry can’t help bursting into laughter the day he knocks you over in a sparring match, only to get peeled off you by a massive wall of canine. Keeps laughing once they both unfreeze and he gets licked, trying to roll back up and away from the new attack. “I was going to ask if he knew any tricks, but no need now it seems!”

✧ Retaliates by finding the ‘sweet spot’, scratching until your canine friend kicks his legs like they do!

✧ Opens up to you one day, remarking how he wishes to be half of such an in-tune duo in battles and in life. Not that he doesn’t love his cousin, but he craves a different kind of companionship, one you assure him he could have with a fond smile on your lips.

Pippin

✧ Peers at you with the round eyes of complete shock, having seen nothing like you in his Shire days.

✧ Keeps the beast plenty occupied letting it run after him, tearing giddily around the camp once he sees you keep friendly company.

✧ He makes the mistake one night of extending his spoon for your guardian to sniff, only for his morsel to be stolen. Pippin cannot help a laugh, though, and a glittering look your way. “He likes to eat as much as I do, I see!”

✧ You cannot help softening at the fire one night upon looking over and seeing that the hobbit has fallen asleep, his head resting gently against the soft side of your wolf/dog.

✧ Definitely sees your companion as a way to get to know you better, asking plenty of questions and getting close to the canine in hopes to earn a place by your side, too.

Faramir

✧ Lives by a sort of silent oath to question but accept. Thus he asks why you travel with a beast, but listens to your reasons with firm nods and the beginning flicker of an understanding smile.

✧ Offers his hand very tentatively, having had his touch rejected or struck against many a time, but when the dog/wolf nuzzles against him he looks at you with joyous pride that melts you.

✧ That little interaction has you wanting to bring the two of them together, some inexplicable invisible string tugging you closer to Faramir by the heart.

✧ You let him feed your companion, indulge in a game of fetch, and in between it all make some conversation yourself. Amazing, really, all the knowledge Faramir has and he is equally impressed with your prowess in nature.

✧ Faramir always tells you how you remind him of great heroes from the stories he grew up reading with his brother.

Eomer

✧ “Who is this,” he teases you with a smirk, “your mount?” “No,” you shoot back, “though he is sure leagues more loyal than yours.”

✧ Challenges you to a competition, a challenge of hunting between him and his horse and you and your beloved canine. You win, and he accepts, offering pats to its head.

✧ Ever the tease, Eomer dubs you the Lord/Lady of Dogs, but you know by his smile and the glint in his eyes that he means it with affection.

✧ Invites you on patrols of his land’s borders, saying he trusts you both to get the job done.

✧ Suddenly he keeps talking about taking in a dog of his own so yours has a sibling, more and more thoughts along that vein invading his mind…

Haldir

✧ Fears your companion will slow the party’s orc tracking down, especially as many members utilize the cover of the trees.

✧ Allows you to do as you please, though, his soft spot evident in the way he shuts down any and all whispers about the group’s most unique member.

✧ You can see it, too, hear it in the way they speak warily of your fellow hunter, but you will not be parted. Instead you prove them wrong as your fierce defender takes down several of your quarry on its own.

✧ Haldir himself commends you both, offering a tentative hand to your newly shared ally and smiling up at you as it is accepted. Something different flashes in his eyes alongside the almost shy look.

✧ “Truly, how much less exciting my life would be without you in it…”

Eowyn

✧ Astounded by the way you two communicate, it is as if you truly do understand each other. She questions it, asks how this can be.

✧ Takes you by the horses, curious if your harmony spreads. She smiles at the way you interact with them, but it is clear just from that that the bond with your companion has been forged over years.

✧ Absolutely ready to fight to get a suit of armor made for your canine friend complete with a helmet and all of Rohan’s motifs of course!

✧ “After all, we much protect such beauty, no?”

✧ Playfully dangles things in the air, giggling whenever your canine guardian leaps for them and smiling widely at you.

Arwen

✧ Kneels down and whispers something in Elvish to it the moment she sees trepidation in its eyes, calming your companion immediately.

✧ It fosters a sense of trust between you and the woman, whose side you kneel to, tangling a hand in your canine's fur next to her.

✧ She is reminded, of course, of Huan, Oromë’s most famous hound and wonders if your beast could even be his descendant.

✧ Fair and just, Arwen quickly falls into the circle of people your furry comrade protects, chuckling deeply when it growls at the next set of people joining you as visitors to Rivendell. She speaks gently to it, asking it with a teasing tone how it still feels such unease in such a place.

✧ She knows you feel like an outsider sometimes and works to correct that, constantly telling you you have such strength and a place in the world- even Rivendell with her if you so desire.

Elrond

✧ Looks taken aback by the large form that follows you, brows raising at the creature entering his home. He hesitates, makes to hold it back, but when you insist you both go or neither the elf somewhat grudgingly nods.

✧ Used to odd patrons as he is, Elrond reminds himself that he welcomes all and asks politely for the beast’s name.

✧ Studies up on its origin if he is not already aware, trying to determine if this is an ordinary wolf/dog or one with any ties to the land’s magic.

✧ He sees your companion charge into battle at your defense, risking its own life, and with a nod of pride rushes in to save it from its own sacrifice.

✧ From then on Elrond regards your guardian as an equal of sorts, stroking its head in passing and speaking to it as if it could understand him.

Lindir

✧ Goes to comical lengths to step away from and avoid the massive canine at your heels when first he meets it.

✧ Possibly even asks if it’s safe, has fleas, etc. but immediately retracts and offers pats when you glare at him for it. Finds himself smiling despite himself at the feeling of the soft fur beneath his hand.

✧ You’ve seen dogs that howl as their owners play instruments? Then you know exactly what it is I am saying. The kick Lindir gets out of this is astounding; he can’t even be annoyed.

✧ Jokes that you’re hiding a composer under the guise of a hunter.

✧ Takes to the idea of further training, seeing how such an intelligent creature could learn to open doors and fetch items, considering such a use for helping Rivendell’s infirmary patients and those struggling with loss of motion or senses.

Taglist: @kilibaggins @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart | Let me know if you’d like to join ☺️

[fallingthruspace]

Lost Boys AU where Max is the only one that dies & Lucy just sort of...adopts everyone.

- David, Dwayne, Paul, Marko & Laddie are now Her Boys just as much as Michael & Sam.

- David calls her Lucy, Dwayne calls her Mrs. Emerson, Paul & Marko both call her Ma.

- Even Star is brought into the family & Lucy is beyond happy to have another girl around the house.

- The cave is still used for partying/hanging out/etc but for the most part they've all moved into the Emerson house. The attic windows were blacked out & the vamps sleep up there by hanging from wooden beams.

- Laddie had a bed up there too so he can "share a bedroom" with his brothers.

- Paul forgives Nanook for almost killing him and they are now Best Friends.

- Nanook essentially becomes their Hell Hound and positions himself outside the attic door during the day.

- Dwayne is Grandpa Emersons favorite because he isn't a pain in the ass & is good with cars.

- Sam wasn't really a fan of this new situation at first but eventually warmed up to it. Now he likes having five extra brothers (even if four of them are vampires)

- The vamps & the Frog brothers have a tentative sort of truce.

- Contrary to popular belief vampires can be photographed & Lucy gets a big family photo taken of everyone to hang up in the living room.

[eliima141]

Part two of Dragon!Price and Deer!Reader

Warnings!: nsfw, age gaps, breeding, two cock price, cubby/thick reader.

Im gonna try more fluff this time. :3

• Since Price is used to nesting and being around female dragons he would so try to get Reader to nest as well, mixing their cultures together.

• Price’s favorite positions are lazy positions. The two of you being comfortable together while he rams into Readers tiny little cunt. Making them easily cock drunk from how deep the angle was. Specially in spooning positions since he could have more control of your legs, being able to move them up and down to hit your gummy little spots.

•Price the type of guy to over do foreplay. Kissing Reader for at least 12 minutes before finally trailing kisses down readers neck and jaw, putting his giant leg between your legs to grind your cubby pussy against it. Taunting you as you leave a wet spot on the pant of his knee.

•Before he started courting you he was never much of munch. Yea sure he would give the laddies he did before you tons of pleasure but going down on them and lapping their folds with his tongue? He didn’t see the appeal. until Reader came into his forest, well How could he not? They were so sweet smelling and soft, even better is that they had a fat fucking pussy. Who in their right mind would refuse to be in between thighs like theirs? It was like trying to find a treasure between their thick folds, sucking on readers clit and tonguing her gooey hole. The satisfaction was unbeatable when he made Reader cum on his face for the first time. He was good with his cock and hands but being able to suck on Readers cunt was something new, like a new level being unlocked. Ever since then his beard has been getting more and more bleached every time he’s off of deployment. 141 teases him for it, his dark brown beard and mustache slowly getting streaks of red, orange and other colors into the mix around his mouth.

• Price can and will make you black out during sex, specially near his ruts, he gets more energy in to actually fuck you like a mad man. Gripping your hips before slamming you down onto his cock, readjusting and then shoving you into a mating press. And shit, his ruts are even worse, monthly ruts, lasting for about 3 days to a week. Since Reader starting dating price they had become a regular at the towns furniture store due to how many couches and beds they break on a monthly. The poor wall having dents, scratches and holes where ever they place the bed frame. Whatever at least they know what room to not put their kids in. Might as well sound proof the place due to how loud they fuck.

•Price has a breeding kink no doubt. First time he ever got to touch you he imagined what you would be like pregnant, such a tiny thing waddling around with a giant belly full of little dragon and deer hybrids.

•I dont think dragon price would be one to dabble in much aftercare. Washing your little body after scenting and marking you all over? Why would he do that? He already does his best to make sure you stink of his scent. Cumming in your lotion to have a tad of that scent, rubbing his scent glands over any part of you at any given second, when your not around spilling your clean clothes onto the bed, then instantly laying on them, making sure he it had been a few hours since he showered. But price would care for you, not leaving you cold and alone, cuddling you. almost whining when getting up to get you some fruit and water maybe some pain killers depending on the type of session.

[littlesunshine1223]

Hey you should totally write some fluffy/smutty head cannons for Marko and Dwayne plz

TLB Dwayne and Marko Headcanons

(CONTENT WARNING: the following content contains things such as feral vampires, blood, biting, smut, etc… Viewer Discretion Is Adviced)

Dwayne

SFW

- He’ll cuddle you after a long day and listen to you rant

- Laddie thinks of you as his new parent too and started calling you mama/papa

- sometimes when you’re both bored the two of you will make beaded bracelets for the others

- he loves to wrap his jacket around you whenever he knows you’re getting cold

- if you bring him gifts or do sweet gestures for him he’ll get flustered

- he buys/“barrows” anything you like from the boardwalk and any of your favorite foods

- whenever you’re around him he lets his walls down and will let his silly side show

- he loves tilting your chin up to look at him before he kisses you

- if you braid his hair then he’ll love you 100 times more then he already does

- You and him sneak into the movies all the time for date nights and sometimes the two of you bring Laddie along (like a happy family)

NSFW

- he’s a dom 100%

- he can be whatever you want him to be in bed, you want him to be rough then he’ll be rough and if you want him to be gentle then he’ll make the sweetest love to you

- he loves to cover you in hickeys, bites, and just any marks that he can still see for a couple days just because he loves the reminder of what the two of you did

- when he bites and ends up drawing blood from you he goes absolutely feral but he will listen if you tell him not to drink anymore

- if he’s worked up and you tease him then he’ll drag you off away from the others and bend you over the nearest surface when the two of you get privacy

- want him to make some pretty noises for you? Ride him and pinch his nipples or leave marks all over him

- wanna get him all hot and bothered? Bend him over something or grab his hips then tell him all the things you want him to do to you

- he’s really sensitive around his ribs so if you manage to be in charge and leave a few kisses there then he’ll whimper and beg for you

- if he’s in one of his feral ruts be prepared to wake up the next morning covered in love bites, unable to move properly, and him sleeping peacefully next to you

- if you’re in charge for the night then he’ll act a little bratty and try to hold back his noises of pleasure and he becomes really sassy

Marko

SFW

- his pigeons will start to flock around you whenever he’s busy somewhere else in the cave or wrestling around with Paul to settle an argument or just goofing around

- he will snuggle up to you and refuse to move if he knows you’re feeling sad or upset

- if you want a certain food from the boardwalk then he always magically has it with him

- if you give him a pin then he’ll draw on your arm, it helps him calm down if he’s upset too

- every time the two of you cuddle he will always want to use your chest as his pillow

- he’ll find the most random thing and bring it to you as a gift (bottle caps, pop tabs, shiny things, a spray painted brick he ripped out of the wall of a random building)

- if you’re tired he’ll let you lay on top of him on the couch and won’t let you up until after you’ve had a nap

- kisses with him are either really sweet and gentle or deep and rough there’s no in between

- if you’re cold he will bring you whatever you want to keep warm and if you want his jacket he’ll tell you to just be easy with the patches

- he loves when he wakes up and sees you waiting around the cave for him

NSFW

- he’s a solid switch (you can’t convince me otherwise)

- he can be rough and mean if you want him to and after at least a couple of spanks he’ll listen to you

- he loves to be balls deep inside you as you boss him around and tug his hair

- he loves to bite you and leave hickeys everywhere on you. you’ve had hickeys on your thighs, a trail down your stomach to your private parts, your neck, the bottom of your back, everywhere

- he will act like a brat if he doesn’t get what he wants and if you deny him a kiss when he’s subbing for you then he will start crying

- he wants you to be touching him 24/7 and never wants it to stop

- if he’s in a feral rut then he’s pinning you to the bed and ruining your chances of walking properly for a couple of days at least

- he loves the noises you make and if you try to hide them then he’ll stop completely and refuse to continue until he gets to hear how good he’s making you feel

- if you take his jacket off him then that night he’s pinning you down and punishing you by overstimulating you till you’re to the point of tears or on the verge of passing out. he will praise you by telling you how hot and sexy you look wearing it though

- he will go feral if you overstimulate or edge him for more then 3 rounds

[chaosandmarigolds]

I'm crying I need more Simon and Ollie here just so !!! maybe their dynamic with reader too

I need more Simon and Ollie too!!! So win - win!!’

Dad! Simon who, yeah admittedly, practically took over parenting for the first few months of marriage cause he ‘has time he has to make up for’

- waking up, cooking, going to the park, getting Ollie dressed, watching Bluey (loves bluely I will die on this hill) and anything and everything inbetween

Dad! Simon who loves holding Ollie’s hand as they walk, even though he has to be like lobsided to do it

Dad! Simon who lives for fishing trips, don’t ask why buy he and Ollie will wake up early, make pancake-

“Si- honey,” you grumble into the darkness as you feel the bed moving as he gets up, reaching out your arm- that he gently took a hold of and pressed a kiss to your wrist, “‘s early.”

He leans over more onto the bed, leaving a few kisses to your forehead and nose. “Olls and I ar’ gunna go fishing at th’ pond, wanted to wake up ‘fore him.”

With sleep still blurring your vision you rub yours eyes, trying to not let his showering of kisses falter your words, “Olls wakes up at 6 normally- four thirty in the morning Simon.”

“He’s gonna be up any second now, luv.”

“Oh yeah, cause you know-“

“ISTER RILEY IS FISH DAY.”

You quickly sit up in the bed to see your three year old standing in the doorframe of the bedroom, hair messy and the dinosaur pjs are wrinkled and lopsided- very much awake though. “Oliver-“

“Oops. No mean wake mommy, jus get ister Riley so we go fish.” His words are fake hushed as he toddles over to the bed, crawling onto it and then standing, making him a shocking only a foot and half shorter than Simon. “Fish day?”

“After breakfast, laddie.”

“no breakfast, we go fish now.”

“Mmm, no, big boys eat breakfast an’ then go fish.”

Dad! Simon who loves teaching Ollie all of the little in and outs of thing, like things he thought were common sense but in fact is not

Dad! Simon who when you don’t have a babysitter calls Price and his missus- meaning this conversation-

“Who Iser Money?”

“Price, laddie, ‘Ike the price of your toy- yeah?And…” Simon falters as he looks to you in the passenger seat, eyes down to your phone and your hand grasping is, “Jus call ‘em Grandfather, okay?”

Your head snaps up, giving your boyfriend a look as Ollie chirps happily in compliance. “Simon-“

“Leave it be, just till you meet them, okay?”