#send requests in

[clairecrive]

so i’ve, at last, fell into the Aaron Taylor Johnson vortex.

For now, I’ve watched “Kraven” and “Bullet Train” so I think I’m going to add Tangerine and Kraven/Sergei Kravinoff to the list of characters I write for.

If you have any requests or prompts pr whatever for those, feel free to send them my way✨💞

[ravenflorals]

I’m bored , so please feel free to send in prompts or songs i could turn into drabbles !! <3

[minimiance]

size difference kink but in the “i grew up being made fun of for being chubby so now the idea of a giant of a man being able to toss me around and tower over me without making my weight a problem makes me really horny” way, you get what im saying?

[kokytea]

Could you draw Anya getting angry at daisuke over their game. I think she deserves being more than just sad or scared

I bet Daisuke won with probably the worst card i can think of.

[daily-dragon-drawing]

#111 - 跨性別 (kuà xìngbié / transgender) - A dragon that transes your gender?! 🏳️‍⚧️💙💗🤍⚧️

[grumpoww]

Married Hilson 🗣️🗣️

[gaypirate420]

I WANT HIM ALL DIRTY AND CRAZY IDGAF.

[loveafterlife]

"i shine only with the light you gave me,"

[abbotjack]

can u pls write a fic where the reader absolutely adores going down on abbot because she gets to have him at his most vulnerable and feral, all because of her own undoing

you know what… yeah. there's something about the way jack falls apart when your mouth is on him—quiet at first, trying to hold it together, and then suddenly he's gone. voice rough, hips twitching, all restraint out the window. and the best part? it's not because he's asking for it. it's because you wanted to. because he let you in, and now he can't hide from it. anyway. here you go!

content/warning : explicit oral sex (m receiving), praise kink, military past mentions, emotional vulnerability, established relationship intimacy, Jack is feral and in love. 18+ MDNI!!!!!

words : 1,755

Jack’s hard to catch off guard.

He’s trained for chaos. Built for pressure. Keeps himself wired tight because it’s the only way he’s ever known how to survive—by staying ten seconds ahead of the worst-case scenario, especially if that scenario has anything to do with losing you.

But sometimes, without even trying, you manage to catch him unprepared.

And tonight, he doesn’t see it coming.

It’s past ten. The rain’s steady against the windows, casting shadows that shift across the floor. You’re curled up on the living room couch, half-buried under a fleece blanket, flipping through a worn medical journal you’ve read twice already. You’re not even pretending to be interested—just waiting. Watching.

Jack’s in the kitchen, sleeves shoved to his elbows, scrubbing a pan like it’s got something personal against him. His movements are steady, practiced. Rooted in a rhythm he’s long since made his own.

He hums under his breath, soft and shapeless. Not a song, not really—just a low, quiet pattern that lives somewhere deep in his chest. The kind he slips into when he’s too tired to realize he’s doing it.

He’s already showered. Hair still damp, curling at the ends. A black t-shirt clings to his shoulders, worn soft with time. Grey sweats sit low on his hips, the waistband knotted like an afterthought. One sock. The prosthetic stays on—seamless, familiar, just another part of how he moves through the quiet of the evening.

And something in you pulls tight.

Because no one else sees him like this.

Not the hospital, where he’s all orders and intensity. Not his old unit. Not even his family, who still talk around things like they’re too fragile to touch.

But you do. You get this version of him—the quiet one. The one who moves like the day hasn’t touched him yet. The one who doesn’t have to perform toughness or control.

And you watch him, not for the first time, and think—without warning, without fanfare—God, I love you.

Not in the loud way. Not in the kind you say out loud just to hear it back. Just in the way that settles in your chest and stays there. Heavy. Certain.

He rinses the pan. Dries his hands. Looks up just as you shift your weight on the couch.

And that’s when it catches up to you—quiet, all at once. How much you want him.

Not just the sex. Not just the weight of him on your tongue or the sound he makes when he loses control.

But this. The unraveling.

The chance to take him apart, slowly, just because he lets you. Because he trusts you to.

“Jack?”

He turns, still toweling off a spot on his wrist. “Yeah?”

You slip off the blanket. Pad across the hardwood barefoot.

He watches your approach with that look—careful, measured. The one he wears when he's trying to read you before you speak.

When you reach him, you slide your hands under his shirt, palms smoothing over warm skin. He’s still damp near the collarbone. Still smells like unscented soap and the body wash he only buys because you like it.

You press your mouth to the corner of his lips, soft and slow.

He leans into it before he can stop himself.

“What’s that for?” he asks, voice low.

You shrug. “Just felt like it.”

He doesn’t speak, just studies you—like he’s trying to figure out what changed, what storm might be coming.

You tilt your chin up, fingers still tracing lazy circles on his ribs.

“I want you.”

His brow ticks up. “You have me.”

You shake your head. “Not like that.”

And then, quieter: “Let me take care of you.”

He stiffens—just barely. You feel it before you see it. That split second where instinct kicks in, where he almost says no, almost laughs it off, almost makes it about you instead. Because that’s who he is.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he nods.

And you drop to your knees.

The tile is cool against your shins. Jack shifts his weight—one foot grounding, the other adjusting with practiced ease. You place your hands on his thighs and look up at him, steady under your touch.

He’s already breathing harder.

“Let me have you like this,” you whisper.

He exhales—tight, measured. “Fuck. You sure?”

You smile, pressing a kiss to the base of his stomach. “I’m already on the floor, Jack.”

That gets a low huff of laughter. But his hand settles on the back of your head anyway, fingers threading through your hair.

He watches as you undo the knot in his waistband, tug his sweats down just enough, and take him in your hand.

Already half-hard. Heavy. Familiar.

You lean in and press your lips to the head of him—soft, reverent.

And then you open your mouth.

The groan that breaks from him isn’t polished. It’s not restrained.

It’s raw.

Like it catches him off guard. Like he thought he could stand there and stay composed while you took him apart piece by piece.

But the second you suck him down, his composure splinters.

His thighs twitch. His hips jerk just slightly, then freeze like he’s trying not to move, not to hurt you, not to fuck your mouth the way he clearly wants to.

Your hands move instinctively—one braced on his stomach, steadying him, the other wrapping around the base of his cock as you work him deeper.

Jack’s head falls forward, mouth parted.

“Christ,” he breathes, voice shaking. “You—baby, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you murmur against him. “I love this.”

You swirl your tongue and take him deep again, and his knees almost buckle.

He adjusts—shifts his weight again, subtly, stepping back, his hand now braced on the counter for balance. You glance up. The way he looks at you—lips parted, eyes heavy, jaw clenched like he’s trying not to beg—you could cry from it.

And then, when you moan around him, low and slow, he loses it.

His hand fists tighter in your hair.

His abs twitch beneath your palm.

“You’re gonna fucking ruin me,” he groans.

You hum, dragging your mouth off him long enough to grin. “That’s the idea.”

You take him back in—deeper—until he hits the back of your throat, and when your nose brushes his stomach, he gasps. Like he can’t believe how good it feels. Like it hurts. Like he doesn’t know how to survive this kind of love.

His balance wavers again, and you feel it when he compensates—hip shifting forward, muscles flexing, the barest tremble in his thigh as he tries to keep still.

“Sweetheart—” he chokes out, “—I’m gonna—fuck—I’m close—”

You just keep going.

Let him have it. Let him feel it.

Every pulse. Every vibration of your mouth. Every second of you choosing to take him like he’s something sacred. Something you need like air.

And when he comes—it’s not quiet.

He groans, guttural and broken, hips stuttering forward, hand tightening in your hair, and your name spills from his lips like a confession.

You swallow. Gently. Like it’s a gift.

And then, slowly, you rise.

He’s still leaning hard on the counter, chest heaving. You just step into him. Rest your hands on his hips.

He pulls you in, eyes blown wide.

You kiss the corner of his mouth—soft, grounding.

“You okay?”

He exhales, a low breath that’s more laugh than anything else, but it breaks halfway out of his chest. “You’re gonna fucking destroy me.”

“You said that already.”

“Still true,” he mutters, tugging you in by the waist until you’re flush against him.

You lean in, forehead bumping his, nose brushing his cheek. His skin’s still warm from the shower. You press your lips to his jaw—gentle, reassuring—and whisper, “Come sit with me?”

He nods, but doesn’t move right away. Just stands there, arms wrapped around you like he’s trying to get his breath back.

Then, finally: “Yeah. Okay.”

You slide your hand down his back and tug lightly at the hem of his shirt as you pull away. He follows without hesitation.

When you reach the couch, you’re the first to sit—curling into the cushion with your knees tucked up, leaving space for him without saying a word. Jack lowers himself beside you, slow and steady, one hand bracing the armrest as he shifts his weight and sinks into the cushion.

He leans toward you, hand sliding to your hip. “C’mere,” he murmurs.

You go easily, letting him guide you as you swing a leg over his and settle into his lap. Your knees bracket his thighs. Your arms loop around his neck, and his hands find their place—one at the curve of your spine, the other curling into the fabric of your sweats at your thigh like he needs you close enough to breathe.

He doesn’t speak for a moment. Just breathes. Forehead pressed to yours.

“You always do that to me,” he says eventually, voice low and rough.

“Do what?”

“Take the fucking ground out from under me.”

You laugh softly. “You’re dramatic.”

“I’m serious,” he says, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are still heavy, a little dazed, but there’s no edge in his voice. Just something raw. Open. “It’s not just the sex. It’s the fact that I—” He shakes his head, exhales sharply. “I never used to let anyone see me like that. I didn’t know I could.”

You rest your hands on either side of his face. “You don’t have to let go for me, Jack. You just do.”

His jaw tenses for a second, then softens as your thumbs brush his cheekbones.

“I love you,” he says.

You blink. Not because you didn’t know—but because it sounds different this time. Like it came from somewhere deeper.

“I know,” you say. Then you smile. “But say it again.”

His eyes flick between yours. “I love you.”

You kiss him. Slow, unhurried, like there’s nowhere else to be. And when you pull back, he leans in and kisses your cheek. Then your temple. Then just stays there, arms around you, face pressed into the curve of your neck.

You stay like that for a long time.

Quiet. Still.

Wrapped around each other in the soft hum of your home. His heartbeat under your hand. His presence so familiar it aches in the best way.

[astars-things]

In case of an emergency

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary- where y/n is going to watch Lando race and unexpectedly gets her period and finds out that Lando has an 'In case of an emergency' little bag in his backpack full of everything you need  

---------

"Hey baby", Lando cooed, walking up to you. You were standing in his garage, waiting for Lando to finish free practice "Hi, love", you said, trying to keep your distance from Lando as he was hot and sweaty. As much as you adored him, you weren’t exactly in the mood for a hot, sweaty hug right now.

Lando paused, eyebrows pulling together just slightly. "You okay?" you nodded "I’m just going to the toilet," you whispered quickly, brushing your hand gently over his arm as you turned to leave. As you walked to the nearest bathroom, you had a gut feeling that something wasn't right. By the time you reached the stall and checked, your fears were confirmed. A quiet groan escaped your lips as you stared down, suddenly unsure of what to do. No products, no bag,  you hadn’t brought anything because you hadn’t expected this. Of all days.

You sat there for a second, frozen. The panic crept in slowly. You didn’t know many people around the paddock well enough to ask. And Lando, he was in the middle of a race weekend. You didn’t want to bother him with this. It felt silly, even though you knew it wasn’t. 

Lando🧡- Hey, you've been in the toilet for a while, you okay?

y/n ❤️- No I'm not okay...I JUST GOT MY PERIOD 

You locked your phone, a little embarrassed, already regretting sending the message. But less than a minute later, it buzzed again.

Lando🧡- Don’t move. I’ve got you

About five minutes later, someone entered the Ladies' room "Hey y/n", Lily Oscar's girlfriend called out "Yeah," You answered, slightly panicked. Not really wanting to interact with people while you were going through a crisis, she slid a small bag under the stall "Lando told me to give this to you" Your mouth dropped open slightly as you stared down at the bag on the floor. You reached for it slowly, touched by the gesture, but also slightly mortified that your period situation had now become a whole team effort. 

You muttered a thanks before opening the bag to find. Pads, tampons, painkillers, even a mini chocolate bar, a hair tie and perfume. You felt your eyes beginning to water as it was the most sweetest thing, once you were all sorted you made your way to the Mclaren unit. You found Lando in his driver’s room, sitting on the edge of the couch with his race suit unzipped halfway and a water bottle in hand. The moment he saw you, his eyes softened.

"Hey," he said gently, getting to his feet. "Feeling better?" You nodded, managing a small smile as you stepped inside. "Much. Thank you."  He reached for you instantly, pulling you into a warm, slightly damp hug, but for once, you didn’t mind the sweat. It was Lando. He made everything feel safe, even the most inconvenient kind of chaos.

When you pulled back, he gave you a sheepish grin. "Hey, uh, do you still have the bag Lily gave you?" You raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, why?" He held out his hand. "I wanna put it back in my backpack." You handed it over, curiosity blooming in your chest. "Wait this is yours, I thought it was lilys'?"

Lando nodded, looking almost bashful. "Yeah. I’ve had it for a while now. Started putting it together ages ago after you had that meltdown in Monaco 'cause you forgot tampons and no store was open." 

Your heart swelled, but you kept your tone light. "So, You made this for me?" 

"Pretty much," he said, unzipping his backpack and tucking the pouch carefully into the front pocket. "It’s not just for you, technically. I mean, yeah mostly you but Lily’s needed it once. One of the mechanics’ girlfriends, too. It’s just a little 'In Case of an Emergency' kit. Someone always ends up needing something at the track. Even Max borrowed a painkiller once."

You blinked. "Max?"

"Headache. Not a period," he added quickly, grinning. You stared at him, mouth slightly open. "You carry this around like, all the time?" He nodded like it was the most casual thing in the world. "Lives in my backpack. Next to my spare gloves and protein bars." He paused, eyes flickering up to yours. "Figured if I can’t fix everything, I can at least be prepared."

You laughed, the sound soft and full of love. "That’s actually one of the sweetest things ever."  He glanced at you over his shoulder, zipping up the bag. "You think?" "I know," you said, walking up to him and wrapping your arms around his waist. "Thank you for being an amazing boyfriend" You said kissing lando on the cheek 

please reblog, like and comment 🫶

[dendrogynous]

who up obsessing with they homosexuality?? 🤨

your hilson kissboys have arrived, @w3mb13r

[minimiance]

Ghost who fucks NASTYYYY, he gets so sweaty and he’s licking the tears off your face, licks away sweat on your neck.

NASTY!! Has got you in a tight grip, one arm wrapped around your throat and the other wrapped tight around your waist to move your body against his as he thrusts harshly. Can barely moan because you feel like he’s stealing all the air from your lungs.

Licks your teeth until you open up and let him kiss you. Barely lets you breathe between kisses. When he gets close he just starts to thrust harder. Going as far as to get a foot on the ground for better leverage to pound into you.

Finally cums inside of you, rubbing you until you cum too. Loves the overstimulation of you squeezing around him after he’s painted your insides. Lets out the closest thing he could to a whine from the feeling, pressing his body as tightly against you as he can while he bites into your shoulder.

God he’s so gross and nasty i love him….

[adddddiiii]

Damian Wayne Headcanons

You catch him talking to Alfred (the cat) about how much he loves you

He leaves you handwritten notes in the most elegant cursive because he thinks texts are impersonal

He cannot take compliments

"You're cute."

"No. I am intimidating."

"You're blushing."

Whenever he's on patrol or missions, he leaves Titus with you knowing you'll take good care of his beloved dog

He takes you to art museums and spends hours explaining the history of every piece he knows you'll love

You're the only one he'll let patch him up after a mission — he trusts you completely

If you try to sneak out of bed early, he'll sleepily grab your wrist

"Dami-"

"Stay. Jus' a little longer."

He practices smiling in the mirror because he wants to perfect it for you

He turns red when you kiss his cheek in front of his brothers

When you're upset because someone said something offensive to you, he'll awkwardly offer to hold you

"Do you want to cuddle?"

"Yes please."

"Okay," he wraps his arms around you, "Who do I have to talk to? Or punch?"

[internet-archives]

　　　　　　　　　　　　White PNGs

　　　　　　　　F2U, no credit needed (or wanted)

　　　　　　　　Note: My first upload be nice - Adriel

[grumpoww]

House has the highest bid, don't tell anyone

Re-upload, zoom for better quality

+ sick boys