Would You Put A Discarded Fruit Sticker On My Forehead In Whimsical Jest Yes Or No

Something I wrote when I was unhinged and manic was found by my mom…She’s worried.😅😅 I kinda wanna post it.

Wasn't tagged but- I love it!

I saw this post floating around thought it was neat!

POV: you're in a horror film

Create your own look here

Find out your role here

tagging @syoddeye @unidentified-cadaver @purplepaladinsworld only if you want to of course 💜

petition for tumblr to make the boop feature permanent. reasons:-

so i can shower my affection on mooties and followers without any limits

validates my sense of appreciation and does not make me feel unwanted

every introverts' dream who loves a blog but is scared to talk with them

feels like an actual physical boop

online love language

Saw a post like this with negative outlook so I asked for it to be fixed

Get Lucky (S.R.)

Summary: The fire alarm in your apartment building goes off at 3AM after a pipe bursts in the middle of winter. You are soaked and you left your wallet in the apartment. You only (barely) know the FBI agent who lives in the building, but he offers to share his jacket, and eventually a hotel room, with you. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Strangers to lovers, only one bed trope, kissing, oral sex (female receiving), face-sitting, penetrative sex, protected sex (condom), implied weight for Reader (she wears his shirt/boxers) Word Count: 8.1k

MASTERLIST

There was supposed to be something romantic about winter nights in the city. The poorly maintained lighting was supplemented with colorful bulbs that caught every snowflake. Each frozen lattice refracted the light and littered the air with rainbows. For a few hours, while Washington, D.C. slept, the prismatic powder would cut through the smog.

There was usually a purity, a serenity to the city soaked in snow. But that night, as I stood in three inches of snow in already drenched slippers, I only had one thought regarding the world around me.

“It’s fucking freezing out here!”

My voice didn’t echo back to me, and instead dissipated into distant honking of an insistent fire truck slowly fighting its way through construction gridlock at 3am.

I hadn’t expected anyone to answer my cry, which had been borne out of frustration and apathy for everything around me that moment.

But someone did answer. And oh boy, did he piss me off.

Keep reading

ONLY YOURS (Sub!Price x GN!Reader)

price masterlist — price picture credit

summary; he’s just too damn loud. — 1.7k words

[WARNINGS; sub!price, dom/sub dynamics, power imbalance, secret relationships, handjob, light degradation, biting, out of place fluff.]

John watches as Soap laughs and slaps Gaz on his back over some story, his other hand holding a cup of some sort of alcohol; some brand that John doesn’t personally drink. He’s just thankful that it isn’t tequila as he doesn’t want a face full of his spit and the tequila. In John’s hand is a nice cup of whiskey, something that burns but goes down fairly easy. His eyes look into his cup, watching the dark liquid swirl around, vaguely hearing Ghost, who is next to him, speak up about Soap’s story, something about correcting a detail. John doesn’t care too much to pay attention at the moment, not when the alcohol is beginning to kick in just the right way. It’s rare that he gets these moments with his men; being able to drink together as John is nearly always busying himself with something. 

“—That reminds me, Captain,” Soap hums, a grin stretched across his face. John picks his eyes up from his glass of whiskey, locking eyes with the tipsy Scotsman. “You’ve seemed much more relaxed, aye?”

John’s lip twitches as he hums before taking a sip of his whiskey, relishing the burn. He nods, his other hand coming up to rub the pleasantly sensitive skin underneath his jacket. “My stress has been much better these days, yes.” John replies with a chuckle. Oh, only if they knew.

Only if they knew why.

God, John feels like such a teenager sneaking around like this; he can’t get enough of the rush you give him, the secrecy you two have to maintain—when you sit on his desk and you force him to stand between your legs with his heavy cock in your hand. John shudders as you grab the front of his shirt and pull him closer—you said no touching, so John scrambles to plant his palms down on the desk on the outside of your thighs to keep himself up. You laugh as he struggles to be obedient, as he lets you position him however you want. Your wrist absentmindedly keeps bumping against the edge of the desk due to how close John’s body is, but you don’t mind. You don’t mind at all, not when John is letting out shuddery grunts and groans as he struggles to stay quiet.

“God,” He groans lowly, his voice gritty and deep in his chest. He’s so close, your breath brushes over his face and all he wants to do is lean forward to kiss you. You ghost your lips over his as your hand begins to drag up and down his leaking cock, pulling a loud gasp out of him. Delicious pleasure shoots up his spine and melts deep in his chest and gut as your hand continues to squeeze precum from him. John’s fingers dig into the wood of his desk as his head reels from how good your hand feels. Your lips twitch into a smile as you watch John’s eyelids flutter and how he nearly leans into you for a kiss but always at the last second, he catches himself; because he wants to be good. John swears as your hand around his cock speeds up, spreading his precum along the length, making your hand a slicker surface to slide against. 

You tsk as one particular moan bounces off the wall, and you don’t miss the way his hips jolt forward. “Oh, Captain..” You murmur, your eyes never leaving his pleasure drunk face. John’s eyelids open and he looks back at you, causing his dick to twitch in your palm, his hazy eyes settling on yours—like he’s waiting for you to talk. “And here I thought that the talk we had was important; how we need to be careful and quiet.” You taunt, leaning your cheek against his, your lips brushing against his ear. John’s skin burns from touching yours and he wants more, more, more, more—”But here you are, moaning like a fuckin’ whore.” 

John shudders, doing his damn best staying still, letting you play with his cock and heavy balls all you want. “Bloody hell, sweetheart—” John breathes out and you can tell he isn’t complaining about the degradation. In fact, you swear your knuckles are stickier. You hold his cock with one hand and your other hand comes down to the head, your finger swirling right under the mushroom tip causing John to shout out and his hips thrust into your hand, his brain melting and pouring out of his ears—your hand comes up and slaps against his mouth, causing his eyelids to pop open. You’re talking, but John has no idea what you’re saying, not when you’re mercilessly teasing his tip, fuck, he wants to cum so bad.

Your hand that is covering his mouth pats his cheek, leaving a slight sting behind; just enough to ground him back into reality. You were high off of the power your Captain gave to you. Your superior, the man who others respected due to his presence, his work, his efforts; is handing everything over to you. “I’m talking to you, Captain.” You add a mocking tone at the end. “M’listenin’.” John says with a heavy tone, his breath hitching in his throat. You click your tongue, causing him to tense. He suppresses the noises of complaints that threaten to leave his mouth. “Now, there’s one thing I don’t like. Why don’t you tell me what that is, Captain?”

John swallows the spit that has accumulated in his mouth. “Liars.” He whispers, his face burning with embarrassment. God, you being in control is thrilling, sneaking around is thrilling but he can’t ignore the embarrassment that bubbles in his gut every time. “I didn’t hear you, John. You want to be quiet now, but when it matters, you’re whimpering so loudly that I bet someone heard; you know Soap has a blabbermouth,” You grin as you witness John feel conflicted, but you don’t ignore the way his cock throbs in your hand. 

John lets out an unsteady breath, and nods—he doesn’t know what he’s agreeing to anymore, which tugs another laugh from your chest. John didn’t think he was the type to do this; he was sure only reckless privates and other lower ranks would risk something like this. Handjobs, quickies, everything of the sort on base. If you told him three years ago what he was doing right at this moment, his mouth would’ve frowned and shook his head in disbelief, and he wouldn’t blame his past self for doing so. Risking his whole career for a little stress belief—except, you’re more than stress relief to him and he’s more than a toy for you to play with. John loves when you distract him from the paperwork he has to do by wrapping a hand around his throat, leaning in—so uncharacteristic of him, he thinks—but he loves it more when you press a loving kiss against his temple.

John likes it when your hand touches the small of his back to check in with him, and he likes doing it in return. He likes speaking with only glances, and no words; sending you glances only the two of you understand. You can read him like no other. John likes it when you don’t question his authority as a Captain, you respect his rank and his experience, despite your control in the bedroom—or should you say office? John liked it when he realized you began to get up earlier, at the time he got up just to spend more time with him—an hour or two just for the two of you, sipping your morning drinks in silence together. He’s embarrassed at how easily you got him under your thumb because his libido is suddenly like it was when he was much younger; he isn’t too old, but he’s certainly aged a bit.

He’s brought back to reality by your hand squeezing the back of his neck then traveling to the back of his head, grasping threads of his short hair and gently tugging. “You with me, John?” You ask, your voice firmer than before. John makes a noise as he settles back into reality, his eyelids blinking rapidly as the unbearably hot feeling of arousal swirls in his gut. “M’with you, love.” John croaks, your eyes locking with his. Your eyebrow cocks ever so slightly—he knows what you want. “Green. Just a bit out of it.” John adds, noticing the way your eyebrow relaxes back into place. You hum and let go of his hair, letting his head lean forward a bit more than its previous strenuous position. 

“Out of it?” You question, your hand tilting his head to the side by his chin. John’s eyes stay on you, searching for any hint of how you feel, but your eyes have drifted down to his neck area. Your hand trails down from his chin to the buttons on his shirt, which you slowly begin to undo with one hand, your other still loosely wrapped around his cock. “Mm, you mean you were distracted, John.” You mock pout, you blink, and your eyes meet his again. John swallows, your eyes swirling with something he craves. 

“Dont’cha worry, pet. I’ll get you back on track.” John’s eyes widen at the name—pet—but he doesn’t have time to think about it too much when you pull one of the flaps of his shirt to the side and you sink your teeth into his shoulder harshly. “Fuck—” John curses, his hips jolting as the pain swirls against his nerves, your teeth hungrily biting down on his muscle and flesh. You pull away and John winces for a second, his breath stuttering when he sees something red on your teeth. Blood. You grin and lick your teeth, somehow stealing all of John’s air from his lungs. 

His knees buckle—and crack—violently when your hand suddenly begins to stroke his painfully hard cock, causing him to gasp. “Shit, love—” John moans out of appreciation, and you roll your eyes and grab his face, covering his mouth. “Noisy brat.” You reprimand as you stroke his cock. “My noisy brat.” John can’t believe himself when he nods, agreeing with you because he is yours. All of him is yours—like you are his.

JESUS- THAT’S JOHN PRICE. AWOOOO! I would love to be his housewife.😍😍

I wish I could be a whore for him.🥴😍🥺🥺🥺

This is money cat. He only appears every 1,383,986,917,198,001 posts. If you repost this in 30 seconds he will bring u good wealth and fortune.

thinking hard about omega operative who got dishonorably discharged when they refused to roll over for their alpha captain. they wore it as a mark of pride anyways, but then they end up getting kidnapped by a group who rest suppressant drugs on them. Fast forward, a while later another omega is thrown into their cell; gaz.

gaz, who had already been close to his heat. gaz, who they brought in specifically for that reason to try the suppressants on him during such a time except you’d rather kill yourself before you’d let a fellow omega be used and abused while you are around. so you keep him behind you, snarling and biting at anyone who tries to come close to him.

in this cursed cell, you two bond just like; out of pure need and necessity and desperation for survival. you hold him through the worst of it and he clings to you, both of you more instincts than human.

survival eventually comes, in the form of memorizing the guards’ patterns and shifts and the timing of the suppressants. they dull your senses but not your mind, and it’s always been your sharpest weapon.

idk how it happens here but like. you do end up escaping, and you carry gaz with you, aware he’s still not fully there yet, still clouded by the latest doze they’d given him, and then you manage to somehow contact his team. when they find you, both you and gaz passed out, you are covering him with your body.

and when you wake up in a hospital, more aware than you’d been in months, you can’t even try to leave or move; there are three pairs of eyes peering at you and you are in gaz’s arms, who growls in his sleep each and every time you shift.

“you two have bonded.” price tells you, jaw tight and brows furrowed like an angry bear. then he sighs. “…you are staying. just for now, at least.”

(“now” turns to days, then weeks, then months, and by the time you realize it you have already made yourself a part of their pack).