"rent A Homosexual For The Evening" Definitely My Favourite Part Of This 😂😂

Hope so

slut era (just trying to make new friends)

thank you ryan guzman for weaponizing those big brown doe eyes every chance you get

when they serve bisexual realness

❤️❤️

HEARTSTOPPER (2022 —)

You are the kindest, most thoughtful and caring and amazing person in the whole world and if you really want to break up then I would respect your decision but I want us to be together. You’re my favourite person, I need you to believe me. Nick, I believe you. I believe you.

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Summary: The admiral's daughter is teasing Bradley about his push-up game. But once he does the push-ups with you sitting on his back, you are left speechless.

Word count: 900

⋆. ୨୧˚⋆

"Do you call that a push-up?" You mused, staring down at the back of Bradley's head. The plan was to go eat lunch with your father Tom Kazansky but somehow you ended up outside in the tarmac watching pilots do push ups.

Your golden excuse? Wanting to greet Hondo and admire the cool aircraft. The truth? You had a thing for Bradley Bradshaw's massive arms. The curve of his bicep was absolutely gorgeous. It should have been illegal the amount of time you dreamt about sinking your teeth into his arm.

As a little girl it was okay for you to think the base was your personal playground, running around asking officers for piggy back rides. Now you were older and knew better. Your father told you to treat the men with the utmost respect, and not to mess around with any of them like GI Joe's.

You followed the rules but Bradley was the one guy you itched to play with. There was so much to love about him. Bradley was nice, attractive, funny and a shameless flirt. Wasn't afraid to put the moves on the Admirals daughter like the rest.

"I've seen little girls do more push-ups than you."

Bradley let out a breathy laugh. Beads of sweat were falling off his forehead to the concrete, while he pushed through the exercise.

"Really? Because I don't see you doing any."

The only part of you he could see was your low-top converse. He would kill for a glimpse of you in your small sundress, but Bradley would hate to face you when he was ready to collapse.

"I would, except I don't want to." You stretched a leg out behind you. In the corner of your eyes you caught a glimpse of how scrumptious his shoulder blades looked, strained against his black t-shirt. Lord have mercy. "Plus I would hate for you to get embarrassed by someone wearing a dress."

Bradley was pissed you hadn't seen him earlier breeze past his first round of 500 push ups. In his second round, he was slower, sweatier, and sloppy. The only motivation was to last until you left. But you didn't look like you were moving any time soon, enjoying front row of his struggle.

"Down 460"

"I didn't know we were doing yoga today. Nice plank bro."

It was certain that you wouldn't be saying this around your father.

"Down 470."

"Are you working out or massaging the floor?"

A few chuckles, even Hondo smirked

"Down 480."

"Damn with that form, the floors gonna start pressing you." You had jokes Bradley would give you that. But he had ambitions. And he really wanted to impress a pretty girl and get her to shut her mouth.

"Get on my back, and I'll show you some real push ups."

You blinked "Please your chicken arms would snap."

"Why don't you get on and find out?" His voice was strained but cocky, earning a round of ‘oohs’ from Hangman and Coyote.

That's when Bernie spoke up on Bradley's behalf. "Alright since Rooster wants to show off. Let have him take the final 10 home."

Instantly Hangman and Coyote dropped all their weight to the tarmac once Hondo had let them off. Bradley tapped your shoes with his hand. Which he instantly regretted since he was about to topple over

"Get on." Bradley voice was firm.

"Okay." You put your hands up in defense and took a step forward. Suddenly you were feeling a bit shy at the proximity. But if Hondo insisted, that's fine by you.

You lowered yourself down and smoothed your skirt out before you sat sideways on his back. You were barely putting any weight on him, hesitant.

"Nu uh pretty girl, properly." His voice left no room for argument. Your stomach flipped as you stood back up, then straddled him properly. Then you sat right down putting all your weight on Bradley. But to your surprised his spine didn't sink down and he kept his firm posture.

"Bradley you dont-"

"Down 490."

Hondo cut you off and Bradley was lowering himself on the ground making your shriek. Bradley wasn't shaking, his form was perfect and stable as he raised back up.

"Down 491."

To say you were impressed was an understatement, your pupils were definitely dilated.

"Down 492."

Being on top of Bradley felt like riding a carousel, his back lifting you in smooth, controlled motions.

"Down 493."

At this point you weren't sure if it was Bradley's soaked shirt that had you wet or your own arousal.

He didn't shudder once doing clean push ups like he wasn't tired. Your hands wandered on his back and when your hand brushed against his shoulder you let out a small gasp from how hard his muscle was.

The two exhausted boys on the floor were rooting for Bradley and you were internally as well.

"And Down 500."

Bradley didn’t stop. Just for good measure, he gave you five more.

You scrambled off him as soon as he was done, pulse racing. That might’ve been the hottest thing you’d ever seen in your entire life. And worst of all? You were pretty sure he could’ve done twenty more.

Hangman, Coyote and Hondo were all whooping and cheering for Bradley.

Bradley pushed himself onto shaky legs, his palms stinging, his body aching. But he still had that award-winning grin on his face.

"Not to bad for chicken arms huh?"

Iceman definitely had Bradley's ass, once he found out about this.

🥺🥺

This is such an odd request, but I swear it's really sweet. I just got home from the club, and I'm super drunk as I'm writing this (I'm typing like a sloth to make sure everything makes sense).

My feet are quite literally killing me, yet I can't help but think about drunk reader complaining about their feet hurting and being all pouty because of it while they ask Dean to carry them back to their room. Only to drunkenly yap his ear off with things that they absolutely adore and love about him, even if they don't say it much when they're sober. (Clingy drunk reader 🔛🔝)

Established relationship preferred! Tyy in advance~

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡ tipsy,

summary. you've had a night. fun. drinks. and now your feet are killing you. luckily for you, dean's strong

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 733

notes. please come back drunkie anon~ i absolutely loved this 🩷

You know your feet are going to fall off.

Like, actually detach from your legs and go on strike for the way you’ve abused them tonight. Stupid heels. Stupid dance floor. Stupid fun times that made you forget the very real consequences of being on your feet for hours.

But it’s fine. You have a solution.

“Deeaaaann,” you whine, tugging on his sleeve as you stumble down the Bunker hallway, your limbs feeling more like jelly than anything solid. “My feet are dead. Gone. Say goodbye.” You wave dramatically toward your legs, nearly toppling over in the process.

Dean steadies you instantly, his hand firm against your waist. “Yeah? And whose fault is that, sweetheart?”

You gasp, mouth falling open. “Mine,” you admit, frowning. “But that’s not the point.”

Dean huffs out a laugh, already guiding you toward your room like he’s done this a million times before. “Oh yeah? Then what is?”

You stop in your tracks, blinking up at him with big, glassy eyes. “Carry me.”

Dean exhales sharply through his nose, like he knew this was coming. “No way.”

Your pout could win an Oscar. “Please? Please, please, please? You love me, right? Doesn’t love mean carrying your poor, helpless, beautiful girlfriend when she’s on the brink of death?”

Dean lifts a brow. “Brink of death, huh?”

“Yes. My feet are GONE. You’re dating a footless woman, Dean.” You gesture to yourself. “Might as well call me Floaty McGee.”

That gets a chuckle out of him. “Alright, alright. C’mere, ya menace.”

The next thing you know, Dean is sweeping you into his arms like you weigh nothing, one arm under your legs, the other supporting your back. You practically melt against him, letting out a dramatic sigh as you nuzzle into his chest.

“God, you’re so big,” you mumble, tracing lazy circles over his shirt.

Dean snorts. “Uh. Thanks?”

“No, I mean it. All strong and warm and—you smell so good.” You sigh dreamily, letting your fingers trail up to the back of his neck, playing with the short hair there. “Like home. Like leather and whiskey and safety and you.”

Dean’s grip on you tightens just a little. “Damn, sweetheart, didn’t know alcohol made you this sentimental.”

You hum, tucking your face against his throat. “M’not sentimental.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I just love you,” you say, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Like, so much. Soooo much.”

Dean chuckles, his voice softer now. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirm. “Like, you don’t even know how much. It’s ridiculous, honestly. You’re all…” You wave a clumsy hand in the air, smacking his shoulder in the process. “You. And you do all these little things, like—like making sure I eat and giving me your jacket when I forget mine and keeping my favorite snacks in the car even though you pretend you don’t.”

Dean doesn’t say anything to that. You don’t notice.

“And your hands,” you continue, oblivious to how tense he’s gotten. “God, your hands, Dean. Do you even realize how nice they are? Big and rough and so good at everything they do? Touching me, fixing Baby, shooting things—”

Dean clears his throat. “Okay, sweetheart, time for bed.”

You whine, clinging to him tighter. “Nooo. I have so much more to say! Like how pretty your eyes are. Like, stupidly pretty. All green and golden and—ugh, it’s annoying.”

He smirks. “Didn’t realize my eyes pissed you off.”

“They do. Because they make me weak.”

Dean lets out a real laugh at that, finally reaching your bedroom. He nudges the door open with his foot, stepping inside before carefully laying you down onto the mattress. The second he tries to pull away, you refuse to let go.

“Stay,” you murmur, looking up at him with those big, sleepy eyes. “Please?”

Dean exhales, shaking his head fondly before sitting on the edge of the bed. “You’re gonna be a real pain in the ass tomorrow, y’know that?”

You smile. “Yeah. But you’ll still love me.”

His gaze softens, all that teasing amusement melting into something quieter. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I will.”

You beam, completely content as sleep starts to pull you under.

Before you drift off, you feel Dean press a kiss to your forehead, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Drunk or not, you’re gonna hear all this back in the morning.”

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Cutest one shot for Regulus ever

Amortentia - Regulus Black

masterlist  (request are closed)

disclaimer: none! this is my first regulus black fic and i am v proud of it! i hope you all enjoy it! 💓(gif isn’t mine) ((i know amortentia was advanced and not taught at hogwarts pls keep in mind that this is fanfiction for a fictional world <33 love u all))

word count: 5292 (she’s lengthy lol)

You were very proud to be a badger, yellow and black certainly complemented you, and contrary to popular belief, Hufflepuff was the superior house. What other house could say they excluded no one and believe everyone a fair shot at being accepted? None. So you sported your yellow prefect badge proudly as you sauntered the hallways late at night, looking for anyone to be out past curfew.

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