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Howdy and welcome to my blog 🩷 I'm Stinky/Tingo!
This is where I like to yap and simp about fictional men (cod in particular, but I like a lot of other stuff as well!)
MDNI Please have your age stated on your blog, otherwise I might block you
Feel free to send me asks, requests or whatever you wanna talk about 😎
Divider by @saradika
Some of my silly little posts:
Some days, Ghost allows you to accompany him to the base, making you sit in his office as he works through his reports. Surrounded by the quiet rustle of papers, it's the perfect opportunity to finally finish that book you were reading.
The thing is, however, he keeps silently refilling your glass with water, his sharp gaze flicking toward it whenever you leave it standing too long.
By the time you've finished your fifth glass, an uncomfortable fullness settles in, forcing you to put your book down as you stand to make your way to the toilet.
''Sit down.''
His voice stops you in your tracks, like a deer caught in headlights, even though you're aware you've done nothing wrong.
''But I have to go,'' you argue, an urgency creeping into your tone.
The piercing look he gives you, combined with his silence, is enough to make you plop back down into the chair with a huff.
Having no other choice, you try to focus on your book again, but the pressure in your bladder makes it impossible. Your legs shift restlessly as you struggle to avoid an accident, while time ticks by agonisingly slow.
Ghost, on the other hand, seems completely unfazed, his pen moving steadily across the paperwork.
It's not until half an hour later that he's done—standing up and grabbing you by the neck of your shirt. Doesn't even need to say a word because you're already dropping to your knees, your hand instinctively reaching for his zipper.
The taste of his semen rests on your tongue after he's done giving you a thorough throat-fuck. And when you look up, he nods his head towards the door, finally granting you permission to leave.
You hear the bastard chuckle as you stumble over your feet, hurrying for the bathroom.
I was eating ice cream when inspiration suddenly struck. It has a dark twist so consider yourself warned.
Ghost as an ice cream truck driver
He's been watching for a while now—such a sweet thing, helpless against the scorching summer heat. The sweat clings to your skin, catching the light. The moment he spotted you, he knew he had to have you. Every day, you look up at him with those wide, innocent eyes framed by soft lashes, smiling as you thank him for his daily visits. Little do you know, your street isn't even on his route.
He bought the old metal box from some guy online—it took him and his mates little effort to turn it something that resembled an ice cream truck. You're too naive to even notice how he never has any other customers (he's scared them all off). But he's grown a liking for this job, even adding his own secret ingredient to the ice cream. You must enjoy the taste of it, judging by how your tongue darts out to lick the drops of ice cream from your hand.
Repost because Tumblr was messing with my posts and I want to check if it works now
Repost because Tumblr keeps messing with my posts and I want to check if it works!
Prosecutor!gaz and detective!soap who have a friendly rivalry while you're stuck in the middle as the secretary
You love working for Kyle. He's a great boss and an even greater prosecutor. Though the hours can be long, the pay makes up for it. The real satisfaction, however, comes when he walks back into the office, sleeves rolled up, a triumphant smile on his face as he tells you that he's won the case.
On those late nights, when overtime is inevitable, he always orders takeout for the two of you, which you share in his office as he humorously complains about the latest trouble Detective MacTavish has caused.
Since you began working for Kyle two years ago, you've become well acquainted with the detective. He's loud, a bit too eager at times, yet you can't help but appreciate his presence. Sometimes you suspect it's his personal mission to annoy your boss at every possible turn.
Whenever he visits, it's always with a box of donuts in hand—the only reason Kyle will even entertain seeing him in his office. From behind your desk, you can't help but snicker as you watch the two of them bicker over something trivial.
Today's one of those days where they've been discussing a case for what feels like hours, the door staying closed for far too long. You glance at your watch, ready to sign off, but then you feel a bit guilty for the guys. Deciding to offer them a drink, you knock and open the door—only to be met with a surprising sight.
Kyle is standing next to his desk, jacket discarded, hair mussed, and his blouse undone just enough to reveal a hint of chest chair. Detective MacTavish, however, is perched on said desk, positioned between your boss's legs, still gripping the other man's tie. You can only stare at them, your gaze lingering on their red, glistening lips before the detective finally speaks up.
''Come on in then, lass''
For anyone that's seen Law and Order SVU, this is totally based on Barba and Carisi
Ghost never expected his own advice to come back and haunt him. He once said, ''Be careful who you trust, Sergeant. People you know can hurt you the most.'' But it wasn't like that with Johnny. It wasn't betrayal or a fight; it was something worse. Letting someone in, trusting them, only to lose them.
After Johnny was gone, he withdrew completely, isolating himself more than ever. At first, it was rage—a shattered mirror and bloody fists. What came next was worse: silence. He stopped talking. Not to Price, not to Kyle. Every time he went on a mission, it felt like he was actively seeking death.
The higher-ups had no choice but to give him an ultimatum: therapy or no fieldwork. He resisted every step of the way. The first one quit after a day, terrified. The second held on for a week before giving up, frustrated by the silent treatment they were receiving. But the third one? They were different. They stayed, determined to break through.
He remembered what Johnny had told him: ''You don't quit. Not on me.'' So, despite everything, he tried.
Ghost never had dreams—only nightmares. But a year after Johnny’s passing, something changed. He dreamt again. In the quiet of that night, Johnny came to say goodbye. It was the first time in ages that Ghost slept peacefully.
One day, he left the base to run some ''errands,'' surprising both Price and Kyle. Later that evening, however, during their showers, is when Kyle spotted it. Still fresh and red, but unmistakably clear: 7-1 on Ghost's chest. He didn't say a word about it, but was unable to stop the slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Now, every 21st of November, Ghost requests leave. Takes the car to visit Johnny's family, spending the day with them. Even playing goalkeeper when the children want to kick a football around. Afterwards, he says his goodbyes and drives up to the highlands—the place where he last held Johnny.
There's just something about these two...
When Ghost sees you lying in bed with a hot water bag on your stomach, he recalls reading somewhere that orgasms can help relieve period cramps. So he struts over, tosses the bag aside, and pulls down your shorts and underwear.
You don't even have time to tell him you're on your period before he's got two of his thick fingers in your pussy, searching for that nice little spot. He gives you three orgasms with his mouth and hands in preparation for his fat cock.
The mixture of blood and slick makes it easy for him to slide in, completely filling you to the brim. He's nice enough not to hammer against your cervix this time, but he makes sure to cum inside. A little gift "to soothe your belly" he says.
I'm on my period help
I was eating ice cream when inspiration suddenly struck. It has a dark twist so consider yourself warned.
Ghost as an ice cream truck driver
He's been watching for a while now—such a sweet thing, helpless against the scorching summer heat. The sweat clings to your skin, catching the light. The moment he spotted you, he knew he had to have you. Every day, you look up at him with those wide, innocent eyes framed by soft lashes, smiling as you thank him for his daily visits. Little do you know, your street isn't even on his route.
He bought the old metal box from some guy online—it took him and his mates little effort to turn it something that resembled an ice cream truck. You're too naive to even notice how he never has any other customers (he's scared them all off). But he's grown a liking for this job, even adding his own secret ingredient to the ice cream. You must enjoy the taste of it, judging by how your tongue darts out to lick the drops of ice cream from your hand.
i dont headcanon anything i simply know the truth the characters told me
