your alien boyfriend is just so alien in the sense that his anatomy is just slightly different and off putting but you kinda love it.

you’ve noticed his heartbeat doesn’t really sound like a heartbeat, and he’s so fascinated by the way yours beats so rhythmically.

or maybe his irises get slightly wider than a normal person’s would when he sees something he likes, making them seem darker than what they usually are.

he doesn’t drink, like at all, which is fine, but he tells you it’s because alcohol doesn’t effect him. you think he’s just realizing he’s a heavy weight but you’ve seen him take ten consecutive shots back to back and not even flinch once. but funnily enough he does act a little tipsy at the smell of your perfume.

he’s also weirdly light on his feet. like, you can barely make out his footsteps half of the time and he tends to scare you sometimes because of it. you can only tell when he’s approaching is if the door creaks, or he knocks something over or he trips on his own feet or something along those lines.

he can also hold his breath for an concerningly long period of time. whenever the two of you are at the beach or the pool and he dives in, he spends an uncomfortable amount of time underwater. and when you start to worry, even the lifeguard (if there is one) starts to blow their whistle, he resurfaces casually, barely breathless.

he also kisses you like he doesn’t really need oxygen to breathe, it’s almost as if he can breathe through you, quite literally taking the breath from your lungs. he’s always looking at you like a kicked puppy whenever you pull away, telling him you need a minute for air. he doesn’t really get that you don’t breathe the same way he does.

yeah mickey

this whole "job thing" is rlly starting to get in my way. i need to watch made up people falling in love on tv, and then i need to read more extensively about it online. why is that so hard to understand

free me from the chains and fetters of employee obligation PLEASE

my shayla of all shaylas

BARBIE IN A CHRISTMAS CAROL (2008) dir. William Lau

what a real ass bitch omg

as if he’s straight out of a 1950s classic film

(from mikefaistfiles on twitter)

oh im gonna be sick

overstimulation with blue collar!rafe

your chest was still heaving as you laid your hands on his chest, hips slowly rocking in tiny movements you knew he could feel. the room was hot—thick with sweat and breath and the hum of what you two had just done. but your body wasn’t done yet.

and rafe—God, rafe looked wrecked. head thrown back against the pillow, flushed cheeks dusted pink, hair matted to his forehead. his jaw was slack, breath catching in his throat every time you shifted on top of him, just a little. just enough.

his hands were on your hips, holding you still at first… but not moving you off of him either. you leaned down, mouth brushing against his jaw, and whispered, “still with me, baby?”

his groan was deep, strained, desperate. “you’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, his voice scratchy and low, a little hoarse from how hard he’d groaned through the first round. but when you rolled your hips again—just once, slowly, dragging yourself against him—you felt him twitch inside you. already growing again, “fuck,” he breathed, eyes blinking open to look up at you.

you were glowing, flushed and dazed with heat, your hands pressed to his chest as your thighs trembled from the overstimulation too—but still, you wanted more. still, you needed more. and he knew it. rafe let out a long breath, like he was trying to gather himself—but you didn’t give him the chance. your hips rolled again, this time with more pressure, more purpose, making both of you gasp at the same time.

he clutched your hips, but not to stop you—just to hold on, “y-you’re serious right now?” he rasped, eyes flickering over your flushed face. “you’re not even gonna let me breathe?”

you leaned forward, lips brushing the shell of his ear as you whispered, “you can breathe after i cum again.”

rafe moaned. and you felt him, hardening fully again inside you—overstimulated, sensitive, but helpless under your hands and your soft, deliberate movements. his hands slid up your waist, cupping each of your tits in his hands. you were pulling yourself up and down on him now, slow and controlled, moaning into the curve of his neck as you squeezed around him.

his voice dropped, low and raw, lips right against your temple, “f-feels so good, mama.” you whimpered in response. his chuckle came out strained, “i already gave you everything,” he muttered, panting. “and you’re still takin’ more.” he scoffed, shaking his head with a smirk, “greedy little shit.”

and you were—taking him deeper now, your movements growing needier. both of you were slick with heat and need, and it was all too much and not enough at the same time. when his hands grabbed your ass and slammed you down fully onto him, he choked on a groan and cursed under his breath. “fuck, sweetheart—gimme a second—shit—”

but you didn’t slow down. didn’t stop. you rode out every twitch, every whimper, every damn second of his overstimulation—and rafe, breathless and ruined beneath you, could only groan and let you. because he loved it. he loved watching you use him like that. loved that you were his. that your nails dug into his chest. that your body still ached for his even after he gave you everything. even spent—he’d let you take whatever you needed.

holy shit

is this a safe space? bc i kind of wanna talk about how i get a lot of recommended reader fics but then i see a visual like this and immediately get turned off.

and like this conversation about centering certain beauty standards with readers isn't new. it's been happening since forever. but i've noticed some uptick once i started looking for stuff in challengers.

the centering of whiteness with fanfiction in general is an issue that me and other non-white people had discussed at length for years. and part of me just wants to say that we should strive to be more inclusive. like there should be no reason for specifying non-white readers, especially black ones, and for us to have our own separate category because some writers can't fathom that non-white readers exist. hell, even in terms of body weight, ability, hair or no hair, GENDER.

i'm not innocent either. it's an easy trap to fall into if you're writing something x reader and you're using yourself as a stand in for the reader. and i'm not here to criticize or shame. i just wanna propose being more inclusive. and that starts with using less images of faceless white girls from pinterest.

maybe it's selfish of me to ask this. but i've been reading fanfiction on the internet for over 10 years. and i can definitely say as a non-white girl, fanfiction did contribute to my insecurities as a non-white person, in feeling insecure in my appearance. nothing has changed it seems.

this‼️‼️along with describing reader as petite

yes yes yes + absolutely to kats reblog.

BAMBI WHERE DID YOU FIND THIS😭😭

punk!patrick x reader

-

the minute you and your friend walk up to the house it’s quite obvious there’s a party going on. from the people dry humping on the grass outside to the music pouring out the house. you wondered how the cops hadn’t been called yet.

inside smelt like weed, sweat and other bodily fluids. right off the bat you realize these aren’t the kinda people you’re used to partying with. they were all dressed in heavy black clothes and makeup with jewelry covering their faces.

you stuck out like sore thumb in your mini jean skirt and pink top.

“i can’t believe you talked me into this.” you were currently being squished between bodies of people in someones stuffy basement. “it’s gonna be totally worth it ok, the guys in this band are hot.” your friend yelled back in your ear. that’s honestly the real reason you even joined her.

the instant screams that erupted when five guys walked onto the makeshift stage cut you off from responding to her. and the second your eyes caught the drummer you were hooked.

he had mini spikes in his black hair, piercings studded out of his eyebrow, ears and lip. loud shitty punk rock music blared in your ears, but you were completely focused on the unnamed drummer who was twisting his drumsticks between his fingers before beating them down. banging his head in time to the beat. you eventually found yourself jumping and screaming along with everyone else.

by the time their set came to an end your throat was sore and you could feel sweat bedding on your hairline.

“thanks for that energy you guys we got another band coming up soon so either stick around or don’t.” and you didn’t. the second you saw the drummer getting up, making his way through the crowd and you perked up. “hey. i’m gonna go get a drink.” you absentmindedly patted your friends shoulder, following after the black haired boy.

-

you caught up with him in the kitchen. he was chugging back whatever was in his cup before pouring some more. you tried not to get distracted by his wife beater that seemed a size too small from the way the hemline sat cropped showing off his happy trail.

“your guys set was really good.”

the guy in front of you took one look up and down at you before scoffing into his cup. “really?” you hummed, nodding your head, and pouring yourself a drink. “i loved all the um— anti conformist lyrics.” he shook his head and laughed. “right right. listen don’t take offense but are you sure you’re at the right party?” he was totally right you were at the wrong party, but that didn’t mean he could call you on it.”

it was your turn to scoff. “and why wouldn’t i be right party?” he just shrugged. “doesn’t really seem like your speed.” “and how do you know what my speed is?” you cocked your head to the side. “didn’t your mother ever tell you to not judge based on the cover, huh?” he threw up his hands in defense. “you’re right, i’m sorry. thank you for enjoying the show.”

“you’re welcome.”

there was silence before he spoke again. “i’m patrick by the way.” you repeated his name, testing how it felt in your mouth then introducing yourself.

you watched him out the side of your eye chew on the rim of his solo cup. “so.” you cleared your throat. “do you guys always play basements?” the drummer, you now know as patrick shook his head. “sometimes we play dive bars and other parties. it’s just this is our bassist brothers house so lets he us play whenever.” you nodded, “that’s sweet”

“he’s an asshole.” you nearly choked on your drink at the abrupt answer. “but he lets us use his garage for practice so i guess he’s ok.”

it was patrick’s turn to ask you a question. “you play any instruments.” you tilted your head up thinking. patrick’s eyes immediately hone in on your neck thinking about how good it’d look decorated in the marks he wanted to leave behind. “piano in the fifth grade.” you reveal.

“cute.”

suddenly patrick was close to you. “come with me.” he abandons his drink to grab your wrist pulling you with him.

-

you got a semi bad feeling when you guys reached the destination. it was dark but you could tell it was also spacious. you could only hope your weren’t about to get murdered by a guy in eyeliner.

“tada.”

the lights came on and you let out a breath. it was just a garage.

“and why are we in here?” you turned around to look at him, your eyes catching his fingers moving to twist the lock.

patrick walked around you to the drumset that sat near a wall. “was just a little loud in there.” he took a seat on the stool in front of the drums. “how long have you been playing.” you asked, walking you fingers crossed that gold cymbals that’s dinged together softly. “since i was ten.”

“a real professional, huh.”

patrick laughed holding out the drumsticks in your direction. “wanna try?” you nodded

you sat in his lap with his big hands covering your as he guided them to drum a simple beat. “so, gonna tell me why you’re really here.” his voice was deep in your ear. “just wanted to see who was playing tonight.” you say sticking to your lie.

“bullshit.”

his hands leave yours and rest on your bare thighs. “come on just tell me. i know you don’t listen to this shit.” he referenced to the music that you could hear faintly. “fine, my friend is more into this stuff i only came because the band was supposedly hot.” you shrugged.

you felt the rumble of his laugh on your back and his fingers sliding up your thighs.

“and are they? hot, i mean.” patrick’s breath was hot against the back of your neck, his lips ghosting your skin. “mmm, the drummers pretty alright.” you tease. turning around to face him. “that right.” you nodded, making the first move to press your lips against his.

the kiss escalated quickly, you tugging on his bottom lip piercing with your teeth earning a groan from him. he slide his hand down the front of your skirt. “o-oh my god.” patrick easily slipped his middle finger into your wet heat. “you’re so wet.” he muttered against the skin of your neck that he was sucking marks into. “a-another.” you moaned and patrick’s pushed his ring finger in and pumped them both in and out at a fast pace, his palm hitting against your clit.

you abandoned the drumsticks on the floor grabbing on to patrick’s wrist. “oh fuck! right there.” your knee jerked up hitting the drum set causing the cymbals to bang together drowning out the obscene squelching noises, when patrick’s finger tips find your g spot.

“m’close.” you whine, throwing your head back on to his shoulder. “gonna cum all over my fingers,huh? ” he said in your ear. pressing kisses on your cheeks and jaw. you could only nod, your whimpering getting louder and breathing getting heavier. all it took was patrick’s thumb flicking at your clit to send you over.

“oh my god, u-uh!”

patrick let you ride out your high, grinding your hips down on his fingers. you slumped back into him, catching your breath. patrick pulled his hand and out you pants and turned your face towards him. you ignored the cringey feeling of your wet fingers against your cheek. he fitted his tongue into your mouth in a messy make out.

“fuck.” patrick pushing you to stand up before dragging you by your belt loop to the wall that was behind you. “need to be inside you.” he rushed out, pulling you in for another kiss that tasted like weed and fireball. “this wanted you wanted all along right? to get fucked.” he hiked up your skirt to your waist, pulling your panties out and disregarding them on the floor.

he unzipped his pants enough to pull his cock out. “wanted to come to the show and play groupie?” he traced the tip of his cock on your already sensitive cunt. “you can be my little groupie, follow me around.”

“yeah-yes!” you threw your head back hitting the wall when patrick pushed his full length into you. patrick held your legs around his waist, squeezing the fat of your ass between his calloused palms in a bruising grip.

“god, you’re tight.” patrick groaned, thrusting his hips up.

you didn’t know how long you’d last, your inner walls still sensitive and throbbing. the feeling of patrick’s cock dragging against them had your moans bouncing off the walls of the garage. “f-feels so good.”

patrick moaned, completely taken by the site of his dick disappearing in and out of your cunt, coming back wetter each time. “this perfect pussy.”

your guys moans mingled together in a mix of low and high pitched grunts and groans.

your nails embedded themselves in patrick’s shoulders. “gonna cum again.” you whined and patrick sped up. his cock head drilling into that soft spot inside you. patrick dropped his head into the crook of your neck grunting into it. “shit, do it. wanna feel you cum on around me.”

you took hold of patrick’s dark locks messing up his gelled spike. your walls got tighter around him. your head hitting the back of the wall, and a moan getting stuck in throat in the midst of your orgasm.

“f-fuck.”

patrick pulled out still hard and on the verge of cumming, jerking himself off in four hasty strokes before he released on your inner thighs and the wall.

“holy fuck.” patrick slotted his lips against your in a wet kiss.

you both silently got back dressed. you tugging your skirt back in place and patrick stuffing his dick back in his pants.

“here.” patrick picked a sharpie that was lying around, and grabbed hold of your arm. “my number.” he scribbled it in messy writing. “just in case you want these back.” he grabbed your lost underwear off the floor holding them up before tucking them into his back pocket. leaving you in the garage to collect yourself

-

mom lore would go crazy

i have something to say about tashi in this scene that tashi haters r not going to like

tashi was never going to leave him whether he lost the match or not. i feel like people who call tashi evil and what not make it seem like all she cared about was art's tennis career and not their whole marriage and child together ("that's what you think he is to me? a racket and a dick?")

but in this scene specifically, even though she says "if you don't win, i'll leave you," she immediately follows it with "does that help you?"

it reminds me of when she offered her number to the one of them that won the juniors because she wanted to see some "good fucking tennis." she's saying it because she thinks that's what he needs to hear to play. art is the one asking her again and again how she will perceive him if he loses and she explicitly says that nothing will change.

tashi donaldson loves her husband and you can't tell me otherwise!!!!!!

tldr; gtfo with that "art loved tashi, tashi loved tennis" don't talk to me

YES

White boy gets dicked down by black cock

im giggling

2 | saddle up!

↳ x.o.x.o masterlist

cw: swearing

notes: my bday gift for my one and only bby kaia!!

taglist: @moonlightdaisys @loveletterstokeep @kisses4kaia @nottsangel

© heartcereql, 2025 || thank you for reading ! 𓆩 ♱ 𓆪

BEST BDAY GIFT

jerking art off while you sit in his lap and then telling him to open his mouth after he comes so that you can slide your hand down into your panties, cover your fingers in slick, and then bring them back up to push them over his tongue. watching him swallow your digits to the back of his throat, whining and suckling and starting to get hard again and trying to fuck your fist for the second time and and and and

oh wow