#Someone help my poor heart

[rukia-uchiha-98]

I'm officially Iwa's girl cause I'm getting gifts on his birthday

I don't know what is the cutest thing there

Is it the fact that he found someone or is it his happy frinds that he potentially found someone

And since I'm feeling so greedy : I want a second part please🥺🥺 🙏🙏🙏🙏

Oh God that was so cute I can't 😩😩😩

In honor of Iwa-chan‘s birthday today, a small os for my bestie @rukia-uchiha-98 ❤️

Warnings: mentions of blood

You’re already in a bad mood when your friend drags you to a volleyball game that your school is having.

Aoba Johsai against Karasuno.

Now, if it were an actual match, you‘d understand her hype a lot more but the thing is, she really wants to watch that smug bastard Oikawa play.

Neither you or your friend knows anything about volleyball though, it’s just an excuse to watch pretty sweaty high school boys play ball and run around.

Pulling you by your uniform to some free places along the side of the gym hall, you and your friend sit down.

As soon as your friend spots the Captain of Aoba Johsai, she squeals in excitement and shakes you a little bit by the shoulders.

Letting her do what she wants, you just sit there with an annoyed expression and wait for her to calm down.

In the beginning, you watch the ball going to your team‘s field and the opponent‘s field but after a while, you get bored, so you fish your phone out of your hand.

Swiping through your homescreen, you open your Pinterest app to look at some more Satoru Gojo fanart to distract yourself.

All of sudden, your friend next to you screams out your name and she ducks to the side.

Before you can even react, an extremely heavy force lands on your face, making you see a white light for the moment.

Only a few seconds later, a vastly pain spreads through your face.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God (Y/N) are you okay?!“ A shrieking voice rings in your ear.

You barely acknowledge your friend‘s voice, as you hold on to your nose with your hands, when you felt a warm wetness against your hands.

Slowly pulling your hands back, you see blood covering your hands.

Due to your huge shock, your feel a lot of tissue papers being shoved into your face, covering half of it.

„Owwww….“ you mumble out.

„(Y/N)! SPEAK TO ME! WHAT YEAR IS IT?!“

„2012 and stop screaming in my ear, I am right next to you. Oh gosh this hurts so bad.“

„Oh sorry… let’s go to the nurse‘s office, maybe she can give you some ice.“

With both of you heading out to the gym to the school nurse‘s office, you hear a voice shouting behind you.

„HEY WAIT!“

Both turning around, you see a muscular guy in his Aoba Johsai uniform running towards you with the number „4“ on the front of his shirt.

His dark brown hair is slightly spiked up, it reminds you a little bit of a cute hedgehog.

The sweat is slightly running down on his face, his cheeks red from probably running after you.

His face shows deep concern and big regret and you can guess from his guilty face that he was the one that slammed the volleyball into your face.

Your friend is just as much as in shock like you, surprised that the Wing Spiker followed the two of you.

„Are you… are you okay?“ He pants when he stands in front of you.

„I uh… I am okay… just in pain…“ You retort.

„(Y/N) I will leave you be, since Iwaizumi is here, text me later what the nurse says.“ Your friend farewells you with a smirk on her face.

As you and the volleyball player stare after your friend, you mentally curse her for her devious smirk.

When the brunette turns around to look back at you, he frantically starts apologizing.

„I am really sorry, I-I uh…-“ You gently interrupt him.

„It’s not your fault that the ball flew in my direction, unless of course you did that on purpose, then I will slam a ball into your face.“ You threaten with a dangerous tone in your voice.

He looks even more horrified at the thought of him doing it on purpose.

„No! I swear! I tried receiving the ball from the opponent and it bounced off and flew with an incredible amount of speed into your direction.“ He mutters with a redness on his cheeks.

You hum at his explanation.

„We‘ll just blame physics then.“ You try to smile beneath the bloodied tissues, getting into the nurse‘s office.

The handsome looking stranger mirrors your smile, follows you into the room after making sure you’re okay with it because he still feels bad for your probably broken nose.

After the nurse has checked out your nose, she confirms that it is indeed broken and tells you to go to the hospital to have it checked out. She did give you some pain medication and a cold compress to hold against your nose. Luckily your nose stopped bleeding.

Both of you exiting the office, you notice you don’t even know his name, so you ask for it.

„Call me Hajime.“

„What a beautiful name. I‘ll see you around Hajime. Thank you for accompanying me.“

„Goodbye (Y/N), I‘ll see you around.“ Iwaizumi blushes a bit around his cheeks, the tips of his ears gushing red as well.

You part your ways, with you heading home and Iwaizumi back to the gym.

With a small smile, Iwaizumi walks back to the gym, a tumbling feeling settling in his stomach, like his heart is making more jumps than usual.

When he reaches the locker room, he sees his teammates almost done with changing into their school uniforms.

Hanamaki notices Iwaizumi first when he walks in.

„So? Got her number?“ The Outside Hitter asks intrigued.

Iwaizumi frowns at that.

„What?“

„We saw you running after that girl like a headless chicken, don’t try to deny it, we followed you until you both went inside the nurse‘s office.“ Matsukawa explains.

„You guys have nothing better to do than spy on my personal life?“

„Nope.“ They all say in sync.

„Iwa-chan, can I be the best man at your wedding and tell your future wife that you still collect Godzilla merch like a 10 year old geek?“

Iwaizumi throws a bottle from the bench at Oikawa, who barely dodges it.

The rest of the team laughs at their banter, happy that Iwaizumi may have found someone special in his life.

@nerd-of-karasuno @wake-uptoreality @darthferbert

[aq2003]

please do yourself a favor and listen to david tennant malvolio reading the fake love letter to him (act 2 scene 5 of twelfth night). im going to actually start sobbing. oh my GOD

[betterthanbatman1]

I am once again losing my mind over these panels

[lususnatura]

so, like, although blamore and one of my other characters are VERY different ofc ( and this other character in particular would be barton ) ... there is one thing that they have in common + that is that they believe in the fact that no one should be killing kids. though there is an important distinction between blamore and him whenever it comes to this and this is that, it IS willing to try to scare younger vigilantes like robin for example into thinking that it would hurt them with threats and stuff. which isn't right either OFC but blamore, in his mind, thinks that it's far better than the alternative. so he would do thing's like point the sharp end of his tail towards a vital point of theirs and threaten them if they were a vigilante / hero, but he wouldn't dare actually pierce their skin and is ALWAYS going to aim for incapacitating them rather than doing any serious harm to them.

( think of like handcuffing them to something with a bone or just with their hands + feet restrained with one because there ain't no WAY that he's taking the risk of leaving them being able to move their feet JSJSJ or, if he has to and since he does carry them around with it, just kind of... using the powder form of anaesthetic herbs to disable them through skin contact and/or inhalation 🫠 because no matter what way you look at it, even though there are some chokes used in martial arts that are viewed as 'safe,' they could go wrong somehow and cause someone grievous harm to blamore. thus, even though it's still arguably pretty morally questionable at the very least to force someone to be dazed and/or in a sleep-like state, he isn't going to do CHOKES on a dang kid. )

and whenever i say 'kids,' it also considers anyone that is 21 and under to be one because of it's background in psychology + the fact that your brain isn't fully developed until you're about 25 comes into play here too. so blamore's nature as an herbalist also does come into play during fights sometimes. but yeah, so he would go ' WTF ' if someone tried to seriously hurt or kill a kid in front of him because even blamore has lines that he is not willing to cross despite seemingly being this ruthless person who wants to restart EVERYTHING. and he will falter whenever it comes to some things. and it would tell them to get behind it if someone was trying to hurt them and actually isn't a bad caretaker if one were to somehow get stuck with it for a time, because blamore is VERY capable of being like a guard dog guys, ngl ☠️ LOL

[phantajam]

my hot take about descendants is that NONE of the core four were ready for a relationship until maybe like, the third movie (rant in tags)

[blatantlyhidden]

do you feel an overwhelming wave of sadness for random inanimate objects or are you normal

[tvrningout-a]

SLAMS IN HERE ( in the queue ) TO YELL!!! cyrillo might not have scars from wounds he gets as a vampire, but he certainly has scars from his death and the fighting and torture he suffered prior to that. he has scars upon his abdomen from being stabbed and slashed at ( some mid-battle and some which happened after being captured ); he's got scars upon his back after being caught by enemy soldiers and tortured for information; he's got scars on his wrists from where he was tied up on a post and left to die. he even has little, faded scars on his hands from his youth.

the scars on his wrists are cyrillo's most personal, and they're the reason why he wears gloves 90% of the time. he isn't ashamed of them -- he would make the same decision again to desert the army and look after his family, and he isn't ashamed that he was caught because it was bound to happen. he keeps those scars hidden because they are a physical reminder of his wife and child, and openly showing his wrists means openly sharing their memory with whoever asks about them or being forced to lie about the significance of his scars.

cyrillo gives a lot of himself to others, i think, but this is one thing he prefers to keep for himself and a select few others. while he can remember his family fondly without feeling upset, there is a certain melancholy and wistfulness that surrounds their memory. prior to encountering bronwyn, cyrillo has no idea what became of them. they are the one topic in which he does feel some regret, so he just!! would prefer anyone who sees his wrists is someone he feels deeply comfortable with.

[ilikedetectives]

Seeing a modern AU fanart of Minthara (x) makes me think of one for her and Kalius (or more like next life reincarnation cuz I like more pain, AU doesn't carry over the mistakes and angst, reincarnations do). Minthara is an assassin/spy for hire who wrecks her getaway motorbike. But she always brings it to Kalius's shop to have this tall buff lady fix it. First time they meet Minthara will be all bloody and injured, but can't go to the hospital:

- Ma'am this is a car shop, we don't do bikes, also shop's closed for the night.

- It's not that different and besides I know you own a bike, that one in the corner is definitely yours *passes tf out*

[giantkillerjack]

So many New Years posts are like "this year, no more survival mode!"

"This year, I'm going to stop being afraid of the world!"

And I also hope you get to exit survival mode, neighbor. But like, you know you can't like, make a resolution to stop having PTSD, right?

Like, the reason you haven't healed yet is not a result of your lack of resolve, and your post makes it unclear if you know that, and that makes me worry.

I deeply hope you get to access the time and resources you need to heal because it is possible and beautiful for people to heal, and you deserve that.

But the folks who will not be able to exit survival mode this year are not at fault for that. That's not how it works.

If you are not stable and secure by the end of the year, it isn't because you failed. It's because healing is hard, and capitalism often makes the circumstances necessary for healing impossible to access. -- That doesn't mean it can't happen in the future, but the way these posts are phrased always makes me a little nervous. Maybe this year we can all try to give ourselves a little more grace.

[orcelito]

Actually that's kind of funny. I now have it in my brain that Of Course I'll be perfectly fine, financially. This is of course assuming that everything goes fine with me graduating and then getting my IT job. But things would have to go Very Wrong for that to not work out, so??? Yeah idk.

[guldaastan]

i've recently noticed a pattern that i'm not sure that i like. we have hundreds of fundraisers circulating on this site. many of them go without donations for days/weeks. if any fundraiser receives donations, its because the posts stand out/ something very tragic has happened to someone in the family.

for example, the nineteen year old, Shaban Al-Dalou, who was burnt alive a few days ago had a fundraiser. the family only reached their goal after losing that poor boy. i cannot understand why couldn't we have helped him before? i dont know how the family will cope with his loss.

so ask yourself, is genocide not a simple enough reason to donate? or do you need the family to be hit with a tragedy to even consider donating? everyone, i mean EVERYONE in gaza has experienced unimaginable loss and pain and destruction. they've lost their homes, livlihood, friends and family.

humanity has existed for so long because we care. we love each other and are hurt to see others' suffering.

you don't have to wait for tragedy to strike someone to donate. they are going through starvation, forced displacement, and mass murder. please care about this.

do not decrease the meaning of the word genocide. it breaks my heart to see the suffering of the people of gaza at the hands of their colonizers.

I've just got one thing left to say, save my friend mahmoud and his family. they deserve to live just like everyone. help him secure a better future for his family.

donate here || vetted by @gazafunds

[ @mahmoudjumaa1238 ]

[shataarooj]

‼️ Humanitarian Appeal from the Depths of Suffering🥹‼

✅ Vetted by @lavalampadvocate -vetted link

✅ Vetted by @karlmarxmaybe - vetted link

✅ Vetted by @jolyne-best-jojo vetted link

First of all :

I'm Areej I was an English teacher before war and everything change after October 7. Also I'm a creative writer at we are not numbers.

Also I am a mother of three children. We have lived through the war for a year and a half, and we have lost everything we own. My husband is a man who did not work before the war and even now. And I lost my job in teaching because of the current situation, the school was destroyed and many of my poor students was died by the missiles 😭

So i did not have a breadwinner or any source of income . But I didn't give up to teach so I volunteered to teach some students near my camp in IBM Rushed school. There where many family were displaced from the north of Gaza. Actually it was a good chance for me to know more people and to try to engage students with English after this bad war. I held many activities with the for fun and learning and they were happy for this great chance so I hope to return to have my project to enable more students to engage with my voluntury work. I hope you help me and understand my holy target for helping students in their education. 🙏🙏🙌💯

Your help also will also help me in rebuilding my own family home.

Today, after the war, the truce has entered its first phase in Gaza, and I now live in a tent and do not have a house after it was destroyed by missiles. I now ask you to help me rebuild my house. And buy basics for the daily essentials for my children and I need money so that we can stand up again and start again.

This war wasn't easy at all it has taken many friends at work, students and some of my colleagues at the university. They are almost ten souls I won't never forget . Their laughter, their presence, their love… all of it is gone, leaving behind memories that are both precious and painful. Every day, I carry the weight of their loss, but I also carry their spirit, which gives me the strength to keep going.

Ours daily suffering in this bad war 😭🥺

Here’s what life in Gaza looks like for my family right now in tents when it rain

🏠 Safety: The uncertainty of tomorrow weighs heavily on us.

😢 Loss: The absence of my students and my friends is really hurts.

💔 Dreams on Hold: The future feels so far away when survival takes all our strength.

Life : it becomes harder

How You Can Help Us Cross the Finish Line

Even the smallest act of kindness can make a difference:

. $5 might not seem like much, but it could mean a meal, clean water, or a tiny bit of hope for my family.

. Can’t donate? Reblog this post to help us reach someone who can. Every share matters more than you know.

Why Your Support Matters‼️🙏🇵🇸

Your kindness isn’t just about helping us meet our goal—it’s about reminding us that we’re not alone in this fight. It’s about hope. It’s about survival. And it’s about giving my family a chance to rebuild our lives, even in the face of unimaginable loss. Also I need to rebuild my future and to start building my project to teach students who are in need so my friend it will be great from you to help you this war destroy everything and many schools here in Gaza

Please help my future to be better and give me hope again with your humanity and passionate everything can come true 🙏❤️

I'm looking forward seeing this smile again on my students faces. I'm so optimistic and so thrilled to see you be part for this humane deed ❤️🙏

Share and boost this to more people you know and who cares about innocent children and education around the world 👇🥺

With all of my respect Areej ❤️🙏

[prlssprfctn]

Every time another joke about Batman/Bruce Wayne passes by me, I can't help but imagine that the whole rumour about these two dating was originally (and probably accidentally) created by Bruce himself.

Just imagine, a teen Bruce, still only starting with his vigilante career, makes a crucial mistake - he pays with his own credit card in front of people, while being Batman. A stupid, absolutely instinctive mistake, but in his defence he wasn't sleeping normally for a week, and had an open wound in his stomach that day, so. Whoops.

And then someone asks Bruce Wayne about it, in front of a thousand cameras. And he blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind.

Reporter: So, mister Wayne, recently citizens had reported that they saw Batman paying for the damage in the city... with your credit card. Care to explain details behind this?

Bruce, smiling stupidly: Oh, he is my ex. I sometimes sponsor him.

The crowd: (goes wild)

Alfred, starting at the interview back in the Batcave: ...We are never going to get rid of this, are we?

And guess what? They don't!

Bruce thinks that with time passing, with his love interests switching and new rumours spawning in the world, they might forget about it. He was young, he was stupid - he fucked up, alright?

But decades pass. He has a whole football team of kids. Everyone still ship Bruce and Batman.

And when this stupid video accidentally gets resurfaced on the internet again, his family goes insane. They start creating even more stupid rumours on galas.

Reporter: Mister Wayne... For years now, the crowds are speculating... Who is exactly your mother, and where is she now?

Damian, sighing pitifully: My father and my mother don't enjoy contacting each other, sadly. My mom says that their relationship was just a rebound; father desperately tries to forget Batman... Still, to this day.

Bruce, gripping the glass of champagne: ...

Talia, watching this interview with Ra's: Now, that's my son right there.

Dick: Oh, why I was screaming at Batman in the middle of the street a few days ago? Oh, this bastard- I mean, this respectable vigilante, he dared to get in the argument with Bruce. He can't really leave him alone, really! They are so insane about each other... So toxic, but so, uh, captivating... But you know, Bruce! He has such a fragile heart...

Gotham: Aw-w, poor mister Wayne!

Bruce, sighing: Jesus Christ.

Tim, shaking his head to the camera: I hate Red Robin, really. Did you know that his existence is just a direct offence to my father? Yeah, actually, Batman took this kid under his wing with another man - I am not going to tell who - to make dad jealous. This is disgusting!

Jason, who returned from the death by pretending that all this time he was under the child protection system after becoming an accidental witness of the second Robin's death: Oh, yeah, it was tough... Poor kid exploded in front of my eyes! Reporter: But, mister Todd-Wayne, what were you doing in that warehouse?

Jason, wiping fake tears: They were like my divorced parents, you know... Batman and Bruce. Batman really tried to mend things with dad back then, and wanted me to like him... We just wanted to spend some time together with him, and that Robin kid... God, it was terrible... Batman refuses to contact me now. I miss my second dad...

Bruce, back in the Batcave, watching as Batman's reputation goes lower and lower: ........................... Alfred: Well, master Bruce... Bruce: Not a word. Al. Please.

[whytheylosttheirminds]

blue sweater - r.c.

(season 4 bf!rafe x gf!reader blurb, 2.4k words)

content smut, p in v, this gorgeous man and his afformentioned blue sweater, 18+ minors do not interact!!

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠂

You’d fallen asleep on the couch, waiting up for him again. You didn’t fault Rafe for working so hard, you just miss him so fucking much when he’s in back-to-back meetings all day. 

The couch dips below you, pulling you from your dreams. A large, warm presence settles next to you on the sofa. You didn’t have to open your eyes to know it’s him.

“Hey,” you mumble sleepily, eyes still closed.

He’s smirking down at you, you know him so well you can picture exactly how he looks without actually seeing him. 

“Hi,” he leans forward, planting a sweet kiss on your cheek. “I’m sorry, that last meeting ran so long.”

Finally opening your eyes to meet his, you’re almost startled by the sight. Somehow, in the dim evening light, they’re more deeply blue and beautiful than ever.

“Nice sweater,” you say, reaching up to run your fingers along the hard edge of his shoulder. Even though he looks so soft and pretty right now, he’s tense, and you wish you could ease the worry that furrows his brow.

He smiles knowingly, the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkling in the cute way that makes your heart ache for him.

“Thanks, my girlfriend got it for me.”

“She has good taste,” you joke as your run your hand gently up and down his bicep, the soft fabric such a contrast to the hard muscle below. 

“Yeah, she’s all kinds of good,” he winks.

“Then why’d you make her wait for you all night?” You pout, sticking out your bottom lip so he’d know you’re just teasing.

“I said I’m sorrrrry,” he whines as he leans over you more, adjusting to bring his legs onto the couch. You make room for him instinctually, his body fitting into yours like you were designed for each other. 

He lets his full weight down slowly, sinking you both deep into the cushions. Nuzzling his head into your neck, he drags his lips against the skin below your ear so gently, it sends goosebumps racing across your skin. He can feel your excitement and starts kissing you more firmly, leaving little wet spots up the column of your throat.

Your hands splay out over his big, firm back, rubbing circles into the tight muscles. You press deep, working out his stress, and he groans at your firm touch. Your hands work slowly down his back, pressing as you go. When you reach the hem of his sweater, you slip your hands underneath. Rafe flinches at your touch, a shudder running through him.

“Your hands are cold!” He exclaims, his voice muffled.

“Oh sorry, love!” you start to pull them away, but he reaches his arm behind him and pins your palms to his skin.

“No, it feels nice, don’t stop.”

You obey, the pads of your fingers digging little figure eights into his lower back, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“What’s got you so stressed baby, hmm?” You ask.

“Just got too much going on,” he shakes his head so his buzzed hair tickles your earlobe. You giggle at the sensation, his head rising and falling with the shake of your chest.

“Poor baby,” you coo, making him smile against you. “Just need a little help to relax?”

Rafe nods against you, moving slightly to lay his head against your chest so you can run your nails along his head like you know he likes. You bring one hand up, the other still under his shirt, the motion making you open your legs wider so you can stretch. He slots between them perfectly, and when you drag your nails over the fuzzy hairs right at the nape of his neck, you can feel him twitch against your core, already half hard.

“Someone’s needy,” you hum, delighted that you can make him so hot just by touching him tenderly like this. “Want me to make you forget all about your bad day?”

“Please,” he groans into your collarbone, pressing his hips down harder so you can feel him fully against you now. Your wetness pools immediately, soaking through your panties as you arch your back and return the pressure. 

“Shit, baby, that’s so nice,” he praises.

“‘I’ve been waiting for this all day,” you confess.

“Then we better not make you wait any longer.”

Swiftly, he lifts his head from your chest and finds your lips with his. It’s hungry and sloppy, the wet skin of his lower lip sliding against yours as your mouths collide. You’re fully grinding up into him now, and there is nothing semi-soft about him, his hard cock threatening to rip the seams of his pants. You writhe, desperate to feel his length. You know it like the back of your hand, picturing his perfect cock clearly as you rock against it. You’ve got every vein, every throbbing, pink inch memorized. 

“Take your pants off,” you breathe into his open mouth.

With a cocky grin that makes you impossibly wetter he drawls, “now who’s needy, huh?”

You roll your eyes and reach for his waistband, if he’s gonna be an ass about it you’ll just do it yourself. He mirrors you, undressing you with the same shaky fervor. Your shirt goes first, he’s delighted to see you’ve opted for no bra. In the cold evening air, your nipples harden immediately, and he can see the goosebumps spreading across your torso. 

“Ohh baby, you really are freezing.”

“Mhm,” you nod, lip pulled between your teeth. “Warm me up, Rafe.”

A throaty groan rises from his chest as he takes over your work on his pants, ripping them off as best he can without standing, his boxers following. You slip your thumbs under your shorts, doubling up to slide your panties down with them until you’re bare for him. Only one piece of clothing remains between you, the soft blue sweater you bought for him. He starts to pull it off, but you stop him, your hand wrapping around his wrist.

“No, leave it on,” you instruct.

“Whatever you want, angel,” he smirks at your unusual request, but obliges without complaint.

He lays down on you again, his lips hovering over yours as he lets his cock press into your inner thigh. He’s so hard you gasp, inhaling sharply at the sweet pressure against your leg. He kisses you again, more tenderly this time, like he’s trying to imprint the taste of you onto his tongue. As he lets his weight settle on you, the soft threads of his sweater rub over your sensitive nipples, the sensation making your eyes squeeze shut and a strained moan echo from your chest.

“Y’okay?” He asks.

“It feels so g-good,” you croak out.

“What does, baby?”

You blush, feeling silly for it, but something about the soft material against your hardened skin is so delicious, you’re sure your pussy is dripping onto the couch by now. 

A little embarrassed, you admit, “the sweater on my tits feels really good.”

“It does?” He questions, amused.

“Just stay on me baby, don’t stop.”

You and Rafe have been known to argue about almost anything, but he never argues when you tell him how to make you feel good. He flattens his chest against you fully, rutting his dick against your leg, causing his chest to rub against yours as requested. Your head falls back into the throw pillows. You let him continue to move you both until you almost can’t stand the friction anymore.

“I love that,” you whimper, eyes still squeezed shut. “But I need you inside.”

“Can’t wait any longer, huh?” He chuckles. Once again, you don’t need to see him to know what he looks like, his eyebrows are surely arched high and his lips quirked to the side as he looks at you in amusement.

“Rafe I’ve been waiting for like twelve hours,” you complain.

“I know, baby, I know,” he quells you. “I got you, alright?”

Propped on one arm, his sweater leaves your chest for a moment so he can line himself up at your soaked entrance. You wait with closed eyes, bracing for impact as you know it will take a minute to adjust to his size, it always does. But he doesn’t enter you, just grumbles with annoyance as he shuffles above you.

Your quizzical eyes open to find him fumbling with the collar of his sweater, preparing to pull it off.

“What’s the problem?”

“I want to see you, but this fucking sweater’s in the way,” he explains. You lift your head and look down to where your bodies should be meeting to see the hem of his sweater hanging in the way, blocking the view. “I’m just gonna take it off.”

“Nuh-uh!” you object. 

“Baby,” he whines.

A solution comes to you, causing you to break into a wide grin.

“Open up,” you say, and he’s never looked more confused.

But then, you reach down and pull the hem of the sweater between your fingers, making his stomach flinch as you brush against it. You lift the hem up to his mouth, revealing the sight of his dick dangerously close to your entrance. He puzzles it together, and teasingly rolls his eyes before letting you place it between his teeth. He bites down on it obediently, considering a protest before looking down to see he now has a perfect angle to his favorite sight in the world.

It feels so good when he finally slides in, stretching you so deliciously and filling you like only he can, that you almost actually cry. He moves gently, considerate enough to know there’s probably an edge of pain to your pleasure.

“You don’t have to go slow,” you assure him. “Take your stress out on me, I can take it.”

“Yeah?” He tries to sound cocky, but it’s muffled from the fabric between his teeth.

The way his jaw clenches in frustration makes you giggle. Rafe usually does most of the talking, knowing the sound of his low voice in your ear makes you come so much faster.

“I’ll do the talking, just focus on my voice while you fuck me, m’kay?” You purr.

He nods in agreement, picking up the pace until he’s rocking into you, continuously hitting the perfect spot that makes you both shudder with pleasure. He’s going so hard you have to lift your arm above you and steady yourself against the arm of the couch. His eyes flit between the sight of you taking him in so perfectly and the way your tits bounce with each thrust.

You keep your promise to talk him through it, starting with, “just like that, Rafe- mmmph- feels so good. God, I can feel you so deep.”

His brows furrow in concentration, thrusting harder, desperate to drag more praises from your kiss-chapped lips. Your eyes train on the veins in his neck, throbbing with effort. You reach your other hand up and grab his chin, pulling his face so his eyes pierce yours.

“Shit, you look so good, fucking me like you needed to,” you cry.

As much as he loves the eye-contact, he’s still wearing this stupid sweater for a reason, and he needs to remind you. He matches you by placing his hand on your face, soft but firm, and directing your gaze down to see him pistoning into you.

“Oh my god, that’s so hot,” you smile, admiring the creamy mess you’re making on his shaft. “You’re fucking covered in me, baby. Made me so wet comin’ in here looking this good.”

He removes his hand from your head, looking for a non-verbal way to thank you for your compliments. He presses his thumb to your tongue, and you don’t need words to know what he’s doing. You get it nice and wet, swirling spit around his thumb with your tongue. Once it’s ready, he lowers it to your clit, rubbing back and forth a few times before forming steady circles.

“Ah- fuck- yes, Rafe that’s so-” Your commitment to keep talking falters as pleasure floods your mind, robbing you of your voice.

He knows what you need, he always knows what you need. He pulls your hand from his chin and places it on his chest, you bunch the fabric of his sweater so he can release it from his teeth.

“There ya go,” he coos. “Need me to talk you through it, huh?”

You nod desperately, confirming what he already knew.

“Couldn’t even concentrate in my meetings,” he begins, panting with the effort he’s putting in, not letting up his pace. “Thinkin’ about you here waiting for me, walking around the house in those little shorts. How am I supposed to close deals when I can’t stop thinking about bending you over the kitchen counter and fucking this perfect pussy, huh?”

His words have exactly the effect he was hoping for, you are beside yourself, moaning and squirming beneath him. Letting out the sweetest little “oh, oh, ohs” as his cock rocks your whole body. He's losing tempo, both of you nearing the edge. You bring your other fist up to bunch his sweater, too, grasping so tightly you're afraid you're gonna tear it. You clench around him as he keeps talking.

“That’s it, baby, squeeze me as hard as you can - fuck!” He's unraveling, needing to find the words to get you there so he didn’t finish first. “Fuck, that’s my good girl.”

Just as he expected, that’s what finally did it for you. You cry out his name as sparks exploded in your tummy, coming so hard you have to bury your face into his chest to keep from screaming. He follows behind you almost immediately, his hot cum spurting into you as his primal groans and grunts echo through the room.

A few minutes later, you’re cleaned up and cuddled in his bed, now wrapped up in his sweater, the stretched-out fabric engulfing you. He smirks as his hands run over the material, rubbing over your stomach and waist lovingly.

“Might have to wear this thing every day if that’s how you’re gonna react,” he teases you.

“Uh-huh,” you giggle. “Good luck getting it back.”

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a/n: omg i'm so sorry I just literally couldn't not, the chokehold this sweater has on me is unnatural like y'all don't even need to read this it was just a passion project for me. all hail Blue Sweater.

[writersdrug]

Someone sent an anonymous ask about Soap being all whiny and jealous, complaining to Simon about how lucky he is to have such a pretty, curvy girl and Tumblr swallowed it 😫 (This is gonna be a 2 parter)

Warnings: nsfw, threesome, sub soap and reader, dom ghost, training, voyeurism

But I can imagine Ghost would be so sick and tired of it. Johnny's constantly yapping like the mutt he truly is: "Yer a lucky man, LT. Findin' a pretty bird like that." "Where'd ye get her? Need to find one for myself." "She as soft as she sounds?"

Ghost wants to snap at him for talking about you like that - he shouldn't be talking about you at all. But he knows the poor man is just lonely, aching to have something soft and supple like you. Your smiling face smushed between Ghost's fingers when you come to drop off the lunch he forgot. The jeans that fit snuggly around your ass and thighs, the shirt that hugs the swell of your breasts, stretched thin as it barely contains them... poor Johnny boy can't help but whine at the sight of something so appetizing, so soft and warm right there - he's jealous of his LT. How did someone so hard around the edges pluck something so sweet?

Simon hates to see him so upset, pouting in the corner like a scolded puppy as you stare at your boyfriend with stars in your eyes. Johnny could have a girl, but he gets overeager: fucking them on the first date, leaving them sore and bitten and tearful. He's too rough, and they're quick to excuse themselves, fleeing the next morning and blocking him from all social media.

Johnny needs to learn to be patient and gentle with his toys. He's nice enough to let the sergeant practice with his own pretty girl, and you're more than happy to assist Soap with his green-eyed monster.

After a nice dinner at his LT's house, served by you - along with some bronze, liquid courage - Johnny sits on the recliner, chatting with Ghost, who's relaxed on the sofa. You enter the living room and stand next to Simon, biting your lip excitedly and staring between the two of them. Simon wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you to sit on the arm of the sofa.

"Y' think she's pretty?" He asks Johnny, who blinks.

Gorgeous. Comely. Ravishing. "Course I do." He responds plainly, trying not to get worked up over the way you're perched next to his LT so prettily.

"Yea, you do..." Simon mutters, squeezing the flesh at your thigh. "What's it you said? 'She must look nice, spillin' out my hands’?"

Soap is nothing short of mortified. His eyes are wide, staring back at Simon - he doesn't know what to say. He said those things within the secrecy of his conversation with his lieutenant - he didn't expect him to repeat it outside of that bubble, let alone in front of you, the person in question.

"N' what else was it? 'Need t' have a pretty li'l wife with a rack like that to lay my head-"

"Simon!!"

Soap finally glares at his LT, his fingers digging into his own thighs. His heart is pounding in his chest. Is Ghost trying to get you to hate him?

You giggle and stand upright. "It's ok, Johnny." You coo, slowly walking over to him with your hands behind your back. "I like it. It means you like me."

Soap has little time to do anything but grunt when you swing a leg over his thighs and seat yourself in his lap. Your cleavage is right there, just inches from his face, and he can feel the bare skin of your thighs burning through his trousers.

"Help me take this off?" You tug at the skirt of your dress, looking down at him with those innocent, glossy eyes.

He can't breathe. His clothes are too hot and too tight, his cock nearly choking in the confines of his pants. He looks to his lieutenant for help - Ghost just smiles, like he's watching his favorite porn. He might be, depending on how this plays out.

"Go on, Johnny. Slowly."

Johnny wants to be anything but slow, once he realizes his best friend is showing you off like a collectible toy. He looks back up at you, watching the way your plump lip catches between your teeth. He carefully reaches around, grabbing the back of your neckline and tugging the zipper down - slowly, as he was instructed. He can barely focus on the movement with your breasts right there, imagining what they'd taste like between his warm lips. The shoulders of your dress fall away, revealing the lacy bra you're wearing. He looks up at you, drool pooling under his tongue as you slide your hands over his shoulders, one coming around to play with the base of his mohawk.

"You can take it off." You whisper.

He wastes no time, his hands smoothing up your back and unclasping your bra in one motion. He helps you pull it from your shoulders - your breasts, round and full, now pressing against his chest. He wants to touch. He needs to touch.

He shoots a hungry, pleading look to Ghost - he nods back at Soap, which is all the sergeant needs to absolve his filthy behavior. He closes your breast in his palm, eyes hazy as he takes your nipple into his warm mouth. He hardly has to move his head forward because you lean into his mouth, your fingers grasping at his hair and your back arching deliciously. Johnny groans, using one hand to dig his fingers into the thick flesh at your hips, and his other to press his palm against your lower back. He shifts himself down as his tongue swirls around your nipple, groans leaving his throat and reverberating against the bud, quickly hardening from his ministrations. You sound so sweet, high-pitched coos and soft breaths pouring from between your lips as you press your weight against Soap, shoving your breast as far into his mouth as he can take. You kiss the crown of his head, whispering a good boy against his skin.

He practically whines, bucking his hips upwards, relishing in how your body grounds him into the sofa cushions. He releases your breast with a pop and quickly takes the other one into his hand, sealing his lips over it with a hum. He looks up at you through wanting, begging eyes as you toss your head back, squeezing your thighs around his hips. His tongue undulates against your stiffening peak, slobbering around the underside of your breast as he gives you another experimental jerk of his hips. You gasp, rolling your hips back down onto him and staring at him with your lust-blown pupils.

His cock is demanding to be let free. He's going to fuck you hard, he's going to pound you into the chair until you're begging, showing his LT just how much of a good boy he is. He's never felt this blazing forest fire within his veins, setting off nerve after nerve and burning a trail right down to his hard, throbbing member.

He hooks his fingers into the hem of your soaked panties, fully intending to rip them off - but you quickly grab his wrist and yank his hand away. He looks at you, blinking through his trance as a look of confusion settles on his face. "Wha's wrong?"

You giggle his expression - the sound goes straight to his tip with another rush of blood. "These are for Simon." you whisper, slowly pushing yourself off of Soap's lap. He lets his arms fall to his sides with a desperate look, letting you back away, right into Ghost's waiting lap.

"Gonna show ya a thing or two, Johnny." he says, pulling you back to his chest. "Teach ya a few tricks, maybe you'll be able t' keep a woman longer than a day." he pulls a switchblade from his pocket and flicks it open. The blade drags down over your belly - you chew your lip as it electrifies your skin, the tip sliding lower and lower until he's running it over your pussy. The fabric is soaked as he lingers there, the sharp edge barely separated from your cunt by your flimsy, drenched panties.

You stare at Soap, not once breaking eye contact as Ghost slices through the fabric. Soap's mouth is agape in disbelief and lust, enamored by the sight before him. He can't tear his eyes from the view of your sopping, glistening pussy, watching as Simon slides his thick fingers over your folds. He catches his thumb under the hood of your clit and you jolt, shooting a hand down to grab his wrist - but he doesn't stop. You whine and mewl, leaning your head back against his shoulder as he flicks the bud, strumming over it slowly.

He stares Soap in the eyes, watching his reaction. "Alright there, Johnny?"

He's drooling, mouth hung open, hypnotized by the way your muscles clench with each stroke of Simon’s thumb. “… Aye…” he manages to say – his fingers dig into the cushions beneath him as he tries to control the urge to tear across the room and drive his cock into your cunt, fucking you against his lieutenant’s chest the way you deserve: rough and hard. Simon’s been teasing you too long; you need to be ravaged, orgasm after orgasm pulled from you, faster than you can think.

“Let me have a go, yea?” he says boldly, looking at Simon with desperation. “That’s what this is, right? Ye want me to fuck ‘er nice? I’ll do it. I’ll do it, sir – I’ll take good care of her-“

“No you won’t.” Simon interjects before the dog can get too riled up. His fingers are now strumming up and through your folds, and you’re panting and staring at Johnny with needy desire. “’S why you can’t keep anyone. You’re too eager.”

The truth shoots through Soap’s chest like an arrow, and he meets Simon’s gaze. He’s obviously rock-hard in his trousers, he won’t even attempt to hide it. Simon’s got a cocky, knowing smirk on his face, and you… poor you is just wishing Simon would spit out what he wants to say, so the three of you could get on with the show.

“Gonna teach you a few secrets, sergeant.” Simon says, and Soap isn’t sure what to think about having his rank used in this situation. “My girl needs to cum.” He pulls his fingers away from you – you whine in frustration, but are quickly silenced when two, thick digits are stuffed into your mouth. You obediently clean off your own slick with your tongue, looking back down at Johnny with a heavy, lidded stare.

“I’ll make her cum.” Soap says quickly. If this is a matter of whether or not he can make someone cum, he’ll pass that test easily.

“You’ll do it right.” Simon growls. “Need to understand the difference between getting’ your cock wet and pleasuring ‘er. ‘S my girl ‘n I won’t have you roughhousing ‘er. Got it?”

Soap’s throat bobs as he swallows. It was another task, another order from his superior. He clears his mind of any preprogrammed, lustful thoughts, sent straight to his brain from his achingly hard member – this wasn’t about him. It was about following instructions. He was a good soldier, he could do that much.

“Yes sir.”

Simon nods. He shifts hips, pulling his fingers from your lipsand grabbing your hips. You grab his forearms for support as he spreads his muscular thigs, forcing your legs farther apart as they rest on either side of his knees. Slick dribbles down from your pussy and onto Simon’s length, which is about to tear a hole through his pants.

“Then get to it. Sick of hearin’ you yap all day about not bein’ able to keep a girl. Put your mouth to good use – we’re about to fix that.”

[actually-eldritch]

we want to resume our studying so. so so badly but the eating has to not just be good but consistent over a long period of time and i wish to scream. my brain is full of paywalls nobody warned me could happen. nobody warned me I could become too poor to think at all on a physical level because whilst my faMILY was abusive as shit growing up the conditions were still of a higher class so i developed a brain that had high demands and then started fueling it with not just poor but povertty resources . like im at high risk of being homeless in the next 6 months and i have a brain that puts me in saw traps and basically says "if you don't eat at an average of least 5 meals a day, approximately 3 hours apart, and keep this up for weeks at a time, you will not be awarded access to any of your incomplete but grandiose thought constructs, good fucking luck having a single useful thought because it's not built for your resources"

Nobody fucking warned me about how painful the class drop was. I suppose a lot of that was because they were completely inconsiderate about what the experience of children in higher classes might be. They'll remember that their daddy's are heartless monsters peddaling slavery, and then for some reasojn think that they'll give their riches to their kid no questions asked. What do you think happens when the money loving man has a child with undesireable identities and interests? they torture them and wipe them off the face of the fucking planet. you don't know about it because they don't fucking want you to know about it. have some godamned nuance.