#THAT'S NOT EVEN GETTING INTO EVERYTHING ELSE!!!! GODDAMN!!!!!!!!

[goodluckclove]

Support activism is absolutely as crucial as any other form of activism! It took me YEARS to realize this and now I will die on this goddamned hill.

Going into battle all tanks or barbarians or whatever might get you a win, but if it does you'll likely be so hurt and exhausted that's success won't really mean anything anymore. We need healers. We need medics. We need people who fight though validation and interpersonal love, who hold ground for the others to come back to and rest for a moment.

I spent so long thinking the work I did didn't matter. I knew activists who were enacting change on a political level, organizing rallies and protests. Compared to them I honestly thought I was doing nothing, even though at the time I spent my days tending to scars both emotional and literal. I put everything I had into creating a safe space. I almost hesitate to call it that considering how the term is so easily used as a punchline, but I have had people tell me directly that they had nowhere else where they felt unafraid.

The attitude OP is describing is the exact reason why I felt so useless, even though I was talking kids down from suicide on a pretty regular basis.

Learn to support. Learn how to actually connect and emphasize and talk to people in a way that makes them feel seen and held. Have actual conversations, establish the ability to listen empathetically, and know when it's time to pull out resources to more qualified people that can handle the situation. I'm learning more and more that this is actually a skill not a lot of people have - maybe that's why it's shrugged off so easily.

I’m sorry but if there is one thing the Tumblr left needs crucially, it’s the ability to celebrate.

I remember when marriage equality was called and there were waves of rainbows and love wins posts. When we successfully defeated Donald Trump, there was lukewarm relief, a reminder that you were only allowed one or maybe two days to celebrate and then it was back to work. That is if you were even a good person for voting Biden. We never did settle if he was better than Trump. (We did.). We didn’t celebrate student loan debt relief or any of the accomplishments of the Biden administration, or any of the times Trump was blocked, or other countries succeeding in keeping fascists out of office. Who cares if we had successes? It’s not good enough. Back to work!

And this anti-celebratory attitude stretches back to the past. On the 100th anniversary of female suffrage in America, we were reminded that not all women had the vote and so we weren’t allowed to celebrate. The only post I saw about Juneteenth was reminding us that there were enslaved people who were killed instead of freed and therefore celebrating the end of chattel slavery was wrong, and besides, we have prison labor so nothing really changed or got better and there’s nothing to celebrate anyway. Trans Day of Visibility comes with Trans Day of Remembrance so that people don’t fill the tags with hate crimes and death. So on and so forth. Nothing gets better. Nothing changes. Back to work!

So of course when we have a major setback, we fall apart and have to start frantic damage control. Frantic discourse ensues over how much people are allowed to unplug before it becomes bad and selfish. Yes, maybe you can have this one day off Mr. Cratchit but you better be here and miserable early the next morning. Like abusive bosses always insisting you squeeze out more, more, more, and any achievement is just proof you were lazy the other times and impetus for more work.

If we are never allowed to acknowledge any of our victories, how are we supposed to survive our defeats?

[megamindsecretlair]

Give Me Everything

Pairing: Husband!Terry Richmond x Wife!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. FLUFF, cursing, teasing, PIV, oral (male receiving), fingering (fem receiving), dirty talk, use of the n-word, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some.

Summary: Thanksgiving Day was always a hustle and bustle of activity and noise, two things you don’t usually like even coming from a big family. While you flitted around checking in on everyone, you couldn’t help feeling a little selfish. After sending Terry a sexy picture while he was seated next to your father, you sneak off to your childhood bedroom to fulfill a little fantasy of yours.

Word Count: 5,518k

AO3 Link

A/N: Ya'll thought I was gonna let the holiday pass without a little treat? I lost the drabble challenge, but well, can't fight my brain no matter how hard I try. Happy Thanksgiving, happy bank holiday, or however you celebrate, many love and blessings to the greatest group of people ever. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

The rich smells of Thanksgiving food permeated the air and tickled your nostrils. You inhaled deeply as you flitted around the kitchen helping out the Aunties. No one messed with the Aunties on Thanksgiving.

You didn’t know how they managed to stay organized among the chaos. Between one of their husbands who constantly entered the kitchen asking when the food would be done and the little kids running throughout the house, it was a miracle they weren’t yelling and cursing up a storm.

“Fix me my medicine, baby,” Auntie Gee told you.

“Yes, ma’am,” you said. You pivoted away from helping Auntie Aileen with the yams and went over to the small pantry, grabbing supplies. You made a quick and dirty margarita for Auntie Gee and placed it in a glass. You already started in on another one because in one, two, three…

“I want one!” Auntie Mimi called out. You smiled to yourself, knowing your Aunties a little too well. Maybe you spent too much time around them all. But you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Your big family was a handful at times. But at the end of the day, it was nothing but good vibes and great conversation. The Aunties were currently going on about their favorite man, Denzel Washington.

“That man been fine his whole goddamn life!” Auntie Hope called from the round kitchen table. She cleaned the greens, taking the stems off and putting them into a red bowl, to be soaked in the kitchen sink a little later. Right now, your mom was at the farmhouse sink peeling potatoes. 

“Language, young lady!” Your grandmother, Grammy Alice, called out from the stove. She babysat the white sauce for the mac and cheese, carefully adding cheese and stirring to get the mixture right. 

“Sorry, momma,” Auntie Hope said. She grinned at you and winked. 

You giggled and handed Auntie Mimi her drink. “Thank you baby. You better get outta here before they snatch you to do something else,” she whispered.

And that’s why she was lowkey your favorite Auntie. You hugged and thanked her and then quietly slipped out while the Aunties discussed Denzel’s career. They categorically denounced Training Day as his best role. He was just playing a nigga, that’s all. They were stuck between John Q and Glory.

You left the spacious kitchen in a flash, disappearing around the corner and fell into the background as you soaked everything in. The well-decorated living room held most of the men yelling and screaming at the football game playing on the TV. They sat on the blue couch, lounge chairs, and picnic chairs all crowded around the large screen TV. You didn’t know a lick about the game, but by the sound of it, their team was making stupid ass decisions. 

Kids played Monopoly on the floor, a mix of little kids and the quieter teens who didn’t want to play with the older, rowdier teens outside. You carefully picked your way through the living room, stopping to place a kiss on your Dad’s withered cheek. You patted his shoulder and he brought his hand up to pat yours.

“Everything alright?” He asked.

“Yes, sir. Food coming along,” you said.

He groaned aloud with the Uncles and boyfriends, everyone throwing up their hands and calling the ref out of his name.

“They need to get that blind mu’fucka off the field!” Uncle Cornell said. He was the only one semi-dressed up in a pair of slacks and a button up shirt. You didn’t know where Auntie Mimi found this character. 

Your dad chuckled, returning his attention to you. “Good, good. I’ma just sit here until your mom says it’s time,” your dad said with a secret grin. He made the mistake of entering the kitchen early one year, reaching for a piece of the ham and receiving a swift spoon to the back of the hand from Grammy Alice. He still had a little scar from how hard she popped him. 

“Probably for the best,” you said with a giggle. 

You left the living room, trekking through the raucous house in search for a little bit of peace. As much as you loved how big your family was, you were decidedly the opposite sometimes. You didn’t draw strength from being around so many people. You craved the quiet and silence that came with being by your lonesome. Probably a consequence of being an only child.

Perhaps that was one of the main things that drew you to your husband, Terry. He was the opposite to your family as well. Calm under pressure, quiet and unassuming despite his size; he really was perfect for you. 

You found him on the wide back porch with your cousins, sitting around a table playing dominoes. The teens and older cousins chased each other around the yard playing some game they made up years ago. You never understood the rules and your ass was too tired to continue chasing them around.

Some of the girl cousins watched their younger, baby siblings as they talked about whatever it was kids were into these days. Full. Your life was full to bursting and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You approached Terry and pecked his cheek. “Hey baby,” Terry said, lowering his dominoes to the table. He turned to you and wrapped his arm around your waist from his seated position. 

“Just checking on you, is all,” you said. “You need anything?” 

Terry used his free hand to lift his half empty beer bottle. “Naw, I should be good for a minute. You need anything?” 

“She needs to leave the table so I can get back to whoopin’ yo ass, Marine boy!” Your cousin, Emery, yelled as he slammed down a domino. “Go on and put that thirty-five down for your boy!” He snickered as the game keeper, Darell, laughed and marked down Emery’s points. 

Terry chuckled and shook his head. He peeked over at the scorecard on the notebook by Darell’s elbow. “Maybe you need to go back to math class. I’m still winning,” Terry said. 

A chorus of oooh’s and damn’s and “You gon’ let him talk to you like that, playboy?” rung around the wooden table. Emery waved them all off, a small smile on his face. 

“Alright, alright. Game ain’t over. Why don’t you go on? You killing the mood, girl,” Emery said. 

“I’m killing the mood? Just like a hatin’ nigga to focus on somebody else while he losing,” you said.

“Damn!” Cousin Craig yelled out, his long skinny face cracking into a harsh, wheezing laugh that only triggered everybody else to start laughing. 

You kissed Terry on the cheek once more, admiring the clean beard on his face. He looked good enough to eat himself. He wore a simple powder blue sweater with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of jeans that really showcased his sexy ass. Just looking at him caused your stomach to do little belly flips.

Terry squeezed your side and smirked up at you as if he saw the direction of your nasty thoughts. He winked at you and you bid your farewell to the men and their little game. 

The majority of the day passed too quickly as you went from group to group, checking in on everyone. The domino game ended and the cousins joined the Uncles in the living room to check on the remainder of the game.

“Girl, don’t you ever sit down?” Your cousin, Robyn, asked. She was in your age group, relaxing with the other girl cousins who laid across multiple blankets, sipping their drinks of choice, and chilling out. 

You chuckled. “Girl no. Between your momma and mine, I keep getting called to do something. And I feel like if I sit down, I’ma pass out,” you said, shaking your head. 

Robyn and Ronda were twins of Auntie Aileen’s and they both shivered at the mention of their mother. “Please, don’t summon her,” Ronda said, shaking her head. “That lady trynna get me set up with her co-worker.” She stuck out her tongue and gagged.

“Not toxic enough for you?” Auntie Hope’s daughter, Stacie, asked.

“Hell no! That girl likes…theater,” Ronda said, making the word sound dirty. You laughed with your cousins, shaking your head at her. Ronda had the worst luck with women. Last year, one threatened to throw herself into traffic if Ronda didn’t come outside to talk to her. 

You and your cousins merely stared at her through the screen door and dared her to do it. You didn’t really mean it, but the girl was dramatic as hell and too full of herself to actually go through with it. 

“Dare I go check in on the Aunties?” You asked.

There was a resounding, “No!”, that seemed to echo even while outside. You laughed with your cousins. You were feeling restless, though. Anxious. You needed something but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. 

Maybe it was just the holiday. You took after your mother in the sense that you had a strong need to make sure everybody was okay. Everybody had all their toes and fingers accounted for, no bruises, no yelling, or fighting. If everybody else was okay, then all was right in the world with you. 

But sometimes…you got a little impish. Like you wanted to cause trouble just to see what would happen. You wanted to disrupt the delicate balance of the house and festivities and do something wicked. 

An idea immediately came to mind and you didn’t think twice about it. You said goodbye to your cousins, stepping back into the house to check on your dad. Lately, he had been feeling more winded than usual. More tired. You urged him to go to the doctor, but the relationship between men and hospitals needed to be studied. He avoided it like it was a nail in a coffin. 

Terry sat next to your dad, yelling at the TV with him. He brought his beer to his lush lips and took a deep pull. Your core instantly heated looking at your man. There was precious little he did that didn’t absolutely turn you on. 

He caught you staring and winked at you. You grinned and took out your phone, snapping a quick picture of him. He tilted his head, giving you a look. You stuck your tongue out at him and then checked the score. You found a free recliner opposite your dad and sat down, finally taking the load off.

While everyone was distracted, you quickly sent Terry a text. He checked his smart watch and then glanced at you, furrowing his eyebrows in an unspoken question. You smiled sweetly at him while he dug out his phone and checked your message.

💬 You sent a photo.

“Can Big Daddy come play?”

Terry immediately placed his phone down on his thigh, turning wide eyes towards you. You rocked in the recliner, grinning at him. You had sent a thirst trap to him, one you snapped in the bathroom earlier in the day. You had meant to show him at a later time, maybe while he was at work and needed a pick me up. 

He scooted forward on the couch, leaning his elbows on his knees. He rubbed his beard and tried to suppress a grin, subtly shaking his head at you. 

You continued to rock, feeling pleased as punch. You tried to see if he was getting hard but he was bent too much forward. The men groaned at the latest ref’s call and you turned to the TV to see the teams setting up for another play. 

You glanced back at Terry who kept his eyes trained on you. When you caught his eye, he narrowed them slightly and then jerked his head towards the stairs. You grinned and got up first, heading up to the second floor that remained off limits to everybody. Less rooms to clean up afterwards. 

The great thing about having a big family was that it was easy to disappear with no one the wiser. You headed upstairs to your childhood bedroom, closing the door behind you. The room was just as you left it in your early twenties when you finally moved out. There was still stuffed animals and an overflowing bookshelf in the corner, a wide dresser stretched underneath your TV, and “grown-up” art on the walls. You sometimes missed the B2K and B5 posters had tacked to your wall for years. 

Anticipation churned in your stomach as you waited for Terry’s quiet footfalls to follow behind you on the shaggy, brown carpet. A moment later, there was a soft knock and then Terry entered, looking behind the door for you. You ushered him in and then closed and locked the door, wrapping your hands around his neck.

He had to bend down slightly so that it wasn’t incredibly awkward for you and he groaned. “You trynna get me killed?” He demanded, stepping back to look you in the face.

You giggled and clasped your hands behind your back. “Whatever do you mean?” You asked. 

Terry smirked and advanced on you, causing you to bite your lip and retreat. He crossed the distance in one second, his long legs carrying him forward. He cupped your neck in both of his warm, strong hands and you moaned, eyes sinking lower now that you were back in his capable hands. 

“You think you slick sendin’ that picture while I was right next to your dad?” He asked.

You giggled again. Ugh, you couldn’t help it. He made you feel so feminine and girly whenever he went all big and strong on you. You were working on being more bold, opening your mouth and asking for what you wanted. But sometimes, you got so twisted up with nerves your mouth didn’t work. 

“Did you like it?” You asked. 

Terry squeezed your neck and you sighed at the pressure. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. “You know I liked it,” he said, glancing down at the front of his pants. You followed his gaze and noticed his dick pressed against the fabric of his jeans. You reached out to rub his bulge. 

He lifted an eyebrow at you. “What’s gotten into you?” He asked.

“I can’t just want my man?” You asked. You continued to rub him, watching as his own eyes drooped. His naturally dark eyelashes nearly fanned his high cheekbones. 

“You know, there is one fantasy I always wanted to act out,” you said, forcing yourself to say the words. Even after years of marriage, Terry made you feel like a school girl with a crush. Guess you could never really shake that bit of shyness from growing up in a loud household and seeking only peace. 

“Is that right,” he murmured. 

“Mhmm. I never really got to have boys in my room growing up,” you said. You blinked up at him with a smile hovering over your lips. Terry lightly squeezed your neck, stepping closer, as you continued to rub him through his jeans. His breathing increased, soft pitfalls loud in your ear because he was so close to you. 

“Am I the first boy in your room?” He asked. 

“Maybe. But don’t get a big head about it,” you said. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. His thumbs rubbed across your pulse points on both sides of your neck, turning you stupid in less than a second. You lost your train of thought as the rough slide of his fingers sent electric zings down to the tips of your toes. Your panties grew damp as you sighed. 

You kept waiting for the honeymoon phase to be over, but after a while, you just accepted that you two were just that intense for each other. Growing up, you saw your grandparents, parents, and extended family all find the love of their lives, each carving out a special relationship with their significant others. 

But it was Auntie Aileen’s marriage that you admired. Sometimes she and her husband seemed to communicate with just a look. Like they were the only two people in the world and everything else was background noise. You wanted and craved that. And by some miracle, you found that with Mr. Terry Richmond. 

“And, there’s a few things that I always wanted to do with a boy in my room if I ever got the chance,” you said. Your hands slipped to his jeans, unbuttoning them and then sliding the zipper down. 

“Mm, I think I like where this is going. You know, I had a similar fantasy,” he said. He smirked as you lowered his jeans enough to get to his boxer briefs. His dick was hot to the touch through the fabric, balls heavy, and you slipped your hand beneath the waistband to get to your prize. 

“Is that so?” You asked, palming his dick. He hissed and then released the sigh in a shudder. You grinned, feeling like the most powerful person ever. Just you gripping him caused a reaction. It was heady and intoxicating and you would never get sick of it. 

“Mhm. See, I always wanted to fuck my wife in her childhood home. Like it was a badge of honor or somethin’,” he said, his voice getting deeper and rougher. 

You shivered. Your panties were practically soaked now. Your pussy throbbed at the thought of you both having similar fantasies. You stepped back from his hands around your neck and then dropped down your knees. 

Terry’s eyebrows lifted as you grinned at him. You pressed your nose into his crotch and nuzzled. Terry sighed, petting your head as you tugged his briefs down to expose the long, thick length of him. 

The tip of his dick swelled, pre-cum already beading. You swiped your tongue out and licked it causing Terry to jerk his hips forward. “As much as I love this, we better hurry before one of the Aunties come looking for you,” he said.

You pouted. He was right. A bunch of girls to choose from to handle anything around the house and somehow it always fell to you. 

You sighed and kissed his dick, making it jump. “Don’t worry, buddy, I’ll make it up to you later,” you said.

Terry laughed and pleasure zinged through you. You loved pleasing your man. Whether it was making him laugh, checking in on him, or pleasing him during sex, you loved it when you could just make him feel good. 

Terry helped guide his dick into your mouth and you looked up at him while you worked in tandem. He pushed in and you sunk onto his dick, wrapping your lips around him. His hairs tickled your face but you kept your mind focused on making him cum as quickly as possible. 

Little did he know, you were in a competition with yourself to make him bust faster and faster. Maybe it was simply the competitive spirit in you. But you swore you’ve come from just a look from him. Turnabout was only fair play. 

Light from your window illuminated Terry through the slats of the blinds. He tipped his head back, mouth falling open as you worked him over with your tongue and hands. You gripped his base, squeezing how he liked while you took the rest in your mouth.

“Fuuck, this mouth of yours,” he moaned. Your pussy throbbed harder, growing wet from the sounds of his moans, the look of pleasure on his face. His eyes were closed, hands around the back of your head to push your mouth further down. 

You took him in and bobbed your head, really getting into pleasing him. You shifted on your knees and squeezed his dick harder. You moaned around his length, getting lost in the feeling of him throbbing in your mouth. His dick poked your cheek and you teased the tip with your tongue.

“Just like that,” he coached so you did it again. You teased the tip while you sucked him off, loud gawking echoing in your ears. 

Saliva slipped from your mouth and drooped down your chin, letting him slip easier in and out. You increased your ministrations, bobbing in a frenzy, watching for any signs of his discomfort. 

You saw none of that. Instead, his face was twisted in a sexy mix of pleasure and pain. Soft moans escaped his mouth as you kept going, kept trying to take him deeper, kept trying to swallow him whole. 

“Fuckin’ perfect. So fuckin’ perfect with my dick in your mouth,” he cooed. 

You moaned, growing unbearably wet at his words. Your jaw started to ache but you ignored it in favor of wanting to get him off. Wanting him to bust in your mouth. You widened your jaw and he sunk in a little deeper.

He groaned and looked down at you. “I’m finna bust,” he whispered.

You grinned around his dick and kept up what you were doing until he gripped your head and spilled down your throat. His moans were their own aphrodisiac, filling you with pride that you got your man off so quickly. You swallowed his cum, something you were still getting used to, and then continued to suck. 

Terry huffed, hips jerking forward, as he couldn’t decide between laughing and moaning. He had to gently push at your head to make you stop and he eased his dick out. “You must think you’re cute,” he said.

You pinched your thumb and forefinger together. “A little,” you said. 

Terry chuckled, grabbing your hands and helping you stand. He kissed you, gripping your face to his to make you stay. You sighed with a moan, wrapping your arms around him. You made out for a good, long while, soaking up each other’s desperate kisses. 

“My turn,” he whispered against your lips. 

You only had a brief moment to catch the devious, nearly evil look in his eye as he lifted your plain gray T-shirt over your head. He didn’t take it off, instead he just wanted the collar over your head to expose your black, lacy bra. 

He groaned, getting a live view of the sexy picture you sent him earlier. He thumbed your nipples through the bra, making them bead up. He backed you towards your closet door, then dropped his head to suck on your nipples around your bra.

You moaned, gripping the back of his neck. “Oh fuck,” you moaned.

“Shhh. We ain’t trynna get caught ‘cause of your nasty ass,” he said.

“My nasty ass?” You asked with a giggle. 

“Your nasty, sexy, delicious ass, yes,” Terry said in between licking and kissing your titties. He used his index finger in between the cups to lower it, exposing your nipples to his gaze. He tucked the cups of your bra beneath your titties and went back to sucking on them. 

Each suckle sent a wave of heat through your body and if you weren’t careful, you’d turn into a raging inferno right there in your childhood bedroom. Your moans only increased, getting louder the more he worked that glorious, hot tongue on you. 

You wished you had enough time to get your pussy licked on. But you were already pushing the envelope at the moment with so many people just downstairs. Risk of discovery only turned you on more, your pussy clenching around nothing. 

Terry slipped his hand down your leggings and past your underwear, finding you soaked. He paused with your nipple in his mouth. “You got this wet from sucking me off?” He asked with his mouth full. 

You nodded. “Sure did,” you said.

Terry closed his eyes briefly and sighed. “Good to know,” he murmured. 

You didn’t have time to ask him about that because he went back to sucking on your titties while he plunged two fingers into your pussy. You cried out, and he gave you a warning look, before working those long, thick fingers in and out of you.

“I-I didn’t suck you off to get something back,” you whispered. As much as you would like to turn this into a full on session, you were also cognizant of the time. Surely, someone would come looking soon, right? You weren’t exactly subtle heading upstairs. 

“Think I’ma leave my favorite girl like this?” He asked. He emphasized his point by plunging his fingers faster, the squelching of your pussy smacked in the room. 

“Oh, baby. Oh, Terry, please, I’m gonna…unnf,” you moaned as quietly as you were able. 

“That’s okay, baby, you cum on these fingers. You cum all over this fingers f’me,” he murmured, still treating your titties like his favorite meal. He kissed, suckled, and nibbled until you turned into a puddle in his arms.

You were only held up by your hands around his neck and his arms around you. You shook violently, trapping his fingers between your thighs as you rode out your orgasm. Terry still managed to wiggle his fingers inside, rubbing against a sweet, sweet spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids. 

Your nails dug into his soft sweater and you shivered on your way down from it. Terry kissed and rubbed his beard against your nipples. Was the man trying to kill you? 

He leaned back and smiled at you. “I love the look you give me after you cum,” he said.

You giggled. “What look is that, sir?” You asked.

“Like a well-satiated woman. That’s always my goal,” he said.

You smiled and tilted your hand. “You better be careful talking to me like that. I might think you wanna marry me,” you said.

Terry chuckled. “Oh, I wanna do more than marry you,” he said. He grinned and then gripped the waistband of your leggings and panties. He slid the pants down your legs, his hand traveling behind to rub against your thighs. 

You stared at each other, smiles hovering on your faces, as he got them down to your calves. You stepped out of them and Terry wasted no time picking you up. You yelped as he spread you wide open, hooking your thighs around his waist.

Holding his hand under your ass, he used his other one to guide his dick into your slick heat. Your eyes widened at the glorious, burning stretch as you sank down onto him. Your toes curled as he sank in deeper and deeper, your essence making the trip easy. 

Terry maneuvered his arms under your knees, so that he could easily lift you up and down on his dick. You gripped onto him for dear life, turning wide, panicked eyes to him. You didn’t think he’d drop you, no, your husband was too strong and capable for that. You just felt like you were about to rip apart at the seams and he was the only thing keeping you together. 

“You did say you wanted Big Daddy to come and play, right?” He whispered, pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was slow, smooth, and so damn hot you clenched around his dick. He groaned and lifted you off his dick just to sink back in. 

“Don’t be using my words against me,” you said.

“Oh word?” He asked with a grin. All the niceties flew out of the window. He started slamming you up and down on his dick, that stretching burn making your eyes roll to the back of your head. 

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned, bringing your face closer to his. You wrapped your arms tighter around his neck and held on while he fucked you, stuffed you, and filled you so completely you felt him all over. He was in your heart, your mind, and your soul, writing his name in the threads of your being. 

“There’s my good girl. I’m so fuckin’ proud of you,” he said.

You whined against his face, peppering him with sloppy kisses. “I love you,” you said.

“I love you, too. I like when you get bold. Let me know you want this dick,” he said. He rubbed his beard against your cheek and you moaned.

“I want it. Please, I want it,” you whispered. 

Knocking drew your attention to your door. You turned wide eyes to Terry who stopped moving. He glanced towards the door. 

“Baby, you in there?” Your mom called out. Your heart beat in double time, fear turning your insides icy.

“What should I do?” You whispered. Okay, you lied, getting caught would suck ass right now. There was no way to explain this to your mom. You just didn’t talk about these things with her. As far as she was concerned, you were married but still a virgin.

“If you don’t answer, she gonna send a search party,” he whispered back.

“Yeah, mom?” You called out. 

“What are you doing in there? Food’s getting ready to be done so I need your help organizing the line,” she said.

“Yes, mommy, I-I wasn’t feeling well so I came to lay down,” you called out. 

“Do you need some medicine? You want me to grab Terry?” She asked. 

Terry grinned and started moving you up and down on his dick again. Your jaw dropped, tummy fluctuating between arousal and fear. The normal butterflies in your stomach were having a field day. 

You slapped at his shoulder to get him to stop. Or quit fucking around. He couldn’t think this was a great idea, making you take his dick like this while talking to your mom. He grinned innocently, moving his lips down back to your nipples to suck.

You closed your eyes, not knowing where to focus your attention. “Uh-no! I’m okay! I’ll be out soon, promise!” Oh, fuck, he hit a good spot inside you and you clutched him to you.

“Alright, better come on. Your Uncle Remy ‘bout to work my damn nerves,” your mother sniffed as she presumably went on down the hallway. 

You gasped and tapped Terry’s shoulder again. Terry answered you with a chuckle and then ended on a moan. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he moaned like it was a glorious revelation. His deep voice skated along your nerve endings, making your tummy flip with desire. 

“Terry, please!” You moaned.

“Big Daddy ain’t finished yet,” he said and nuzzled your neck. He placed kisses there while he pumped his arms, moving you up and down on his dick. Your toes curled once more, fast approaching that train to nirvana. 

“Oh, please, Big Daddy, I can’t take it,” you cried. 

“Sure you can. Cum on this dick so I can fill you up. Let me feel it,” he said into your neck. His groans joined yours, hips jerking into you like he was close as well. “Soak this dick, baby.”

You dropped your head to his shoulder and let the orgasm roll over you like a subway train. You twitched and jerked on him, keening whines and cries filling your room as you lost sound in your right eye. 

Or maybe this was that nirvana you were dreaming of. Maybe you slipped into another plane of existence where your souls danced and entwined for eternity. Either way, Terry’s groans brought you back to this side of existence while he stuffed you full of his cum.

The hot, thick spurts throbbed with his dick, sliding against your inner walls. You cried, feeling overwhelmed and thoroughly fucked out. You both panted and huffed as you came down, gathering your senses post-nut. 

You smiled dopily at your man and he flashed you a beautiful, wide grin. “There’s that look I love so much,” he said.

“You are dangerous,” you said.

He chuckled. “Saying I’m dangerous while your pussy feel this good squeezing my dick. Just say you don’t wanna let go,” he said.

You squeezed his dick and he laughed, lowering you carefully to the floor. Once he slipped out, his cum came rushing out of you and you closed your eyes to enjoy the sensation. Terry suddenly pushed his cum right back in.

“Terry!” You screamed. 

He chuckled. “I can’t help it. I like watching my cum slide out of you,” he said. He planted a kiss on your forehead and you smiled at him while you crossed the room to your dresser. Sometimes, you came to spend the night with your parents to help keep an eye on your dad while your mom got a break.

You grabbed an extra pair of panties and a towel from off of your bed. You cleaned yourself up as best as you were able and then slipped your leggings back on. Thank goodness that a bathroom was directly across from your room. You wouldn’t have to trek far to get fully cleaned up. 

Terry stuffed that dangerous monster back into his jeans. You stood, transfixed, watching him slide the denim over his dick and zip up his pants with a little hop. 

“Happy Thanksgiving, Big Daddy,” you said, admiring your man.

“Happy Thanksgiving, baby,” he said, pulling you into a hug and one final kiss before leaving your room in a cloud of marital bliss.

The end.

I love you all and I'm so thankful for you. The Secret Terry Richmond Files

Taglist:

@planetblaque @chaos-4baby @amethyst09 @ciaqui @we-outsiiiide

@browngirldominion @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @harmshake @00aijia00

@judymfmoody @multiversefanfics @tvchi @xo-goldengirl @superhoeva

@avoidthings @lovedlover @blackgurlnhermoods @flydotty @sageispunk

@semi-yah @halfreal-and-halffiction @motheroffae @melaninpov @pinkpantheris

@slutsareteacherstoo @blackerthings @dreamsinfocus @brattyfics @mermaidchansons

@monaeesstuff @henneseyhoe @blowmymbackout @charismablu @playgurlxoxo

@misskiki90 @miyuhpapayuh @satoruya @starcrossedxwriter @yamst3rdamctrl

@steampunkprincess147 @sweettea-and-honeybutter @theblacklewinsky @soft-persephone @notapradagurl7

@thegreatlibraryofalex @amyhennessyhouse @hihellogoodbyebruh @becauseimswagman1

[dadvans]

wip wednesday

bucktommy mpreg :: buck finds out he's pregnant after tommy breaks up with him and they make a mess of the boundaries

Tommy comes up the stairs two at a time when he doesn’t find Buck downstairs.

Think of it, Buck tells himself: Tommy bringing over another guy he knows who can fuck his mouth as good as Tommy can fuck his ass. It drives him right to the brink, and Buck promises himself, he can make it through the finish line and fake a sweaty, heaving nightmare by the time Tommy finds him.

He doesn’t.

“Buck?” Tommy says again, and then he sees Buck like a slug furled out in his sheets writhing and chasing the orgasm that just won’t come, so then he takes that awful one step back down, and says, “Oh, I’m sorry. Oh.”

Buck finally stops fucking his fist and slams his good hand palm flat into the mattress beside him. “Shit! No, I am. I am. Please don’t go. Give me a second. Fuck.”

“Buck,” Tommy says from the stairwell, deeper now, like he’s been weighted down by despair. Buck twists to look at him, but he can’t even see Tommy’s face.

“Sorry, I thought I could,” Buck continues unthinkingly, “I thought I could finish before you came up here. I’ve just been— the hormones are making me crazy. I wasn’t trying to—“

“You told me to come over when our calendars synced up to discuss a birth plan, and—“

“—Yeah, yeah, I absolutely said that and I meant it, and maybe I hoped you would have called or texted first—“

“—I called—“

“—Shit! Sorry, fuck. Have you ever heard of pregnancy brain?” He feels delirious. Too horny and trying to find the one branch on his way down that will bear his weight. His dick is throbbing, even when its only half-hard now. There’s this ugly need to get off roiling through him like a hot pot of water left on a stove too long, ready to boil into nothing at all if left alone. “It’s that, I swear. I’m so fucking horny right now I wish I knew what’s right and what’s wrong. I thought I could fake it, get off and whoever came in, no one would know, but I heard your voice, and, fuck, Tommy, please.”

“Buck.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t see your call.” He looks away, chin tilting back up to the ceiling as he slides his flat palm down the underside of his hard dick and thrusts against it, dry grooves and all. “It could’ve been my fucking mom, I wouldn’t have known.”

Buck hears Tommy breathe in and out from so far away, the same measured, shaky rhythm as his hand, slow and cruel, keeping every last ugly feeling alive.

“Want me to meet you outside, what, ten minutes?” Tommy asks. “Twenty?”

He should say yes, sorry, yes, please, he’s so fucking sorry. It’s these goddamn hormones, it’s this goddamn oops baby, he’ll get his shit together, buttoned up and on schedule, regular, as soon as he can.

But then there’s the thought of Tommy, two fingers in his ass, gritty with lube and slow as anything, them rocking together in the same spot he’s in now. There’s Tommy picking him up behind the thighs to get the back of Buck’s knees cradling his shoulders, driving into him so deep that Buck could taste him, right in this bed, moaning shaky into the same pillow he’s already sweating into like the walls would’ve fallen down around them. There’s Tommy, voice honey warm, saying, “There you go, baby, take it, take it all.” A ledger of things that would make his breaker box burst if he were an old home.

He closes his eyes, grinds his teeth together. “These hormones are just over-riding everything else in my brain, okay. And it doesn’t have to mean anything, but it would be a lot quicker if you came up here instead and helped.”

He expects Tommy to say no. He expects Tommy to say, in the best case scenario, “You know I can’t do that, I’m sorry.” He expects Tommy to say, in the worst case scenario, “Go fuck yourself.”

The tiniest hope, the ugliest hope that lives too deep down for Buck to think about, bursts hot and heavy when Tommy sighs and takes the few steps back upstairs.

[buddies-bitch]

Dating Evan Buckley Headcannons💕

Mostly SFW but a couple of NSFW

SFW

He gets jump-scared easily so you love to scare him

Like those compilations of people constantly scaring their spouses is totally something you would do

Whether that be yelling when he comes around a corner or hiding underneath the bed to grab his ankle. And it never fails to make you laugh until you pee

He’s so dramatic it’s insane

Like flopping onto every available surface like a faintly Victorian woman with that cute little pout of his

Puppy dog eyes GALORE

He will try and guilt you into things (like wanting to do something for you without your involvement so you can relax) with those goddamn eyes and fuck if it doesn’t work every. single. time.

He loves having you in the kitchen while he’s cooking/baking-as long as you’re not in his way

Luckily for him you’re much more content to just sit on the counter and watch him cook. Inbetween tasks dragging him between your legs for a quick smooch

He gets you tattoo pens so you can straddle his waist while he lays down and draw him new tattoos, usually incorporating his lightning scars-kissing all the while

He loves looking up at your focussed face and loves the feeling of being beneath you. He also loves the feel of your hands on him no matter what you're doing. 3/4 of the time this leads to sex

Occasionally you’ll do his makeup (you’ll always do his skincare) and you always make sure to accentuate his birthmark

The first time you did, all you had was a glittery pink and when you showed him, he hugged you and cried-no one had ever seen him before the way you did

You love finding new nicknames to call him or ways to hit on him that make him blush and stutter

You greeted him one time with a small “hi gorgeous” and he stuttered so bad he just walked away

“Gorgeous”, “baby boy”, “sweet boy”, “stunning”, “sweetheart/ness”, “blue eyed wonder”, “firehose”, “pumpkin”, “honey” literally anything and everything, progressively getting more wild at times just to make him laugh and blush

Buck absolutely has some kind of slutty thigh tattoo (I have nothing else to add to this but I feel like I should share)

He finds it strangely endearing at the amount of time/effort you put into doing physical therapy for his leg, even years after the accident

Plus, always making sure to put sunscreen on him as well as ointment for his scars because you know he’ll forget

Doing hair masks and getting new products for him to protect/define his curls

He's such a cuddle bug it can get annoying on hotter nights but you love him too much to move him

He doesn't mind being big spoon or little spoon but most of the time he pretty much just lays on top of you, having thrown himself over you haphazardly as if to protect you in his sleep

He loves it when he reads to you because you'll play with his hair till you fall asleep, AND he gets to yap to his favorite person.

Because he has adhd, when he reads to you he’ll get distracted and go off topic at some point and just winds up becoming a personal podcast

NSFW

PRAISE KINK

He’s such a vocal bitch

Moaning and groaning constantly, he loves to let you hear him

When drawing on him turns into sex, he LOVES to mark your body with hickeys the way you marked his with ink

He is such a muncher

Like actually drowning himself in your cunt ‘cause he refuses to come up before you come til you physically can't anymore

He likes to tease you until you're begging him to fuck you

He LOVES when you scratch your nails through his hair, especially when you pull it harder the closer you get to coming

He takes SO much pride in the scratch marks up and down his back

^hickeys too, much to your embarrassment sometimes

Anytime you wear lingerie, it gets torn to shreds. But its ok because Buck will happily buy you a new pair so long as he gets to do it again

Buck is absolutely a power bottom. He loves to be in charge but he also loves you on top of him

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

EMG normal, not done w tests but expect those be normal n even if not, it not explain things

which. normal EMG good thing, yea. have some scary ones on own ddx that this rule out.

people be relief n happy for me n expect me feel same but. don’t have time feel that because all that feel is dread.

dread because this my frail weak last mental defense against trauma & gaslighting & internalized gaslighting “there nothing wrong” “you want something wrong” “you just crazy (derogatory).” last thing keeping me going n trying.

dread that this will (& already has) be use against me. parents already imagine future where “am” in it but am not actually in—a year three years five years later, able bodied walking talking n living independent n “finally happy.” parents encouraged to force me walk use wheelchair less speak more. as someone already with no escape from them because still severely disabled with symptoms & high support needs even if no diagnosis (some diagnosis), who already feel trapped & suffocated & hopeless with no future or escape here before this. worry life going get so much worse.

they don’t understand autism here. don’t understand stereotypical autism don’t understand not-stereotypical autism it all same coin. here see self as ultra in “not-stereotypical autism” category because autism regression include nonverbal late in life. be diagnosed by top autism place in US not matter. it didn’t it doesn’t & it won’t. for people not born nonverbal they see two option: physical muscle or vocal cord issue or psychosomatic mental illness but derogatory. its “real” in sense they supposed say that but its not real. fact that am actually mentally ill just support that more.

wheelchair bad. nonverbal bad. AAC tablet bad. no one can imagine happy life with them except me.

n no one can understand or even try to understand that those actually not what make my life utterly miserable: not have support needs met, not have communication support needs met (give me enviroment that actually feel safe use AAC then maybe will actually communicate more goddamn it), be trapped physically, be trapped mentally by past abuse with people who did that to me who currently doing that to me, have NO COMMUNITY n that there never ever ever will be any community here in person for me so long as stay here. with no end in sight. unless make one for myself. which—too fucking disabled to do that except [redacted]. which. even that, am too severely disabled thus surveillanced to do that.

not to mention those actually one of very few thing in my life give me joy right now (other joy is fiber arts. ok end of list. everything else even stuff used to enjoy is fucking chore. n even fiber arts becoming more of past time & routine than active joy)—it the only fucking thing that giving me any sort of hint of community right now (n also literally allow me do basic function in life like go places but. DIGRESS). even if it fucking small & pathetic & ironically isolating (bc my god the ableism against us. but without community will just be pathetic & isolated ALL ALONE). to advocate take it away, it incredibly cruel.

everyone expect me be able bodied neurotypical walking talking live independent n it that my personal failure not able do that because there “no medical reason” (…still have life long diagnoses but those not good enough real enough for them), faker. n just lost last mental defense against that. so yeah guess am.

dread too for what doctor going say n recommend after all this. honestly more preferable discharge me & let me go back to old life tbh.

in perfect world there be symptom management with no diagnoses & no definitive test results, that focus on work with what got, when it unrealistic or not fucking worth it try turn life upside down make “back” into “normal.” but. mm such thing not exist.

want be treat with dignity & respect & believed & agency even when don’t know what wrong & negative tests.

[iloveelvisss]

I would love to see more yandere elvis, maybe him blowing up at the mafia for getting to "close" even if it's not really anything besides politeness. (All the requests are yandere)

Or, (This is seasonal) elvis and reader going over a christmas list for reader.

Maybe even elvis tells the reader he wants kids(Vegas era)

Elvis tells the reader what to wear for a party.

Reader cleaning graceland and elvis gets breeding urges (smut)

Reader getting concerned about elvis in the late years of the 70s, and helps him get off the drugs, why? Because he does what she wants (yandere behavior)

Anyway, some ideas for possible one shots. You can ignore this ask if you want, but I wanted to give you a few ideas :)

Okayyyy so eventually I’m gonna try and do all of these… maybe? But I really liked the one about him getting upset at the Memphis Mafia for ‘looking’ at his girl, so I’m gonna go with that one for this. Thank you soooo much, and please feel free to request more😙😙!! Also, thank you, because these are such good ideas!

Lookin’ (Elvis oneshot)

Correlates to Lovestruck and goes along with that storyline (which will hopefully be getting a second part sometime soon).

Pairing: yandere!Elvis x Fem!Reader

Summary: Sometime after everything is settled and Elvis has married Y/N, he feels as though a member of the Memphis Mafia is getting too close to his ‘angel’. And he won’t stand for that.

Warnings/Triggers: yandere fic, so expect delusional, obsessive, compulsive, manipulative, crazed, and possessive behavior. Elvis gets very angry and possessive. References to drug use. References to forced marriage, breeding, and the colonel.

In hindsight you should’ve known better. It had only been a month since you had to marry Elvis, and he was still very much in the honeymoon mindset. He wanted you pregnant— another way to make his claim on you a known thing to anyone else.

You somehow got to walk to the bar without him going with you. Most likely because he had a clear view of you from where he stood talking to Sammy Davis Jr., who had come to watch his show. You poured yourself a water— just to be safe, and then you went on your way back to him at a leisurely pace. You stopped to admire the painting he had hanging on the suite’s wall. It was very pretty. A large landscape of gorgeous purple flowers that were blowing freely in the wind. Such a cruel difference to your current life.

That’s when it happened. Sonny came up beside you, holding a beer. “Nice, ain’t it? Me and Red bought it for ‘im before you came along.”

You smiled politely, making sure to not make eye contact. You nod and take a drink of your water, which was now halfway empty. “S’ very pretty. Bet it makes him miss simple life sometimes,” you sigh, knowing that you’re really referencing yourself. You missed simple life. Nowadays you wished you would’ve said no to the job offer and stayed in California with the trust fund kids.

Sonny noticed your drink and offered to refill it, to which you politely declined. But it was too late. His hand touched yours and Elvis saw.

You made eye contact with him from across the room and you saw his jaw clench. His eyes darkened only slightly, and nobody other than you saw it. But the whole room stilled and watched with bated breath as he dropped his conversation with Sammy and stormed over to you. The crowd parted for him like the Red Sea, and he looked as if he was a predator stalking his prey with his eyes narrowed and his nose flared. His shoulders held back to make them come off as more broad. He was downright angry— scary angry.

You knew you were in trouble, and you held your breath as he made it to you. He grabbed your arm and dragged you into the bedroom portion of the suite. He locked you in it, and you could only imagine the shit he was giving Sonny.

“That’s my wife! My goddamn wife! Ya stay away from ‘er, or I’ll break yer goddamn neck!”

And then the door reopens and he comes storming in, his anger pouring off of him in waves. You take a large step back and then you fall backwards onto the small chair by the window. He leans down into your face, grabbing your jaw. “Ya like humiliatin’ me, angel? Huh? Ya like makin’ it look like my own wife don’t want me at my party?”

You fight back the tears that are trying desperately to fall. You shake your head as best as you can with his grip. “Please… Elvis, I didn’t mean anything by it. I- I was just talking to him.”

He stares into your eyes with a heated gaze for what feels like hours, and then he seems to remember himself, and he takes a deep breath. He loosens his grip, his eyes softening just a bit. “I don’t like it when those… those pigs talk to ya, Y/N,” his hand moves to caress your cheek and clear your tears that managed to fall, “Jus’ promise me you’ll stay by my side, yeah? Don’t let those suckers talk to ya?”

You quickly nod, just wanting him to stay happy. You shakily reach up and put your hand over his, holding it to your face. “Y- yeah, baby, I’ll only talk to you. Promise.” You say as firmly as you can manage in your slightly shaken state. He then nods, seeming convinced and content enough.

Elvis reaches down and pulls you up by the arm. He pulls you into an embrace, his fingers gently trailing through your hair. He kisses the top of your head, whispering, “Mhm, angel, s’ jus’ you and me, okay? Forever. Yer mine.”

Okay, so this is ACTUALLY shit. I’m so sorry, please forgive me��. But I wanted to get at least one of your requests out for you. Enjoy…?

Tags: @queenstarlight (lmk if you wanna be added)

[hollowistheworld]

Major veilguard endgame spoilers under the cut!!! I'm chewing on angst like a dog with a bone

The angsty narrative appeal of choosing Harding to lead the scouting mission and Neve to deactivate the wards (especially if Neve followed you into greater danger at the start).

Because you started this with you and Harding and Varric. You three together for the better part of a year. And you build friendships fast when you're together 24/7.

And then you find Neve, and you don't know her, but your teammates do and she kills venatori and she slots right into the team and she's every bit as committed to stopping Solas as the rest of you.

And you get to the ritual. And Varric goes to talk to Solas, leaving you in charge because you're his second in command and you get shit done. And he leaves you with one final order - "Take care of the team for me."

And Neve points out the potential danger in disrupting the ritual, but she follows you, commits to this, and -

Well, it all goes a bit tits up. You can admit that. Things get dire, you've lost sight of Neve and Varric's bleeding, but Harding pulls through, gets you and Varric and Neve to safety, and you're really in charge now, because Varric's beat to shit, but it's fine. You've got this.

And then Harding picks up a magic dagger and before you know she's falling into the abyss as you scream her name, unable to do anything, and then-

She's back. She's okay. And it's not even like a miracle, it straight-up is a miracle, because what else are you going to call a dwarf escaping certain death and getting magic powers?

So it's okay. This thing with Harding is weird, but she's okay, and you'll figure it out. And Neve's been beaten black and blue but she'll walk it off. And Varric's barely able to get out of bed but he's still giving you advice and nagging you to take naps, so it's okay.

And then the gods move the goddamn sun and you're really down to the wire now and you turn to Harding, because she's like you, she gets shit done, and you have her lead your second team because you know she can. She got you and Neve and Varric to safety and she's got this.

And when you run into wards meant to stop you, you instruct Neve to bring them down, because you know she can, because she followed you into that chaotic mess of magic and helped you drop a statue on a god and walked off all those injuries she got out of it and she's got this.

And then - Neve's gone. Just like that. Right out from under you.

But it's okay. You've got this. You've survived everything they've thrown at you this far and you'll get her back.

And then things are dire, people are injured, you're losing, but Harding pulls through. Just like you knew she would, just like she always does. And then she's falling, you're screaming her name, unable to do anything, and then -

And then nothing. She's gone. One miracle per customer, you guess.

And then Varric's gone. Varric's always been gone, and you're the last to know. And you realize Neve and Harding, they followed you not only because you were Varric's second in command, but because you recovered from his death the fastest.

Only you didn't. They followed you for your confidence and it was built on a lie. And now they're gone. Just like Varric.

But you get shit done, you get out, you hunt yourself a god, and you find Neve, still alive, but-

But this isn't a miracle. This isn't bruises she'll walk off. This is death coming for her, this is borrowed time.

So the original Veilguard, the Veilguard Varric lived to see, chose himself, two are gone and one is blighted and you're standing in the wreckage of your victory and you did it, you got shit done, but you can't help thinking about that last order, the last real words Varric ever said to you -

Take care of the team for me.

Mission Failed.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Thinking about sloppy, dirty Wakanda husbands...

It's fucking sweltering, every breath that comes out of Steve comes spilling out as a rasping groan that grates against each of his ribs, dragging like fingernails, filling his lungs luxurously and grinding out of his throat with his hot hanging-open mouth, panting and heaving, not just breathing. Heaving. He's flat on his fucking back with his chest swelling and sinking rapidly but he may as well be pinned to a spinning top with how his mind is racing, zooming, swirling. Every inch of him is on fire. Sweltering. The sheets of Bucky's bed stick to his back--scratch that, the hay making up Bucky's mattress on the floor of his sweet, cramped little hut in his merciful slice of paradise is sticking to his back through the layers of sheets. It's surprisingly comfortable for being just straw but the composition of whatever the fuck he's pinned to, riding the rocking deck of a ship, is the last thing on Steve's mind when, when there's--

F-fuck.

Fuck it.

Steve reaches out and fucking sliiiiides Bucky--all trembling and slick and wet--off his dick. He doesn't fucking care how bad it aches or how much his throbbing, hard cock twitches and weaps at being lewdly and loudly pulled out of Bucky's feverish, clenching hole. The sound of it.

Jesus.

It's sloppy.

They're all messy, fucked up on each other, blotting everything else out but their frayed edges and misfiring nerves. Steve doesn't care about how strung out they are or how fucking much his dick hates him right now for doing that. The real motivation, hot and growling, is his twisted mouth. It's watering. Even as his chest heaves and the lungfuls of sucked in air do their damnest to dry out his gaped-open lips--he needs a taste.

And he's gonna goddamn get one, his fumbling hands sinking into the fat of Bucky's hips, jerking him forward by his irrestiable curves. Just a taste. He needs it.

Bucky, shocked and dispaired by the sudden emptiness, complains, his voice climbing up in register, "Steeeeve," his voice breaks, "n-noo-!" At the same time--with Steve's hands all over him, the only difference that his dick isn't still stretching out that greedy hole--his lush lower lip juts out, a fucking dream, and that sweet cleft in his chin, shadowed below his beard, trembles.

He's the picture of debauchery. Enough to make a grown man cry.

Steve's too busy to notice whether his eyes are stinging or blurring with tears on account of how he's growling, "up here," though. He won't have it. He's groping, pulling, and slapping. He's a fucking caveman, manhandling him like this. He doesn't care. He needs this man. Sue him.

Fuck him.

Bucky's complaints quickly fall into sheer, jagged groans like tumbling off the edge of a mountain. And all it takes is the magic of Steve's tongue, then he's suddenly oh-so easy and weak.

Steve. wants. a. taste. and he'll have one. Now.

His tongue flicking and lapping teasing circles, pointing and fucking in deep, getting his beard wet with his own mess and the lube dripping like molten glass from Bucky's hole, smeared over the curves of his backside, eagerly finding it's way down his thighs. Fuck. Steve's eyes roll back so far they snap shut. He's good.

Tastes good.

Steve's reduced into a sticky, thick, boiling of pleasure, caveman, and Bucky's changing his tone further to belly-deep groans and salacious moana mixed into a stupor-inducing cocktail. He's arching his back, too, sticking his fat ass out with shivers raising in the hair on his legs under Steve's groping, petting, unkind-and-possessive-yet-wordhipful touch, goosebumps 'cause he feels so good, he can't take it. Neither of them can take it. But mostly Bucky.

As Steve tongues him, kissing his hole like he'd kiss his mouth, only dirtier, more tongue and more commanding and more sensitive, more, more, more, Bucky's alternating between spreading his thick thighs, feeling too good, wanting more, getting close, and he needing to make room to squirm yet also clenching his legs tight every so often, randomly letting his leg muscles spasm and squeeze like the velvet-slick interior muscles of his fluttering hole, treated so well--Steve's jaw is aching--he tightens his thighs around Steve's head until he runs out of oxygen. Steve's watched a few too many videos of people built suspiciously like Bucky's squeezing the life outta some poor watermelons a few too many times. He. Yeah. That's him. He's red enough in the face for it. Choking and tonging Bucky and tasting him.

Still, though, Steve's starved and, for as much as he wants, craves, needs, Bucky dancing on his tongue, squirming and grunting and groaning and panting for it--he needs him to just fucking take it, too.

It's hard to hold him down when he's the one on top, or it would be if Steve weren't a supersoldier pumped up to an aching throb on lust. Pity. So, all he's got to do is bury his face in deeper, feeling the heat and tasting the delicacy of him and hearing him enjoy it and knowing him, knowing him so deep and intimate. Lips and teeth and tongue. His whole fucking face. His nose against the fat little flush of his perineum, rubbing and pressing. His jaw rubbing him raw with his beard, scruffing and scratching until Bucky can't take it anymore--he won't be able to sit later.

Steve buries in deep and holds himself there, one hand bruising around his plush, curved hip while his muscular forearm pins Bucky's wet, hard dick to his belly, trapping it to scrape dangerously against his hairy forearm and against his own soft belly and fuzzy treasure trail.

Bucky moans in agony, too much friction with too much tongue. Too good. Denied and yet too good.

Steve wants him to cum just from his tongue and lips and teeth on his twitching, cock-stretched hole and he Steve knows Bucky thinks he's an asshole for it. Maybe he is. Maybe he's a possessive, selfish bastard that needs every peice of him. He needs him to cum because he made it so. Why have such a pretty fucking man work for anything? He doesn't need to ride his face, he doesn't need to ride his dick, he doesn't need to grind his dick against him, he just needs to take it.

Take it.

Take it, Steve growls like an animal, teeth tight against the inside of his asscheek, biting more color into him. Yeahhh, he'll be fucking raw later. Worse than a sunburn.

Reacting, Bucky scrambles to get ahold of the pleasure, his hand searching for something, anything to hold onto, first he's blindly groping the wall, palm and curled fingers thumping against it dully as his head tips back, hair spilling over his shoulders in a silky rush of waves too gorgeous to be real, then he finds purchase on Steve's hair and he pulls, oh, he pulls, his arm flexing and bulging and if Steve's mouth wasn't already busy at his hole, eating him, he'd be trailing sloppy kisses up that fucking arm. He loves it so fucking much.

All of Bucky, god, he loves Bucky. A man. He loves this man more than life itself. He'd give anything for him. He'd give it all again, in just the blink of an eye, but he can't exactly do that immediately, so, he does the next best thing--he pulls him harder down against his bearded jaw and rubs up against the inside of his round asscheeks and butter-soft, iron-strong thighs, marking him up more, impossibly more, making him sigh and gasp and groan, barreling toward orgasm recklessly. He's gonna bust all over Steve's forehead and hair and it'll be impossible to get out when they're only got a lake at their disposal for washing but Steve isn't thinking clearly enough to give a single fuck.

All he's thinking about is the little, sloppy, loose hole he's ravishing and these hanging balls smothering him. He's thinking about Bucky. Bucky's pretty body. Gnawing at him, lavving his tongue over him, sucking his rim, fucking him with his tongue--Bucky Bucky Bucky Bucky Bucky Bucky Bucky Bucky Bucky Bucky BuckyBuckyBucky Bucky Bucky Bucky Bucky BuckyBucky BuckyBuckyBuckyBuckyBucky.

[mountmortar]

i love it when federal sites haven't updated their code since like. 2003 or something

[lexosaurus]

work on the current chapter of ur fic and not the fun future chapter challenge

[beatcroc]

there's no way the bathroom at peppino's pizza is actually that big but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ . hey ummm anyway.... i care them...... anyway there's a lil ramble on my take on fake pep's like psyche or whatever in tags on the og post if ur into that kinda thing :y

hey! it's a series! fake peppino world tour: [noise] [noisette] [peppino]<- u are here [gustavo] [gerome] [noisette again]

[adriartts]

goretober day 6: Transformation

this mermaid concept is not mine!!! it is cool as hell and comes from my homeboy @ch1ck3n-t03s

[lygma-nygma]

The genuine struggle of being a Riddler fan when all three of his most popular incarnations are different levels of deeply ooc for completely different reasons and you find all three insufferable but they're his most talked about because they're the only non-comic versions of him that aren't Jim Carrey, in three episodes of an animated series, or made of lego. You still reblog stuff about the ones you don't like though because the art is nice but god damn does it ache a little.

[the-kipsabian]

a quick hot guide for people that struggle commenting on fics aka things authors love to hear and youre just over thinking it and its actually really simple to leave comments on stuff!!

key smash/emoji spam/reaction image/etc (it conveys emotions way more than you might think)

drop a line you really liked

say how much you love a ship/character and how happy you are that theres content about them

ALL CAPS ANYTHING

"i liked/loved/enjoyed/whatever it!" its better to say the most basic thing than saying nothing tbh; writers appreciate hearing anything over nothing 💜

"thank you for writing this" its short, sweet, and very powerful

think what kind of feedback you'd personally like to receive on a piece of art you made. try to translate that want into comments you leave for other people too

you dont have to be critical or constructive or anything, even if the author asks for that stuff in their notes. they'll get it from someone else, you just do you

i feel like people make leaving comments too hard on themselves, so really just make it simple. if you really dont come up with anything, just say thank you. youre there reading for some reason, tell the author what it is. fic comments dont need to be book analysis essays (tho those are. incredibly appreciated as well if you want to write one!!), writers publishing their works for free online appreciate any kind of feedback regardless if you consider it good or well written. a comment is a comment

bottom line is, leave comments on fics and other written works. its whats keeping this game alive

[maliciousmagpie]

Just finished S14, just have to question why Dean was so quick to try and kill his magic son like his brother and bestfriend haven’t also done incredibly insane things for a variety of reasons.

And the real kicker is.

It’s going to get so much worse.

[krispyjb]

Ah fuck I’m thinking about Water 7/Enies Lobby arc again

Whoops I wrote an essay in the tags