#Under any other circumstance i would have but i get rides so no i can't just stay an extra 20 minutes because you want me to

[mermaus]

low activity, working on stuff for the new muses and playing dreamlight valley

Work left me in a bad mood tonight so i'll just be mainly hanging on discord

[remlionheart]

hiii !! may seem a bit basic, but chuuya picks up reader after a stressful day at work with his motorcycle fluff and smut 👾.

thank you, u're the best !!

୨ৎ❀ hey, there’s nothing wrong with simple! i appreciate you sending me a suggestion ♡ it's been awhile since we've visited my fave ill-tempered redhead anyway and he deserves all the attention ୨ৎ❀ fluff. smut. deep throating. praise. rich-boyfriend!chuuya x fem!reader. quick lil 1.9k word drabble. lemme know whatcha think, luv u ୨ৎ❀

♡ MDNI ♡

Me 'n My Girl ｡˚☽

so proud to be in your world, just me and my girl ⋆.˚

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

A warm mid-evening breeze swept through your hair as you stepped out of large doors of your office building and let out a sigh. The smell of petrichor bounced off of the pavement while a light rain cascaded over downtown Yokohama.

Under normal circumstances, it would’ve been your favorite weather, but the stillness of it was just another reminder of the unrelenting storm of anxiety that’d been plaguing your mind all day.

Nothing had really happened. Work went okay. Your commute there was okay. Your coworkers were okay. Your lunch was okay. Everything was seemingly okay, but that's what made it worse. You couldn't pinpoint the source of your discomfort. Couldn't place the blame on any one single thing for making you feel so off. It was a phantom annoyance. A problem that didn't seem to exist to anyone else besides you.

"Shit." you mumbled, feeling your purse slip from your shoulder as it, along everything it was holding, fumbled out of your reach and spilled out into the middle of the sidewalk.

You were halfway down the stairs, your pumps clicking against the concrete when your hand suddenly reached for the railing. The heel of your shoe breaking clean off, almost knocking you completely off balance.

It wasn't the time to cry. You'd made it so far - managed to hold it together for your entire shift and you were finally at the finish line, but your capacity to handle any more minor inconveniences was well beyond its limit. You swallowed down the lump in your throat, unable to fight back the hot, frustrated tears that streamed down your cheeks while you took both of your shoes off and you gathered up your belongings in defeat.

Chuuya rounded the corner not a second too soon, the loud vroom of his engine coming to a gradual halt as he kicked his foot out to put the motorcycle in park before stepping off.

He smoothed down his disheveled hair, his smirk quickly fading the closer he got to you.

"Baby..." he said softly, looking at broken pair of shoes in your hand and the haphazard way your bag had been slung over your shoulder. "What happened?"

"Nothing," You lied, shaking your head. "It's fine."

He knew you too well though. Knew that if he simply nodded and waited a minute, it would pour out of you without him having to pry. He put a hand on your shoulder, letting you avoid his stare until you finally caved.

"Today was just stupid," You sulked, "Everything was horrible for no reason and then my fucking heel snapped and now," You were fighting an uphill battle against your emotions. More tears pricking at your eyes as your gaze caught his. "And now I can't even ride on the back with you because I'm barefoot and everything is ruined."

Even though he hated seeing you get this worked up, he couldn't deny that there was something so fucking cute about how pouty and helpless you became when things didn't go your way. He took pride in knowing that you needed him, that he was the one you relied on to pick up the pieces when life got too stressful.

"Stay here," he said, taking his leather jacket off and draping it around your shoulders. "I'll be right back, okay?"

You nodded at him, watching him tuck his hands into his pockets as he crossed the street. It was easy to forget who he was sometimes. How merciless he could be with other people when he was so gentle and attentive with you. He was a Port Mafia executive who doubled as a golden retriever boyfriend when no one was looking. Calloused and feared by some of the scariest people in Yokohama and yet for some reason, physically incapable of saying no to you.

You wiped your tears away watching him flick his cigarette onto the sidewalk, an unexpectedly large Chanel bag hanging from his wrist.

"C'mere," he said, taking your hand as he led you to the Ducati.

You plopped down on its leather seat with both legs dangling off to one side while he knelt down and opened the bag, sliding a gorgeous pair of black open-toed suede heels onto your feet.

"Gimme the broken ones."

You pulled them out of your purse with a small smile, letting him throw them away in a nearby trashcan before returning back to you. "Better?" he asked.

"You know there's an Adidas store right around the corner?"

He smirked, placing both hands at either side of you, his mouth grazing yours with a whisper. "My girl had a terrible day at work and you expect me to make it worse by buying her cheap shit?"

Your heart fluttered, another slight grin tugging at the corners of your mouth as you breathed in the comforting smell of his cologne. "Your girl is really lucky to have you."

"Yeah, well…" he mused, "I have a feeling she'll be makin' it up to me later.”

⋆.౨ৎ˚.⟡˖ ࣪

The ride back to his house was peaceful with hardly any traffic for a Thursday night.

There was something about being on the back of his motorcycle that made you feel so indescribably close to him. From the way your body pressed against his to the way he'd tell you to hold onto him tighter. You loved the looks people would flash the two of you as you'd speed past them. The butterflies that flooded your stomach each time he'd start to go faster than he should've. Even if he had a bad habit of occasionally breaking the speed limit, you still trusted him entirely. He was well aware of the difference between having a little bit of fun and being reckless and he'd never cross that line when he was with you.

You felt infinitely better by the time you pulled into the garage, carefully letting your legs fall as he shut off the engine. Your bad day felt like a distant memory - your mind now comfortably occupied with the thousand-dollar shoes that were decorating your feet and the way his eyes lit up as he helped you down.

It was hard to process sometimes that he'd been waking up next to you almost every day for the last year and still looked at you like you had put the stars in the sky.

You grabbed his arm before he could make it inside the house, gently pushing him back onto the seat of his bike. He raised an eyebrow, but didn't stop you as you hovered above him and began undoing his belt.

"You always make me feel so good." You whispered, reaching up to let your lips catch his while your hands continued to unbutton his pants. "I wanna return the favor."

You could feel him growing hard as his tongue swirled against yours with fervor. A gloved hand resting on the back of your neck to pull you in closer while you reached for his zipper and freed him from the fabric that was separating the both of you.

He let out a low groan when your palm met the base of his cock, delicately wrapping your fingers around it as you started to move uppp and downnn at just the right pace, earning even prettier noises from him.

His grip tangled into your hair, moving your head to the side so that he could descend down your neck. Kissing and nipping away at your soft skin while you continued to stroke him. His movements were getting harder to control the faster you went, squeezing him so fucking perfectly that he nearly ripped the front of your shirt open.

You let out a small yelp as he roamed across your chest, lightly slipping your nipple between his teeth while his blue eyes travelled up to yours. "Get on your knees for me."

You nodded, keeping your stare locked with his. Your hand still going in the same motion as you repositioned yourself, kneeling in front of him so that your face was front and center with where he wanted you. You pulled his pants down further, your core aching as you obediently slid your tongue along his base.

"Fuck," he hissed, his mouth dropping open at how tantalizingly thorough you were, "God, that feels – hah – that feels… so.... good."

You took your time, coaxing more heady praises out of him as you made your way up his length, letting a generous amount of spit trail down his shaft while your hand held him in place. His pink tip was practically dripping with pre-cum by the time you reached it, begging to have your pretty little mouth wrapped around it.

You smiled against him, looking up at him with doe-eyes before giving in to his body's needs. "It's all mine, right?" You asked, causing him to twitch in your hand.

"All yours." He groaned, doing everything he could to stop himself from shoving your head down onto him. He wanted you so bad it hurt, but even in the midst of his clouded thinking, he was still more concerned about you. If you needed to hear him say it, then that's exactly what he'd do.

"It's all yours, baby." He exhaled. "I'm all yours… Every inch of me is all – fucking...your...s"

His words were quickly taken from him though, stolen by the way you’d flattened your tongue and pressed it firmly against his tip.

You watched his eyes roll back as his hand gripped your hair, the two of you working to find the perfect rhythm.

You loved the breathy noises he made for you. The way his hips thrusted forward while he buried himself into the warmth of your mouth. The feeling of him getting harder with each slurp and squelch that echoed across the garage as you struggled to take the whole thing.

"Keep going." He grunted, still fighting the overwhelmingly feral urge to slam into you. "Doin' so good f'me."

You went as deep as you could, easing him into the back of your throat while your tongue continued to glide across his shaft.

His movements became more frantic, his voice breaking the faster you went. "God – damn..."

You kept up the same unrelenting pace, drool spilling down your chin as your eyes locked with his again.

"Fuck," his moans turned into guttural whimpers, his body thrusting desperately in search of release. "Just like that," he choked out, "just like that, don't – fucking stop, please baby... don't stop, I'm –"

He looked lost, completely entranced by the hold you had over him as a lewd warmth coated the back of your throat. More carnal obscenities pouring from his lips as he slowly regained control over his breathing and pulled out of you.

"Next time –" he panted, helping you to your feet before leaning in to kiss you. "I'm buying you the whole fuckin' store."

⋆.౨ৎ˚.⟡˖ ࣪

[bellyasks]

thankyouuuuuu so much 2 the anon whos enabling my nonsense by sending more emojissss (i split them up bc there were so many will have the rest up soon) random emoji ask game part whatever

😳 Is there anybody in your character's life who blushes at the sight of their belly? Maybe somebody who can't help but stare? Perhaps even somebody who just can't keep their hands off it? How does your character feel about that?

🫥 How easily embarrassed by their tummy is your character? Would a rumble or a burp have them blushing? What about a very noticeable bloat, or even a wardrobe malfunction? Has there ever been a time when their belly did something that made them want to disappear? Or are they fully unfazed by even the most attention-drawing slips?

🩺 Does your character listen to their belly when it tells them they're hungry/full, or do they ignore it?

🌝 Does your character enjoy being full? How does it make them feel, physically, emotionally, etc? What about when they're a little too full, or even uncomfortably stuffed?

💥 Your character's poor tummy is just about on the verge of bursting. How much did it take to get them there? A lot of food? A little? Are there any particular instances they could recall where they've felt like this?

🫳 How does your character feel about having their belly rubbed? Will they ask for it? How do they respond when it happens? Are they particular about who touches their belly, if anybody?

🍄 Has your character ever gotten sick by eating something they shouldn't have? What happened? Was anybody there to help them?

🌡️ How does your character like to be treated when they're not feeling good, particularly with an upset tummy? Do they want to be left alone, or do they want to be fussed over? Who would they like to have caring for them?

🌶️ Does spicy food bother your character's belly at all? Does it leave them feeling bloated or with an upset stomach, or even just give them hiccups? If so, do they try to avoid it, or do they take the risk?

🎡 Does your character ever feel motion sick? Do wild amusement park rides upset their belly? What about planes or cars? Do they try to avoid these things? How do they cope?

🔊 How noisy is your character's belly? Is it noisy only under specific circumstances? Do others tend to notice it, or is it more subtle?

☣️ Are there any particular foods that really upset your character's belly? How does it affect them? Do they make an effort to avoid it? If not, how frequently do they eat it?

[theship-thewalrus]

This is My Idea || Benedict Bridgerton

benedict bridgerton x reader

based on the song 'this is my idea' from The Swan Princess

word count: 1682 words reading time: about 7 minutes warnings: none really

I can't believe I'm stuck with her all summer I bet she doesn't wrestle, hunt or box

The boy who stood in front of you looked conceited. The brown, untamable hair that looked similar to a bird's nest you had passed in the carriage. He looked rather unimpressed as his eyes scanned you, for someone so young he seemed to resemble a sour-faced mother.

"Where are you manners dear? Introduce yourself."

The voice of your father filled your eyes, causing your eyes to cast back to him for a moment. You were sure your face convey a look of uncertainty almost asking if you truly must indulge this idea. The carriage ride to the countryside had taken some time, Adurey Hall, they had called it. The best place to spend the summer, or so you were told.

"(Y/N), a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

As you bowed her head slightly to show respect there was a beat of silence. It caused your eyes to flick up, wondering what fool did not understand how to greet someone. You watched the shoulder of the boy in front of you get knocked forward, a puff of air leaving his chest. A scowl formed on his face as he stepped forward bowing his head and holding out his hand.

"Benedict."

As he took your hand in his there was a small pause again, both of you looking back to your parents. Almost pleading for them to intervene, asking them with your eyes if they were truly going to make you both do this. Yet, all that was returned were encouraging smiles. The kiss on the back of your hand was quick, you quickly retracted your hand to wipe it on your dress and him to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand.

What a fun summer you had in store.

We've tried all summer but we just can't lose her

"Wait up! Anthony! Benedict! This isn't funny!"

Three pairs of footsteps could be heard running across the floors of Audrey Hall. Maids clinging to the walls of the halls as three children barrel through. The two boys were much fast than you, something you blamed on your skirt. You could hear their mutters of each other, encouraging the other to run faster in an attempt to lose them.

The doors flung open as the trio ran outside, the boys gaining ground against you. The wooden floor you had been running on quickly changed to stone and then uneven grass, that you were sure you were going to trip over. The ground only worsen as you trailed the boys to the forest that encased the grounds. Perhaps if you were in the first under better circumstances you would not be so annoyed.

"Quick, Anthony! Before she gets here."

You could hear Benedict urging his brother to climb the rope ladder to their little treehouse. Moving forward, your fingers just missed the rope of the ladder to the treehouse. The two boys are much too fast in pulling it up and away from you. Looking up at them with an angered and displeased expression you were only met with their smug ones. Having gotten out of having to spend any time with you for now.

"You'd think she'd take a hint a learn to read."

You could hear Benedict tease, waving a piece of paper at you from his higher position. Squinting you could make out 'no girls' in scratchy words and a terribly drawn picture of what you assumed to be you.

"This really isn't fair." "We really couldn't care."

With a huff, you picked a plank of wood that stood tall near the tree. Though it seemed to be the main support of the tree house as you heard the planks of wood groan and shift under the boy's weight. Before it all came crashing down around you, boys included.

She tries to talk me into playing dress-up She's always flirting with the castle guards

You don't quite remember when you had given up trying to befriend Benedict. It was clear the pair of you simply had no intention of ever wanting to get to know each other. Perhaps if you both had not been forced together for months, since you were both young, it would be different. Now you seemed to spend your time with the Bridgertons entertaining his younger siblings, gossiping with Daphne and talking to the various servants.

It was not unusual to find yourself outside, you enjoyed the time away from the ton and in the countryside. Yet, this particular time you seemed to be occupying your time talking with a footman. He was rather young and you must admit, easy on the eyes. You sparked up the conversation with him during your walk around the grounds. Asking him to accompany you on a quick walk in the nice weather.

"Why, I did not know you were so knowledgeable on the different Flora around Britain."

Your voice was smooth as you spoke, looking at the young man from the corner of your eyes. The pair of you stood a respectable distance apart. You heard him chuckle before he answered, turning his head to face you.

"Well, miss, I tend to find myself out in the forest in my free time." "How wonderful,"

You muse a small smile on your face as the pair of you turned to head back to the manor. Though a figure in one of the many windows caught your eye. Squinting slightly you attempt to figure out who happened to be spying, you assumed it would be Daphne, the girl would want to know everything as soon as you get inside. But much to your surprise the figure was none other than the man you were avoiding, Benedict. You could not make out his face, but you could tell by his body language that he was not in the greatest mood.

I'd like her better if she'd lose at cards

Sitting across from Benedict you peer over your cards at him. There was one thing you both agreed on, and that was a love for card games. At times you had both been known to wager something, a necklace here or a few coins there. But during your winning streak, Benedict was too fearful, having already lost too much. He already owed you one of his paintings and some poetry.

You pretended to not notice Colin peering over your shoulder, trying to grab a look at your cards. You doubted he could see much or even knew how to play. You watched Benedict's movements carefully, you doubted he would suddenly win this round, you weren't worried about losing.

"Four sevens and a ten." "I think I've won again."

Your words were covered in honey as you showed your card. Displaying them opposite his with a smirk playing on your lips. You could not help yourself, it felt nice to win against the boy. Considering you could never seem to win against his older brother. Small cheers from Daphne and Eloise were heard as Benedict groaned and leaned back in his chair unimpressed.

For as long as I remember We've been told we'd someday wed

Somewhere along the years you and Benedict had figured out the reason why you were both forced together every June until September. Your fathers had been friends and you guessed they desired a way to keep your families close. Unfortunately for you, you had simply been born close to Benedict. Thus, it seemed simple that the pair of you should wed. Though it was rare they spoke about it, there were always countless hints and pushes to shove you both together.

Being pushed around in this manner was not want you had expected during this visit to the Brigdertons. You could feel your father pulling and shoving you in all sorts of directions. Your unhappy grumbling going unheard by the man. That morning you had been shoved into a rather nice dress and your corset did up so tight you were sure you were going to pass out.

I see him smiling and my knees start buckling I see inside him and my doubts are gone

You heard the door shut behind you, your father leaving you in a room by yourself. Hearing another door slam shut on the other side of the room. Casting your eyes over you saw Benedict. He seemed to change over the last time you had seen him, matured a bit more. He did seem so brash and aloof as before, more refined and put together.

You watched his eyes as he scanned you as well, realising he was not alone. Confidently you took a few confident steps towards him. Though he seemed to stumble a little at the start he was quick to extend his hand as he meet you in the middle. Extending your hand he grabbed it softly, you took note of the charcoal on his fingertips that he had not seemed to clean yet. Though you did not seem to mind all that much. Softly kissing the back of your hand he would straighten up once more. Yet kept his hand on yours, it brought a smile to your face.

"How have you been these past months?"

Your question breaks whatever trace the man was under, bringing his attention back to you. There was a pause as you watched him think of a response. Perhaps not all that much had changed since you were young, the man still needed to be pulled through conversation.

"G-Good! I've been good." "That is good it hear."

There is another pause for a small moment before he seemed to catch on to what you were waiting for.

"And how have you been?" "Well, I spent the colder months inside by the fire." "Good, good. I had painted the manor in a winter setting. I would be happy to show it to you." "It would be my pleasure to see."

This is my idea This is my idea What a good idea, it's such a charming and romantic notion.

[millerscoffee]

dancing is a dangerous game | part three

"the only thing i'll ever ask of you, you've gotta promise not to stop when i say when," she sang.

6.8k | joel miller x f!reader

this is part 3 of the "dancing is a dangerous game" series | other parts below:

part one | part two | part three | masterlist

rating: 18+ MDNI

warnings (for this chapter): post-outbreak au. no ellie. no clickers. mentions of consensual non-con (spoiler: it's more that reader is nervous and is scared things will fuck up, so she tells joel not to stop if that tension in her rises). survivalist!joel, age gap (joel is 56, reader is late 20s or early 30s), soft!dom joel, introduction of safe word, oral (f receiving), fingering, piv (unprotected), cum eating (whoops), biting, crying, fluff, angst, READER RIDES A HORSE! no use of y/n.

summary: within your second week at joel's, there are things you are forced to look within yourself. joel helps you through it.

A/N: i really appreciate all of the notes and comments for this series! i didn't know where it would lead when i wrote that first chapter, but it's all overwhelming and sweet! i know the last chapter was more plot, but i feel progression with these twooooo 👀

"I don't think it's trust." "Then. What. Is. It?" Joel moves over to you at the bed's edge, taking your chin in his warm hands. It's as if the breath got knocked out of you. Like he's doing what you asked without you realising it. "I can't–" you feel undeniably small. Tears fall easily when you look down at your laps side by side until your vision gets blurry. His booming stirs in you. Not fear, but not necessarily happiness. He's compelling you to look at patterns within yourself, it makes you want to break down. Panic threatening to tap at the door of your sternum. Just when Joel's index finger, large and calloused, curls under your chin. It gently coaxes you to lock eyes and your lip wavers. "You're doing so good," when he says it, voice like honey in comparison to the rough-textured grip he has on your face, your heart races.

When Joel back turns around, his eyes are dark. Like he’s thirsty, but would only drink if you let him. He’s deliberate in brushing past you on his way up to the loft, his presence lingering just at the end of the stairs. “Come to bed.” It’s simple, and what you come to learn, is Joel’s way of asking. He don’t. But he gives you room to make the choice. You don’t recall your eyes even scanning the living room. They only land on the broad frame in front of you, and you follow it like a beacon of light. Beginning your second week, you don’t sleep on the couch anymore.

You're skittish when reach the top of the loft.

What if he expected something from you? What if it was more than what you were willing to give?

What did you want to give?

"It's nice up here," an attempt to purchase to any sort of gravity. Anything to make sense of just how you ended up in the situation in the first place. The feeling of Joel's lips still very much present on your own.

But your eyes stay at the ground, more in your own head than you are able to look at the man you're in front of. Joel tilts his head to catch your gaze.

"You sayin' that to me, or y'erself?"

"Oh... uh... to you. To you." You flash a crooked, but distant smile.

"Hey," Joel hushes, walks over to you, his frame seeming somehow even larger in the petite space. "If this is too much, we can get you back down there. Y'know. Extra blankets."

"No–" you object so quickly you have to clear your throat. "I mean... no. I want to stay. Just..."

"Hadn't shared a bed with someone?"

"Not in a long time." You think of your past lover. The warmth the two of you made together under makeshift tents and old buildings with shitty furniture. Taking turns sleeping while keeping an eye out for danger. This was different, and so were the circumstances.

Joel walks over to what you presume is at least the start of his side of the bed before his inevitable migration to the centre of it at night, and gets undressed until he's left in his boxers. Unlike when the two of you had sex and he wasn't wearing anything under his jeans. It was like he didn't know you were gonna be up there with him tonight.

"We'll take it slow, if that's what you want." Climbing into bed, Joel opens the opposing side of the blankets for you. His hair slick back from your fingers combing through it downstairs. Orbs seeking to learn your quiet demeanor. He looks sweet. Patient, even.

How could you say no to that? Not when he's being so compassionate. And certainly not when he's giving you the choice.

The temptation to be vulnerable could kill you. Could be dangerous.

Then again, the situations you continuously put yourself in before you met Joel had more consequences than getting in this man's bed. A man who was shifting your perspective. He didn't seem like any other person that entered your life only to leave it.

You choose to ignore the expiration date in a few short weeks.

So you abandon your jeans. Neatly fold them in a chair tucked away in the corner of the room. Everything in slow motion to quell the reality of your emotions towards the man you currently have your back to. The man who made you feel melted and was being uncharacteristically open with you long before whiskey was involved.

Not that the whiskey mattered, you weren't really feeling its effects anymore anyway. This experience had you both to a sober, cognitive state. You had control of yourself considering how out of control you felt on the inside.

In your underwear you stand with a blue cotton t-shirt that just grazed the crease of your bottom and your exhales are shakier than you'd like to admit.

Because if you admit it, then it's true.

If you admit it, he could have a lot more control over you than you knew what to do with.

"Joel," you sound faraway when you break the silence. Back still to him, you tilt your chin at your shoulder before closing your eyes and inhaling deeply. You can't believe what you're about to say.

"If I tell you to stop, I don't want you to listen," Tears wick at your eyes, blinking them away rapidly before turning to face Joel directly. You can't bring yourself to look at him, yet.

And he's silent.

"Because if we start this... it–it's not gonna be easy for me," you your hands, shaking them off as if the energy could ease by doing it. Pleased when it kind of works. "I'm not gonna be easy, and I don't mean sexually...," you laugh pitifully, "My impulses may make me want to stop. From what I've... god I sound so pathetic, from what I've been through." Teeth grit, tears fall, "It could be too much. And, too–," sentences chop, "I want this. If we start this I don't think I could stop. Which sounds counterintuitive, but... yeah."

You want to fucking vomit from exposing yourself this way. Your mind swirling from the brain break you just gave yourself. Did any of it make sense? Did you come all the way up the ladder just to ruin any chance of being close to him? Why did you want to be close to him? You feel like an idiot, to put it crassly. A credulous girl making hasty decisions only to retrieve back into complacency.

These thoughts flood your mind and you're sure the storm is evident as it crosses your brow. So caught up in forbidding your heart to find resolution that you can't see what's in front of you.

What's been in front of you, if only you'd pluck it.

When you finally land on him, he looks concerned. Like he's taking in every word you say and committing it to memory. He doesn't move from his spot, but he does sit up straighter. Body language letting you know he is open, but not withdrawing.

"You want... this," he repeats you, but in his voice it sounds more seductive. Did you say it this seductively? "And you want me to keep going if you say no...,"

"Sounds kinda worse when you say it out loud." You mumble.

"You trust me."

That makes your face screw up. Shoulders creep towards your ears, the bridge of your nose collides on itself.

"Trust. I don't... I don't do that."

"Well, what else would y'call this request?"

Climbing on the edge of the bed, you sit on it in contemplation. What else could this be? Surveying the room, you come back to him in your line of sight and the furrow of his brow – soft, but covetous – makes you swallow hard.

You have two choices: hit the wall you put up. The one you'd been hitting every day for a week, or you could push through it.

"I don't think it's trust."

"Then. What. Is. It?" Joel moves over to you at the bed's edge, taking your chin in his warm hands. It's as if the breath got knocked out of you. Like he's doing what you asked without you realising it.

"I can't–" you feel undeniably small. Tears fall easily when you look down at your laps side by side until your vision gets blurry. His booming stirs in you. Not fear, but not necessarily happiness. He's compelling you to look at patterns within yourself, it makes you want to break down. Panic threatening to tap at the door of your sternum.

Just when Joel's index finger, large and calloused, curls under your chin. It gently coaxes you to lock eyes and your lip wavers. "You're doing so good," when he says it, voice like honey in comparison to the rough-textured grip he has on your face, your heart races.

This simple act triggers your fight or flight, but you choose to stay and confront this. It helped that any of your other thoughts were ripped from you. All there ever could be was the thumping hum of him in your hippocampus, burning your memories alive. Joel.

"Taking all this in, so well, angel. I know it's for a reason, but I need you to say it. And I need you to mean it. If you want this as bad as you do," his nose brushes against the tip of yours, "you can do it."

It's definitely not the magic of him that clouds your mind. It's more of the fact that this human in front of you, someone who could have killed you, could have just run you off after fucking you – is showing devotion in making sure you find this. That you use your voice. Like he's dangling a key right in front of you, and all you have to do is tell him the truth.

A key to your paradise.

Staring at his lips, you tempt forward, but he pulls away just a centimetre. Not so fast, not until you give me what I want.

You exhale through your nose in reflection. Close your eyes like you're about to jump, and maybe you are.

Jumping off into nothing.

Worse, jumping into something.

His hand moves to the side of your neck, and that causes your own hand to move over his. As small as you feel in his grasp, you try to hold him, too.

"I don't know how this happened," you mutter like you're cursing yourself, but your eyes open. Melting into Joel's touch. "I don't know how you did it, but I... I trust you."

It doesn't register immediately that you are holding your breath as soon as you say it. Half expecting the world to explode, or eight thousand clickers eat at your flesh. Something bad because any time you let someone in, something bad happened. Your superstitions getting the best of you.

But there is no earthquake. No slew of cordyceps-infested human shells scurrying up the stairs– well, ladder.

It's softer. It's solid. It's Joel wrapping you up in his arms, making light work in picking you up to land you gently on the bed that you soon realise is more comfortable than it looks.

Joel's face is a mix of admiration and determination. You can see by the flare of his nostrils that he's proud of you. And you don't know why, but basking under his pride brings a sense of peace you'd long forgotten. It wasn't that you needed his stare to appreciate yourself, but there was no mistaking the safety it gave you.

Your worry doesn't simply melt, though. You meant what you said in that you weren't sure you could do this. Legs spread wide to accommodate the width of his frame, and your breath hitches when he takes the pillow from behind you and guides your head down onto it. Treating you like a delicate thing makes you wonder what it would be like if you did soften. If you did allow yourself to become malleable beneath the grasp of someone so new, but had such hold on you. Not for him, but for yourself. What would it be like to trust? Fully. Under conditions that were so harsh outside the two of you in this moment. Could it be done?

The chatter in your mind stops at the drop of a hat when Joel leans down to kiss you. Even more curious than downstairs, your bodies find it easy to meld together.

You're grateful for Joel's lips to dim the thoughts reeling of what could or couldn't happen. He fills your senses, facial hair brushing against your features, and you're amazed at how that pout of his sends prickles to your skin. How skilled he is in wielding your mind to quiet, and your core to pay attention. All of the blood rushing downward in your haze.

Joel's tongue is the first to tempt in. It brushes into the tangle of your kiss. It's cliche to say it feels like heaven, but you imagine that's what it is like if you had to guess. Like a quiet white, nothing else but the feeling of him and your breaths taking up space as you give yourself permission to move your hands. Fingers snake up his hair, the backs of your knuckles brushing over the old scar at his left cheek down to his jaw. You feel him shudder above you, and wrap his large paw around your wrists to stop you. It makes your heart skip to feel how tender is he knowing you have felt his strength.

It's a secret shared between the two of you that he can be this disarming. And you keep it tight to your chest.

You focus on the heat emitting from his skin. Like he's burning the candle at both ends and his stomach creates all this centralised heat. Your bare legs brush against each other and the sensation from this and his weight brings you direct, but silent communication that this feels good to him, too. That he needs this as much as you do, and wants you. You yet to decipher if it's merely physical.

You don't realise it right away, that your hips are squirming beneath the weight that is the man kissing you like his life depends on it. This makes him pull away from the kiss, and right when you let out a whimper you can feel how damp the fabric clings to your folds.

"Can you hold still?" He's asking you, but it's out of genuine curiosity than a scold. And now that you think about it, now that you're an inch apart you can feel the heat of you radiate from your cheeks, lips, neck, chest. Splotched and muddy, you wonder what you must look like. You manage a weak nod, he nods back, going in for your neck.

"Joel," you gasp, hands moving against his wrists that tighten the tiniest amount against the pressure. His teeth graze over your heartbeat, littering open kisses over the skin and you moan at the same time as him when he sucks. Taking the skin of your neck between his lips and turning marks out of it. Urging you to slip completely under. Your body feels pliable to him, your moans turn to quiet whimpers as he pulls back again. Admiring his work, he rolls his thumbs over the insides of your wrists individually.

"Look at you," he suspires and it's in contrast from when he said it with your ass in the air for him a week ago. It makes you feel adored, whether he did or not. You are stronger than to let tears come up, and you don't. But you know you could if you thought about it long enough. "Gorgeous."

You blush, a full smile tugging your mouth and he pauses, tilting his head. Like he's learning what you like, and taking you in at the same time. "You're being a good girl. You know that, dontchu?"

Oh.

You nod, but it's hard not to bite your lip at that and you're aching now. Your need for him too strong than succumb to your need to guard. Your gesture makes Joel smirk, the tips of his fingers at the base of your shirt and he peels it up to your chest, just at the underside of your breasts and his eyes shift from a golden brown to black in the endeavours of his own hunger. You aren't alarmed that he isn't saying anything, and really it's nice to not verbalise your desires. It was already so difficult for you.

He knows.

And he finds it as no surprise, the keen noises you make when Joel's teeth sink into your flank right under your ribs, but it doesn't tickle surprisingly. Instead it feels good, like an itch you've been wanting to scratch. Like your sides have this constraint from your holding that he's chewing out. His mouth travels up, nosing past the fabric to kiss and suck over the shape of your breasts before cupping his lips around one of your nipples, keeping the other preoccupied under his thumb.

You let out a heady sigh, his whiskers prodding into your skin in the best possible way. His eyes slip shut, and you take in the way his eyelashes splay across his cheeks. It would be innocent if the work he's doing on the peaked bit of your flesh wasn't sending a direct signal to your clit. "Joel, I–"

He pops his mouth off of you instantly. Like your words break a spell, gaze soft and round when they look up at you. "This okay?" You bite down a groan when you hear just how fucked he sounds. Fucked like you sounded when he all but caught you cumming on his couch.

You nod, but he's not so lenient this time. "Words, darlin'."

"This is okay."

"Just okay?"

That seemed to be more of a challenge than a question or disappointment. As if he could do better, go deeper as he explored what you liked.

But you want his mouth back on you, to feel him and not just to quiet your mind. To genuinely feel him take you, and you let out a whine in response. "Joel, you know."

"I can't know unless you tell me, baby."

The slip of this pet name knocks your breath out. Half naked on his bed, your nipples glistening from his spit. Your hand smooths over the side of his neck and you tilt your head down to look at him better. He's being brave, and so should you.

"It feels good. It makes me want more." You're blushing now. To admit that, to tell him you want more – out loud with your words rather than the bucking of your hips leaves you feeling more naked despite being exposed.

But it's the green light Joel needs from you. To know you want him like this as opposed to the first time the two of you got stripped down. It was just you who was naked, then. It was him who was calling the shots. You blink in awareness that he's giving you the reigns in the way he knows how.

Giving you the reigns in light grasp while he takes the rest of the lead, tight in his palms.

He is background hum. He is thunder loud and present – you never see it, but you feel the humidity, and when he grows closer, the wind that moves your hair.

This is what it's like to hand over control to him. He knows what to do with it and he doesn't make you guilty for holding it. You're learning that of him, just as he's learning you.

Affection drips when his brushes his nose against the inside of your tits, lips trailing down your stomach until he grows increasingly aware of the ache between your legs. The pool of wetness slicking over the fabric of your underwear.

This makes him drone, low and hungry, and you blink up at the ceiling because fuck what if he didn't like it? Now wasn't the time for your self-consciousness to invade your thoughts, but it sat with you when you licked your lips – just before sitting on your elbows to get a better look at him.

You didn't do this last time. What if he wasn't into you?

"Fuck," he curses under his breath. Nope, definitely not. He's into you. While his lips press and teeth nip at the insides of your thighs, your breath hitches in the process. "Wet for me?" His question rhetorical, he thumbs over the blotch in your panties and that is enough to make you whine. For your hips to raise.

He pauses then with a serious look about him.

"Say red if it's too much. Understood?" You nod and he pulls his head away, producing a mewl from you. Desperate for contact. "Repeat it." Your eyes roll back all on their own and it feels like sandpaper to swallow from your dry throat.

"If it is too much I will let you know by saying red." Though the words felt formal, the delicious growl coming from Joel's throat lets you know it was exactly the correct way to form the words.

Because he's peeling your undies off completely, giving him a good view of what's in store. "I missed this," he admits and you blush deeper than you did when he was being corporeal. The exhales cool your dampened skin as he gets closer. Wraps his hands around your hips while keeping your legs secure underneath his flexed arms.

His eyes dance between yours and your cunt. Like he's watching what gets you twitching for him, and he's found that it's a mixture between his words and the way he stares at you like you're his last meal. Hard not to, to be fair.

It starts with his tongue at your entrance, like you're letting yourself pour over his tongue and he likes that. His grunts flush your clit, a buzz of him under your skin when he finally presses his tongue inside you. You both let out a sigh of relief by this. And you would run your fingers through his hair if he'd let you, but while he's wrapped his hands around your hips, your arms are on either side of those strong arms. He's subconsciously saying to you: you're not going anywhere, you're going to take it.

And that sends your head to spin. Your chest rises and falls irregularly to the feeling of him ghosting his pouty mouth over your folds until your clit is on fire just to be touched. "J-Joel," it's faint, like you can barely get it out.

"Mm?" He's busy.

"I... I need–"

"What is it, angel?" He asked a lot of rhetorical questions, his breath warm against your sex. "You want this?" His tongue ghosts over your clit and he has to use force to keep your hips in place in order for you to not buck his teeth out.

"Joel!" The sight of your hardened nipples makes him mutter under his breath again, his teeth lightly grazing over the sensitive nub.

You choke a whine, curling your fingers into themselves.

"Is that it?"

"P-please. Please!"

"Manners. Such a sweet little thing." His tongue flicks his tease against the hood of your clit and you practically howl in response. "Taste just as sweet, too."

To say your core is sticky is an understatement, your thighs pull apart slightly every now and then and it feels like effort to pull them apart from just how wet you are. Joel's mouth, Joel's fucking mouth, makes a meal of you then. Tongue rolling and flicking over the glistening skin until he finds sucking is what takes you there above all else.

His plush lips press around the nub of nerves, pulling it into his mouth with such a rush it makes you a whimpering mess far to quickly than you want to be. Thighs trembling involuntarily.

You'd only thought about this from the first day he fucked you. What his mouth would feel like right where it is, and it doesn't disappoint.

You're reduced to a slack jaw, his tongue skilled at the repetitious movements that send you to your climax.

"Cou-could I – fingers?" You quite literally can't get another word out of yourself. You're close, but he obliges – perfectly timed as his middle finger presses inside; working tandem with his tongue. He seems to like the way you feel by the noises he makes, the spongy spot inside you easy to find when you're like this. But that's just Joel, you knew that now. Nothing was hidden when he was in charge of your pleasure.

Although just one, his finger feels thick inside you. Way bigger than yours, and the steady push/pull of his while his mouth sucks on your clit is just too much not to submit to.

So it's volcanic, the eruption within you.

Seriously, it's like one moment you're not cumming and the next your pelvis and thighs are shifting like tectonic plates beneath him. Writhing and igniting with every axon that starts from the core of you and traverses your limbs. You're a mess, physically and mentally. No real words coming out, just a slew of curses and Joel's name as if it is a profanity in itself.

And with the way he's keeping his mouth tightened on you until you've reached it, you aren't too sure his name isn't a blasphemous word that should be left from your lips every second of the day.

On the comedown, your body spasms. Small noises leave your throat until it's a bounded release of giggles, your arm slung over your eyes. "What the fuck have you done?" Fucking giggles. You're giggling for the first time in... god knows how long.

Your sentence is slurred and sloppy, rubbing your eyes as if you're taking your time before you must face him. His soft eyes, mindful kisses along the insides of your thighs – each one sending a signal to your brain to jolt a little each time. Then you feel it, or well, you don't feel it anymore. His finger leaving you empty, an ache you want back.

"Is it such a bad thing?" When he speaks, you notice how hooded his eyes look like this. He's thoroughly enjoying himself, his tongue laps at your folds one last time for the night, mindful to miss the central core of you.

"I don't think so." An honest revelation.

When he comes up, his middle finger tempts your lips from where he was and you aren't shy when you wrap your lips around his finger, cleaning yourself off of him. You reach down when you pop your lips off of him, your hand eager to find his length that's straining beneath the fabric.

But Joel swats your hand away when you tempt it near him, "You’re not doin' that. Not right now." You can see the outline of it, like what's between his legs is begging a different story. Joel, however, has his arm draped around you so heavy that the weight of him won't let you do much else other than drift off to sleep.

"I'll get you back," you warn, yawning into the air. Face greeting the crease of his neck.

"We'll see, darlin'."

You drift off. Your top on, him in his boxers. In bed with a man who was making you understand trust could be on the table without transaction.

---

You wake before sunrise.

It's just the sound of your lungs sharing oxygen in the same space, you shift your body to face his. His back is to you, but you can make out the way his shoulders slope in the dark.

You like this Joel. Not because he's asleep, but because there was no holding between the two of you. Both easy to contract, but seeing him as pliable as you were last night tugs you.

Any pretense disappears until you are both left with your wanting; lying in wait.

And that drives a fire within you. You move forward, your breasts pressing against the broad scope of his back. It's warm, the scent behind his neck lulls you deeper into relaxation until you close your eyes. But Joel's a light sleeper, and the slightest movement towards him wakes him up. He's cautious not to stir right away.

Joel turns then. Fluid in its motion, he faces you. Arms wrap around you, flex and strengthen against the soft frame of your body. Rolling on top of you, your legs come apart naturally and he is warm from the bed. This version of him isn't much changed from last night, but he's more involved in his own taking than accounting for yourself – a grown woman who can make her own resolutions. You choose to stay under him, and he picks up on that.

Your mouths collide in the dark, touching and searching each other and you're slick from its gathering of your night's sleep. Right at the core, he presses his hips down and you respond in your own wave up to meet his. It's easy to slip off your shirt, leaving it abandoned somewhere in the sheets.

His boxers come down enough, then, to feel his cock thump against your folds and you inhale sharply – needing him more and more. He's hard, dripping, white hot against your skin. You clench around nothing before his hand guides himself through the slick of you, tempting over your clit before going back down. "I need you, too," thick with sleep, you groan at the sound of him and the sound of your slick being slipped against.

He's slow, only holding the tip at your entrance and you wriggle – becoming wide awake now with the width of him at your ache. "Please," you whisper, and he indulges. Doesn't make a fuss. Because he wants this, too. Wants you. Said it himself.

"You feel so damn good, swallowin' my tip like that." His face buries into your neck, lazy and sleepy when you wrap your legs around his waist. Fingernails engage his skin when he pushes, stretching you wider and deeper. It feels different from last night. More complete with this involved, too. Your lips brush against his neck while you shiver and experience. In the break of dawn with sleep lines still on both of your skins. It starts off gentle, at least.

Keeping it together is arduous, like you're both bursting at the seams to... let it all go. You have the opportunity to say it, to tell him you want this. It's everything you were explaining last night. How you want this, but it could be difficult to express. And if you were wriggling away from it, you didn't want him to stop.

One minor detail, though. You weren't wriggling away.

Physically, your legs spread further apart, your hand reaching down to touch him. Inviting the tips of your fingers to graze the bed of coarse hairs that resided just above his cock. His breath hitches then, and you both roll your hips; up and down respectively. Allowing him to go deeper, and he is deeper.

"You feel that?" His grip now on the side of your neck, keeping your eyes poured into his – even in the indigo of dawn – and your moans are turned to nothing but choking mewls when you nod. "S-so big," not that he needed his ego stroked, it's the only thing you can think about.

He's blocking any other sense having you like this. You feel every twitch, the rush of his cock growing harder inside you, if that were even possible. Your eyes flutter back in your skull for a moment in time.

"That's what you do to me, baby." His hips are merciless in the way they recoil against yours over and over. The sounds of your skin slapping mesh with the squelching of your cunt. Your hands moving to his head, fingers in his hair and you share the same breath – his exhales, your inhales and the other way around. Leaving you both dizzy and on the precipice.

Your hair sticks to the sides of your neck that he's abandoned to rest his forearms on either side of your head, fingers lost just above your head as he holds you together like this. His eye contact isn't as intimidating as it was before, and this time you crave it. The sun's coming up and it's seeping through the window that he built with the same fucking hands that are tugging your hair to look at him. His cock pulling all the way out to thrust all the way in, and he repeats the process. Tits bouncing, claws finding purchase on the sheets, on anything while he fucks you like this. A wonder fleets of how he can even keep up like this for his age, but it's washed away as soon as it comes. Your toes curling, a guttural scream of his name coming from you when your release is found. Cream coating his cock, you think you're there, but that's when you hear him.

"Easy, baby. That's it. That's fuckin' it, don't you dare fuckin' stop for me. Cum all over this cock. You can take it, that's it." His words send stars to your eyes, mouth lax just like last night but you don't remember. You don't remember anything other than the feeling of him pounding you into his mattress that is rattling and squeaking because fuck, it feels like it could break at any moment. "Joel!" You mean to say more, you really do, but it's too much to. Not while he's fucking and talking you through it, not while his own orgasm hits him when he feels the twitching of your clenched cunt around his cock. Tightening and releasing repeatedly through your bliss.

"Shit, darlin' – fuck!" Joel leaves you as late as he can, and it still feel too soon. He palms his cock a couple of strokes before spilling his hot cum over your stomach and that was sexy enough, but the sounds he's making. The animalistic grunts found through the structure of his nose has you blinking up at him like he's the most magnificent thing you've ever seen.

Maybe he is.

And you wonder then, what it would feel like to have his seed buried inside you, but you don't ask for it.

It's not the right time.

Sun cascades itself through the sky, leaving the room lilac and blue. You're both panting, his body half on you, half on the bed.

"Y'good? Y'okay?" You hear him, but it's muffled from his arm that's over your shoulder, his face plastered into the side of your bruised neck from last night.

"Mmn," you respond, but make an annoyed sound when he's soon to sit up. He looks worried over your body.

"Shit– gotta clean y'up. Sorry 'bout that."

But you smirk instead, thumbing over the pool at your stomach. You bring it up to your mouth with your eyes round and wet when they gaze into his, sucking it clean. "I got it."

Joel blinks with a look of arousal and a grin spread across his face as if to say, what am I going to do with you? "Dirty girl."

"You like it."

"Not wrong."

---

Midway through your second week, it's early when you both start off your chores for the day. You try to pacify the idea of you two being some sort of post-apocalyptic cowboys on a homestead that barely has the proper tools to sustain it half the time. It works for the both of you.

Outside the air is thick, but sky clear as you walk towards the stables. And there's Joel, exactly where you knew he would be. Bent down on his knees, working on the same project you were last week on the stables.

Security and routine close cousins to abandonment and disappointment – this plays in the background of your thoughts. You intentionally swallow it down as you approach him.

"Could I ride her?" You come into his line of vision, and you see him make a sweet face of happy to see you and did I hear you correctly?

"You can ride?" His question has amusement in it, and you scoff – grin tugging at your face. Ignoring the blatant double entendre that he probably didn't even mean to slip out, anyway. But Joel is pleased when you pick up on it because he did in fact say it on purpose.

Of course he did.

"I have a few tricks up my sleeve yet, Miller."

Joel grunts on his way up onto his feet, bowing graciously. "Go right ahead, ma'am."

She's set up to ride when you approach her and you reach out to scratch behind her ear before saddling up on top of her.

"Hey, girl," you smile, petting over the coarse hair of her back. She's gentle, but not exactly willing to go straight away. It makes you laugh, and the ease of tension makes it easier for her to trot. "Same here, sister." You snicker to yourself, and the horse takes you out of the stables. You mostly let her do the leading, but she's easy to work with as you take her around the land Joel has claimed for himself.

There's a freedom you haven't experienced in so long while you're riding her. You remember being a kid on the back of your dad's horse, the wind against your skin like this. The prospect of new. You slow her down in your approach back to the stables after a few minutes.

When you come back, you're welcomed by Joel's clapping hands a toothy smile across his face that hurts in the best way. His pride and entertainment.

Joel basking in this side of you as you open up to him.

"Damn, maybe you could give me some lessons, darlin'. You teach yourself that?"

You appreciate him not assuming someone taught you how to do this, but the truth is you were. "My dad, actually. He taught me how to ride a horse, how to shoot a gun–"

"Not well on that last one," he jabs, motioning towards his leg you purposefully missed.

"You don't know what you don't know."

For a moment, you forget. All that burned to the ground in your previous life. Your father dying in your arms. All of it.

"She and I had a talk," you start, climbing out of the stirrups.

"Oh, did you?" Joel lifts his brow, urging you to go on.

"Her name is Bandit."

"Like you?"

"Like me."

"Figures."

---

You're both asleep up in the loft. Each morning, you were beginning to notice that Joel's night terrors were becoming less and less frequent. Subsequently, so were your own.

That was until one night you were awoken by the sound of your own sobbing, and Joel's arms tight around you. He knew not to wake you up, but he was too concerned not to try to settle you down.

"W-what?" Your voice is groggy, palpitations in your chest high. Confusion suffuses you.

"Shh, s'okay. Close y'er eyes."

Joel feels bad for waking you up, he didn't mean to. He thought he was doing the right thing. Yet even though it takes takes you awhile to fall back asleep, you do fall asleep and stay asleep.

His arm stuck around you. His protection like a blanket.

Joel's eyes stay open until they cannot and slumber creeps up for him.

All in the pursuit of your safety. He doesn't mention it, doesn't ask questions or bring it up.

---

It feels pleasant with Joel. The two of you have a routine of working on your individual duties in the day, but you always come back to each other in the evening. He's rough around the edges, there's still things that he's keeping to himself. But you don't mind because you are too, and there's no rush.

The leisure of this is what takes you by surprise the most. Not Joel being kind, or slow, or even sweet to you.

It's the fact that in the middle of chaos, you have found a pocket of serenity. The stillness between breaths.

Towards the end of your second week at Joel's, you find it brave to drape your calves over his lap while you both read worn books that have been well-loved and repeatedly grazed. In the living room you've chosen poetry tonight. Audre Lorde. Because it's there and it feels appropriate to go for poetry.

You hum to yourself when you read something striking, and now Joel is curious.

"Let's hear it," he calls, not moving his eyes from his own pages and his free palm curls over your shin.

"You want me to perform for you?"

"Quit bein' weird and just read it."

You laugh, licking over your lips before theatrically clearing your throat.

"Kinda liked it better when you were shy," Joel adds, but you know he doesn't mean it.

"You'll get used to it. Okay. Let's see... 'Always / in the middle of our bloodiest battles / you lay down your arms / like flowering mines / to conqueror me home.'"

There's a long pause between the two of you.

"I don't get it."

"You're a bad liar."

"Flowerin' mines don't even exist."

"Joel–" you huff, but that's what he wanted out of you. A response, a reaction, a rise. He puts down his book to look over to you and he's at mercy to your gaze.

"I know what you mean."

It's supported, this comfortable silence. The underbelly of what was the start of a bloodied battle. Unwillingness metamorphosing into a budding bouquet of trust.

You both go back to your books.

No need to say what is right in front of you.

He knew what you meant. Understanding.

It was all you wanted.

taglist: @cool-iguana - comment to be added!

[2ndalt]

What are your driving headcanons for the Thea Sisters + CVS?

Who would drive like a grandma, and who would drive like a Texan during rush hour?

HEHEHHE so glad you asked

Pamela is obviously the go to driver (even though she drives like a madwoman) mainly because she has the most experience. Has broken numerous speed limits, has not cared. Everyone gets nervous whenever she has to get them somewhere fast, but she hasn't crashed into anything yet so it's fineeee

Pamela: Traffic laws? More like traffic suggestions!

Violet: ...I suggest we get out of the car.

Pamela: Too late!

Violet is a decent driver, but in a car with the other Thea Sisters? Between Nicky complaining that she wants to have the window open, Colette fighting with her over what they listen to on the radio, Paulina constantly wanting to stop and take a picture whenever she sees something slightly interesting, and Pamela trying to be a backseat driver- she prefers not to be the one behind the wheel. Once had to pull off to the side of the road and scream for a solid ten seconds because they were annoying her that much (they got super quiet afterwards tho).

Colette as a driver,, yeah no this woman is a passenger princess all the way. Does not drive unless absolutely necessary.

Colette: I just got my manicure I can't drive.

Violet: My arms are sore from practicing for THREE HOURS you'll live.

Colette: :(

Violet: No- stop making that face- fine, I'll drive.

Colette: Yay! :D

Paulina will not start the car unless everybody has their seatbelts on. Will not bend this rule under any circumstance. It gets especially annoying whenever they have to chase after the villain of the week/make a quick getaway.

Paulina: *waiting*

Pamela: Dude they're getting away, step on it!

Paulina: I only heard four clicks, including myself.

Colette: Four clicks?

Nicky: *slowly buckles in*

Paulina: We can go now.

Nicky. Oh, dear Nicky. In most circumstances she's an alright driver, but the Thea Sisters cannot allow her to drive in highly trafficked areas. She will get road rage, will flip off anyone who cuts her off, will honk the horn repeatedly as the car crawls through slower than a snail moving through tar.

Nicky: YOU BUNG DAG GOOG ARE YOU EVEN WATCHING THE ROAD?! YOU'RE GONNA CRASH INTO SOMEONE YOU-

Paulina: *As Nicky shouts in the background* It's always fun to learn new Australian lingo via an angry Nicky.

Okay time for da bois.

Craig, despite all his jockiness, believes in responsible driving. He's drilled into the heads of all members of the Lizard club to call him if they've been drinking heavily and need a ride because he wants to make sure they get back safely.

Vic learned to drive through Mario Kart. I feel like that's self explanatory.

Shen drives like my grandma. Constantly checking to make sure he isn't going over the speed limit, and if he is going just 0.01 times faster than the law states he acts like he's committed high treason. Mostly prefers to be the driver because he once accepted a ride from Pamela and has yet to recover from it.

Shen: We're gonna die we're gonna die we'regonnadie-

Pamela: *zooooom*

[juztscrollingthrough]

Seven by Taylor Swift

I always interpreted this song as someone looking back at their childhood nostalgic memories and remembering that one troubled friend who left a deep mark in their psyche but for whatever circumstances they lost touch with one another.  This edit kind of depicts the time during the “between years" where they thought of one another but never reached out. This one’s especially from Ian’s POV and all those flashback of memories that compelled him to finally reach out and arrange the meet up with Anthony after a nudge from Dianne.  Ian wonders if Anthony still thinks of him, if he still reminisces about their past as fondly as Ian does. 

Below are the lyrics with explanation/interpretation in Ian and Anthony's context:

[POV IAN] :

Please picture me In the trees I hit my peak at seven feet In the swing Over the creek I was too scared to jump in

Ian wants his friend to remember him by the fun escapades they shared together. He reminisces about their first 6th grade science project, all their sleepovers, the trips, their first experience with alcohol near the riverside in Sacramento. In their big group of friends how these two became closer due to the fact that he didn’t know how to drive and Anthony was the one who drove him home after school, how after graduation when everyone left for college, these two remained in the suburbs, unsure about their future.

But I, I was high in the sky With Pennsylvania under me Are there still beautiful things?

Ian once said "I'm not exactly the poster child for following your dreams, because I never had any”. He never had exact dreams about career or whatever the future had in store for him. Smosh became a place where Ian and Anthony expressed themselves, an outlet to make each other laugh and with smosh blowing up he finally found his dream: to keep making fun stuff with his best friend which for some reason random strangers over the internet connected with. They were riding the high that came with smosh’s success unaware of the fact that this newfound business relationship would tower over their years of close friendship.

Sweet tea in the summer Cross your heart, won't tell no other And though I can't recall your face I still got love for you Your braids like a pattern Love you to the moon and to Saturn Passed down like folk songs The love lasts so long

Their genuine love and adoration for one another, how they shared every secret with each other, how Ian lied to Anthony about his first kiss in hopes to impress his new friend in 7th grade and in later years opening up about the lie as he finally got his actual first kiss…. in his friend’s bedroom. Slowly these tender moments fizzled out as they grew up, as their channel grew, and so did their stress and workload. Though, they aren't the people they once were, but their mutual love and respect for each other remained deeply ingrained in their hearts.

And I've been meaning to tell you I think your house is haunted Your dad is always mad and that must be why And I think you should come live with Me and we can be pirates Then you won't have to cry Or hide in the closet And just like a folk song Our love will be passed on

Ian knew that Anthony came from a broken home, and how he lost an authoritative figure, his step dad, who abandoned Anthony’s mother and his step-brothers when he was merely a 12 year old, and due to his tumultuous situation at home, Anthony got this heavy responsibility on his shoulders of his family. Anthony feared that his mothers agoraphobia would somehow find a way towards him too and he would stay stuck in this haunted situation which he desperately wanted to break away from. When Anthony fell sick due to his autoimmune disease, Ian’s mom urged his son to visit his friend. The get well soon card he got signed by everyone in their class and gave to Anthony. After their graduation Ian’s parents invited Anthony for a trip to Hawaii and that was the first time when Anthony got to experience something away from his haunted house back in Sacramento. He got to experience what a complete family felt like vicariously through Ian. 

Passed down like folk songs Our love lasts so long

No matter how many obstacles there were, the power of friendship conquered it all. They not only got their company back but also rekindled their friendship. They said everything had to happen the way it happened for them to eventually reunite. They might be complete opposites but there is this red string of fate that lingers between them. Their creative partnership is too strong and in the end they proved that “Friendship always wins”.

[robinsno1lesbian]

thigh riding with robin please please please please 😭

robin buckley x fem!reader 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1018

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ mature content (MDNI), making out, thigh riding, semi-public sex, dirty talk, hair pulling, slight praise kink?, let me know if i missed anything <3

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: after my monthly fluff fanfic, i am now back at writing shameless smut for the sluts in my inbox, i hope you enjoy lmao

keep it quiet, robin had said. we can't get caught. well, screw that. because when she said that, she hadn't mentioned her entire plan. she hadn't mentioned how she would grab you by the collar and press you up against the door of the bathroom before kicking your legs apart with her foot. she hadn't mentioned how, after kissing your lips until they were sore, she would shove her legs between yours and press it up against your crotch until you were whimpering from the friction. and now here you are, in the bathroom of no one other than steve harrington, about to lose it on his best friend's leg. once she does that, quiet and her plan of "not getting caught" are thrown out of the window. and while getting caught definitely wouldn't be to your benefit, keeping quiet is literally impossible under such circumstances. "what?" robin hisses "isn't that enough yet? you said you needed me- isn't that what you had envisioned?" your lower lip is trembling even after you start biting down on it to hide how desperate you are for her touch. but before she gives you a chance to answer, her mouth is on your neck, leaving red spots behind as it wanders lower and lower. you place a hand on the back of her head to keep her close while you drop your head back against the door. "robin..." you sound pathetic and you know it. but you also know that this is exactly what robin needs. that this is what it takes for her to break and give you what you need. "god" she groans against your skin "i love it when you sound like that" "f-fuck" your fingers curl up in her hair and you feel her teeth graze your skin as a sign that she is probably grinning as you speak. "please touch me already"

"oh but i can't" robin rasps apologetically "that wouldn't be right would it? for me to touch you here...? out of all places?" you whine, chasing the friction her thigh is offering with a desperate roll of your hips. robin raises her brows and eyes down, where her thigh sits between your legs. an idea occurs to her. "i- i want you" you protest with your eyes closed so you can't see the wicked expression that appears on your girlfriend's face. "prove it" "what?" "i said" she leans in slightly "prove it" "how do you want me to- ah" you're caught off guard when robin moves her leg up yet again, earning a surprised gasp from you. "god stop teasing robin please i-" "i'm not" she interrupts "if you want to get off, you'll do it on my thigh" "how do you want me to-" she presses her leg up yet again and your hips move on their own accord. you can't even stop them from rolling over her clothed thigh in search of any kind of friction. robin's hands find your hips and support you in your movements as you start picking up your pace slowly. you're already so wet, you have been ever since robin put a hand to your thigh and began stroking upwards until her pinky was grazing your clothes cunt underneath your skirt. "you're so fucking hot" she mumbles and starts attacking your neck with kisses again "so fucking hot when you ride my thigh" "y-yeah?" you tilt your head as far as you can manage in your aroused state. "hmh" she glares down at where you're using her thigh "and, god, you're so wet too y/n...look at that...look at the mess you're making" you force your own gaze down to see the wet spot where your wetness is leaking through your panties and right into the fabric of robin's jeans. you should be disgusted at the way your arousal is sticking to another woman's clothing. or embarrassed. but all it does is turn you on. "fuck" you moan as you get yourself closer and closer to the edge with desperate rolls of your hips. you keep thrusting yourself against her, over and over. you don't know where you find the strength to do so, but you don't care when you feel your build-up in you. robin is touching you all over as you keep rocking back and forth; runs her fingers through your hair, down your sides, and over the swell of your ass. "robin" you whimper, your head leaning against your chest and your breathing coming in labored puffs. "fuck i'm-" "you're close already huh?" she raises a brow at you "is that how much it turns you on yeah? to ride my thigh in a bathroom because of how desperate you are?" your only response is a desperate whimper. obviously not enough for robin, who yanks your head back against the door by the hair. "answer me" she orders. her voice is harsh and yet the spark of tenderness in her eyes betrays her and tells you that she is, in fact, still your gentle and loving girlfriend. except that you don't need that right now. and, as it seems, she doesn't need that either. you need her to go hard and fast with you right now. her mouth meets yours in a heated kiss and, just when you think it couldn't possibly get any better, robin bounces her leg and you lose it. you throw a hand over your mouth to hold back the cry that erupts from deep within you when your orgasm rips through you. you feel like every nerve in your body is on fire, burning with the desire of your own release. "robin" you moan "robin, robin, robin" over and over while you wrap your arms around your neck and nuzzle against her neck to steady yourself in her scent. "yeah just like that" she mumbles and holds you, helping you when you ride out your orgasm. "so good, so good for me" your hips jerk slightly and involuntarily but robin has you and keeps you upright. "holy shit" you whisper eventually "holy fucking shit" "yeah" she rasps, still glaring at you in amazement "holy shit"

[chemistry-in-sports]

release the cowboy hat rankings (should u so desire)

Omg thank you for asking and I DO desire. The problem is not all of the drivers have worn cowboy hats this weekend so I can't do the comprehensive cowboy hat rankings that I yearn to do.

Imagine if Lewis had worn a cowboy hat with that all denim fit...i know that would have been an automatic P1. Alas I imagine it has been in Lewis' contract for years now that he doesn't have to wear stupid hats under any circumstances.

And obviously our greatest cowboy hat wearing driver was taken from us but we won't linger on that.

So anyway, we work with what we have!

P1, as already revealed:

WHY is Carlos is such a hot cowboy. It doesn’t make sense, he’s not adventurous dresser! He loves a button down! He loves sport! But we cannot argue with the facts. The hat color was designed specifically to enhance big brown doe eyes. The long-for-him hair is designed specifically to look sexy and shaggy and curl slightly at ends under the hat. I don't know. Why is he putting his hand on his head in that coquettish manner. Who taught him that!

P2:

Okay, I think this might be from a previous season, but this is very good imo. The sunglasses, the belt in the same color as the hat, the jeans, the plain white shirt -> it looks legit fashionable and not like a costume. The football might be confusing matters a little but it’s just part of the vibe I guess and it’s working!

P3:

Unfortunately it is nearly impossible to find a picture of Max wearing any hat that isn't his Red Bull hat (he's probably wearing it underneath this one) but I came across this, which i know is not this weekend, but I decided to include it because look how cute he looks. Look at his face! P3!

P4:

I am surprised that Charles in a cowboy hat does not really move me. Maybe it’s the Ferrari hoodie. We should get him in some leather chaps and see if that helps. You know, I am sure Ferrari has a homoerotic video of him riding a horse or getting lassoed by Carlos queued up somewhere, perhaps that will change things for me. Whatever, he’s still P4 bc he has a perfect face and when he put on the hat he said he was like “a proper cowboy!” so what can you do

P5:

I actually think the whole look with the race suits and the boots is surprisingly good, and I like how Esteban has his hat pulled down so you can’t see his eyes — I think that’s how you’re supposed to wear a cowboy hat! But they look soooo awkward there together, they look like a couple who is preparing to try some kind of cowboy themed sexual role play in an attempt to save their marriage but neither of them are really that into it

P6:

Speaking of role plays…I think Lando having thoughts about Oscar in that boot/shorts combo but that’s not what we’re doing here.

Lando’s head is simply too big for this look. The hat needs to be pulled down more but he can’t because of his ridiculous giant head. Idk I think that’s the problem. He looks cute! But also very silly. I think the hat he wore last year in the video where he was singing Taylor Swift looked good -- maybe the darker color or maybe it was just a better fit.

Also Lando always looks like he’s slightly mortified to be alive and I think the cowboy hat requires a kind of confidence/commitment to the bit that he doesn’t have here.

P7:

Now here is a man who always commits to the bit, and he does get points for that -- George has never met a silly video that he won't say yes to -- but he’s last in my rankings because…well, look at the picture. That face was made for Tommy Hilfiger roll neck jumpers and long expensive coats not cheap cowboy hats branded with the Good Morning America logo. I'd be interested in seeing him in a darker hat with a little more weight to it - I think it needs to be more fashion than costume for George.

I know other people must have worn cowboy hats this weekend but these are the ones I saw! Please inform if there are great hat wearers that I missed!

[donotpush]

What would you do if your partner was hugely pregnant and overdue, but also perpetually horny? You go out to dinner to celebrate your anniversary, and they insist on a quickie in the bathroom, but you know they will absolutely pop.

You can see how low their belly has dropped in the last couple if days, and how wide and slow their waddle is, but all that pressure only seems to make them even hornier.

Do you humor them and have sex anyway, or just enjoy teasing them until you can make it all the way home?

Either way, you’re gonna make sure they orgasm that baby out!

Hell yeah, @bellyloveerotica, now that's a bomb of an ask! Here you go, mate!

Their hormones may be totally out of control, making them a little horny thing that only can think about fuck or be fucked, but don't be fooled, I would be as horny as them or even more.

There's not a single thing from their overdue, gravid, heavy body I would be able to keep my hands off.

So when the so expected anniversary dinner comes, I know for a fact that we shouldn't go anywhere.

But I can't say no to them, so when they squeeze themselves into an outfit that didn't fit since months ago, the only thing I can think of is how fucking hot they look. Even if I know that their belly is so low and they have been complaining about the pressure that only grows more and more uncomfortable on their pelvis.

We both know it, that baby is coming any moment now.

But that doesn’t stop us from touching and grasping and grinding like animals, my hands unable to leave their contracting stomach and their body, as they’re unable to think about anything else but how good that pressure feels.

"You know…" I say, my hands moving to support their gravid belly from behind as they lean against the kitchen counter. "We can just stay here, babe. Dessert won't be a problem, huh."

"What makes you think I wanna stay here?"

But the way their belly tenses under my touch and a small groan escapes their lips it’s enough to answer, and they shake their head, giving me a look that says that they’re not staying in under no circumstance.

They're insatiable. So am I.

I have to force them to get off me to get in the car, to keep their hands to themselves as I drive and to stop making me flustered.

And it doesn’t even stop when we get to the restaurant.

But now it's my turn, and I smirk when I request them to sit right by my side in the maybe too-small restaurant booth, their legs spreading open to accommodate the huge belly that rests in front of them (and to give me more access) and their back aching with cramps from the uncomfortable seats and contractions.

Under the table, their hands don’t leave my body and dinner is torture to get through without moaning or groaning. The contractions don't stop coming either, but that doesn’t seem to stop my partner.

I’m timing them, but it’s hard for both of us to stay focused when we're like that.

“Let’s take this to the bathroom” they propose, leaning over the table the best their belly allows them to. “Please?”

“Can you take it?” I tease, grinning.

And the answer is immediate because we find each other making out in the bathroom like teenagers. The only breaks we take are when a contraction hits them, forcing them to pull away and breathe, sway their hips in the air and lean against the sink.

My fingers slid inside their underwear, taunting them before getting inside them, and I know that our fun will only last, at best, a few minutes more. They’re almost ready to push, so wet and dilated that I’m worried their water will break there and then.

But it doesn’t happen until we make it back to the table, and as we are about to order dessert, their hand grasps mine harshly and their face turns red, pointing at their lap where a wet stain is.

“Dessert can wait.” They moan in my ear, pressing their body against mine before squeezing out of the booth.

The car ride home is a total blur of everything; excitement, horniness, and timing of the contractions that are getting closer and stronger every time. Moans and whimpers and groans.

By the moment we get home, I can feel the baby’s head starting to bulge against their entrance, ready to make its way out any second. It doesn’t make my partner any less excited, because as soon as we're inside, we’re naked and with our hands on each other.

It’s a blur of pleasure for them, my hands stimulating every sensitive spot and every tender area, not even stopping when the baby’s head starts to crown.

None of us can point out if the moans and the groans are from pain or pleasure, but my partner's grip on my arm forces me to keep doing what I was doing. Their orgasm takes over them as they get to the ring of fire, my hand over the head, guiding it gently into the world in a haze of pure pleasure and pure happiness.

[erotic-meloncholy]

End of Beginning

(Rated: E)

Wilson is out of his element. Wilson is a one woman lover. Wilson is confident. Wilson knows how to bring a woman to climax. He likes it. It makes him happy to please.

But Kyle is the one standing in a methy motel room on the side of the highway with two women looking at him like he knows what to do. He reaches a hand to run through his hair. Oh yeah, he's also wearing the stupid bald cap.

"Well, would you like a drink? I think we have" Wilson looks around the room, "tap water." Not that he suggests drinking it. They both look at each other with forced grins and laughs.

"I think we're good, thanks." Sandy says. Shannon nods in agreement.

"That's-- probably smart." Wilson says as he looks over at the not quite clear water dripping from the faucet.

He fiddles with the strap on his wrist. Avoids looking at the time. This is Wilson's fantasy. When he thought of a three way he pictured silk sheets and a canopy bed and a harem of gorgeous women worshiping his cock. Why does the reality feel like a group presentation that can't get the power point to load?

"So." Wilson says. "Should we start?" He hates himself immediately after he says it. Like he's about to perform clinic duty. But Sandy and Shannon simply shrug and start shimmying out of their tube tops and Ed Hardy jeans.

Kyle takes off his watch.

House tries to find an angle that works for his leg in this mid-life crisis size car. He manages a few moments. Sleeps never easy under any circumstance let alone outside Bates motel. When he finds an angle that works, he waits in the dark for the thoughts to visit him before he crosses the threshold to REM sleep. Hypnagogic hallucinations. Those obscure weird almost realities.

Like Putting a bald cap on Wilson and conning women into sex. Couldn't have happened, right? It sounds like a bad B-plot from a network sitcom.

But mission accomplished. As far as bucket list items go, a three way is pretty low hanging fruit, but it's Wilson. And if Wilson wants, House will give.

So that's how House finds himself in the middle of nowhere while Wilson, pardon, while Kyle is attempting to "Vicky Christina and Barcelona" in a Super 8.

Wilson is lying on his back against scratchy hotel sheets. Sandy is riding his hips as he tries to keep the bald cap from sliding off.

"Yeah, you like that baby? Huh? You like that?"

Wilson is being ridden like a Pogo stick. The mattresses bounces with vigor and he's doing his best to be encouraging.

"Oh, oh yeah. Yeah. Keep--keep going. Ride my--cane."

Ride my cane? The fuck is wrong with him? Sandy doesn't care what nonsense spills out of his mouth as long as his dick is hard, and Shannon seems to be expecting something from Kyle that Wilson doesn't know how to give.

If he can last.

House laughs. Wilson's people pleasing no doubt would make him an over attentive lover. The anxiety of feeling he's let down a partner must be sending his compulsions into overdrive.

How long could he last with two women? How long can he last with one? He pictures as his hand snaps open the button on his jeans.

He's always so attentive. So ready to please. What would he do to please House if he needed it? House zips down his fly. Thinking of Wilson fucking his way through his fantasy is making House extremely needy. That's the word for it, House thinks as he wraps his hand around his dick, needy.

He's needy for Wilson. He wants to give him this. He wants to bring him to climax even if it isn't his body. He's thinking about Wilson fucking someone right now and House strokes faster.

"Fuck. Yeah, James..."

He moves his hand over his aching cock. Thinking of Wilson on the precipice of orgasm. Thinking how he's probably in that dirty motel right now buried balls deep in that bottle blonde he met two hours ago. How good he feels to be inside her.

"Oh God. Yes..."

House is getting close. In this way, they're together. Both racing towards climax. Maybe there's a universe they come together.

He pictures it. House closes his eyes and finishes in right there in the car, catching his spend in his hand, narrowly avoiding leaving any evidence. He finds a napkin on the floor from their last fast food run and wipes his hand clean and tosses the napkin out the window.

House tucks himself back in, zips up his jeans, and leans his head back against the window. Pictures soft lips against his own. Hypnagogic hallucinations he thinks. And a few moments later, falls asleep.

Wilson finds House the next morning in the car. He doesn't look very comfortable. He wants to invite House to stay a day in the motel. Catch up on some sleep in an actual bed. But this is Kyle. And Kyle says let's leave before Sandra and Shannon wake up and see exactly how not bald and clearly not dying he is. Not tomorrow that is.

“House. Wake up.”

[liquidluckandstuff]

Dadmort having an aneurysm and heart attack every time Harry flies. I think he would be ready with his wand to protect his son whenever he does the wronski fient or any other dangerous feints. In the end who would just give up and would teach Harry how to fly without broom so Harry wouldn't get hurt even if he accidentally fell from his broom.

Dadmort cheering for Harry during his quidditch games is my new favourite thing. I bet he is one of those super competitive and protective parent who would glare and hex other kids if they tried to attack Harry with a bludger.

Voldemort teaching Harry to fly is just UGH I love it so much. I keep thinking about that one. Its like teaching your kid to drive, or ride a bike. It would be the perfect bridge for them to get along.

Harry WAS in awe of Voldemort's ability to fly without a broom and he would be SO tempted that he would convince himself that "It's just for research purposes" or "it's just to get in their heads."

Voldemort would think the same thing, but in the end they ACTUALLY bond over it. They end up sharing stores about the times they got hurt as children because Harry ends up falling and breaking an arm at one point. like "One time my aunt's dog chased me up a tree bigger than this. My relatives wouldn' thelp me and left me there all night. I eventually fell asleep and fell out of the tree and broke my arm. It was taller than from where I just fell" or something.

THEN Voldemort would get all murderous about a muggle hurting Harry. HIS Harry. His son so called equal.

Next comes Voldemort teaching Harry basic magical first aid and THEN a few wandless spells just in case.

Are they lethal under the right circumstances? Yes.

Is Voldemort intending for Harry to never have to use them because HE is going to be the one protecting him and never letting him see danger ever? Yes

Is he also imagining Harry using them on his relatives once he hunts them down? Also yes.

Also this could lead into another argumetn btw Dumbledore and Voldemort because Dumbledore would protect the dursleys and have to justify why Voldemort can't take and torture them.

"YOU let them do that to Harry. YOu KNEW what was going on here and you still did nothing. I got him anyways. What is the point of protecting them? You are protecting his abusers. How do you expect Harry to ever trust or respect you now? How is ANYONE supposed to trust or respect you now?" - said the actual murderer :P

[thetallowman]

Some analysis and predictions for the trio, now that I'm through the first bit

Lucy: what I would call the group's moral compass. (Not in the sense that the others are lacking morals, but in that she's the only one pointing somewhere.) She wants to do things right, not just morally but practically as well - the kind of person who likes to have a plan, who is invested in the process just as much as the results. She started out focused on the mystery, on solving the case, but the encounter with John shook her, and now she's worried about the local Others as well. Her mother actually seems like a decent parent (in a Wildbow story: shocking), and her friendship with Verona is firmly established. There's definitely s some sort of trauma packed away in there that we haven't seen yet, but I'd say she's the most stable of the three - at least insofar as the whole magical girl detectives thing isn't a direct improvement to her life. Probably the most likely to actually solve the case.

My assumption is that each of the three will pick up either an implement, a familiar, or a demesne first. (Practically, due to diverging interests, and narratively/metaphysically, for reasons of balance and cohesion - the trio of witches, each with a different defining feature, etc.) My prediction is that Lucy will get her implement first - something straightforward, physical, capable of directly influencing the world around her, shift it from what it is towards how it should be. My initial guess was a sword, but the ring somewhat fills that role - so a tool of some kind? Something versatile, like a multitool? (I'm thinking back to the awakening ritual, and the emphasis she placed on adaptability and self-sufficiency. She's suited to something that can cover multiple bases.)

Avery: the odd one out. Less interested in the magic than in the friends that come with it. (A package deal.) She's got issues with self-esteem, with being overlooked; she's happy to follow there others' lead, but she wants to be recognized for her contributions. Wants to not be left behind again. Her parents seem nice - they're failing her in some important ways, but not out of malice. (They've got what I would call too many kids.) There's a line earlier, where Avery's thinking about a sandwich, which feels like it sums up her role amongst her siblings: "She couldn't help but feel like any one ingredient could be changed out for something similar and it would make the sandwich ten times as good."

My guess is that Avery will be first to find a familiar. Might be some level of wishful thinking - could go a long way to resolving the self-esteem problem. (It worked for Blake, at least: isolation and alienation are no match for the power of a cute animal companion.) Could be something from the Forest Trail she was given - remains to be seen.

Verona: very relatable. If a magical creature had approached me, as a callow youth, and offered the chance to trade a life of magical adventures for the "normality" of college, taxes, and a 9-to-5 - I'd be taking that deal, guaranteed, common sense be damned. (Heck, I'd probably do the same tomorrow, given the chance.) She's in it for the escapism, essentially. There's a murder to solve, and her best friend's along for the ride, but magic itself is the main selling point. Under normal circumstances, whatever she does she can't win - the things she cares about aren't "important," she doesn't care about the "important" things, and even when she puts in the effort it isn't seen as good enough. Her dad sucks - I won't belabor the point - but it's true amongst her classmates as well, with sports and the app and so on. She's happier investigating the "eat your own fingers" ritual than doing yardwork, which makes perfect sense.

Verona's going to get a demesne. No idea what that will look like, but of the three, it fits the most. Having a place other than her house - somewhere that she controls, gets to make the rules for - should go a long way. (In some ways, I'm reminded of Blake - though her definition of freedom seems less about what she can do, and more about what she doesn't have to do.)

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

alcoholism fairies and bad decisions

drunk dean calls to tell cas they're going to end up together. eventually. wc: 2k

"Hi, hic , Cas."

Castiel, on his end of the call, puts his mug down on the counter. Icy cold coffee, with froth on the top. If Dean hadn't called him out of the blue, he would probably have sent him a picture of it in guise of documentation - or, well, to get him to tell him how much he wished to be there and drink it with him. If Dean hadn't called him drunk, he would at least have asked him to wait until he took a picture, with the froth all perfect and frothy. 

Given the circumstances, however, he sits down, and nets his eyebrows in a frown. 

"Dean? You okay?" 

Drunk calls weren't that rare, but they were usually pre-planned. Or at least, you know, he’s aware Dean’s drinking when it happens. 

"Oh!" Dean says, voice too bright and too loud. It’s like he’s somewhere that’s making it echo. "Of course. I'm drunk." 

"I can tell." Cas rolls his eyes, for absolutely no one's benefit. His coffee grows warmer, untouched. "Where are you?"

A hum resounds. "So - it's not my room. I can tell that much." 

"What the -” Cas swears under his breath. “Who're you with?" 

"Friends." Dean says, dismissively. "I'm safe, it's all safe. Familiar faces. I just came away for a bit because I wanted to talk to you." 

At that, Cas finally lightens. Stirs his cup (still admiring). "Uh-huh?" 

Friends wouldn't be enough to describe what they were. And yet - it was what either of them would've said. Rather, convinced themselves to say. 

They were the video-call-at-three-am, watch-the-worst-movie-known-to-man, a-football- match-just-afterwards-where-they-root-for-the-wrong-team and go-to-bed-consoling-each-other kinda friends. The kind who had nothing in common - from colleges, to friends, to hopes and dreams - but still let themselves be strung along for the ride and stuck together for whatever it counts. Texting day-in, day-out - with any excuse to think of the other person kinda friends. And the kind who didn't even get weird about girlfriends and boyfriends - which, well, both had, respectively - because they knew nothing would ever change what they had - and nothing could ever come close. 

At one point, they'd come close to dating. At two different points, they'd had larger-than-life cruhes on each other. And now? Now they just danced this familiar dance around each othis, toeing blurry lines - hands-tied behind their backs at risk of twirling too close and falling indubitably into each othis's arms.  

Oh, and they lived half a country apart. Thise was also that. 

"Uh-huh." Dean repeats, definitively. Then, more distracted, "Cas, the whiskey today, I swear to god . I should go get more." 

"You sound pretty whiskey-ed already, just FYI." 

"And you sound jealous." 

"Dude, I have coffee. The Castiel-Novak special, with the expensive kind of cream and all that schtick, because Gabriel just visited." He smirks. "I do not want to be drinking evil-tasting liquid hellfire right now, thankyouverymuch ." 

"Jea-lous." He sings, and Cas scoffs. 

Dean hiccups again, almost like he'd forgotten he was having hiccups for a while, and then remembered again, now that there was a lull in the conversation. 

"Oh, boy." 

"Dean, you okay?" Cas raises his eyebrows, repeating himself. Something sounded different about that oh boy. Not very average-drunk Dean, no, it wasn't. Cas is more or less a connoisseur by now. And he prides himself on it.

"I think so." 

"How do you feel now?" He asks, bordering the line of concerned again.

"Strangely happy." 

There's obviously a smile in his voice when he says it. Cas smiles too. "Oh. Why?" 

"'Cause I figured something out today, Cas." Dean didn't pause for questions, went on rambling. "Realized we're going to end up together. It’s final. And it's a strangely happy thought." Before Cas could say a thing, "Uh, I guess thoughts can't be happy. Or unhappy. The thought made me happy. Or not unhappy. Yeah, that makes more sense. I think." 

Cas just blinks. A warm feeling starts spreading in his chest that he doesn't exactly know how to define. Or, worse, confine . "How'd you figure that out?" 

Another smile in his voice, and this time, Cas can picture exactly what he looks like. Knowing, crinkled eyes, lips curled, head just a little bit quirked. (They'd only met once - a whopping 10-hour first-’non-date’-date that'd been, story for another time - but they'd been through enough movie nights at this point for him to know his I-know-what-happens-and-you-don't look.) "I'm not going to tell you." 

"Wh—"

"Because, you're not drunk . So you won't get it." 

"So the fairies of alcoholism and bad decisions deigned this upon you, did they?" 

"Maybe." He draws out the vowels. "Point is, I know it's true. End up together, you, me. Eventually. Boom." 

"Is that the sound of us having sex?" Cas snorts. The warmth has concentrated in his stomach, making it feel fluttery. He doesn't want to dwell on it too much - because he's so clearly drunk, and he has Jimmy - and things are not even that bad with him right now, really - but. But it’s not like he’s ever known how to not feel things when it comes to this dumbass. 

"I know you think you're kidding," Dean interrupts him, seriously. "But you're not that far from the truth. Keep seeking it."

"The truth of the sound of us — okay. Slightly too much alcohol for you, Dean." 

"Mmm-hm." Dean hums again. "Wait and watch." 

"Is that a threat or a promise?" Cas mumbles, out of habit. 

He knows this isn't exactly a normal conversation for them to be having - but he also can't say that it isn't something that has crossed his mind in the past. 

All that chemistry - all those times he’s been complaining about something and he’s known just the right thing to say, or do, or be - and then there was that one time that they met. Cas still can’t get it out of his head. He’s always had a good memory - but this is a different level of good. Maybe it’s not entirely normal to remember what it felt like to hug his friend at the train station before he left. How they fit just right against all of you. Only maybe. 

But then, it’s also impossible, right? They live hours away - and are certainly both the clingy, affectionate kind of fools who may think they can ace long-distance-relationships but are doomed from the beginning. Of course they are. Plus, he knows Dean has a girlfriend. And he has Jimmy. So yeah, things are fine right now - they’re safe, they’re innocent, okay, they’re half-innocent , half-kidding-themselves, but they’re safe and nothing is fucking them up right now. Because Cas, well, he can’t stand to lose his. 

It doesn’t matter how easy it’d be to remove Dean from his life tangibly since he’s barely there at all, outside of one of his top three chats on WA at all times, and the ever-so-occasional co-movie-marathoner — none of that matters, except from the fact, that two years into this strange friendship, and he’s forgotten what life was like, before. But in a good way. In a healthy, he-gets-him, matching-wavelengths-of-weird, tries-to-make-him-a-better-person-sometimes kind of way. 

So yeah, he can’t say the thought of a relationship hasn’t crossed his mind. He can’t even say that it’s ever really stopped crossing his mind. But Cas can’t have nice things, can he?  

"It's an omen ." 

Cas sighs. "You're so weird." 

"You love me." Dean justifies, as if somehow that makes him weirder than him. It might, but Cas doesn't want to think about that right now. 

"And you're a massive simp - as long as we're just stating facts." 

"I am." Dean sings, again. He sounds a lot mellower now. Tuckered-out would be the word, if he wasn’t all of twenty one. He sounded ready to drift off to sleep, like that forecast had tired him out entirely. A classic drunk-Dean move, Cas rolled his eyes. "And you love me." 

"Yeah, I do." He admits, a little quieter and is encouraged by another mmm-hm . 

"Okay. I love you too." Scuffling sounds, as if he's getting up. Something clutters and falls, sounding queerly like stationery. So he's not outside, then . Probably in, like, a closet or something. The sound of a knob follows, and then, when he speaks, it's a lot less echo-y — with the contrast, Cas can definitely pin it to the previous place being a closet. "I'm going to go back to my friends. Amara's here too, uh, I'm definitely being rude." 

(The girlfriend. Not an altogether bad person but severely, severely undeserving of him. 

Dean had to know that too.)

"It's fine. You’ll make it up to them." Cas consoles, trying to avoid the strange hollowness in his gut at the mental image of him cosying up next to Amara, drunk, trying to make it up to her - okay, that’s never come up before. 

(Not in this magnitude, at least.)

"Yeah, I will." he laughs. "G'night, buddy." 

"Yep." Only a little miffed, Cas repeats it. "G'night." 

"Don't forget, okay?" 

Cas knew he'd be lucky if Dean didn't forget this entire conversation in the morning. But he didn't want to push the conversation any longer and make it weird - for him, or for Amara . "I'll try not to, but not making any promises." Dean makes a sound of affectionate disapproval, and then there's the familiar holler in the backdrop, of a group of ‘friends’ - rewelcoming his to their midst. 

And that's that, for the night. 

Cas stares at his coffee, now almost irritatingly room-temperature-d. Finishes it off in a gulp, while staring at his phone for good measure. Maybe the fairies of caffeinism and moderately-okay decisions would grace him with a visit, but it didn't seem very likely. Dean also doesn’t text for the majority of the night, except a view-once image of Amara's roommate licking a beer bottle (he’s made generally unfunny jokes about setting Cas up with the roommate in the past, probably playing off of that) and Cas replies righteously with eggplant emojis. He then sends a goodnight, at like six am, when Cas has already worn himself out with thoughts - and their annoying brethren, feelings - and passed out on his own couch. 

Many years later - many Amara's and Jimmy's, moving-apart’s and mildly-closer’s, more degrees and a few salaries later - it happens. 

(Of course, it does.)

Dean claims to have known all along. Sunday morning, breakfast-ing in bed with bread-and-jam and Castiel-Novak-specials, Dean solemnly swears he’d seen it coming. Not that he’d gone out of his way to jeopardize anything else for it, nope, but that he’s always known. “ Seriously .”  

Cas laughs. Turns out, Dean didn't forget everything after all. But he did forget the call - too many inebriated misadventures in one night to recall life-changing conversations, of course - and Cas doesn't think he’ll tell him yet, that he’d known it equally long himself. Not right now , when Dean's half in his arms, Cas is halfways to shirtless, and they’re half a minute away from carefully sliding the plates and novelty mugs away to commence a different, but equally compelling Sunday-morning ritual altogether. And not when he’s this thrilled to be acting like a prophesier, an unbearable, inevitable all-knower, and the apparently- destined love of his life. 

Maybe, maybe some other time. 

[solarwynd]

Leaving has got to be a very hard thing to do though, cause if even one of them leaves it's over for the whole group. So whoever leaves isn't just ending their own time in the group, they would be ending it for everyone. So if there's any members who still want to be in the group, they would probably be upset with the one who leaves. And it's not just the members, Hybe heavily depends on BTS, if the group is over Hybe is gonna take a huge hit. A lot of people would probably lose their jobs, either because they worked with BTS or because Hybe might have to start firing people. Even some groups might be at risk of disbandment if things get bad enough. Then there's the fans, of course. BTS has always had this attachment to their fans so they would probably feel guilty for how upset armys would be if the group ended.

This is why I can't see Jimin being the first to leave, he cares too much to do something for his own benefit that would screw over so many other people. Of all the members the one I think would feel the less guilty about leaving it's Taehyung. And he also doesn't seem that interested in the group anymore, so he would be my number pick. Second I would say Namjoon. I don't think it would be an easy choice for him, but if the pressure and his dissatisfaction with being an idol gets too much, he might reach a breaking point. He seemed like he was almost there before the hiatus, but the solo era pushed it back a bit. But he knows the problems are just gonna return when the group returns, so I don't know what he plans to do then. I don't think any of the other members are very likely to be the one to leave first, they'll probably just wait for someone else to do it. And only when that happens can I see Jimin leaving the company. JK and Yoongi wouldn't leave even then though, they're Hybe's biggest fans.

Of course, that’s an enormous chapter of their lives that they’d be closing. But I doubt they’d be mad at a member if they decide to leave, especially if the circumstances were pressing and valid.

There’s a lot riding on them yes, but that’s also the pressure in itself. Like it’d be crazy for them to continue to wear themselves out (cause solo era did very little to accomplish what they were trying to do) for god knows how many more years just to keep a company afloat. That’s why in the long run, it will be better for HYBE to debut more groups but the amount they’d need to fill that BTS gap I feel is impossible. They’d be throwing more money into them than they’d receive back cause what they really need is another “army” and that’s just not gonna be replicated I fear. And I personally don’t care if HYBE goes under. Yea it’d suck for the employees, but the other groups and the management portion? Can’t say I’d care.

[dykeomania]

in thinking about moving forward,

this is the last thing i will say on this. i would feel really weird if i didn't have this on my blog, while continuing to run it. i apologize that this is so long.

i think it is incredibly important to begin navigating how we are going to cater to the experiences of women [and nonbinary individuals -- my! fault! i am so sorry, thank you**] who have felt particularly left out as told by the uproar that's been going on for these past few months apparently, and by these current conversations.

if women and/or nonbinary individuals who feel like they cannot find themselves in fics have to write them themselves, be it for a particular reader insert or for a more general one, then some kind of sub-community needs to be made to nurture and amplify that sentiment, at this time. i do not know if that is preexisting. if it does exist, it needs to be expanded upon or heavily revised.

as both a reader and a writer, if you see yourself in something, it is absolutely necessary that you ride for it so that other people can have the opportunity to see themselves in it, as well. and if you can't write certain perspectives, then embrace them. it's like completely normal to decorate your blog with things that align with who you are and the kind of desires you have, but at this time, as a community, it's really important to make room for neglected narratives.

and finally, for the love of god, please, stop being so fucking horrific to people.

it is okay not to like pillow princesses or, it's okay if you have a hard time vibing with hyper, hyperhyperhyperfeminine personas. your idea of what sex, femininity, and queer expression looks like does not have to coincide with their expression and definition, and that's completely normal. but under absolutely no circumstances is it okay to be antagonistic or threatening towards someone because of how they interpret their queerness. that is homophobic, and it is pride month. hyperfemininity is inherently queer in and of itself, just by theoretical principle. that doesn't make it immune to criticism -- absolutely not. but you are being mock-righteously** hurtful towards people and telling them to go off themselves, all because you don't like them writing for white bitches with fishtail braids and shitty mullets. principally, you have to understand how awkward that is. that doesn't look okay. you don't move like that towards queer people who are different from you, in real life. that's not what being queer is about.

i don't know how long any of this has been going on for and frankly, i really don't want to. what needs to happen now, is that people need to feel held in order for this to properly scab over. this applies to everyone. this is deep and if it got this deep, then it always has been. it's fundamental that something is done, in light of this, to keep going strong.

i don't want this community to be mortally wounded and divided by all of the shit that's been happening, and i'm like, so sad, that it has come to this point. i'm in a position where i can only mobilize but much (and i will if i have to, but my main priorities are my research, my girlfriend, my friends, and my family, and tbh just being happy and taking care of my mental health). but i really implore those who can / are able to, to just make something of this while holding down their own. i know y'all can everything considered, so just do it.

this was very embarrassing and not a good look for a lot of different people. if you need to apologize to someone, go apologize. if someone feels a way about how you moved during all of this, don't get defensive, because it was probably weird. move accordingly so that everyone can enjoy themselves in this community, again.

get it together. preferably within the next week or so.

tough love.