#Your Day Will Come

[izniss]

[horanlavelle19]

Ashley Sanchez I’m forever sorry this happened to you and I love you so much

[beatsforbrothels]

Chanel Beads - I Think I Saw

[underachievers-please-try-harder]

Track of the day // Chanel Beads - Embarrassed Dog

From the album Your Day Will Come, out April 19th on Jagjaguwar.

[espiritogato]

Your day will come 🦋

[hellaydenvengce]

Hi guys! Starting today, I’ve decided to post something every day. It could be a random thought that pops into my head, a short piece of writing, or even a glimpse into my daily life—kind of like a diary. I just want to share bits and pieces of my world with you, and I hope you’ll enjoy reading them. Looking forward to your thoughts and support!😉

Don't forget to follow me���

[reckonslepoisson]

Your Day Will Come, Chanel Beads (2024)

Chanel Beads’ lush acoustic post-Dean Blunt psychedelia has immediate appeal in its easy-going melodies and rich atmospheres, but most enchanting is its craft. Your Day Will Come is the work of someone dedicated to the details.

Pick: ‘Police Scanner’

[dailyalbumrecs]

Your Day Will Come - Chanel Beads

Apple Music:

Spotify:

[marypsue]

Keep seeing that post where OP starts like 'Thinking about...grieving the undead' and then adds on about like. Real life situations where people have not died but have left your life and you would have reason to grieve them.

All respect, that's an important concept, but that is not what I am thinking about when I read 'grieving the undead'.

[hehether]

Joker got beaten by Nightwing, Redhood and Red Robin ❌️

Joker got beaten by Mike Myers, Jason Voorhees and Jigsaw ✅️

[spacedace]

What is it about laying on the floor when you're overwhelmed that makes everything feel so much better?

[beatsforbrothels]

Chanel Beads - Police Scanner

[gastricotv]

Chanel Beads | Idea June

[shotmrmiller]

sex pollen trope where you're the one affected, having been exposed to some dense gas while on an op that felt like harsh sandpaper across your throat and lungs, and now you're a feverish mess on some ratty cot in a safe house and with only ghost as company, it's miserable, as the saying goes.

hair sticking to your sweaty skin, plastered onto your forehead and neck, every swallow feeling like you've got a mouthful of sand, your fluttering pulse wild and deafening in your ears, and the throbbing ache deep in your core, the blistering heat right below your navel— it'd only been uncomfortable in the beginning, the faint throbbing incredibly familiar, but the more you ignored it, the worse it got.

and now you're here, with arousal sticking your underwear to your pussy, unable to do anything about it because your lieutenant is seated in a corner that lets him have both you and the front door within his line of sight. a quick, discreet rub under your clothes is not an option.

someone put you out of your foggy misery.

"squirmin' like a worm on a 'ook isn't gonna help." his staring doesn't either, yet he does it anyway.

"got to make sure ya aren't dyin' on me." you want to snap that you don't think proof of life is on the darkened stain between your legs, the retort pressed behind clenched teeth but another thick wave of bestial need rolls over you and god, you're about to shove your hand into your underwear, propriety be damned—

"best you don't do tha'." why the fuck not? "you'll only get relief for a moment 'fore it comes back twofold." he says as if he's reading off the morning paper and not watching you fight tooth and nail to not fuck yourself against the pillow your head is on. (soap's offer to be friends with benefits is only looking better by the hour.)

you hastily decide that it'll be better than nothing. you'll just have to rub your pussy raw until this drug runs its course and you're telling him to piss off or don't, but you've had enough. you're stuck here with him anyway, no flight home until the morn and you're not about to spend it writhing around.

"if tha's wha' you want," ghost bites his gloves off, spitting them out onto the ground before curling his hands around your ankles and dragging you toward him. "i will help." your entire world narrows down to the feel of him touching your skin, his fingers searing as they hook into the waistband of your pants, and you almost kick him in the mouth trying to get them off faster.

"but 'm not fuckin' you." the bite of disappointment is quickly forgotten, his breath warm against your slick pussy, and after three quick glides of his tongue over your pearl, your orgasm crests, pulse after pulse of pleasure so potent it stung.

in less than a minute you're burning again, need thrumming through you and with the heady push and drag of his middle finger over your sensitive nerves, curling in you until he can fit two, three—

you're lost.

(ghost telling you that he's not doing anything else because if he's going to fuck you then you're going to remember it falls on ringing ears.)