#and we go to bed in our pile of dirty laundry??????

[finniestoncrane]

abnormal about captain boomerang today like i want him so bad, i want him to wake up in my bed and lazily make his way to my bathroom and slide his pyjamas down, and go free handed at the toilet bowl while he stretches and yawns and scratches his pubes and then come back to bed and touch me without washing his hands because I am what??? SICK and TWISTED and MENTALLY UNWELL 💚💚💚

[bokunoheros]

ཐིཋྀ KINKTOBER DAY 11 - uniforms : neito monoma

warnings : afab reader, monoma is a little panty stealing perv, voyeurism, masturbation, recording/taping sexual acts

word count : 940

🐙 note : the way we locked tf in to write this was crazy like we did this on the 10th at 10:30 bruh

🦊 note : hi guys! this was our first real collab and we wrote it literally the night before it was due please pray for us 

monoma was many things; arrogant, egotistical, a little batshit, and, unknown to most, a giant fucking pervert. monoma’s favorite thing about you was how good you looked in your school uniform, and how utterly oblivious you were. he was constantly stealing glances at you, down your shirt, up your skirt, and even blatantly at your chest. the best part of it all was that you were in his class AND you were class president so he saw you and you talked to him quite often. 

yes, there were other girls in your class, and even in your school, but he couldn’t change how good the uniform looked on you specifically. your perfectly proportioned body, from your waist:hip ratio, to your perfectly sized tits, and an ass that just wouldn’t stop, you were just so delicious that monoma couldn’t help staring at any given opportunity. not to mention your beautiful face that complimented your body perfectly; oh, how your soft eyes and kind smile made him absolutely swoon. not only was he a sucker for you sexually, he also had an enormous crush on you. i mean, really, how could he not with the way you lead the class and got along with everyone (even the pesky class 1-A students). monoma was in way over his head when it came to you. 

so, it was only natural that once everyone at U.A. had settled into the dorms, that he begun stealing your panties from the dirty laundry piles when he thought there was no one else around to witness his perverted schemes; sneaking off to his room to beat the shit out of his dick, your pretty pink panties wrapped around it as he ruts into his hand, biting his bottom lip trying hard not to moan your name as he pretends its your hand wrapped around his leaky cock. being the ever bold person he is, he even managed to start stealing your bras. finding them so adorable and envisioning your perfect tits filling them out.

it didn’t take you very long to notice certain pairs of panties and bras going missing, however; of course you’d recognize when your nicer, pricier, matching sets suddenly vanish! but who on earth could possibly be the thief..? (maybe the guy whose name is literally phantom thief?? just a thought.)

you had a sneaking suspicion on who the thief was, so one night, you decided to sneak into monoma’s room while he was out, it was minorly disheveled, but overall put together and kind of bland. you found his closet to be positioned on the wall to the right of his bed and figured it to be the perfect spot to spy on him to confirm your suspicions. shimmying your way in, you sat and waited for your prey.

after sitting there for about 15 minutes on your phone (and trust the twitter timeline was crazy), your ears perked up as you heard the bedroom door open and close, followed by soft footsteps, as if someone were intentionally trying not to be heard. peeping out the crack in the closet doors you see monoma walking towards his bed with your panties peeking out from his pocket. 

you almost catch yourself gasping at the sight, you knew it! of course it was monoma who took your underwear, he was always staring at you to the point you felt he was burning holes into you. slowly he took the panties out of his pocket and held them up, firstly just giving them a good look over. your eyes widened when he opened them up and put them on his face, an exacerbated sigh leaving his mouth. carefully pulling down his pants you sit there stunned that this was actually happening, before you can even think you pull out your phone and hold it up to the crack, pressing record. 

you watch intently as monoma wraps your panties around the upper half of his thick cock, closer to the tip, and slowly start to jerk it up and down, progressively picking up speed. his head tilts back and you feel your face flush when you hear him moan your name, and the hand that isn’t holding your phone comes up to cover your mouth in shock. oh, he was down bad.

it isn’t long before he’s cumming with a loud cry of your name and jizzing all over his hand and your panties, you abruptly end your video, having all the evidence you needed.

jumping out of his closet, you point an accusing finger at him and whisper-shout you! you’re the thief!

neito blushes a deep red in shame over being caught red (or white??) handed, and he gasps out your name again, like he was addicted to saying it, before going completely silent. what on god’s green earth could he possibly say!??!? shit. think, monoma, think! 

“i— uhm, fuck—”

“neito, i— i don’t— why?” you ask, as if you didn’t already know the answer; you weren’t oblivious to the way he looked at you, or snuck glances down your shirt all the time.

“well— because, uhm… because—” he takes a deep breath and steels his nerves. “because i’m in love with you….?”

“so—you steal my panties!? and bras?!” you exclaim, throwing your hands up, gripping your phone firmly. 

“i—” you slap him in the face and snatch your panties out of his hand before storming off to your dorm room….. just to lock the door and strip out of your current pajamas to put the nasty underwear on and jerk it in your own bed as you watched the video you had recorded.

[hannahssimblr]

At the house, I am conscious of the mess. Nobody has made an effort to clean up properly for weeks, and now dishes and miscellaneous bits of rubbish litter every available surface. The bins are full. Tangles of chargers and cables pile up on the table, and water damage has well and truly set in on the oak flooring under our feet. The same patch of floor that Evie’s hair is dripping on now, but while it’s too late to save it, she might as well add to it. 

“Wow, this is a beautiful house,” she says, and I have to check her face to see if she’s taking the piss out of me. She looks genuinely charmed. I frown.  

“I’ll get you a towel downstairs.”

As we descend to the living room, I find myself holding my breath. It seems even dirtier than the kitchen there, and I wonder how and when this happened, how it is even possible. Yet here we are, and it is. I pray there are clean towels, at least let there be clean towels…

Oh, thank God. 

I hand her one from the hot press. It is old and scratchy, and likely a victim of my mother, back when she used to dye her hair at home, evidenced by the big, bleached patches all over it, but at least it’s clean. I show her the bathroom. 

“Feel free to take a shower if you want to. The water is hot.” As it constantly is, because I turned it on at the beginning of the summer and found the system so complex that I never risked turning it off again. I’ll be hearing about it when my dad gets the bill, but that’s an issue for September. 

Evie peeks in. “You don’t want to go first?”

“No, go ahead.”

As soon as I hear the hum of the shower, I pounce into action and tear into my bedroom. I yank all the dirty clothes off the floor and fire them into my already heaving hamper, then kick a pair of shoes under the bed, followed by a mucky football and some art magazine Jen thought I’d like, but I never read.

There are chocolate wrappers on the floor. What kind of creature am I? Was I sitting on the floor at some point, feasting on a family packet of dairy milk bars, or did these just fall out of my pockets? I rush around, picking them all up, then reach the wastepaper basket to find it full. I curse under my breath and yank the bag out, tying it in a hasty knot, then carry it and the two handfuls of coffee mugs strewn about the place up to the kitchen. There is nowhere for them to go, so I shove the mugs into the sink and toss the bag on the floor. 

She’s showering for ages. Good. 

Next, I tackle the bed, straightening out the duvet and pillows, which are, mercifully, clean. I could tongue-kiss the past version of myself that ran them through the wash two days before. To make extra sure, I give them a good, long sniff. They still smell like detergent. The clean clothes from that same wash go from the armchair to the wardrobe, and books on the bedside table. The tennis racquets… they’ll be fine, leaning against the wall. When I step back and examine my work, I determine that it’s barely passable, but time is surely running out, and she can’t shower forever. The dust on the floor can stay another day. 

Lastly, I toss my sweaty clothes onto the pile and peel off my sodden shorts. Once I have changed into something clean, I carry all the laundry out and heave it into the washing machine, right by the door of the bathroom. Evie hums tunelessly in the shower, and for a moment or two, I stand and listen. I wonder whose shower gel she is using, and shiver inexplicably at the idea of her choosing mine. 

I arrange myself in a casual position when she comes back into the room, hanging out on the end of the bed. She’s rosy from the hot water, and her hair lies flat against her head, so straight and fine that her ears poke out the sides. 

“You don’t have to wear the same wet t-shirt,” I inform her. “I can put your clothes in the dryer.”

She pulls at the hem and looks down at those two, damp, triangular patches. “It’s okay,” she shrugs. “They’ll dry on me.”

“You can leave all your wet stuff on the floor. I’ll sort them out after my shower and I’ll just find you something else to wear.”

“But I won’t fit in your clothes.”

“You’ll fit in a t-shirt, won’t you?” I saunter over to my wardrobe and lift a t-shirt from the stack. It’s old, and has a hole in the armpit, hence it’s permanent relegation to the beach house wardrobe, but like everything else in this house in its current state, it will suffice. 

“Thanks,” she says. I leave her to change and head for the shower. 

“What are you looking at?”

She jumps and turns around. I’ve caught her nosing around and looking at my notice board. She points at it. “Your ticket to a music festival.”

I hesitate, trying to gauge whether Claire has blabbed to her about what I said or not. “Oh yeah, are you coming?”

“I don’t know.”

“You should. All of us are heading up to it.” I pull a pair of socks out of a drawer and plonk myself onto the bed to put them on. 

She sits with me. “I’m not sure. It’s kind of a bit complicated.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah,” she hesitates before deciding to divulge. “Kelly and Claire are in a big fight about it. Claire wants to go, and Kelly doesn’t want to, even though it’s Claire’s eighteenth birthday the same weekend. It’s… it’s all a bit silly if I’m honest.”

I frown. “She doesn’t want to celebrate her friends’ birthday in a fun way?”

“No, it’s more than that. It’s that she doesn’t want to hang out with Shane for the whole weekend. She’d be too embarrassed to. She’s weird about that kind of thing.”

I should proceed with caution. I say, “sounds a little selfish to me.”

“Kelly’s a complicated person. I think she means well, she just… isn’t great at expressing herself. She gets angry at people instead of telling them how she feels in a normal way.”

I could talk a lot of shit about Kelly Healy, but I‘ll save it. I know that teenage girls’ friendships are strange and nuanced in ways my brain will never fully comprehend. Things never seem to be simple enough to just end the friendship. It must drag on for eternity until one of them is irreparably damaged in its wake. “So what, she’s forbidden you both from going to the festival?”

“She hasn’t said that we’re forbidden.”

“But you’re not going because you think she’ll be angry with you.”

“Pretty much.”

“So what about Claire? It’s her birthday.”

She groans. “I know. I hate this. I hate when people are fighting, and I feel like I’m in the middle of it. I don’t know what the right decision is.”

Tell me about it. “The thing that you want to do more, that’s the right decision.”

“I knew you’d say something like that.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Something wise.”

I laugh. If only I could take my own advice. 

She heaves out a sigh and slumps over her knees. “I can’t talk to either of them about it. Kelly is impossible, and Claire hasn’t been around. I’ve barely seen her at all since they fought. I don’t even know where she’s been.”

I blink. “Oh, she’s been here.”

“What?”

“Yeah! I thought you knew. She’s been coming here every day for ages.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“And did she tell you why?”

“No, I didn’t ask. I thought it was just to hang out with Shane.”

“With Shane?” She straightens to look into my face and I grin.

“Yeah, they’ve been hanging out.”

“Go ’way.”

“I don’t know exactly what’s happening, but they hang out a lot, go for walks together and watch TV in the living room. I usually just leave them alone, but…” I tap my nose.

“Oh, I knew it!” She throws herself back on to her elbows and shakes her head. “I wonder what this is going to mean for Kelly.”

“Kelly can grow up. She doesn’t have a say.”

“Ugh. I know. It’s just impossible not to worry about it.”

“Evie, how often do you let that girl live inside your head? Forget about it. Let Shane and Claire deal with her.”

“Okay, I’ll try.”

It’s not lost on me, the juxtaposition between this conversation and the one I had with Alison this morning. These two girls are only a year apart in age, and yet somehow their lives oppose so diametrically. Am I the same boy with them both, or have I somehow split in two? How can I be worrying about Alison and all that she’s been through, while hours later coaching Evie through friend drama? I know the turmoil and stress is real for her. I can tell by the things her face is doing, how she nibbles on her lip, the way her brow furrows, but I am comforted by it, by how simple it is. Maybe it would be good for my soul to spend more time with Evie. 

Regardless, I move on from this specific theme and bring the conversation back to where it began. “And as for the festival, I think you should come.”

“Hm.”

“Will you?” She doesn’t answer, so I assume she hasn’t heard me. I nudge her. “I want you to come. Will you come?”

“You want me to?” She echoes, like she doesn’t exactly believe it.

“I do.”

“Okay then.”

Perhaps someone else would find it worthwhile to read into the fact that she seems to want to do everything that I do, but I’m not really that bothered. I’m just glad that she agreed for the sake of herself. I suspect it may be a rarity for her. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

Corresponding LG Chapter [2]

[ninja-go-to-therapy]

Binder, Binder, On The Wall

ao3

so i dug this out of the drafts from like 2021 after watching s5 because i needed some silly spicynoodles after all of. that.

can be read as anytime around seasons 1 or 2

780 words

“Catch you at a bad time, noodle boy?” Red Son cackled, clearly revved up for a fight.

MK chanced a grimaced smile. “Kind of, yeah.”

“Well, now you know how I feel! Now, I’ll be taking that staff.”

“What, this?” MK asked, with a silent promise to himself that if he just pushed through the pain for now, he’d be fine. “I don’t think so!”

His promise didn’t seem to be working out, because as that hothead attacked him, MK’s own attacks were sluggish and uncoordinated. His body was aching in pain, and he needed to hurry up so he could get these bandages off and—

MK went flying, landing in a heap, though his staff was still safely in hand.

He didn’t get up.

He didn’t have the strength. Or the energy. Or the will.

“Get up and fight me you coward!” Red Son demanded.

MK just groaned, clutching his free hand to his ribs.

“Ugh, you peasant, I’ll just — okay, seriously, are you okay?”

MK glanced up, surprised to find genuine concern creasing his enemy’s brow.

“None of your business,” MK grumbled.

“Um, it is too my business if it keeps you from giving me your full attention in our battle!”

MK fanned himself with his shirt, sweat dripping down his body without care. 

“I can’t—” he wheezed slightly, “I can’t breathe.”

Red Son scrunched his face in that cute way he did when he was genuinely considering something. “Have you tried inhaling?”

“Yes I’ve tried—oh god I think I understand why the internet told me this wasn’t smart now.”

Fuck. If his ribs weren’t already broken, they had to be close. His body hurt like hell, and as much as he hated the feeling, he had to take off the bandages he’d used to bind… when had he put them on, sometime yesterday afternoon? 

“What?” Red Son demanded, “what the hell did you even do to yourself?”

MK smiled up at him sheepishly. “Just some improper binding habits.” It wasn’t like he could afford a real one. And he couldn’t burden Pigsy with that either, that would be—

“I don’t… understand.”

Heat rushed to MK’s face. “Um. I’m… you don’t know what binding is?”

“It sounds like a nonsense human thing,” Red Son scoffed.

“Yes yes, nonsense human stuff,” MK agreed, shifting carefully on the ground. “Anyways, not that it’s not great beating you, but can we like… rain check?”

“Psh, beating me, you’re not even moving. Agree that I win today and I’ll be off.”

“But you don’t have my staff!” MK shot back with a smug grin.

“Oh, right.”

They stared at each other for a moment.

“So… truce?” MK offered.

“Ugh, fine. But you won’t be so lucky next time, noodle boy!”

“See you tomorrow,” MK grumbled, half waving as Red vanished in a puff of fire.

Now to climb the set of stairs to his apartment — or, screw that. He gripped his staff, essentially pogoing up and right to the door.

As painful as it was, at least he was up.

He fumbled with the keys, collapsing onto his bed the moment he was inside. 

He pushed his shirt up, his arms feeling like limp noodles — heh, kind of ironic — and absolutely not having the energy to so much as twitch, let alone get these accursed bandages off.

Most of him would rather suffer the pain and just sleep. But he had a feeling that would only make things worse, and he was pretty sure he would break a rib or two if he kept these bandages on for much longer.

If only one of the 72 transformations included transgender.

But it was what it was. No matter how much it sucked.

Exhausted, he sluggishly removed his already sloppily applied bandages, able to breathe properly for the first time in 18 or more hours.

It didn’t take long for him to pass out, on top of the covers and halfway between mattress and floor. It didn’t matter too much to him. He just needed a really, really long nap.

------

He woke up sometime after midnight to go to the bathroom, trudging through the piles of clean and dirty laundry alike strewn on his floor. Every inch of his body ached like he’d been trapped under a mountain for 500 years.

Damn, that must have sucked.

As he made the trek back to his bed, he noticed, faintly outlined in the dark, something neatly folded on his pillow.

He turned on the lamp on his bedside table, now able to see a note written in an impossibly neat scribble placed atop a brand new binder.

You owe me a real fight. -R.S.

[johnslittlespoon]

i was so excited to listen to glass animal's new song 'creatures in heaven' today and instead my heart has been ripped out because it's so awfully painfully fitting for our mota boys (i'm currently making an angsty heartache–y edit to it lol whoops) BUCKLE UP because i need to yell (and keep scrolling if lyric analysis/song fics aren't your thing <3)

also tumblr keeps screwing with the formatting ignore that pls lol

What do you think about when you think about love? I'm dumbstruck when you're tender, but It's three in the morning, be in the moment It tears through my head, does it haunt you too?

i mean, the imagery. pillow talk, sneaking off base before dawn, vulnerability and raw honesty laying side by side in a field, looking up at the stars and wondering which ones are the people they've lost looking down at them, every peaceful, happy moment laced with the knowledge that so many friends will never get to have another one.

You held me like my mother made me just for you You held me so close that I broke in two

fuck my life. dave bayley count your days. these lines are just so viscerally painful and stunning? john feeling like every core of his being was made to fit gale, like puzzle pieces slotting together, the gaps in his life filled the moment gale enters his orbit. both of them never having experienced being treated so gently and with so much reverence, feeling taken apart and put back together in each other's arms.

You pass through my head, does it haunt you too? Never really said that I loved you, too

heavy on the angst here because this reads like post–war john pov, filled with regrets but plastering on a smile as he watches gale marry someone who isn't him, aching to tell him how he feels but knowing it will only make a mess of things. and more than anything, he wants gale to be happy, and if that means staying quiet and loving him at arm's length, he can do that. but late at night he can't help but wonder if gale ever thinks about what could've been, if all the moments they shared haunt him too.

Lucky, lucky you, 'cause I'm fortune's fool Such small words but they hit so huge

this reminded me of gale's father and his gambling and how despite everything he falls in love with john, a gambling man. such small words (don't count on it) but they mean everything :(

I don't think I realize Just how much I miss you sometimes We were young and so in love

this hurts on SO MANY LEVELS. i immediately read this as curtbucky– john never gets time to grieve, everyone just has to keep trucking on. but sometimes late at night it hits him so hard he feels like he's drowning, realizing how empty of a space curt's left, how much he truly loved him, the first person to make him feel that way.

but also can be read as buckbucky, both of them properly feeling the emptiness of not being by each other's sides for the first time before they reunite at the stalag, maybe both having a feelings–realization moment when they're hit with how wrong everything feels when they're apart.

or, post–war, john aching for gale and wishing on everything that he can just fall out of love. he knew that it would be hard, going back home and going their separate ways, even with the promise to stay in contact, but it's so much harder than he ever could have imagined.

Three in the morning, safe inside Bury me here in your laundry pile

ouch ouch ouch. a few images: john seeking out one of gale's worn shirts after his plane goes down, falling asleep with it pressed to his chest in his bed. or john stealing one of gale's shirts before they all go back home post–war, shoving it to the bottom of his suitcase, sleeping with it every night despite the way his stomach turns, feeling hollowed out as the smell of him slowly fades away. or, john staying at gale and marge's house for the wedding, having a breakdown the night after, finding himself on the floor of their laundry room at three am, curling up in a pile of dirty laundry just to feel close to gale one last time before he goes home in the morning.

I don't see the point in a subtle romance Ten tonne heartache sitting on your back

john is so all or nothing with love; when he's in, he's in, barrelling full speed ahead, giving it all up for his person. maybe the secrecy when they first start seeing each other is okay at first, little midnight rendezvous, but he craves more, he wants a future with gale so badly, he wants a house and a wedding and kids and a dog and sitting side by side on a porch at eighty years old. but he knows that gale is giving him all that he can right now, and it's better than nothing, so even though he wants so much more, he'll settle.

Scared of the crack where the light comes through I'm only really me when I'm here with you

ughhh both of them being so scared to be really seen by someone that it's terrifying how quickly they grow close. that nauseating feeling you get right after opening up to someone for the first time, the feeling of holding your breath waiting for rejection– but it never comes. they accept each other with open arms and patience and unconditional love and they show each other what it's like to be able to be so fully unapologetically real with someone for the first time. a shell of themselves when they aren't together, like they're missing one half, and it's so obvious that everyone around can see it. they share the same name for a reason.

And it gets into your head like a cosmic zoom Coat on the door like an old space suit So long cowboy, you're so cool Cash in hand with a memory of you

okay, ngl this just made me think of john ditching his coat that gale hates– even in the heat of going up on a mission, it's still in his head, enough to go through the motion of swapping it out. so long cowboy just sounds like something sweet he and curt would've said to each other honestly; thinking about john saying it again when he looks up at the stars the night he finds out curt didn't make it.

cash in hand with a memory of you? come onnn it's literally the lucky deuce. may as well have just slapped that bit of the song behind the scene of gale going through his belongings when he makes it back to base, picking up the cash and thinking about his man. </3

–anyway! apologies for the word–vomit, sometimes i just get a song wedged into the front of my skull and i am paralyzed from doing anything else until i get my thoughts out about it. and it's truly such a gorgeous song, 10/10 recommend if you feel like crying, been listening to these guys for a decade now and they never disappoint.

literally gonna agonize over making an edit for this for hours to get the vision just right and would not be surprised if i end up writing a oneshot inspired by it lol i adore every song they've put out but this one just gripped me so strongly the moment i pulled up the lyrics with how perfectly it slotted into the mota–verse. <33

[unsentlettersforpalestine]

Sunday, April 7, 2024

What a privilege it is to be able to eat sahur and iftar every single day because unlike Palestinians, we have more than enough of foods and drinks at our fingertips. Never in a moment did we ever experience what being starved to death feels like and yet some of us are still occasionally complaining how "boring" our meals are, that we feel unsatisfied with what's available on the table and desperately want to try out that newest restaurant, and that we hardly ever feel grateful for what we have. Palestinians are literally dying because as the direct result of forced starvation imposed by Israshit and here some of our dustbins are filled with wasted foods.

What a privilege it is to clean a classroom/house made dirty by healthy kids playing, because unlike Palestinians, we have no single clue what it feels like to see children being blown up into pieces after their house getting bombed by Israshit. We get frustrated hearing kids screaming and crying but those Palestinian mothers are wishing their kids were still alive so that they can hear their voices one more time. We yell at our kids for playing and making a mess 24/7 and those Palestinian mothers are weeping buckets of tears because they know their kids that have been killed can never go back and play together with them again.

What a privilege it is to do piles of laundry because we have a plethora of clean clothes to wear every day. Some Palestinians don't even have enough and proper clothes to protect them from winter and yet here, some of us feel unsatisfied and we wish we can buy some more clothes because of social media influence despite the fact that we have a wardrobe (or two or three) wardrobe filled with miscellaneous skirts, t-shirts, pants, dresses, veils and so forth. We never feel enough, we always want more and more and more.

What a privilege it is to be able to taste the sweetness of education. Our kids are able to school every single day and we can learn things on our own from the internet but what about Palestinians? Their schools and universities have been turned into dust by Israshit and they definitely can't pursue their formal education anymore. But you know what, irrespective of what all they've lost, they never give up. The other day I watched a video in which an old woman patiently teaching Gazan kids how to read in a fucking tent. If during the genocide Palestinians still have the spirit and determination to teach and study, then what excuse do we have to not keep trying to educate ourselves and other people about Palestinian cause?

What a privilege it is to have a cozy bed and sleep soundly in our safe home because unlike Palestinians, we don't have the fear of the freaking bombs being poured down from the sky and getting crushed by the rubble of our homes. We are safe, but Palestinians have to constantly live with the fear of being shot at, slaughtered, killed, bombed, kidnapped, tortured and any other atrocities you can think of. We are safe and we have all we need, but we haven't been able to be a good ally for Palestinians and be consistent in doing the things that need to be done for Palestinians.

Why? Why don't you try harder and harder to spread awareness? Why don't you want to ask more questions and learn more about Palestine? Why don't you want to be all in and support Palestinians in any shape or form? Why can't you spur yourself into doing more? You know you can be better than that but what's stopping you? Why can't you write things about Palestine regularly? Why are you afraid of speaking up? Why don't you put in the effort to try to reach and educate more people? You know in order to help Palestinians reach liberation we need to be united and do things collectively in a sustainable way, so tell me, why don't you try to braver and speak more and more and moreeee? Why can't you confront those people who remain silent and indifferent about a fucking genocide against your own people? Why after all this time you still get distracted easily? Why can't you be focused and give your all for this noble cause? Why? Why? Why?

[someforeignband]

WIP Word Game

Rules: You will be given a word. Share one sentence/excerpt from your WIP(s) that start with each letter of that word.

thank you to the always lovely @sageclipse for the tag! i appreciate you so so so so much!!

my word is GHOST! so, here we go! (there's a couple slightly nsfw tidbits ,,, minors shoo!)

G — from 'And You Were Going In (For The Kill)' — Steddie

“Good, Eddie?” Steve asks, eyes wide and shiny, lips swollen, chin covered in saliva and Eddie. The summer heat left his cheeks flushed, his neck was red, blush following down to the center of his chest. Who knew Steve Harrington was a blusher? Eddie sure didn’t, not until now at least. 

H — from 'Tie 'Em In A Knot (Like a Hangman's Noose)'— Steddie

He motions over all of Eddie before continuing. “But, my dad’ll be back any second and he doesn’t want any vis—”

“Well, lucky for you,” Eddie’s tongue darts out and licks at his bottom lip. He’s looking at Steve with this glint in his eye that makes the hairs on the back of Steve’s neck stand up.

He’s popping his hip out, grinning and whispering, “I don’t care.” The side of Eddie’s mouth twitches, dimple in his cheek threatening to make itself visible, and Steve’s stomach goes warm. 

Oh shit. 

O — from 'If I Could Be Anybody (I'd Be The One)'— Steddie

“Oh yeah,” Chrissy shrugs. “The Buckley-Harringtons, plus the Johnsons, plus the Cunninhams all contained in a restaurant covered in Gold Leaf! What could go wrong!” 

Stevie groans, falling back against her mattress, hands over her eyes. “This is my fucking nightmare.” 

“Gotta give it to Dick, though,” Chrissy hums, tugging at the ends of her comforter so that it lays on her bed straighter. “Can’t wait for him to take care of our bottomless mimosas.” 

S — from 'Sympathy for the Devil' — Steddie

Steve breathes out through his nose. The guy’s other vitals were fine. Even a concussion would see some pupil movement. The realization hits him like a truck. 

He’s blind. 

T — from 'I Can't Let Go (When Something's Broken)' — Destiel

The gag is that there isn’t some kind of man behind the curtain. There’s no invisible man. There’s no thing that goes bump in the night. It was all a lie. A delusion. 

It’s all that sad sort of twisted thing that makes the heap of dirty clothes piled up on your desk chair in the corner of your bedroom look like a burglar. 

But, the sun rose. And now, Dean had to deal with the reality that it was just a pile of laundry on a desk chair. 

The burglar doesn’t exist. 

It’s just a fucking pile of clothes on a chair. 

Yay that was so fun i loved playing along!! the word i'm proposing is CRISP :)

no pressure tags, feel free to join in on the game if you'd like!! xoxoxox @yours-etc @pearynice @riality-check @stevespookington

[harveybwabbit92]

Ace, texting Taro and R/n on their date: Playing Hide n’ Seek with my favorite nephew. I looked for him for 15 mins and couldn’t find him anywhere. I had a mini-heart attack thinking he’d gotten outside somehow then I walk by his room and heard this cloak giggling…

{Sends them a pic of one of Taro’s cloaks hanging off the side of Taiga’s bed, and another one of Ace’s hands lifting the cloak revealing toddler!Taiga huddled underneath.]

Taro, proud of Taiga’s creativity: Hm… My boy’s a genius. 

(Taro is texting Ace back, his date curiously looks over to see.)

R/n: What are you doing?

Taro: Oh, just telling Ace. Now he knows how our mom and dad felt after he fell asleep in that laundry pile… Did I ever tell you about that?

[R/n shakes her head.]

Taro: Okay, so... When me and Ace were kids, our mom was doing laundry and took Ace's favorite blanket to be washed, at the time he was very attached to it, he would hardly go anywhere without it. And when he found it missing, instead screaming down the house like he usually did. Ace tracked it down to the laundry room and took a nap in the dirty clothes pile; with the blanket pulled over his head.

{R/n cooed at the mental image, it was cute trying to picture her boyfriend and his brother as kiddos.]

Taro: With the blanket covering him, Ace was completely obscured from our mom’s sight. So… Naturally our parents freaked when they found me in our play room alone and Ace was nowhere to be found. They looked everywhere, they had the neighbors looking everywhere. And just when they were about to call the IGDF rescue team? out from the laundry room comes Zoffy; carrying a groggy and very cranky Ace…

R/n: My Sol… I can’t imagine that sort of thing happening, I’d never let Taiga out of my sight after something like that.

Taro: Yeah… Our mom did that for bit, always made we were in the last place she left us, checking every room before she left it, eventually she mellowed out. 

(Taro’s comm pings)

Ace, texting back: Shut-up, I wanted my blankie... you're telling R/n about this aren’t you? If you do, then I get to tell her how you broke your big toe Mr. “Bowling champ!”

{Taro’s tenses up as R/n reads the text starts asking him what Ace meant?].

[age-of-play-i-say]

Un-Wetting the Bed

Mama registers my wriggling, snuffling further into my neck and huffing when I fail to lie still.

She tosses her hair back and rolls onto her back, pulling me on top of her. She opens her legs, letting me fall between them, putting pressure on my lower stomach and I whimper, bowing forward until she captures my lips in a kiss.

"Let it all out, sweetheart," she slurs, pumping her hips twice to let me feel her cock swelling in her boxers. I clench and bite back another pathetic sound as I try to disallow my body from accepting her offer of release, which my bladder especially screamed for me to do.

"Um, a-are you sure, Mama? am holdin in so much, Mama doesn like changing sheets at night, ye?" I cover my mouth but the desperate sounds combined with a noticeable strain in my voice gave me away.

Mama blinks, actually achieving consciousness for the first time.

"Oh! Good girl! You used your big girl brain in a situation where Mama isn't all there. Hand me that pillow, sweet baby. . .Good. Now, lift up, like you're doing a plank. Good girl, I know it hurts, it'll feel better so so soon, you'll see. Therrrre we go. Okay, lie back down, sweetie. Shh, sh, I know it's pressing your bladder, little one, that's okay, I promise. You trust your Mama, good girl? Yeah? Good, okay sweetie."

She moves her hands to rest on my lower back, not applying any pressure. Yet.

The pillow presses my little tdick under my mons and rubs my little peehole, already working overtime. I moan out loud into Mama's mouth and feel a little pulse as her cock continues to harden beneath the pillow. Thinking about that makes it harder to hold. I close my eyes to concentrate, but then Mama speaks up,

"I chose this pillow on purpose Little one, time to stop punishing yourself." She starts rubbing my lower back in firm little circles, jostling my overstretched bladder. She whispers into my mouth, "if you go slowly enough, the pillow should get it all and we'll change sheets in the morning. Otherwise-" here she adjusts the pillow to bump on my bladder and then starts grinding on it from underneath, "- hm, otherwise, just my cock will get soaked."

She punctuates her words with a groan, pressing harder on my lower back. I try to relax my muscles. The second I succeed, I start flooding the pillow, managing my flow as best I can, moaning with every muscle squeeze. I can hear Mama moaning when I do, seeming to get harder and more desperate as the wet pillow grew flat and soaked. The hissing sounds underneath the blankets quits suddenly as I tighten up, but Mama thinks this won't do and firmly massages my back and tush until the tinkly sounds soaking into fabric start up again.

Once I'm finally empty, shaking and horny beyond belief, Mama speaks again,

"Hips up again, Little one. There we go, Mama will take care of this later." She grabs the corner of the pillow and tosses it to the ground on a designated pile of dirty laundry. "Good girl, making potty right where Mama said! Do you feel better, sweetie?"

I nod bashfully, cheeks and winkie both turning red.

"Good! Now let's get to your other release. How about Mama coming inside, sweetheart? Would my baby like it if Mama 'let it all out' too?"

I close my eyes and nod vigorously, leting the throb of our cocks between us take over my mind, before she reaches around to guide herself straight to my soaked entrance

[soulofapatrick]

Sunshine on a Cloudy Day - Tommy Miller x Reader

Summary: You’re the Millers neighbours who has become practically family within two years except Joel has kept your from Tommy in fear of him breaking your heart... What happens when Joel one day tells you Tommy really cares about you and he has no problems of you pursuing Tommy...

Words: 4.1k

Warnings: pining; smut (p in v) and lots of fluff

Notes: This is my first try at no outbreak au

Y/N’s POV

Being best friends with your hot neighbours had its perks as well as its downsides. I had a spare key which the outwardly grumpy Joel Miller had cut for me a year into our friendship, ignoring the way Sarah looked between the two of us with a knowing look. Except she really didn’t know. Sure, Joel Henry Miller is fucking hot with his curly brown hair; deep caramel brown eyes and the messy scruff of a beard but he’s not the Miller I found myself falling for. Joel saw it first, of course, and told me that his little brother - Tommy - is too much of a playboy for me and that he’d break my heart but that didn’t stop me thinking of him at night or giggling myself silly when he was around. 

Today was no different, my house was boring and empty so I grabbed my phone and the keys before heading across the street to the Miller’s house. It’s quiet stepping inside as Sarah’s at school and I’m guessing Joel and Tommy have a job today so I busy myself with cleaning up their mess. I’m off work until Monday, with nothing to do except twiddle my thumbs for the next two days so cleaning their house and cooking a hot meal for them is a great distraction and it’ll take my mind off my sister’s phone call. They’re not messy people, it’s just Joel struggles with getting up early but, he does it anyway to take his sweet daughter to school everyday before he and Tommy then drive on to wherever they’re working. If I’m at the coffee shop they’ll stop by for their usual coffees and tell me about their mornings if there’s no queue behind them. It’s nice. I love the routine we have. It could be seen as a little chaotic and weird to anyone else but it works for the four of us and I don’t want to lose it for anything. 

Joel’s room is the messiest of course, the duvet half off the bed and clothes on the floor as if he overslept today which being Joel… yeah probably. I sniff every shirt on the floor, organising them into clean and dirty piles before folding the clean ones and putting them back into the drawers and stripping the bed because he probably hasn’t had time to wash his duvet in a while. The dirty pile is thrown at the top of the stairs as I go do the same in Sarah’s room, her bed being made and it’s clean enough to leave alone so I just grab her hamper of dirty clothes, adding them to the pile. The guest room hasn’t been touched since I last slept in there so all that’s left is Tommy’s room. 

I knock first as he might be in there, you can never tell with Tommy, but there’s no reply so I cautiously open the door. It’s empty, he’s at work with Joel it seems and it gives me time to be able to clean his room, doing the same as I did with Joel’s but the smell of his shirts has me a little weak at the knees. I don’t know why but there’s just something about the way Tommy smells so much like vanilla; woodsmoke and fresh coffee that has me intoxicated. It takes me a minute to shake the thoughts of what he’d be like in bed, lips soft and persistent and the low husk to his voice. I have to quickly grab his dirty clothes and the stripped duvet cover, leaving the room before I do something stupid. 

The pile of all their dirty laundry is a struggle to get into the washing machine but I refuse to do two loads so I make it fit, putting the detergent in and turning it on before focusing on getting the kitchen tidy so I can get food prepared. They have a dishwasher that makes things a lot easier so I load it with the dirty plates and cups that are piled on the side before wiping down every surface and checking for any glasses or plates elsewhere like the living room before putting it on. Then, knowing how busy the three of them have been I check their fridge and yeah I was right: there’s left over pizza and like three day old takeaway chicken wings along with condiments and milk that is on its last day. Their cupboards are in similar condition: a lonely bag of pasta and some cereal as well as a few sandwich fillers like Nutella. It’s only three in the afternoon so I have at least two more hours before Joel and Tommy get back so a quick trip to the supermarket is definitely an option but then again so is ordering the shopping as I’m not going to be able to carry four peoples worth of food back from the shops and I don’t have a car. 

It doesn’t take long for the shopping to be ordered and delivered, our nosey neighbour bidding me good afternoon when I open the door to grab the bags from the delivery driver. I thank the driver then smile at William, sending him a wave before moving all the bags to the table so I can unpack them and put everything away. It should feel wrong, being in Joel’s house without him here and buying him shopping, putting it all away to then get started on dinner. Others would say they should pay me to be a stay at home mum but I’m not, I’m… I’m not sure what I am to them, maybe platonic soulmate? I don’t have to say anything for Joel to ever understand me and vice versa, that’s what platonic soulmates are, aren’t they? I don’t care what others think anyway, I’m happy in my own little bubble, it’s why I moved to Austin in the first place. I had to get away from everyone and everything I knew after the death of my brother, I couldn’t deal with the sympathetic looks and whispers. 

The front door opens and familiar voices fill the house as I’m plating up the one pot creamy chicken pasta I settled on making. The three of them file in, eyes widening and mouths watering at the steaming food set at the table, throwing their thanks at me before they’re practically racing to their seats and digging in. I make sure the hob is off and that the seconds are covered before joining them, taking my seat next to Tommy with Joel opposite me and it’s perfect. Joel and Tommy begin to talk about their days, one of their workmen not having turned up and made everything stressful and they’ll have to work late tomorrow which means I’ll be spending the day with Sarah tomorrow. Sarah then tells her dad and Uncle Tommy about her day, how a fight broke out and her best friend - Theo - told her the kids were expelled. They’ve both had eventful days so I’m just glad I could help take some of the pressure off of them. 

Joel’s doing amazingly as a single father, giving the fact Sarah’s mother just up and left him with Sarah one day. The brothers were forced to work things out, Tommy stepping up to be there for his older brother and little niece, and they’ve both done so fucking well for it. Sarah’s growing up to be a beautiful and fun, well mannered girl who is both equal parts strong and compassionate. It sometimes makes me jealous, seeing how well put together and close knit they are, longing for the same things but everything changed for me after losing my twin brother two years ago. My sister has reached out to me a few times but other than that not much has happened communication wise. Seeing the Millers makes me want to reach out to my parents but I know they would just reprimand me for leaving and if they found out where I lived they’d come all the way here and try and drag me back to California against my will. They had called me rude and disrespectful for not attending Scott’s funeral despite seeing the way I couldn’t leave the house that day without throwing up from the stress and realisation that my partner in crime was gone. I had packed up my things and hired a removal company to pick me up and drive me across the country to get as far away from it all as I could. 

A hand settles on my thigh and I’m whipping my head up to see Tommy and Joel watching me, concern in their eyes and Sarah’s no where to be seen. Her plates empty and there’s movement upstairs which means she’s probably gone to do her homework. The hand tightens on my thigh, “You okay baby girl?” I can’t stop the shiver that runs down my back and directly to my core whenever Tommy calls me ‘baby girl’ as it does stuff to me. 

“Y-yeah,” It’s not convincing, both of them raising their eyebrows at me, “My sister called me again to tell me my younger brother graduated yesterday.” I shrug and just focus on the comforting weight of Tommy’s hand through my jeans, the brothers sharing a look before they go back to eating and their own conversations knowing I’ll tell them one day about my past and my family. It’s another thing I love about them: they don’t push me to tell them things, knowing I’ll come to them if I want or need to. They’re always there for me and I hope I’m also there for them just as much. Maybe tonight could be the night I tell them about Scott… or tomorrow. 

“Come on baby girl, movie night.” Tommy grins at me, that stupidly cocky smile making my cheeks heat up and I have to avert my gaze, feeling Joel roll his eyes at me and he snorts quietly from amusement, “Let’s go old man!” Tommy’s smirking at Joel who throws his napkin at Tommy, the younger slapping his arm in retaliation. Children. 

I lean into Tommy’s side, pretending to sniff his shirt and pull a disgusted face, “Nice try, go shower first, you stink.” Before grabbing my now empty plate and heading to the sink, a gasp ripped from my lips when his familiar frame covers my back and presses me against the counter. His nose is cold against my neck, spreading goosebumps in its wake, lips ghosting over my neck before he murmurs, “Maybe you should join me, you stink too.” 

It takes everything in me not to let him have me, not ready to have my heart broken like Joel said but a huge part of him wants him. From everything I’ve been told about Tommy, and what I’ve seen, it’s hard to tell if he really does like me or sees me as a challenge because I don’t just fall into bed with him. Those velvety lips really settle on my neck, teeth scraping my collarbone and I’m gripping the counter so hard my knuckles go white and his chest rumbles against my back. The vanilla; woodsmoke and coffee mixed with the sweat and heat of him being out in the sun working all day makes me dizzy with everything Tommy and my lips are parting with a shaky breath. 

“Are you two gonna spent the evening fucking or join us?” Sarah’s cheeky voice scares me, my face heating up while Tommy doesn’t even seem phased as he just turns to her and winks. I stay where I am, too embarrassed to move as Tommy steps back a little, every fibre in my being wanting to follow him but I don’t. I have to take a deep breath before turning around to see Sarah grinning innocently at me while Tommy begins to raid the fridge as if I haven’t just fed him. 

“Sarah!” We hear Joel scold Sarah for her language from the living room, no actual venom in it as he also swears sometimes in front of Sarah. Better to teach her it’s okay to swear in certain situations and calling sex ‘fucking’ is definitely not the right situation. Especially when it’s directed at her uncle and me. 

Sarah just giggles and calls back a quick “Sorry Dad!” before watching me and Tommy. She’s always been curious and quickly worked out I wasn’t into her dad but her uncle, not as quickly as Joel but damn nearly as quick. It catches me off guard when she says, “I think you two would be cute together.” 

“I was just going to grab some sweet treats I may have got you all,” I change the subject, feeling shy suddenly, Sarah’s face lights up at this and Tommy reappears from having his head in the fridge at the word treats, “But before any of us can have any Uncle Tommy needs to go shower.” I fix him with a pointed gaze and Sarah’s grabbing her uncle and pushing him towards the stairs. 

“My offer still stands baby girl.” Tommy calls before Sarah’s making sure he actually goes upstairs. Once she’s sure he’s doing as he’s been told she waits for me to grab the only bag I didn’t unpack before we join Joel in the living room. He fixes me with a look as I settle on his left and Sarah sits on his right. 

Joel doesn’t have to speak for me to know what that look means: He will break your heart. There’s something else though, something that has me frowning down at the bag of sweets until Joel’s taking the bag and handing it to Sarah who knows exactly what sweets and drinks are for who as we all have our own favourites. Joel leans close, wrapping his arms around me in a hug before he whispers something I didn’t ever expect from him, “He really cares for you.” I just frown at Joel, unsure of what he’s getting out as he’s always trying to deter me from my feeling for Tommy. It’s never out of jealousy, Joel and I have talked about us and we agree we are and always will just be best friends. I need to bring up the platonic soulmates to him at some point actually as- “He hasn’t even looked at another girl in months.” Joel’s sighing softly, forehead falling to my shoulder and I finally understand. Tommy cares for me. He’s not just trying to get in my pants, he actually cares for me. 

The little touches, the flirting, the way he looks away when I catch him staring. He’s not flirting with me for the hell of it, he gets shy. Tommy gets shy over me but fuck his flirting game is something to be envied. The way he leaves me breathless and frustrated, that knowing smirk on his oh so kissable lips, the way he runs a hand through his dark curls and his cognac eyes sliding over me.  Tommy’s hair and those freckles have to me the biggest weakness for me. The amount times I’ve dreamt about tangling my hands through those curly locks, watching the way his eyes would darken and he’d probably gasp so dirtily. It has me shifting in my seat and Joel’s smacking my leg with the back of his hand as if reading my thoughts. His caramel eyes are soft and he seems to nod ever so slightly and that’s all it takes for me to stand up and make my way out of the living room and upstairs as calmly as I can. 

The bathroom door is unlocked so I open it silently, slipping inside and closing it without a sound. Tommy’s humming to himself, music playing on his phone so he doesn’t hear me and it gives me the opportunity to undress. It’s a huge risk I’m taking but I trust Joel’s words, quietly stepping in behind Tommy and just admiring how good he looks from the back. His lean muscles rippling and the smooth slide of his back, leading down to that very slap-able ass, all sun kissed skin and freckles. I have to refrain myself and instead step closer, snaking my arms around his waist causing him to jump a little before I’m pressing a kiss to his shoulder and he’s practically purring. He gently tugs me around him to I’m under the hot water, a groan escaping my lips as the water melts away all the tension in my shoulders and Tommy’s lips are on my neck. He’s smiling into the trail of kisses he’s leading up until the shower head is turned to the side so he can press those pretty lips to mine in a gentle kiss. I expected Tommy to be hot and needy like his flirting but he’s far from it, his kiss being slow and romantic, hands skimming over my sides as if his hands are trying to map and memorise every bump and curve of my body. It has me gasping a little, his tongue brushing against mine until my lung burn for oxygen. 

“Hi there baby girl,” His cognac eyes are warm and full of emotions I’ve been trying to ignore for so long, they stay on my face, never once straying despite being naked in front of him, “Didn’t actually think you’d join me.” 

“‘M crazy for you,” I mumble, going to duck my head but he stops me with a finger under my chin, pupils blown wide, “I’ve been crazy for you since we met.” 

“Fuck baby girl,” He’s whining, pulling me flush against him and capturing me in another breathtaking kiss, this one wanting more and it doesn’t take long for me to tangle my hand in his hair and tug experimentally. The breathy moan he lets out has me tugging harder, wanting to hear more and his hands grip my hips tightly, “You keep doing that and we will be skipping movie night.” 

“Is that a challenge?” 

He’s turning the shower off, picking me up and making sure my legs are wrapped around his waist before he drags me into a kiss, walking us to his room. He’s throwing me on his bed, shutting his door as the sound of the movie gets turned up a little more, like Joel knows. Oh god, we’re about to have sex with Joel and Sarah in the house. I can never look at them again-

Lips are on my thighs, kisses scattering their way up, moustache burning the sensitive skin a little and as much as I’d love for him to eat me out, having seen the way he eats ice cream I need him. My hands reach for his hair, pulling him away from my aching core and over me, drawing him for a  slow and passionate kiss while wrapping my legs around his waist. He gets the hint, chest rising and falling quickly as he murmurs in my ear, “You need prepping sweet girl.” It has me whining, back arching with need when he circles a rough pad of his finger around my wet heat. Any sound I make is swallowed by those addictive lips when he finally pushes a finger in, my walls immediately trying to clench around it and it draws a guttural sound from him. His lips trail down my neck and chest, teeth grazing my nipples before he’s sucking while beginning to move his finger inside me. All of it has my slamming a hand over my mouth as I try to stay quiet, especially when a second finger joins the first and he’s stretching me out. He’s rocking his hips into my leg, trying to be patient to make sure I’m comfortable but if he doesn’t stop soon I’m going to come. 

He can feel me fluttering around his hands, smile on his lips where they’re now biting a hickey into my neck, his fingers curling and hitting that bundle of nerves that snatches the air from my lungs. Fuck. It’s as if he already knows my body with the way he has me teetering on the edge of bliss, my walls trying to keep him in and my thighs slamming shut around his arm. His thumb comes up to rub teasing circles into the hard bud and it has my body tensing as I cry our his name, wave after wave of ecstasy shuddering through my body and my mind blanks of everything except Tommy. 

His lips find mine, moving leisurely, thumb caressing my cheek as he replaces his fingers with the head of his dick, already stretching me wide. A heavy gasp is ripped from me when he slowly begins to slide in, eyes squeezing shut as he’s bigger than he could have prepared me for but he’s whispering soothingly in my ear, “Shhh, shhhh, it’s okay baby girl. I’ve got you sweetheart. It’s alright. Deep breaths. Relax baby girl. I’ve got you.” 

The whispers accompanied by his fingers gently working on my clit has me relaxing enough to accept him all the way, the moan he lets out when buried to the hilt makes me almost come again there and then. He holds himself still until the uncomfortableness turns into burning hot want and need and I’m cautiously rolling my hips against him, his cognac eyes flying open to meet mine with a hungry look in them. He draws me into a hot and heavy kiss as he pulls out so just the tip is still in before he slides back in, filling me up and it’s nothing I expected from Tommy. I never understood the difference between sex and making love until now with Tommy resting his forehead against mine and our hands tangled together either side of my head as he slowly thrusts, taking his time and drawing out our mutual pleasure. The sound of our panted breaths and soft whimpers and whines drowns out the muffled music from the movie downstairs and all I can smell is Tommy, the vanilla and woodsmoke still clinging to him even after the shower. It all adds to the slowly building tightness in my stomach and I’m moving my hips down to meet his, my back arching when he hits that sweet spot that has me seeing stars. 

“T-Tommy..” I whine and his teeth graze my chin, adding to the pleasure as every fibre on my body is on fire, that coil tightening almost painfully as he drags against my g-spot with every thrust until I’m tensing up and my eyes roll back into my head. His hips begin snapping against mine, face buries in my neck and has tightening in mine as I ride out my high, him not too far behind. 

“Fuuuckkk baby girl,” He pants against my neck, hips stuttering as he thrusts a few more times before he’s filling me up, teeth sinking into skin to muffle his moan before he’s collapsing on top of me and I’m untangling one hand from his to bring it to his hair. He hums softly as I begin carding it through his messy curls, “‘M so in love with you. Have been for a while.” He admits, slipping out and leaving me feeling empty. 

“I’m in love with you too.” It’s spoken so quietly I’m not sure he hears it as he stands up to grab the towel and clean us up but from the grin that breaks out on his face he does. He’s grinning the whole time he’s wiping away the mess sliding down my legs as I’m too spent and tired to move. He helps me into a pair of his boxers and a baggy shirt before pulling on a pair of boxers himself. I can’t not blush when he just stands there, admiring me until I have to turn away as it’s too much attention, I’m not used to anyone looking at me like that. He’s looking at me like I hung the stars and it steals my breath away. 

“We can have another movie night tomorrow to make it up to them,” Tommy laughs, sliding into his bed behind me, wrapping himself around me like a safety net between me and the uncertain world, “I want you to know I really fucking love you and always will. You’re my sunshine on a cloudy day sweetheart.” 

That’s how I fall asleep, Tommy wrapped around me with his lips brushing against the back of my neck and his arm around my waist. A smile one my lips as his words echo around my mind. 

Sunshine of a cloudy day.

----------------------

TAGS: Tag List Form

@princessmk21 @iraot​ @gemimawrites​ @pedropascalsrealhusband @zynbsblog @twopercentmilk​ @sxnshinebxcky @nelsoomon @urnewghostfriend​ @sonhee-a​ @dizzyforyou-blog​ @grooveandshit​ @reyas-world @canpillowscry​ @jell0buss-37​ @androgynousgaz​ @not-a-unique-snowflake89​ @intergalacticspacemonkey @certifiedhunter​ @miya-park @emmulus22 @outl4wage

[breezypunk]

💛🩵💚 for the love day asks for your cuties?!

Thank you! :3

Love Day Asks Here

───── ⑅ ♡ ⑅ ─────

💛 what are their favorite activities to do together?

The number one thing they enjoy doing together is watching the sunsets. It was the very first thing they did together as a couple, and it will be the very last thing they do together too. :')

A recent fun activity they both enjoy is cooking together. Goro teaches Vaughn how to cook good food, hehe. Vaughn enjoys it a lot because it's a really nice way to spend some time together indoors, and also because Goro is pretty handsy in the kitchen ;p

This might sound weird, but they also just enjoy sleeping together. (no not in that way.. well yes but not in this case), they just like napping, haha. Vaughn is already a big sleeper, and throughout their relationship he taught Goro that it's okay to just chill and relax and to rest when he's tired instead of fighting it, so now Goro has a proper sleep schedule, maybe a little too proper.

───── ⑅ ♡ ⑅ ─────

🩵 Who does what chores? Which chore do they both avoid?

G: Well let me tell you what this man avoids! LAUNDRY. Clothes everywhere, the hamper is right next to the bed, but does V take one second to put his clothes in there? No.

V: Oh, cos that's such a crime, huh? What about when you leave me to do all the dishes? Piled to the ceiling because you just HAD to make 6 separate dinners!

G: I cook and you clean the dishes, that was established, V!

V: Okay but what about the fact I fold all of our clothes, hmmmm? I place them so nicely in the dressers like you ask, so OOPS I forget to put the dirty ones in the hamper, what are you gonna do, spank me?

G: Do not make me choke you V, we have equal chores here, stop being an immature brat.

Let's just leave them to sort out their differences.

───── ⑅ ♡ ⑅ ─────

💚 Which one is more kind-hearted and who angers easily first?

I'd say they are both kind-hearted and both get angry pretty easily, but hardly ever angry at each other, they do play around a lot and bicker but it's never genuine anger. More so... angry at the world, angry at the cards they've been dealt in life, angry that they had to go through so much alone instead of together, angry that they didn't meet so much sooner, but those feelings subside after some time. They are incredibly kind people who will be there for you in a heart beat, especially their loved ones, ESPECIALLY the Aldecaldos. Vaughn really is one of the nicest people you'll ever meet too, don't let his background or job description fool you.

[ladydorian05]

A Home for Broken Hearts ~ Chapter 4

Co-written with the brilliant @made-ofmemories

I had a tough week, we had to put down one of our dogs on wednesday, so I really don't have any fun fact or interesting stuff to say about this one chapter other than we really liked it and had fun writing it.

Hope you guys enjoy it!

Masterpost

Ao3

Chapter 4: A Walk Down Memory Lane

The sound of the front door opening doesn’t alarm Steve, it’s a little early for Robin to be back, but it’s not unheard of for her to return to the apartment on her lunch break or for her to have forgotten something. 

What is unusual is the knock on his bedroom door. Robin never knocks, no matter how many times he threatens to put a lock on there they both know he’s bluffing. The door opens and Eddie pokes his head into the room when Steve takes too long to answer.

“What’re you doing here?” Steve asks in lieu of a greeting, “And how did you even get in?” 

“Robin called, said you might need some help with something,” Eddie steps further into the room and perches himself on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb anything, “She also told me where you keep the spare key.”

“Of course she did.” Steve sighs. He doesn’t know what she’s up to but he’s seen enough of her meddling by now to know she’s up to something, “Sorry about the mess.” 

He’s more than a little self conscious of the state of his room. He usually likes to think of himself as a relatively tidy person, but he’s let things slip lately. The laundry he still hasn’t done is in a haphazard pile in the corner of the room and the mere thought of Eddie looking over there and seeing his dirty underwear has a blush creeping up the back of his neck. There’s an empty pizza box on the floor, and he’s currently sitting cross legged on his bed surrounded by his ‘ex memorabilia’ as Robin likes to call it. 

“I’ve seen worse. So- what’re we doing?” Eddie grabs a keychain from the pile of trinkets Steve has built around himself and turns it around between his fingers, it’s silver featuring the word ‘Indianapolis’ along the bottom and the skyline of the city. It’s from a 3 day trip he took last year with his girlfriend of 4 months, Phoebe. They broke up 2 weeks later.

“Robin thought it might be a good idea for me to donate some more of this stuff to the gallery.”

“Wait- this is all from past relationships?” Steve nods and Eddie lets out a low whistle in response, “Damn, you weren’t kidding when you said every relationship huh?”

“You don’t have to stay, I’m not sure why she called you. I was doing just fine on my own,” Steve insists.

It’s not that he really wants Eddie to leave. They’ve spent nearly every single day together for a little over a week now, he enjoys Eddie’s company, they’re friends or something close to that at least and it’s not like Eddie is unaware of Steve’s collecting. Still, there’s something about sharing this with him that makes Steve feel vulnerable in a way he’s not sure he’s ready for.

“Uh-huh,” Eddie mumbles, more of a noise than a word. He picks up the small cardboard box Steve has set aside in one hand, an old shoebox with the word ‘donations’ written on the side of it in big blocked out black letters and a trash bag in the other. They’re both empty and Eddie tilts the box towards Steve as if he may somehow be unaware of this, “Looks like it’s going great so far.”

“Alright, maybe I could use a little help,” Steve admits, a bashful grin tugging at his lips in response to Eddie’s self-satisfied smile. 

Eddie shrugs off his jacket, the same heavy leather piece he usually wears. The shirt beneath is cropped just above the navel. Tattoos in the same style as the ones decorating his arms wind their way up either side of his abdomen. The one on the left catches Steve’s attention the most, a large portrait of some kind of humanoid monster that disappears beneath the hemline of the shirt. Eddie stretches and the shirt rides up to reveal the base of his ribs allowing Steve to catch a glimpse of the monster's mouth, made up of petals each coated with several rows of pointed teeth.

He knows he’s gawking, but he can’t help himself and his eyes drift higher. His breath catches in his throat when he sees the outline of metal bars, one pierced through each nipple, visible through the thin fabric that’s clinging tightly to Eddie’s pecs. He forces himself to look away before he does something embarrassing, like start drooling, or worse. 

“Awesome, so I gotta ask,” Eddie says, clearly unaware of Steve’s struggle as he casually sets the keyring he had been fidgeting with aside and holds up a single shoelace from the pile instead, “What’s the story behind this one?”

“Wallace the manwhore, as Robin used to call him.” Steve laughs and both Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline, his face the picture of amusement, “We used to play basketball together in senior year. He was the first guy I got with after I figured out I was bi. We dated for a little while, I thought we were exclusive, until I found out he was sleeping with a bunch of other guys the entire time. That shoelace is from one of the shoes he wore when our team won their first tournament.”

“That’s a lot to unpack, damn. Are all your exes assholes?” Eddie is clearly having fun with this, Steve wouldn’t have taken him as one to enjoy gossip. 

Steve thinks about the question for a moment, one name springs to mind and he smiles fondly at the memory, “Not all of them.”

“I didn’t know you played basketball.”

“Yup, sorry to disappoint, but I’m just your stereotypical meathead jock.” 

“I think there’s more to you than that.” He’s suddenly serious and looking at Steve with an intensity that makes him squirm, “So, What do you say?” He asks, switching back to that jovial tone with ease as he holds up the grubby old shoelace, “Ready to let go of Wallace the manwhore?”

Steve lets out a deep breath. He’s never been good at this part, but Wallace is a good place to start, “Put it in the box.”

It gets easier after that. Eddie helps, he asks questions about everything, gets Steve talking, makes him laugh. There’s something about sharing the stories that makes the letting go part seem a lot less daunting. The box and the bag start to fill quicker than Steve expected.

Eddie is no longer sitting on the bed and is instead pacing around the room taking in the cluttered shelves, occasionally he’ll drift back over to the bed to grab something from the much depleted pile.  He seems genuinely unphased by the mess and it eases Steve’s initial self consciousness. 

If there’s one thing Steve has learnt about Eddie this past week it’s his complete inability to stay still for longer than a few minutes. If he’s not on his feet he’s fidgeting with something, twirling a ring around his finger, tapping at a table top, or bouncing his leg along to an imaginary beat.

“Who are the little hobbits?” Eddie plucks a picture frame from one of the shelves and turns it towards Steve so he can see. 

It’s a photograph of Steve surrounded by Max, Lucas, Erica, Will, Mike, El and Dustin. Lucas has his hand thrown up behind Steve’s head giving him bunny ears while Erica does the same to her brother, Dustin has one arm wrapped around him in a half hug so strong Steve still remembers the pain in his ribs, Mike has his arms crossed mid eye roll, and Will, Max, and El are leaning in with wide smiles just looking happy to be there. It’s chaotic and a little blurry because no one would stay still long enough for Robin to snap a decent photograph, but it’s still Steve’s most prized possession. 

The photo was taken back in Indiana before the kids turned 18 and everyone went their separate ways, scattered across the country. They stay in touch, and he couldn’t be prouder of them all out there in their dream colleges making something of themselves. Still, every now and then he finds himself missing his babysitter Steve days. 

“The kids.” He smiles, but Eddie just looks more confused than before, “I was kind of their babysitter? One of them practically adopted me as his older brother and I soon found out they came as a package deal.” 

He laughs remembering the day he helped Dustin fix his bike in the middle of the street, he hadn’t known what he was letting himself in for at the time. A couple of weeks later and he’d found himself the unofficial babysitter of 7 unruly middle schoolers.

“I looked out for them, kept them out of trouble… for the most part. Actually thinking back on it I did a pretty terrible job of keeping them out of trouble, I usually just ended up getting dragged into it too. I guess I just- I don’t know, felt responsible for them.”

“I get it.” Eddie nods and sets the frame back into its place gently, “I got held back a lot at school, repeated senior year twice, so I was the oldest in my class most of the time and I guess that made me feel like I had to be responsible for everyone.”

“Like Chrissy?” Steve asks without thinking then instantly regrets it when he realizes he’s probably overstepping.

“Exactly,” Eddie confirms, unbothered, “We had this whole band of misfits, we called it Hellfire club. It started as a DnD club but it ended up being more than that and now I’m naming my bar after it. It’s actually how I met my band mates.”

“That’s… actually really sweet,” Steve says, trying not to get all soppy on him.

“I know right? Don’t tell anyone or you’re going to ruin my reputation,” Eddie jokes, speaking in a hushed conspiratorial tone.

“My lips are sealed.”

Eddie smiles at him and Steve looks away bashfully. It’s just a smile but something about it feels too intimate, as if he’s just trusted Steve with some life altering secret.

The moment passes and Steve turns his attention back to the task at hand. Eddie has drifted back over to the bed and is hovering at the side, picking through what’s left of Steve’s ex mementos. Apparently he’s done with the tour of Steve’s room he had taken himself on. Not that Steve had minded, it was kind of endearing how genuinely interested he had seemed in everything.

“Alright, what’s the story behind this?” Eddie asks. Steve looks up from the box of donations to see what Eddie has now. It’s a napkin from a restaurant that no longer exists with a number scratched into it with a blue pen.

“Linda, we were 19. We only went on one date, it didn’t work out,” Steve tells him, “It can go.”

Another item added to the bag and only a few more trinkets left, two of which are from the same relationship, Steve adds them both to the box without thinking about it. 

“Hey, how come you get to learn all about my failed love life but I know nothing about yours?”

“I’m married, his name is Elijah, and we have 3 adopted children,” Eddie says without a hint of sarcasm. Steve’s jaw drops. Eddie looks up, sees his expression then bursts into laughter, “I’m kidding, what do you want to know?” He drops down onto the bed, sitting cross legged opposite Steve. He’s so close that their knees bump.

“I don’t know.” Steve shrugs, “Tell me about your last relationship?”

“Met him at a gig, I broke up with him a month later.”

“Why?”

“He wasn’t the one.”

“The one?” There’s a mixture of disbelief and teasing coloring his voice, “I knew you were a secret romantic!”

“Alright, that’s enough of story time.” Eddie rolls his eyes and leans over to shove at his shoulder playfully when Steve gives him a goofy smile, “Hey, what’s this?”

For a moment Steve thinks Eddie has spotted the pair of glasses neatly folded on his bedside table. People usually seem surprised when they find out he needs glasses, not that he wears them nearly as often as he should. Then he remembers what he had left out next to them. 

“Nothing.”

Eddie, unconvinced, is shuffling up the bed and leaning over Steve to grab the little velvet box he’s got his sights set on from the nightstand. His stomach flips, filling with butterflies, and it’s not from the sensation of Eddie’s chest brushing against his. He really shouldn’t have left that out, not that he’d been expecting the company. 

“Is this a ring?” Eddie lifts it up to his ear shaking it then frowning at the noise it makes, “Did you propose to someone?” He gasps.

“No and no, can you just-” He makes to grab for it but it’s too late Eddie has already opened it and the silver chain is dangling from his fingers, the heart shaped pendant hangs heavy between them until Eddie grabs it to read the name inscribed into the metal. 

“Nancy? Who-”

“No one,” Steve says way too quickly for Eddie to ever believe that’s true, “That’s different,” He adds, more collected when he takes the necklace from Eddie and places it back into its box. 

There’s a beat of awkward silence that can’t last more than a few seconds but feels like a lifetime whilst Steve shoves the box into the nearest drawer.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep, I thought it was just more ex memorabilia,” 

It is, but Steve’s not sure how to explain that right now, nor is he ready to share that particular story. So, he says nothing. It’s not lying if Eddie makes the assumption all by himself, right? Steve just… didn’t correct him.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” Eddie continues when Steve doesn’t say anything. Steve feels like he should be the one apologizing when he sees those big brown puppy eyes looking up at him. 

“Don’t worry about it, you couldn’t have known.” Steve swings his legs over the side of the bed so he’s side by side with Eddie and bumps their shoulders together, “Besides, I think we did pretty good.” He shakes the box full of trinkets with a smile. Eddie smiles back at him and the tension dissipates just as quickly as it had formed.

It’s mid afternoon by the time they get to Hellfire with Steve’s new donations. Steve convinces Eddie to walk with him ‘to save gas’, though the real reason is so he doesn’t have to experience the heart palpitations that come from even the mere thought of Eddie driving  whether it’s as a passenger or just a spectator. Robin may constantly remind him that he drives like a grandpa, but he quite enjoys getting to his destination in one piece and without any frayed nerves, thank you very much. 

The air outside is sticky with heat, the initial cloud that had blanketed the sky earlier has parted making room for the early summer sun to shine. Eddie walks with his jacket slung over his arm and Steve stops to pull off his sweater a minute or two into the short walk to Hellfire, glad he’d chosen to wear a tee beneath it today. He thinks he catches Eddie’s eyes lingering on the slither of skin that is exposed along his midriff when the sweater rucks up the fabric of his t-shirt, but his eyes dart away just as quickly and Steve puts it down to his overactive imagination. 

“We got two more donations this morning,” Chrissy says as she passes by them at the doorway, paintbrush in hand. She’s always busy, always finding work to be done, “another shoe and a rubber duck. I already added them to the inventory list.”

“What is with the people of Chicago and collecting their exes shoes?” Eddie’s face is scrunched in confusion. He has a point, they have gotten an unusual amount of shoes.

“How come you haven’t donated anything yet?” Steve queries, beginning to unpack his little shoe box full of mementos. Eddie helps once he realizes what he’s doing.

“I told you, I don’t keep stuff from my relationships. I don’t have anything to donate.”

Steve doesn’t believe that for a second, but he lets it go for now, in part because Chrissy is back minus a paint brush but with Robin by her side and they’re both digging through his box of donations alongside Eddie.

“When did you get here?” Steve looks at Robin as if she’s grown an extra head. She’s not meant to be here.

“10 minutes ago, I had a half day at work.”

“It’s kind of sweet that you’ve kept some of this stuff for so long.” Chrissy says to him, her thumb gliding across a desk calendar from at least 5 years ago.

“Thank you!” Steve exclaims with a gesture and facial expression that says ‘see, she gets it’, Eddie shakes his head at them, “Now could you please tell that to Robin?”

Robin rolls her eyes so hard Steve thinks she must be able to see her brain.

“On second thought.” Chrissy grimaces, a toothbrush lifted from the box gripped gingerly between two fingers, “What the hell Steve?”

“See what I have to put up with now? I have to live with this.” Robin sighs as if she’s carrying the heaviest of burdens, but they both know she’d be lost without him.

“That is a precious heirloom,” He assures Chrissy, opting to ignore Robin entirely. He’s aiming for serious but amusement seeps into his voice despite his efforts, “From Oliver. I told you about him, right?” He asks Eddie.

“Is that the one you kept the letter from?”

“Yeah that’s the one,” Steve confirms, “He moved to Canada for a job, we tried the long distance thing, it didn’t work out,” He adds for Chrissy's benefit.

“Still gross.” She sets the toothbrush aside and starts digging through the rest of his collection, the keyring Eddie had picked up earlier, a rubix cube, a button, “Why did you keep his toothbrush if you had a letter?”

“Maybe he has a tooth fetish, Chrissy. Don’t kink shame.” Eddie doesn’t look up from his current task of organizing everything into neat little piles. It’s not going well, he keeps getting distracted by each object he pulls out of the box despite having seen them all less than half an hour ago in Steve’s room.

Robin laughs so hard she snorts.

“I don’t think that’s a thing,” Steve splutters, not as smooth as he’d been hoping for. Going by the expression on Eddie’s face when he finally looks at him Steve would say he’s enjoying this far too much.

“Leave him alone, Eds.” Chrissy flicks Eddie’s head. Steve doubts he even felt it under that mane of his, but he gives her an over dramatic open mouthed expression looking affronted as if she’s just slapped him. She laughs at his antics then collects herself before turning back to Steve, “Ignore him, why did you really keep it?”

“I… I don’t really know,” Steve says honestly, he rarely has a reason behind his choices he just keeps whatever feels right even if that does happen to be a lightly used toothbrush.

“Why do you keep any of this stuff?” Eddie asks, there’s no judgment in his voice, just genuine curiosity. Honestly, Steve had been expecting this one, he’s actually surprised it didn’t come sooner, “I’d understand it better if you kept stuff from relationships that felt really special, but… all of them? Do you really want to remember them all?”

Steve shakes his head, no, “We didn’t really have many knick knacks around the house when I was a kid, I guess this is my way of making up for it.” It’s half a truth, enough for them to drop the issue for now.

“This isn’t a knick knack, this is active trash,” Robin is holding a ball of scrunched up paper and frowning at it as if it’s about to open up and reveal to her the secrets of the universe.

“Shut up,” Steve is smiling when he bats it out of her hand and watches it roll to the floor between Chrissy and Eddie’s feet. He isn’t sure how that one escaped the trash bag and wound up in the box.

It’s a delicate balance finding suitable places for each item, somewhere that they won’t be disrupted by the ongoing construction work or damaged by a careless visitor. A task made even more difficult by the fact that the gallery gains popularity daily and the collection at Hellfire continues to grow. Some might call it cluttered, but Steve likes it. Each piece has a story from the single stiletto heel by the door to the row of lipsticks placed on the shelf behind the bar. 

He never expected this level of popularity when he and Robin had been picking out logos over apple pie. The two of them had discussed making it a real exhibition a night or two ago over a shared meal, a conversation that had started jokingly and slowly grown more serious as more and more people donated things.

A real display to tell people’s stories rather than the mismatch of objects dotted around wherever there’s space. It was little more than a pipe dream, they’d have to get actual funding and they couldn’t run the whole thing from Eddie’s bar forever or the, slowly filling, tip jar. Still, it was nice to dream every now and then.

<Chapter 3 ~ Masterpost ~ Chapter 5>

[loverontheleft]

Good Vibrations (Revised)

Original Request: Okay but here’s a thought: laundry day. Just trying to get that washing done, next thing you know make out session on top of the washer or dryer. He knows those vibrations have got you feeling something…

Brendon Urie x Reader

Warnings: language, sexual content

Word count: 1.6k ➡️ 3.1k

-||-

“Brendon Boyd Urie, I am trying to keep this house nice for you and you are distracting me!” Your voice is playfully scolding, and you shriek with laughter, releasing the pile of bedsheets, as he drags you down to the couch.

“I’m bored,” he whines once you’re nestled against him as his little spoon. “Laundry is boring.” His hands are exploring your body as he kisses a path along your neck, and you fight back the sigh of pleasure.

“It certainly isn’t the most exciting part of my day, but we both enjoy clean sheets, and since someone,” you roll over to face him and let your hand linger between his legs, “has been extra horny since he got home from tour, we have managed to go through our entire linen closet. So, I’ve got to do laundry, and you’ve got to keep your dick in your pants for a few hours.”

He looks offended. “I pulled you down on this couch to have a good time, and I am feeling so attacked right now.” You roll your eyes, shifting to give him an amused look that tells him you see through his bluff. You love him, but you both know the truth. “Okay, fine,” Brendon concedes. “Technically nothing you’ve said is inaccurate, but still!”

“‘Still!’ nothing,” you say with a small laugh, cupping his face affectionately and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I’m so fucking happy that you’re finally home, and if doing a ton of laundry is the price I pay for my husband bringing me to multiple screaming orgasms several times a day, so be it. But it turns out the price must be paid, and I’m afraid it’s due today.”

He groans, burying his face in your neck and clinging to you desperately. You stroke his hair, murmuring, “let me up, my love; we can have lunch and watch a movie or something once I get these sheets in the machine.”

“Fine.” He pouts and releases your waist so you can stand.

“Stop pouting, Urie,” you tell him without looking back, crossing to the laundry room. You load and start the machine; when you come back, he’s sprawled on the couch, shirtless. You straddle him and stroke over his bare chest while giving him a knowing look. “You’ve lost clothes since I left. What are you up to?”

“Just getting comfy.” He gestures at his sweatpants innocently. “I was already pretty much set with what I was wearing, but I figured you’d want my shirt, so I took it off.”

You nod, standing to wriggle out of your shorts and pull your tank top off. “Doesn’t hurt that you’re now shirtless,” you tease, slipping his soft t-shirt over your head.

“It is a perk,” Brendon concedes with a small grin. “Damn, you look good in my clothes. I fucking love you in my clothes and not much else.” He pulls you against him once you lie down, holding you close. “Hope you don’t have plans for the rest of the afternoon, pretty girl.”

You sigh contentedly as his fingers start drawing circles on your stomach under his shirt. “Nothing, besides the laundry.”

He smiles against the back of your neck. “And when that’s done, I can take you to bed?”

You roll over to look at him, pointing your finger at him playfully. “No. No sir. Not on the fresh, clean sheets.” He nips at your finger, grinning when you whimper.

“So, what I’m hearing is that we can have sex, just not in our bed.”

You nod eagerly.

“Huh. I didn’t think you’d give in so easily,” he muses, and it’s your turn to look offended.

“Hey, I love you and I love having sex with you.”

Brendon raises an eyebrow teasingly, and you slap his chest lightly. “Don’t give me that look. You’re so fucking sexy, you’ve got the perfect cock, and you make me come like crazy. You know how badly I’ve missed you. You know how badly I want you all the time. I just don’t love the idea of getting sheets dirty the moment they’re out of the dryer.”

He laughs, kissing under your ear and nuzzling you longingly. “I don’t think it’s perfect, but I appreciate the praise of my dick all the same. And yes, you’d like to keep our sheets clean—okay. I’ll do my best to cooperate, but only because I love you endlessly. Distract me please. You said something about food and a movie?”

-||-

“Mmmm, you feel good.” Your fingers run across his stomach, smiling when he tenses at your touch. “So warm,” you murmur, “and so solid. Your skin is so velvety soft, but your body is so hard underneath; I love it.” Your thumb dips under the waistband of his sweatpants, stroking the strip of skin between his hip bones.

“Sweet girl, I don’t think you’re watching the movie,” Brendon comments in a strained voice, touching your wrist. You toss a casual look over your shoulder toward the tv.

“Would you prefer I watch the movie?” You retract your hand and bite your lip. “Because I can definitely take my hand out of your pants, roll over, and watch… whatever this is, if that’s what you want, B.”

He groans, wrapping his hand around your wrist and bringing it up to his lips. After a soft kiss to your palm, he guides your hand back down. You curl your fingers around his cock, smiling when you find him half-hard. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.” You stroke gently, kissing him when his lips part with a soft grunt.

“Honey, that feels so fucking—your hand is so good, but I need—just a little, oh fuck—”

His hips jerk, his head tips back, and you nod, knowing what he needs. You stretch over him and rummage in the end table drawer. “There should be some,” he reassures you, and you make a small, triumphant noise, coming back with the tiny, travel-size bottle of lubricant stored there.

“Just a little,” he repeats, and you pour a dime-sized amount in your hand, tugging his sweatpants down with the other hand. “Yeah honey, that feels so damn good,” he murmurs, rocking into your newly slick grasp.

“You like that?” Your voice is soft, and he nods, biting his lip. “Love feeling your hard cock in my hand,” you whisper, tightening your fingers and speeding up. “God, just look at you,” you tell him, and both of you watch the tip of his flushed cock disappear and reappear as your hand moves over him urgently. “You’re so goddamn sexy. Love playing with your cock, stroking you and feeling you react. Love when you twitch in my hand and start leaking pre-cum, so I can go faster. This warming lube is so hot and slick; bet it’s so easy to imagine my pussy instead of my hand, imagine me riding this perfect cock until you fill me with your cum.” You’re both breathing heavily, and he cups the back of your head, bringing your mouth back to his.

“Wanna feel you, baby. Let me feel your hot, slick cunt.” Brendon slips his free hand down into your panties, groaning when he feels how wet you are. “Fuck,” he chokes out, running two fingers against you. You rock back against him, pressing down so his fingers slide into you. “That’s it, wrap your hand around my cock and jerk me off while you ride my fingers, pretty girl,” he mumbles into your mouth, finding a good rhythm with his fingers that has you trembling and whining.

You’re kissing him again, opening your mouth to his tongue, clutching him closer with your free hand, still stroking his cock desperately when the washer buzzes. “Sheets are done,” you tell him, pulling away and crawling off the couch. “Gotta put them in the dryer.”

“Don’t go,” Brendon groans, trying to keep you close, but you shake your head.

“Gotta get them in the dryer. Can’t leave them sitting there, wet.”

“You should be sitting on my cock, wet,” Brendon mumbles, and you laugh. “Yeah okay,” he admits, “that wasn’t my smoothest line. But I can’t be expected to come up with superb, flirtatious wordplay when I’ve got my sexy wife playing with my dick.”

“Shit, I’ll be right back,” you promise breathlessly. Walking a little unsteadily, you set off for the laundry room. You can feel the slickness on your inner thighs, and you’re using all your willpower to walk away from your almost naked, achingly hard husband on the couch. But if you don’t put the sheets in the dryer now, there’s no telling when you’ll do it; if you wait too long, you’ll need to rewash them.

You’ve finished moving the laundry when Brendon’s hands close over your hips; he spins you around and lifts you onto the dryer before he nudges it shut with his knee.

“Couldn’t wait for you to get back. Needed to get two fingers deep in your wet pussy and make you come.” Brendon’s voice is low and rough; you can hear how turned on he is. You whimper, wrapping your legs around his waist. He grins and kisses you hard, reaching behind you to turn the dryer on. It starts with a rumble, and you whine happily as the vibrations jolt through you.

He steps closer between your legs, and you inch to the edge so you can press against him, your slick heat only separated from his stomach by the silk of your underwear. You lean down slightly to one side, groping at his erection through his pants, and he tugs them down. His cock springs loose, and you moan, closing your hand around him again.

Brendon tangles a hand in the back of your hair, crushing his mouth over yours, tongue teasing as the dryer shakes under you. His other hand slips down into your panties, thrusting and curving urgently. You grind against his fingers while you stroke his cock, and the dryer vibrating under you pushes you closer and closer to the edge of climax.

“Fuck, Brendon,” you sigh into his mouth, and he groans in response, moving to rub your clit in small, firm circles. Your hair has fallen, and your face is flushed; between the dryer and his fingers, you can feel your orgasm coming up fast.

He leaves your mouth and moves his lips up your neck to your ear. “Gonna come for me, pretty girl? Gonna come in these panties and let me clean you up with my tongue? I want to lick your perfect cunt clean before I give you my cock and make you come all over it. You want that too?”

You nod, whimpering. You’re so fucking close.

“Then do it, baby. Come for me. Be a good girl. Come on my fingers; soak ‘em for me.” Brendon presses up slightly, and you cry out; your hand tightens around his dick as your orgasm rips through you. He curls his fingers—before your first is over, your second is starting. You’re shaking, and you know you would be, even without the dryer working under you; your strokes over him are getting sloppy and erratic. “Tighter, baby,” he gasps, and you squeeze hard. “Yeah, love that.”

He’s bucking into your fist while his fingers rock in and out of you, and part of you feels bad that he’s doing all the work, but the other, bigger, part of you just feels warmth and sparks all over. His teeth have a lock on his lower lip and his eyes are fluttering shut, so you know he’s close. “You gonna come for me?” Your voice is desperate, and you squeeze even tighter.

Brendon nods; you slide off the dryer, which momentarily pushes his fingers deeper into you—only a bonus, as far as you’re concerned. They slip from you when you drop to your knees though, and you remove your hand to take all of his cock in your mouth.

“Fuck,” he gasps and tries to keep still, not wanting to hurt you with his short, desperate thrusts. You moan around his cock and look up at him desperately; he knows exactly what you mean. You always love blowing him, but sometimes you want it a little rougher. There’s something about his hands tangled in your hair and his cock pressing to the back of your throat that makes you feel a little dirty; you love the way he calls you his perfect cockslut and tells you to swallow for him. When you give him permission, like right now, he can thrust freely, really take your mouth, and you both love how he tugs your hair while holding you still for him.

Now, your jaw slackens, and you twist your tongue over his length as he rocks in and out of your mouth urgently; you’re savoring the slightly tangy taste of pre-cum that’s replaced the lubricant. You make a circle with your thumb and index finger to wrap around the base of his cock and squeeze his balls with the other hand; his hand comes down and tugs at your hair. “Holy hell, that feels amazing,” he murmurs, “but if you want my cum in you, I can’t come right now.”

You  rise, rubbing your body against him as you tug his sweatpants back up. He grabs your ass and pulls you closer. “Missed your fucking mouth, damn. Need to get my girl off again first though.”

“Thank god, I’m so wet,” you whimper, pressing your hips forward so you can grind against him. “And you’re so damn hard; I fucking love your thick cock. Shit, I want you. Can I— can we…Bren, I need you on me. In me. Both. Please.”

Brendon knows exactly what you need, and he lifts you back up on top of the dryer. You stretch out across it and the washing machine, relishing the way the rumbling sends tremors through your body. “Pretty sure this can hold us both,” Brendon mutters as he hoists himself up and settles over you. You immediately wrap your legs around his waist and bring him closer; you can feel his cock through his sweatpants, and you rub against him needily.

“God, you feel so good,” you moan, clinging to him and grinding with greater intensity. He’s got his face buried in the crook of your neck, and he’s working back against you with urgency.

“Want to make you come,” Brendon groans in your ear as he grips your hips and thrusts hard. “Feel like a teenager again, grinding and dry humping all over the house, getting you off with your clothes on, having my cock sucked. But I wanna make you come in these pretty panties just like this again, peel them off you, and eat you out ‘til you come on my face. Gonna lick your clit, finger your sweet pussy,” he promises. “Gonna eat this perfect cunt and then fuck you so good.”

Your back arches and you squeal as your orgasm rushes through your body. Brendon is breathing hard, and you wiggle against him, begging for his cock. “Need you. Need your cock. Eat my pussy later; cock now,” you insist, and he nods decisively.

“Gonna give it to you, sweet girl.”

You’re in a fog of lust and only vaguely aware of his hands tugging your underwear down, but you’re laser-focused when he kneels between your legs on top of the dryer and shoves his sweatpants off. His cock never fails to take your breath away; he’s the perfect size, and the thickness combined with a gentle upward curve means he fills you entirely and presses right where you need him most with every thrust. Right now, he’s gripping his length with one hand, stroking slowly, and you can see the beads of precum glistening at the tip.

You reach down and spread yourself with two fingers for his view, smiling in satisfaction when he groans and his cock twitches in his grasp. “Fuck your wife,” you say simply, gasping and clutching at his back when he fills you with one fluid thrust. “God, I missed you,” you moan in his ear, lifting your hips slightly to meet him at each thrust.

“Home now, baby,” he pants, biting gently along your shoulder and grabbing your waist. “Home now and missed you so badly; a week of fucking hasn’t even begun to make up for—fuck, squeeze around my dick like that, just like that,” Brendon urges. “You want me to come in you? You want my cum deep in your perfect pussy?”

“Need it,” you whine, scratching at his back and arms. “Fill me. Fuck me. Come in me. Oh shit, I’m—Bren, don’t stop, don’t stop!”

“Be my good girl; come on my cock,” he manages, and you shriek as your vision blurs into streaks of white and black static.

Your entire body is trembling, and all you can feel are the pulsing waves of hot tension and the fullness between your thighs that always drives you wild. “Now, for you,” Brendon grunts, and his desperate kiss consumes you while his cock throbs. He spills into you; it makes you gasp happily and press yourself to him. He’s breathing hard over you, hair matted to his forehead and face flushed, and you whimper as he pulls out. No matter how much he comes in you, you still feel empty whenever he withdraws.

“Fuck, I came a lot,” he mumbles, staring down between your thighs before crawling off the washing machine and scooping you into his arms. “Should get us into the shower.”

You nod tiredly; your muscles are quivering, your mind is sated and blissfully blank, and you feel like you could fall asleep. This crash is normal for you, and Brendon dips his head down to kiss you sweetly.

“Gonna lean you up against the shower wall and scrub you down. Massage you with that body oil you love and towel-dry you before carrying you to our bed.”

“Need those fucking sheets to dry first,” you murmur, yawning and burying your face in his neck.

“Can I tell you a secret, sweet girl? I ordered new sheets. They’re on the porch; they were delivered about an hour ago.”

“Thank god,” you groan, going limp in his arms. “I fucking love you. Go get them, and then take me to the shower. Once we’re clean, I need those new sheets on the bed, followed by you on me.”

[justaguywhowritesstuff]

Hold on and Stay Safe ~Carl Grimes x OC~ Pt3

While grappling with the death of his brother in the Woodbury Vs Prison war. Gavin has to learn to live his new life with the people who killed his only living family member. Even once Gavin started to feel like he was creating a home at the prison things go awry and he's forced to flee on foot while trying to keep a promise he made before it all went to hell. As Gavin wanders the woods and fields alone, he manages to find his way to a new safe haven, Alexandria. Where he is taken in and cared for, and while those around him try to tell him otherwise Gavin still holds on to hope that his group is still out there. That Carl is still out there.

I do not own any of the characters or plot points that are not of my own creations, all credit for those go to the owners and writers of The Walking Dead.

The story will also have Carl and all others around his age (ie. Enid and Ron) aged slightly so by the end all "kids" will be 18-19 years old.

Full story on Wattpad

Carl and I didn’t talk for the rest of the day. The few times we did make eye contact he quickly looked away from me, his face expressionless. I guess that’s what happens in the apocalypse, you either shut down your emotions or learn to live with them. As the day came to a close I wandered my way up to my cell. I slipped off my boots and quickly got changed, placing my clothes either in the dirty laundry pile or back in the dresser if they weren’t too dirty from the day. After that I flopped down on my bunk, my face in the musty pillow I slept on. I flip to my back, thinking I probably shouldn’t breathe in whatever bacteria were in the pillow. As I do Patrick walks in, pushing aside the bed sheet pinned up above our door, letting in a few rays from the slowly rising moon that filtered through the windows of the main cell block. He looks at me and smiles, letting the sheet fall behind him, once more concealing the rays of moonlight. As he does I reach over and light the candle next to my bed to give us some light. While my eyes were adjusted to the darkness of the room I wasn’t sure if Patricks were. He quickly gets changed, his back to me. I stare up at the metal frame of the bunk above me, thinking about the conversation I had with Carl. I wasn’t hiding my confusion so once Patrick turned back around and saw my expression he asked. “Hey what's wrong…? You look worried.” I look over at him and sigh, sitting up slightly against the wall behind my bed. “Has…Carl ever talked to you about before we came here? Like, way before, like when he first got here?” Patrick looked a bit surprised by my question but thought for a moment. “Well, not really? He-“ Patrick let out a hard cough, looking like it surprised him as much as me. “Sorry I don’t know what that was.” He said sniffing and shaking his head. “But no he’s only ever really talked about his life before the prison I guess. Why?” He asked sniffing again, his nose sounding pretty clogged up. “Well, after you left us alone earlier today, we got into a bit of a tiff about people turning and having to…” I paused for a moment, thinking about how to phrase the rest of it. “Deal, with them.” I finish softly, leaning my head back against the wall. I hear Patrick move around the room and my mattress shift as he sits on the edge of my bunk. “That sounds pretty heavy.” He says as I sigh looking back at him. “Yeah…it wasn’t anything too bad but he wouldn’t look at me the rest of the day and I couldn’t get a read on how he was feeling,” I say with a small shrug, looking over at the slowly burning candle on my bedside table. “We’ll probably be back to normal tomorrow, it was just kinda weird and I was wondering if you guys have talked about it at all.” I see Patrick shake his head from my peripherals. I look over and shrug again. “I’m sure it’s fine, we should probably get to sleep, it’s pretty late and you're starting to sound pretty congested.” Patrick shakes his head and stands. “No I’m fine, it’s probably just the pollen and everything floating around.” He said, rubbing his nose. “But you're right, we should go to bed soon.” I watched as he slowly stood and started climbing into his bunk. “Hey, Patrick?” I ask softly, causing him to stop and look at me. I take a deep breath. “Thank you…for always being here and…” I pause once more, thinking for a moment. “Thank you for being my brother…” I say looking up at him. “After everything with my mom and Josh, I know I became kind of distant and we don’t talk as much as we use to but, I don’t know what I would do without you here,” I say fidgeting with my pj pants. Patrick didn’t speak for a few seconds, then smiled at me. “Of course, thank you for letting me be your brother.” He said then climbed up into the bed. I take a deep breath, letting out all of the anxiety of finally being able to fully open up to Patrick. I lean over and blow out the candle on my bedside table and slowly drift into sleep

[harveybwabbit92]

Emmet, texting Ingo and Fraise on their date: Playing Hide n’ Seek with my favorite nephew. I looked for him for 15 mins and couldn’t find him anywhere. I had a mini-heart attack thinking he’d gotten outside somehow then I walk by his room and heard this hoodie giggling...

{Sends them a pic of one of Ingo’s hoodies hanging off the side of Logan’s bed, and another one of Emmet’s hand lifting the hoodie revealing a smiling Logan huddled underneath.]

Ingo, proud of Logan’s creativity: Hm... My boy’s genius. 

(Ingo is texting Emmet back, his wife curiously looks over to see.)

Fraise: What are you texting?

Ingo: Oh, just telling Emmet. Now he knows how our mom and dad felt after he fell asleep in that laundry pile... Did I ever tell you about that?

[Fraise shakes her head.]

Ingo: Okay, so. When me and Emmet were around 5-6 years old, our mom was doing laundry and took Emmet’s baby blanket to be washed, at the time Emmet was verry attached to it, he would hardly go anywhere without it. And when he found it missing, instead screaming down the house like he usually did. He tracked it down to the laundry room and took a nap in the dirty clothes pile; with the blanket pulled over his head.

{Fraise cooed at the mental image, it was cute trying to picture her husband and brother-law as kiddos.]

Ingo: With the blanket covering him, Emmet was completely obscured from our mom’s sight. So... Naturally our parents freaked when they found me in our play room alone and Emmet was nowhere to be found. They looked everywhere, they had the neighbors looking everywhere. And just when they were about to call the cops? out from the Laundry room comes mom’s Sawk; carrying a groggy and very cranky Emmet...

Fraise: My Sol... I can’t imagin that sort of thing happening, I’d never let Logan out of my sight after something like that.

Ingo: Yeah... Our mom did that for bit, always made we were in the last place she left us, checking every room before she left it, eventually she mellowed out. 

(Ingo’s phone vibrates)

Emmet, texting back: Shut-up, I wanted my blankie....Your telling Fraise about this aren’t you? If you do, then I get to tell her how you broke your Big toe “Bowling champ!”

{Ingo’s tenses up as Fraise reads the text starts asking Ingo what Emmet meant?]