#doing your best. helping out. learning from your mistakes

[silens-oro]

Well Enough Alone: Part V

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Andrew "Pope" Cody x f!Reader (nicknamed Hawk) Prologue Cut the Loss (companion piece) Part I Part II Chicken Hawk (companion piece) Part III Part IV Trespassing (companion piece)

Masterlist Pope Cody Playlist

General Synopsis: Things come to light Word Count: 6k Content Warning: typical Animal Kingdom warnings AN: this one is a doozy. I'm constantly kicking my feet giggling at all of the comments and messages y'all have been kind enough to leave. the chapters keep growing larger and larger because I genuinely cannot help myself. ANYWHO, Well Enough Alone was inspired by the song of the same name by Chevelle, if anyone is interested to know. It's the first song on my Pope x Hawk playlist (listed above). please comment & reblog :)

“What are those, baby?” Smurf’s non-reaction to Pope all but slamming the bottle of pills on the counter made his eye visibly twitch. Watch what she gives you, is what Hawk said, and he did just that. When Smurf caught him switching a plate with Deran that night, Smurf switched it with hers and that is when Pope knew Hawk was telling the truth. No one spoke as they ate, but Pope never took his eyes off of Smurf. He followed her into the kitchen after everyone else was done and she was picking up. That is where they were now. 

“Don’t play dumb, Smurf. You know exactly what these are.” Smurf sighed, dropping the dirty plate she was washing back into the soapy water of the sink.

“Hawk didn’t tell you about them? I told her it wasn’t a great idea, but she insisted.” Smurf busied herself in the kitchen, and the more nonchalantly she lied to Pope, the more enraged he became. He let it simmer, building like a pressure cooker. He wouldn’t erupt quite yet because he wanted to see how far Smurf would let this play out. 

“So this was Hawk’s idea?” Pope asked Smurf. He knew it wasn’t, he wasn't stupid. As much as he wanted to fully blame Hawk out of pure frustration because of a very stupid decision she made at the behest of his mother, Pope knew this wasn’t something she’d be the mastermind of. Smurf nodded, playing dumb. 

Pope knew his mother was twisted, and he'd never put it past her to throw Hawk under the bus and reverse over her, but to hear the lies spewing from her mouth only further enraged Pope. Smurf sighed and wiped her hands on a kitchen towel before leaning against the counter to give him her attention. 

“She came to me, baby. Told me she was nervous about having you in the house. I merely recommended getting you back on a dose to even things out while you adjusted to life outside of prison. You know how Hawk is -a heart of gold with skewed intentions. Has been her whole life." Smurf said as if this was his lesson to learn. "Didn’t want to make a big deal about it, and I knew it was in your best interest, so I gave her one of your old prescriptions.” Smurf explained softly to placate him. Why was she doing this? Smurf practically pushed him in Hawk's direction the second he stepped foot in the house after his release. Pope didn't like knowing something was going on, but not knowing what it was. "A lapse in judgement on my part."

“I was arrested this morning because I failed my piss test. I was held in South Bay for six hours before they released me, and thank God I was released because it’s a mandatory year sentence for breaking parole, Smurf. I was let off on a warning.” Pope hissed at her, nearing his breaking point.

“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry. I figured she’d talk to you about it, but it looks like she didn't and you've paid the price for her mistake. Guess you never really know a person, huh?” Smurf rounded the corner and tried to reach out to him so she could pull Pope into a hug, but he stopped her by picking up the bottle and throwing it past her head -just missing her by a hair. It hit a row of glasses she had on one of the many shelves lining the kitchen and the shelf shattered behind her, raining glass in a massive clash as everything tumbled down. Smurf stood there in shock, wide eyes never leaving her eldest son.

“Every pill in that bottle is accounted for, Smurf. Every fucking one. I counted them three goddamn times.” He stalked over to his mother, crowding her against the glass covered counter, and he saw the genuine fear in her eyes. “Hawk didn’t do this.” Pope sneered down at Smurf. “You did. I almost went back to prison because of you.” Baz entered the kitchen, alarmed when he heard the glass shatter from his room and stopped short when he saw the showdown between Pope and Smurf. 

“Everything good?” Baz took tentative steps forward in case he needed to separate them. 

“No, Baz. Everything is not good.” Pope turned his attention to Baz. “I’m sure you knew about the pills too?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, man.” Baz held his hands up. Another liar, Pope thought. He looked between Baz and Smurf before shaking his head and going outside to get some air. 

“What the hell just happened?” Baz looked to Smurf, but her attention was set on the sliding door. A deep frown was set on her lips and her calculating eyes shifted to Baz. 

“A minor hiccup. I had hoped he would pull her back in, but she’s pulling him further out, Baz. Talk to her.” It was an order, not a suggestion. “We need him as level headed as he can be for this job or you don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell, baby.”  

The radio silence from Pope was killing Hawk. He didn’t come back to the house for a week after he stormed out of the driveway and she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him since. Or if he did come around, Hawk hadn’t seen him. For all she knew, he was in after she went to sleep and out before she woke up. He never left any trace of himself in her home to begin with aside from the things he kept neatly put away in the guest bedroom, as was his way -to take up as little space as possible and to go unnoticed.

Hawk didn’t have the heart to check the spare bedroom to see if his stuff was still in there. Just the thought of it being empty made her keep a wide berth from the door any time she walked past it. 

Pope screened her calls and ignored her texts altogether, and Hawk had gotten desperate enough to call Deran to see if he had seen Pope or if he was completely AWOL. 

“Yeah, he’s been around.” Deran said awkwardly, eyeing Pope as he nailed the punching bag over and over outside. “I’ll let him know you’re looking for him, Hawk.” But Hawk never heard back from Pope. All she could do was wait for him to reach out, to give her a sign of life, because he knew damn well that Hawk wouldn’t step foot at Smurf’s unless she was summoned -especially when she knew he was pissed at her. And Pope was pissed at Hawk, but he was even more furious with Smurf. 

The breeze that picked up outside gave Hawk a small respite from the oppressive end of summer heat. There was one thing that distracted her enough and kept her busy so she didn’t have to think about anything that was now out of her control -her yard. It took years of building and planting, and tedious upkeep, but all of the effort she and J put into it over the years was well worth the sight she got to see every day. Picking weeds wasn’t her favorite task to do, it was something that J -and on occasion Nicky- usually helped her with, but it needed to be done and she desperately needed the distraction. 

Hawk pulled a particularly thick weed out of her bed of beautiful, golden California Poppies when she heard the gate to her backyard creak open. Her head snapped in its direction and saw Baz letting himself into the backyard.

“Hey, stranger,” He called out with a wave, “Long time, no see.”

“What do you want, Baz?” She pulled another weed, then settled the soil back into place.

“Just coming over to check on you. Figure you’d know what’s going on with Pope.” He said with a shrug.

“Haven’t seen him in a week, so no.” She grunted as she pulled another out, tossing it onto the growing pile.

“But you know why he’s been gone?”

“Of course I know why he’s been gone, Baz. And I’m sure you do too, so stop fishing for information. If Pope didn’t directly tell you, then he doesn’t want you in his business, and if he doesn’t want you in his business, then you’re not getting anything out of me. I’ve already pissed him off enough for the foreseeable future.”

“I genuinely just wanted to make sure you were alright. He and Smurf duked it out and he uh…” 

“I’m fine.” Hawk snapped, yanking another weed from the dirt. Baz sighed, rubbing a hand over this mouth. He was the last person Hawk wanted to discuss any of this with and he was well aware of that fact, but he needed to get her comfortable. Baz squatted down to Hawk’s level, his forearms resting on his thighs while his hands were clasped together.

“He’s only punishing you because he can’t punish Smurf. You know that, right? He knows this was all her, but he can’t do anything about it, so he’s taking it out on you.”  

“Listen,” Hawk grunted as she stood up, wiping the dirt from her knees and ripping the work gloves off of her hands and tossing them to the ground next to her gardening tools. Baz followed her up, his knees cracking as he did so. “I don’t need you to play mediator between me and Pope, and I sure as hell don’t need you to come over here to do Smurf’s dirty work for her.” Hawk knew damn well that Baz would never bridge this gap for Pope. This had Smurf’s stench all over it. “Smurf put me in an incredibly shitty position and as far as I’m concerned, if she has anything to say to me about this, she can stop hiding behind you and say it to my fucking face.”

“I understand that you’re angry, I do, but sometimes we have to do things, Hawk. They don’t feel good, but it’s the best for everyone in the long run. And it was best for Pope had you just done it.”

“That’s a load of bullshit, Baz. Pope doesn’t benefit from the meds, you do. Smurf does.” Baz nodded, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Sure, but you better add yourself to that list too, Hawk, because that’s the version of Pope that you’ve been shacking up with. The one that’s coming back is going to be very different from the one that left, let me tell you.”

“You really are a piece of work, you know that, Baz? A real fucking piece of work.”

“Look, I didn’t come here to argue with you. If I wanted to argue with a brick wall, I’d stay home with Cath.”

“Oh yeah, because Cath’s the brick wall between the two of you.” Hawk scoffed, walking past Baz and up to the porch where her water bottle was sitting on the table. Baz took the jab with a bite to his lip so he didn’t respond in a way he would’ve had it been one of his brothers. She’s hurting and cornered, he told himself. “Why are you really here, Baz? To check on me? Fine, you’ve checked on me. I’m alright. I’m okay. You can report back to Smurf that things are all fine and dandy on the western front.” Hawk took a long drink of water and sat down. Baz sat across from her, his back to the sun.   

“You’ve distanced yourself from everyone. I know you like your space, but…It doesn’t matter how hard you’ve tried to claw your way out of this family, Chickenhawk, you’ve always found your way back in it. And now that you have…whatever is going on between you and Pope-”

“Considering he’s avoiding me like the fucking plague, there isn’t anything happening between us, Baz. Not anymore. You missed your window of opportunity for whatever bullshit you’re trying to sell me.” 

“Pope needs time. He knows who was pulling the strings, Hawk. I think he would’ve killed Smurf if I didn’t step in when I did. For what she did to him, and to you. I know he thought about it. I know he’s still thinking about it and I don’t blame him. I’m just asking you to give him some grace, alright? and be there when he’s ready to come back because he will come back. Whether you know it or not, you’ve been the center of his world since the very first time you went to visit him in Folsom and he’s been chasing your shadow since you were thirteen. You could ask him to strap a bomb to his chest and jump off of a building and he’d do it, Hawk. That’s a power you didn’t even know you had.” Hawk scoffed, shaking her head. “He’s changed for the better since he’s been around you, you know?” 

“Did he change or are you now just starting to pay attention to who he is? Because he’s not this horrible monster you and Smurf try to make him out to be with everyone else. He has his quirks, but that’s just being a goddamned human trying to navigate this fucking world.”

“You’re good for him,” Baz sidestepped Hawk’s question. “Knew you would be. It only took about twenty years for both of you to get your heads out of your asses.” He tried to lighten the mood, but Hawk learned very early on to never let her guard down around Baz. He was a sweet talker, an expert at manipulating through conversation and Hawk knew better than to let his words break down the walls of protection she had carefully crafted in her youth when it came to him because if Baz was anything, it was a snake in the grass. 

He was groomed by the best, after all. 

“Don’t you miss being in the thick of it?” He leaned on the table towards Hawk. “I know you miss the rush, the adrenaline of a successful job, and we were only doing small takes then. Now…we’ve got something big coming up.”

“The things I was involved with before…I’m not going back to that, Baz. I don’t need to. I "got away" with those things because I was a kid and my record was expunged. Unlike you guys, I’ve learned my lesson. I have too much at stake now to risk it on whatever bullshit you guys have cooked up, alright? I don’t want to know what you’re up to because I want zero involvement in it.”  

"Can't blame me for reminiscing on the good ol' days." Baz leaned back into the chair.

“Some of us don’t like reminiscing on the good ol’ days, Baz. For some of us, they were bad ol’ days.” She joked, but there wasn't an ounce of humor in her voice.

“There you go again, Hawk. I remember how close we all were. The shit we got into. How Smurf wanted to beat all of our asses when she’d have to bail us out. They were crazy, but they were good.” 

“Again, not my recollection of things.”

“You were one of us, Hawk. Always have been. Always will be.”

“No. I was always an outsider, Baz, held at arm’s length even when I was living there. And I still am, on purpose.”

“You made yourself feel like that, Hawk. You separated yourself from us when you didn’t have to. Smurf loved you in her own way, and she still does. You know that.”

“She loved being able to control an impressionable teenager, Baz. Your experience in that house and my experience in that house were two very different things. I was never family, not like you were, because I put up resistance.”

“You used to be.” He pushed. “You were family to Julia.” 

“Because I was all she had left.” Hawk’s eyes bore into Baz’s. “Smurf couldn’t manipulate us as well as she could manipulate you and the other boys. Why do you think she let me leave?” 

“She let you leave because she knew you’d flourish on your own, and she was right. Look at you now. Got this beautiful house right on a hill overlooking the fucking ocean, an impressive business you built from the ground up. You have properties on the other side of the country. All of it legit. You’ve got it made, Hawk. The only thing you're missing is your family.” It was as earnest as Hawk had ever seen Baz, but she knew it wasn’t genuine. “You did good with the kid -I really mean that. J’s sharper than a knife and he’s got a good head on his shoulders. You did the best with what you had and you did better than any of us ever could. And you did that alone, Hawk. Having Lena has been hard as hell and I have Cath. I couldn’t imagine doing that on my own. You’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for.” Oh he was really trying to butter her up. 

“You want something. Or Smurf. Either way, my answer is no.” Hawk got up, grabbed her water, and turned to make her way back into the house, kicking her sandals off at the door. Baz was quick to follow her, sliding the door shut behind him. “I didn’t extend the invitation to come inside.” She said over her shoulder as she washed her hands and arms in the kitchen sink. Baz stood in Hawk’s kitchen with his arms crossed and a thick brow raised. “I’m serious, Baz. Whatever it is, I don’t want any part of it.”

“We need you.” Hawk laughed, loud and sharp, as she dried her hands on a kitchen towel. 

“You need me?” She teased, but there was nothing nice or kind about it.

“Yes, we need you, Hawk.”

“Listen, I have the time for this, but I’m not wasting it on you, so if you could please show yourself out,” She motioned to the front door with a wave of her arm as she grabbed a beer from the fridge and padded into the sunken living room to relax. “That means leave, Baz. Get out. Scram. Be gone.” Hawk snapped as she dropped down to the sofa, kicking her bare feet up on the table as she twisted the cap off the bottle of beer. Still, Baz followed her and took a seat on the coffee table next to her feet.

“This job, Hawk…we can’t move forward unless we have you. Just hear me out. That’s all I’m asking.” Baz pleaded. 

“How does Pope feel about this?” Hawk asked with a brow raised and a smirk gracing her lips. She knew he’d never agree to this, in any capacity, because Pope knew how she felt about all of it. 

“Pope doesn't know.” That might’ve been the first truthful thing he’s said since he stepped foot on Hawk’s property. “You’re not going to be directly involved with the job, but we need you for information pertaining to it.” 

“Leave, Baz.”

“You just have to come to Smurf’s for a dinner tonight. You know Paul Belmont?” Hawk’s brows furrowed. What the hell were they doing with Nicky’s dad? 

“Moderately.” Hawk glared openly at him. 

“But he’s familiar with you? He asked about you by name when I spoke to him last.”

“What the hell are you doing talking to Paul Belmont?”

“You’re either in or you’re out, Hawk. You want to know what we’re doing with Paul Belmont? Give me a yes.”

Hawk turned to Baz as Paul backed the mainly car out of Smurf’s driveway. Her arms were crossed and a heavy frown pulled her features down. “You are beyond stupid if you go through with this, Baz. You’re willing to risk federal prison?” 

“No one’s going to go to prison, Hawk.”

“You say that about the bank heist, too?” They held eye contact for a moment before Hawk looked at J. She still didn’t know where he stood with things, and at this point in the night she wanted to just go home and take a hot bath with a glass of wine. Hawk glanced at Smurf, who was watching her every movement. Hawk didn’t say another word to anyone as she got in her own SUV and took off back home. 

Another three days passed and Hawk still hadn’t seen nor spoken to Pope. She was reaching the point of acceptance that he was done with her. The trust that was severed was too great to overcome on his end and so she simply let sleeping dogs lie. Her life went back to the way it was before Pope was released from prison, albeit somehow more depressing and isolated than before. She took up more time at the shop, filling orders, helping customers, and propagating new plants that came in so she could build her stock. 

Hawk didn’t hear from any of the Cody’s following the dinner with Nicky’s parents, aside from a 'thank you' text from Baz, and she was eternally grateful that they’ve all collectively decided to leave her alone for the time being. 

Hawk’s head perked up when she heard her full government name spoken from the other side of the register. 

“Detective Yates, this is my partner Detective Fischer.” The woman motioned to the man next to her. Both flashed badges. “We were wondering if you had a few moments to answer some questions?”

“What’s this pertaining to?” Hawk crossed her arms over her chest. 

“You know exactly what this is pertaining to.” Yates stated.

“I really don’t.” Hawk shook her head. 

“I’d suggest you take a few steps outside with us, unless you want your customers to hear about the crime family you have entangled yourself with.” Yates raised her voice just loud enough to get the attention of the people in the shop. 

“We just need to ask a few questions and we’ll be on our way,” Fischer interjected, eyes pleading with his partner to not escalate. “We won’t take much of your time.” Hawk nodded over to Jane without another word and took a few steps outside the shop. 

“There better be a damn good reason for you to come into my business and do this horse shit.” Hawk snapped at Yates. 

“Janine Cody a good enough reason for you?” Yates asked, hands moving to her hips as she stared Hawk down. “How about Joshua Cody? Catherine Cody? Know them?” 

“What about them?” Yates said Hawk’s real name with a shake of her head. 

“Joshua's in danger, and so is Catherine.” Tell Hawk something she didn’t already know. “Josh was unofficially in your care for the majority of his life. I know you care about him and he cares about you a great deal. You want him to be safe and as long as he’s with Janine and his uncles, he will never be safe.” 

“You have the wrong one, Detective Yates. I’m not interested in anything you have to say.” Hawk turned to go back in the shop, but Yates opened her mouth again. 

“You’re also in danger. I don’t know who you think Andrew Cody is, but I can guarantee you that-”

“That what?” Hawk spun around and got in the detective’s face. “Anything you say isn’t anything I haven’t heard before. You’re gonna have to try harder.”

“Catherine can read between the lines, Hawk. She wants to protect her child and I don’t blame her. These men are dangerous, and Janine is worse. I don’t need to tell you that. At some point she will turn on you -he will turn on you- and when that time comes, it’ll be too late for us to help you.” Cath wouldn't be stupid enough to talk to these two idiots, Hawk thought to herself. They had to be bluffing. They probably tried to approach her like they were doing with Hawk and she told them to screw. Cath was smarter than that. “And not to alarm you, Hawk, but we haven’t been able to contact Catherine in nearly two days.” 

“I haven’t heard from her. Cath and I aren’t close. I like to keep my distance from any of them.”

“Except when Pope Cody is in your bed.” Yates interjected. “You’re his contact and address for the parole board. We've had an eye on you.” 

“Then you know that you've got nothing." Hawk said with a grin. "Would you believe me if I said Pope was the sanest out of all of 'em?” 

“How about this for a joke? Do you know what Josh has been up to? Say the last…three weeks or so.” Hawk hadn’t. She hasn’t seen much of J and neither had Smurf. “Figured as much.” Yates felt like she had the upper hand when she saw the look on Hawk’s face. “Or maybe what he’s been up to since he went to live with the Cody’s? He’s been busy, Hawk, I’ll tell you that much.” 

“I don’t have time for this.” Hawk shook her head and was about to push the door open when Yates dropped the bombshell. And then another. And one more for good measure. 

We need to talk at the house. Just us. Tonight. Hawk’s thumb hovered over the send button before pressing it. A few minutes passed before the three bubbles popped up followed by J’s response. 

Be there in 30

“Hey,” J breathed out as he hugged Hawk. She had a very severe look on her face and the atmosphere in the house was dour as he followed her to the kitchen. He took a seat and Hawk leaned back against the counter, watching him as his eyes bounced around the kitchen nervously. 

“Some very interesting people came by the shop today, J. Two detectives.” By the look on his face, he knew where this was going. They told him they were going to pay Hawk a visit and they hadn’t been lying. “Against my better judgement, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, Josh. Is what they told me even remotely true?” Cops lied, that was a given, but the details they told her were too familiar to not be true.

They wanted to shake her and they’d been successful. 

“What did they tell you?” Hawk breathed out an incredulous laugh as she dropped her head before looking back at him, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“That tells me all I need to know.” She was pissed. Hawk was understanding to a fault and when she was pushed to have an outward response it was for good reason. 

“No, what did they tell you, Hawk?”

“That you’ve been talking to them. That you’ve been telling them about what’s been going on with Smurf and your uncles. That you’ve been…Jesus Christ, Josh. Are you screwing your teacher? You are seventeen, Joshua! She is probably thirty! If she wasn’t protected by the police, I’d drag her ass out of that house myself and show her what happens to adults who do shit like this to kids. Because you are still a kid! How could you be so stupid?!”

“I thought-”

“No you didn’t! If you thought, you would’ve never and I mean never have gotten yourself involved with her. And you never would’ve spoken to a cop. Ever! When I told you to come to me for anything, this is what I fucking meant, Josh!”

“I’m sorry, Hawk!” J shouted, standing and running his hands over his face.

“They also told me that you’re involved.”

“What?” He picked his head up to look at Hawk.

“Are you?”

“Hawk-”

“-Are you involved with their jobs?” Hawk pushed, her eyes unrelentingly probing his for the truth. She shook her head, biting her lip in agitation when he didn’t answer. “I told you. I told you not to get in the middle of any of their shit, Joshua. I fucking told you.” Hawk wasn’t the type to reprimand, but it seemed that the Cody’s brought out the worst in her as of recent and J was no exception. 

“You think I’d be in the middle of this shit if it was that easy to say no? You have no idea-” J felt like his back was against the wall, cornered like a rat with no where to hide, so he started lashing out. 

“-I know exactly what it is like to live in that fucking house! You play stupid and don’t. Get. Involved.” Hawk shouted, slamming her palm on the island. “I lived that nightmare for five years, J, and I came out the other side in spite of it. For five years I lived under Smurf’s thumb, used and manipulated, then let go when I wasn’t of use to her anymore. Because that’s what she does. That’s what they all do.”

“Even Pope?” J knew bringing up whatever was going on between Hawk and Pope was a dirty play, and he regretted saying it the second it left his mouth. J didn’t want to hurt Hawk, not intentionally. She was the single person who has looked out for him since day one on this planet and he had disappointed her in such a catastrophic way that he didn’t think she’d ever forgive him for it. Add on the world of shit he was in with Alexa and those two detectives, and J couldn’t fathom how he was getting himself out of any of it. 

“I fucking guess so.” Pope had the balls to give her the silent treatment over a poor decision when he himself was purposefully doing this shit behind her back. He was in for a reckoning the next time they crossed paths and he didn’t even fucking know it. 

Hawk should’ve expected the deception from Pope, but it still hurt. Hawk trusted him and maybe she was blinded to think he’d never do something like this to her, but he was a Cody through and through. 

With her head tilted down, eyes squeezed shut, she had to know how deep J was in it. “What the hell did they make you do?” Her voice was just above a whisper, the anger gone and replaced with resignation. 

“They didn’t make me.” J’s voice was just as low. He didn’t want to say it out loud, to let Hawk know he was no better than the uncles she protected him from his whole life. 

“J,” She sighed, turning to pace the kitchen with her hands pushed tightly against her waist. 

“That night that the cop died,” He admitted, and there it was, that look that J knew was coming. The look of unbridled devastation cast itself over Hawk’s entire being and tears welled in her eyes. 

“You just moved into that fucking house and they already had you doing jobs?!” Her eyes were looking all over the room, her brain putting a timeline together, before her eyes landed back on J. “The night you came home beat up. That’s the night that cop died -you lied to me. You fucking lied to me and you’ve been lying to me, J. What the fuck did you do?” She sounded absolutely gutted. 

“I helped Pope get a car that night. The guy we stole it from is the one who,” J motioned up to his face. 

“Pope took the fall for it. For both of you. He said you weren’t involved in any of it. Said it straight to my face that you had nothing to do with-” Hawk stopped herself short, shaking her head. She was an idiot. She wanted to believe Pope.

“What the fuck is wrong with the men in this family,” Hawk shouted, storming out of the kitchen. She didn’t know where she was going, but she needed to move or she’d combust. As much as she didn’t want to, Hawk felt her bottom lip wobble and knew tears were following closely behind.

“Hawk,” She put her shaking hand up to stop him from getting closer to her as she returned to the kitchen. 

“Don’t. Do not.” Her breathing got heavier. Hawk stopped on the other side of the kitchen, the entire length of the island acting as a barrier between them. “You wanted to do it. After everything, you still wanted to do it.”

“Not initially. You told me to do what I needed to so I didn’t rock the boat. What the hell was I supposed to do with Pope breathing down my neck? You left me to the goddamn wolves!” He knew he was grasping at straws. Just yesterday afternoon he got into Camp Pendleton and got this most recent job rolling. It was a rush he never felt before when he made it out unscathed, but it had been a close call on his way out. He’d never tell any of this to Hawk, but he did actually enjoy himself. 

“I-” She had to stop herself with an incredulous laugh. “I left you?! That’s what you think? That I left you?” Her tears finally fell and J felt like the world’s biggest piece of shit. He was angry and frustrated, and Hawk was the only person he could take it out on because she was the only one there who would take it. “No one wins against Janine Cody, Josh. No one. Not me, not you, not Julia, not her fucking sons, not anyone. If I went against her, I would’ve never seen you again. In fact, she’d probably have my body dumped somewhere in the desert for the fucking buzzards to pick at. If Smurf finds out you’ve been talking to the cops, she’s going to kill you, do you understand me? There isn’t a single person on this planet who can save you from her.” 

“I fucked up, Hawk. I know I fucked up and I don’t know what to do.” 

“You fix this. I don’t know what you need to do, but you got yourself into this and now it's time to grow up, J. This is serious shit. It gets fixed or were both fucking dead.”

Hawk should’ve listened to her gut when she said that she didn’t want to open the doors that came with her involvement with Pope. It wasn't his fault, partially, and Deep down she knew this wouldn’t end well for herself or anyone else involved. Hawk wanted to love him and be loved by him, and she knew he wanted to be loved in return. Deep down Hawk knew loved Pope, but that love didn’t outweigh the hurt that seemed to weigh Hawk down to her mattress as she sat against her headboard with a bottle of wine locked in her grasp. It was the only thing that took the edge off for her, but she hated how sad she felt when she got to the bottom of the bottle. 

The anger Hawk felt for Pope had dissipated and in its place the oppressive shadow of self-doubt and misery took form. Was this what her life was destined to be? She drained the last of the bottle and slumped over a bit, letting her weight lean against the plush pillows. 

“Another night spent alone in an empty bed, in an empty house and with an empty bottle.” Hawk slurred, messily trying to kick her way under the comforter. Once she was comfortable enough, she flicked the lamp on the bedside table off and was out the second she closed her eyes. 

The clock on Pope’s dashboard read 4:16 AM as he sat in his truck in Hawk’s driveway. He felt his heart pound in his chest and the dirt grated under his fingernails as he tried to drown out the thoughts that assaulted his brain after what he just did. Pope’s done a lot of horrible shit in his life -he’s hurt a lot of people, but this…this he would never forgive himself for. 

Pope sighed as he got out of the truck, closing the door quietly as he went up the walkway and let himself in. He toed his boots off, setting them neatly on the shelf next to Hawk’s shoes and padded down the hall. Hawk’s door was wide open, catching his attention. She was spread out in her stomach, face smashed into her pillow, and one leg hanging over the side of the mattress. Pope saw the empty bottle on her nightstand and took a few steps into the room. 

Pope needed to touch her, to feel her. He needed her warmth and the comfort that he only ever felt when she held him. He didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve her, and if Hawk ever found out about what he just did, he would probably take himself out before he could see the way she’d look at him for the monster he really was. 

He silently undressed, save for his boxer briefs, and crawled into Hawk’s bed. He lifted the comforter, pushing it down so he could gently turn Hawk over to lay on her back. She mumbled incoherently and Pope could smell the wine on her breath. 

Once Hawk was positioned on her side facing him as Pope needed her to be, he laid his head on her chest and let her arm fall over his waist. Pope’s arms wrapping around her waist to hold her as tightly to him as he could. Hawk’s other arm was placed over Pope’s shoulder and her fingers started to gently twist the curls at the nape of his neck the second they came into contact. 

The tears of agony Pope held in finally fell when he felt her hand in his hair. He didn’t move, he didn’t shake. He just laid there and cried, silently pleading for a forgiveness that he knew he’d never receive -especially not from her. 

please comment & reblog :)

[gcmercury]

doing things you suck at is important

I'm a Gojo gagger and I come by it honestly. I love him from the depths of my soul, he is very special. Does it come from the fact that I relate to him greatly? Maybe so. I cried harder when Ch 236 was leaked than I have at the loss of my last few relationships and personal tragedies that befell me. Why is this?

It's because Gege Akutami managed to put something I had felt my whole life into words. To be able to convey that sort of private loneliness, the one that comes from someone who's been through a great deal and although they've done their best to overcome, it still follows them. It's the Gojo that held himself apart from others, because something in him just couldn't bring himself to either let them in or he just didn't know how to in the same way others do.

It's lonely being neurodivergent. I relate to the messiness of Gojo's delivery when it comes to his feelings. I may say a few grand words and desperately hope they will understand because I can't say anything else. When pushed to the edge, I too am not able to mask and have also been called cruel and cold. "The kind of person who can cut their friends off out of nowhere, so what's to say I'm not next?" I had a (now former) friend say that to me. Recently. And yeah I proved them right I guess.

I feel it all. I have so much feeling to me I've had to learn how to bottle it and use it constructively, or I'd drive myself into ruin. Like learning to harness cursed energy, to use it efficiently.

Like Gojo, maybe I am overlooking the few people that do understand me in some sense. But at the same time I can't help how I feel. I have that part to me that always knows that pang of loneliness, the kind you just know existed before you really knew what it was. There was no reason for it, but you felt it all the same.

I cried because I know the feeling of loving those around you and knowing how much they love you too, and yet knowing what you feel is beyond them. I cried because it gave me hope that when it's my time someday, I'll be surrounded by my friends and family and pets who left before me and I won't be alone, even if I feel lonely my whole life. I cried because of the deep enjoyment of living out your life in a manner that is befitting of who you are despite every sorrow along the way.

Gojo inspired me in a way that woke me up inside during the summer of 2023. I started doing things again I had been subconsciously telling myself I wasn't capable of anymore and proving those thoughts wrong. I felt powerful and motivated and passionate, to be the most of myself.

His death absolutely crushed me. I still can't think about it or read Ch 236 without crying. Hell, I can barely bring myself to re-read parts of Gojo vs Sukuna without getting ridiculously emotional knowing how it ends (And I have this great love for Sukuna too).

Gojo is someone that has millions of admirers and fans. Sometimes I want to curse Gege for writing him so meta. For me, nothing hurts worse than someone loving you for their own fantasy of who you are. They project their fantasies about who they think you are and how you should act onto you, and then get extremely upset when you refuse to comply.

Which finally brings me to the point of this post. I love all of Gojo, and especially his rough edges that make him so real. It's why all of the JJK characters feel so real, because Gege wrote them as if they were, with the mistakes and messy feelings that come with being a real person.

I love that Gojo isn't this perfect mentor/teacher figure. He's late all the time. He's not prepared for class. He's too nonchalant. He's a natural genius and can't teach for shit. He still throws the important details to others. He's made some questionable decisions.

He doesn't have Geto there anymore to bounce things off of, to tell him maybe he shouldn't Hollow Purple Hanami, because they can't tell if that Special Grade curse was exorcised or not LMFAO. So Gojo has to make his own choices, and he is who he is. He makes choices based on that, and really, he does his best. One of my absolute favorite moments in JJK is this beautiful quote by Choso:

Gojo's at the top, and people are looking to him. In that way, he doesn't exactly have someone to ask if he's doing the right things or not. He had to make his choices and live with them, and so he kept making mistakes. He even made some of the same ones multiple times (which is certainly humbling irl).

He sought Megumi out for his talent, to hopefully be his first 'Strong And Intelligent Ally' -- a five, maybe six year old kid. That's not something most people would do, but maybe it speaks to the great respect Gojo has for youth/young people to place his future hopes there. It's evident enough that Gojo tried his best to teach Megumi about jujutsu, while trying to let him still be a kid. Megumi did continue to live with Tsumiki, he attended a normal elementary and middle school. Gojo would even pop in to bug him and take him out for some non-jujutsu related fun:

(The translations of the LNs vary, the printed version says "... Fushiguro was ready for a long haul, similar to one of those Sunday mornings when Gojo would say, 'Megumi, shall we go to Parque España?'")

However, Gojo also had this idea that maybe Megumi would be on his level someday, and then maybe he could understand him. He knows the potential that Megumi holds, and he tried to foster it, and with that, placed expectations on Megumi, who is a very different person than Gojo. Gojo shares bits of his own personal philosophies with him because he recognizes Megumi's talents. There's good intentions behind it -- to never throw one's life away, and the mindset with which you do things matters a great deal.

But for Megumi, who's already struggling with the weight of all the baggage he never asked for and was born with, it's a lot. He does heed Gojo's (and Sukuna's) advice and we see the progress he's able to make mentally and physically, only for him to revert in Shibuya when he summons Mahoraga.

Gojo may have put too much on Megumi, some consciously and some unconsciously. Gojo can only operate in the manner that he knows, and as someone who is a product of his own unfortunate circumstances, he can only project his own experiences. He was an imperfect benefactor/mentor/parental figure of sorts to Megumi, however you read their relationship.

During his time in the Prison Realm, Gojo was forced to really take a look at himself as well as accept certain things. I think it's subtly stated, but supported by his and Yuji's final conversation, that he recognizes the pressure he put on Megumi to rise to his full potential, baked into this beautiful sentiment:

His students don't have to be like him to be strong. He recognizes that there are other great strengths that surpass his own, these things he couldn't do that these brilliant young people can. He's accepted that someone doesn't have to live up to their full potential to have that sort of strength.

He knows that Megumi is just Megumi. And that there's nothing wrong with that. He says as much with the note he left him about killing Toji. That everything is alright between them. As long as Megumi has the desire to live, that's all that really matters. And that he isn't alone (That was the most important thing, that his students weren't alone if something happened to him. Even if in the end he wasn't able to reform the system, he wanted those kids to have someone).

I kinda went on a mini tangent of sorts there, but the point is that Gojo made a lot of mistakes, just like anyone else. He misread Toji's strategy. He wasn't able to save Geto from defecting. He didn't cremate Geto's body and the Shibuya Incident happened. He got rid of all cursed tools that could forcibly dispel his Cursed Technique. He said something racist to Miguel. He misread Sukuna's strategy.

He knew what it was like to lose. He knew the feeling of failure. He carried a lot of unspoken guilt and that twinge of regret with him. He explains in Ch 236 how he stopped feeling like a person, yet he never cast these feelings out. He was much more human than he felt like or realized.

Gojo may have struggled as a teacher, but he came through for his students in the ways it really mattered. He sucked at trying to explain things, but it didn't matter because his heart was in the right place. Because he had a real passion and a deep, unrelenting drive for what he was trying to do. That is so inspiring.

I love that he did his best to protect them, but knew that they would face heartbreak, pain, tragedy one day, and they would need the right tools to be able to handle it. You can't remove sadness, suffering, anger, hatred from the world. There will always be those with ill intentions. To not let those things kill your heart (like what happened with Geto), that's what he wished for his students.

Yuji didn't lay his grandfather to rest alone. He put Yuji's room right next to Megumi's. Gave Megumi the better seat outside. Put in a personal request for Yuji's uniform because he thought he was fond of hoodies. Gave kids who are outcasted or ostracized a place to belong and develop confidence, a reason to live. Organized the baseball game for the final day of the Goodwill Event. Wanted to give his absolute best because his students were watching and he cares what they think. Tracked down Nobara's mom in the case that she would maybe want to see her. Saw Ijichi's talents and pushed him in that direction even if he was an asshole about it. Broke the cycle by giving Megumi the choice for a different path than the one he himself had as a clan kid.

When he says he loves everyone, he meant it.

Gojo could have lived a life full of nothing but things he absolutely excelled at. Instead, he challenged himself doing things he knew he wasn't well suited for because they were important.

If you're really passionate about something, who cares if you suck?

If your hearts really in it, isn't it worth it to struggle?

We learn about ourselves when we purposefully set out to do things we know are difficult for us. It might feel good to do the things we know we can nail, but it doesn't keep us sharp.

Don't lose the feeling of what it's like to fail. Keep failing over and over. Keep making mistakes, even the same ones. It takes courage to fail and even more to laugh at ourselves and carry on when we do. That is its own, supreme strength too.

I am so horrible at a great many things. But I'm gonna do the things I love, even if I am never good at them. I don't think I'll ever be able to stop saying "like" and "um" and "you know" a million times when I'm trying to speak, but that doesn't matter. I'm gonna say it anyway.

I love people who make mistakes too because it keeps us all human. And I love Gojo for the same reason.

[ivyrosewater]

Here's a preview of all of my upcoming works! I'm doing my best to work on them but it's definitely a slow process! 🫶🫶

QH43 -- Can I Get Your Number?: When the Hughes Bowl rolls around, otherwise known as the Canucks vs. Devils game, you obviously have to come and support your boyfriend. The only problem is, no one knows you two are together, and all Quinn’s given you to help is his jersey.

JH86 -- Teach Me?: As Jack’s new girlfriend, all he wants to do is show you off. You’ve been on a few dates before, but your first real opportunity to present it to the public is at the family skate. But. the thing is, you don’t quite know how to skate even the slightest bit.

LH43 -- I Hate Horror Movies: On a cozy night in on one of Luke’s off days, you decide on a movie date night. You both decide to surprise each other with your movie choices, and you decide on a horror movie, not knowing how much Luke hates them.

SJ24 -- One Beautiful Mistake: You and Seth have been dating for over a year, everything going in the right direction, even moving in together already. But one day, you find out you’re pregnant, and you just don’t know how to tell him.

NH13 -- Under Wraps: Keeping a relationship hidden from the media is one thing. Hiding one from your nosy and protective brothers was even harder, especially one involving the younger two’s team captain, the one and only Nico Hischier.

CM8 -- Behind the Scenes: a Hockey Boyfriend: When you first start dating a hockey player, there’s much to learn. One of the most important is learning all about hockey, especially when your boyfriend is the one and only Cale Makar, and when you are completely lost when it comes to all things hockey.

WJ53 -- Home is Where the Heart Is: You and Wyatt have been together as long as he’s been playing in the NHL, having gotten together senior year of high school in Ontario. Long distance has been a struggle, to say the least, but you do your best to show up to a few games here and there with your busy college schedule. After a contract is signed to keep Wyatt on the Stars, you decide to surprise him by moving to Dallas too.

LD29 -- Take Me Into Your Loving Arms: Leon has always tended to be hard on himself, especially during losses. When his team makes it all the way to the Stanley Cup Finals, only to lose it all in the end, he’s distraught. Thankfully, he has you waiting at home for him just a flight away, more than ready to comfort him through it all.

CB98 -- Meet Me in Chicago: Connor knew you were special from the day he met you, all the way back in middle school. He had the biggest crush on you for years and years, but he never had the courage to ask you out, missing out on his opportunity when hockey took over his life. When he got drafted by Chicago, the last thing he expected was for you to follow, but it turned out you also were going to college there. It was a sign, and now that he was in the big leagues, there was no way you could say no, right?

TZ11 -- Break the Ice: Trevor’s life has revolved around hockey for as long as he could remember. He’d been taught all his life that ice was meant to be used for hockey, not by dainty figure skaters. So what happens when a scheduling mishap makes the Ducks have to share the ice with you, an up and coming figure skater, for a week?

AS37 -- Good Luck Charm: Andrei has never believed in silly superstitions, finding them a waste of time when he had plenty of other things to worry about. That is, until you, his girlfriend of a few months, shows up unexpectedly to one of his home games, and he scores not once, not twice, but gets a hattie.

MR73 -- May Flowers: Matt, your long-time boyfriend knows your two favorite things like the back of his hand; spring and flowers. So, when his team is officially knocked out of the playoffs, it’s the perfect spring weather he needs to take you on a picnic date of your dreams in blossoming Central Park.  

LN4 -- Dumb Ways to Meet: Lando has always been a reckless and aggressive driver on the roads, everyone knew that. You, on the other hand, have been anything but, always managing to keep your cool even in the stupidity other drivers cause. The last thing you expected was to meet an F1 driver, and especially not in this situation; in a car crash.

CL16 -- Life In the Fast Lane: Charles often got frustrated with the engineers of Ferarri. Often times, the strategy didn’t make sense, and the races usually ended poorly because of it. When the new season rolls around, they have replaced his race engineer, bringing you in instead, a talented engineer that used to work for Mercedes. Things immediately start to look up, him ending up on the podium for the past few races, and all because of you. On top of it all, he can’t help but fall for you, loving to hear your voice guiding him to victory. Will he risk it all by getting with you, or will he let you drive by just as fast as the cars around him do?

MV1 -- Hey Jealousy: Max was a person that got upset easily, that much was obvious. So when he gets with you, one of the top mechanics for Ferarri, something is practically certain to go wrong. Everyone else knew you and Charles were only good friends, but in Max’s eyes it was anything but friendly, resulting in a jealous and grouchy Redbull racer.

OP81 -- All Fun and Games: You and Oscar loved to play video games together, as it was something simple you two could bond over. The only thing that you haven’t played before is his racing simulator. When you bring it up that you want to try, Oscar is only the slightest bit hesitant, but he does let you try one round on it. It certainly caught him off guard though when you ended up beating his best time on the circuit.

LH44 -- No Risk, No Reward: Lewis was always a calm and collected driver, making calculated decisions and overtakes. So, when he gets crashed into during qualifying and spins out into the barriers, you can’t help but immediately panic and worry about him the entire time until you know he’s okay.

CS55 -- How Do You Say It?: Carlos has always loved to call you countless nicknames and give you sweet messages in Spanish. The thing is, you don’t always understand them. So, you decided to take matters into your own hands and learn Spanish on your own, but it’s not nearly as good as being taught by your Spanish boyfriend.

The Grid -- The Art of Being Spoiled: the times your sugar daddy boyfriends have tried (and succeeded) in spoiling you.

[burnedself]

Something something all of the Doctor's post Time War incarnations being colored by it vs one of 12's last statements being about 'leaving the battlefield' something something 13 being more emotionally well-adjusted in contrast something something

[nanamisgirly]

feed back and reblogs are always appreciated my girliees <333

part.2 part.3

virgin!nerdjo who pulled a total certified baddie in college by being…himself.

awkward, dorky, too tall for his own good, always pushing up those stupid glasses with ink-stained fingers— it was him. somehow, you wanted him. he doesn't understand how he got so lucky, but he's not about to question it. 

virgin!nerdjo got one mission : being good to you. especially in bed. because when you kissed him for the first time, straddling his lap, grinding that perfect little body against him, he nearly came in his pants. he gripped your waist a little too tight to keep you from moving too much. it's humiliating how quickly he was about to fold, how his cock throbs desperately just from the heat of you.

virgin!nerdjo isn't completely clueless—he's read about sex, heard about it, he's not that innocent. but knowing and doing are two completely different things. and he realized it the second you grinded on him. he damn near whimpered. bit down hard on his lip to swallow it back.

virgin!nerdjo needs to learn. he thinks porn might help—big mistake. it's all so…aggressive. male-centered. nothing about it feels right. he watches a few clips, cringing the entire time, then slams his laptop shut and scrubs a hand down his face. he should have listened when geto used to go on and on about his exploits. should have paid attention instead of rolling his eyes and tuning him out.

so he does what he does best. he researches. virgin!nerdjo orders a book called ‘The Art of Female Pleasure.’ and the moment it arrives, he's on it. glasses slipping down his nose, hunched over the pages, absorbing every word like it's the most important text he's ever studied. he dedicates days to this. nights. rereads passages, highlights sections. he doesn't just want to be good. he wants to be perfect. because you're a baddie—a pro— and he's so fucking lucky. what if you jump on him any time soon and he's still not ready? that idea terrifies him.

virgin!nerdjo gets so into it that he even starts to scroll through forums. he reads firsthand experiences, studying anatomy diagrams until his face is burning and his cock is achingly hard beneath the sheets. because it's not just learning, it's imagining.

virgin!nerdjo who imagines you underneath him, pretty lips parted in gasps, legs spread as he slides his fingers over you just like the book describes. he imagines how wet you'd get if he did everything right. if he took his time, kissed his way down your body, licked into you like he's read—slow, deep, deliberate. he wonders if you'd tug on his hair, if you'd cry out his name, if you'd shake when you come, thighs squeezing around his head—

fuck. horny thoughts took over him as he bucks up into nothing. he wants it. so bad. 

and the next time you're kissing, you instantly notice how his hands get bolder, slipping under your shirt, trailing fire down your spine. how he suddenly knows excatly where to touch, where to squeeze, when to roll his hips just right—letting you feel the size of him, the hard, thick heat pressing up against you. you break the kiss, breathless. “since when do you do all that?”

virgin!nerdjo swallows thickly, ears burning red. “…i've been studying.”

૮꒰⸝⸝> - <⸝⸝꒱ა☆⋆。

for @miscellaneous-misty

[kotori-mochi]

Can't afford art school?

After seeing post like this 👇

And this gem 👇

As well as countless of others from the AI generator community. Just talking about how "inaccessible art" is, I decided why not show how wrong these guys are while also helping anyone who actually wants to learn.

Here is the first one ART TEACHERS! There are plenty online and in places like youtube.

📺Here is my list:

Proko (Free, mostly teaches anatomy and how to draw people. But does have art talks and teaches the basics.)

Marc Brunet (Free but he does have other classes for a cheap price. Use to work for Blizzard and teaches you everything)

Aaron Rutten (free, tips about art, talks about art programs and the best products for digital art)

BoroCG (free, teaches a verity of art mediums from 3D modeling to digital painting. As well as some tips that can be used across styles)

Jesse J. Jones (free, talks about animating)

Jesus Conde (free, teaches digital painting and has classes in Spanish)

Mohammed Agbadi (free, he gives some advice in some videos and talks about art)

Ross Draws (free, he does have other classes for a good price. Mostly teaching character designs and simple backgrounds.)

SamDoesArts (free, gives good advice and critiques)

Drawfee Show (free, they do give some good advice and great inspiration)

The Art of Aaron Blaise ( useful tips for digital art and animation. Was an animator for Disney. Mostly nature art)

Bobby Chiu ( useful tips and interviews with artist who are in the industry or making a living as artist)

Sinix Design (has some tips on drawing people)

Winged canvas (art school for free on a verity of mediums)

Bob Ross (just a good time, learn how to paint, as well as how too relax when doing art. "there are no mistakes only happy accidents", this channel also provides tips from another artist)

Scott Christian Sava (Inspiration and provides tips and advice)

Pikat (art advice and critiques)

Drawbox (a suggested cheap online art school, made of a community of artist)

Skillshare (A cheap learning site that has art classes ranging from traditional to digital. As well as Animation and tutorials on art programs. All under one price, in the USA it's around $34 a month)

Human anatomy for artist (not a video or teacher but the site is full of awesome refs to practice and get better at anatomy)

Second part BOOKS, I have collected some books that have helped me and might help others.

📚Here is my list:

The "how to draw manga" series produced by Graphic-sha. These are for manga artist but they give great advice and information.

"Creating characters with personality" by Tom Bancroft. A great book that can help not just people who draw cartoons but also realistic ones. As it helps you with facial ques and how to make a character interesting.

"Albinus on anatomy" by Robert Beverly Hale and Terence Coyle. Great book to help someone learn basic anatomy.

"Artistic Anatomy" by Dr. Paul Richer and Robert Beverly Hale. A good book if you want to go further in-depth with anatomy.

"Directing the story" by Francis Glebas. A good book if you want to Story board or make comics.

"Animal Anatomy for Artists" by Eliot Goldfinger. A good book for if you want to draw animals or creatures.

"Constructive Anatomy: with almost 500 illustrations" by George B. Bridgman. A great book to help you block out shadows in your figures and see them in a more 3 diamantine way.

"Dynamic Anatomy: Revised and expand" by Burne Hogarth. A book that shows how to block out shapes and easily understand what you are looking out. When it comes to human subjects.

"An Atlas of animal anatomy for artist" by W. Ellenberger and H. Dittrich and H. Baum. This is another good one for people who want to draw animals or creatures.

Etherington Brothers, they make books and have a free blog with art tips.

📝As for Supplies, I recommend starting out cheap, buying Pencils and art paper at dollar tree or 5 below. If you want to go fancy Michaels is always a good place for traditional supplies. They also get in some good sales and discounts. For digital art, I recommend not starting with a screen art drawing tablet as they are usually more expensive.

For the Best art Tablet I recommend either Xp-pen, Bamboo or Huion. Some can range from about 40$ to the thousands.

💻As for art programs here is a list of Free to pay.

Clip Studio paint ( you can choose to pay once or sub and get updates. Galaxy, Windows, macOS, iPad, iPhone, Android, or Chromebook device. )

Procreate ( pay once for $9.99 usd, IPAD & IPHONE ONLY)

Blender (for 3D modules/sculpting, animation and more. Free)

PaintTool SAI (pay but has a 31 day free trail)

Krita (Free)

mypaint (free)

FireAlpaca (free)

Aseprite ($19.99 usd but has a free trail, for pixel art Windows & macOS)

Drawpile (free and for if you want to draw with others)

IbisPaint (free, phone app ONLY)

Medibang (free, IPAD, Android and PC)

NOTE: Some of these can work on almost any computer like Clip and Sai but others will require a bit stronger computer like Blender. Please check their sites for if your computer is compatible.

So do with this information as you will but as you can tell there are ways to learn how to become an artist, without breaking the bank. The only thing that might be stopping YOU from using any of these things, is YOU.

I have made time to learn to draw and many artist have too. Either in-between working two jobs or taking care of your family and a job or regular school and chores. YOU just have to take the time or use some time management, it really doesn't take long to practice for like an hour or less. YOU also don't have to do it every day, just once or three times a week is fine.

Hope this was helpful and have a great day.

"also apologies for any spelling or grammar errors, I have Dyslexia and it makes my brain go XP when it comes to speech or writing"

[monsterfactoryfanfic]

if I've learned anything from grad school it's to check your sources, and this has proven invaluable in the dozens of instances when I've had an MBA-type try to tell me something about finances or leadership. Case in point:

Firefox serves me clickbaity articles through Pocket, which is fine because I like Firefox. But sometimes an article makes me curious. I'm pretty anal about my finances, and I wondered if this article was, as I suspected, total horseshit, or could potentially benefit me and help me get my spending under control. So let's check the article in question.

It mostly seems like common sense. "...track expenses and income for at least a month before setting a budget...How much money do I have or earn? How much do I want to save?" Basic shit like that. But then I get to this section:

This sounds fucking made up to me. And thankfully, they've provided a source to their claim that "research has repeatedly shown" that writing things down changes behavior. First mistake. What research is this?

Forbes, naturally, my #1 source for absolute dogshit fart-sniffing financial schlock. Forbes is the type of website that guy from high school who constantly posts on linkedin trawls daily for little articles like this that make him feel better about refusing to pay for a decent package for his employees' healthcare (I'm from the United States, a barbaric, conflict-ridden country in the throes of civil unrest, so obsessed with violence that its warlords prioritize weapons over universal medical coverage. I digress). Forbes constantly posts shit like this, and I constantly spend my time at leadership seminars debunking poor consultants who get paid to read these claims credulously. Look at this highlighted text. Does it make sense to you that simply writing your financial goals down would result in a 10x increase in your income? Because if it does, let me make you an offer on this sick ass bridge.

Thankfully, Forbes also makes the mistake of citing their sources. Let's check to see where this hyperlink goes:

SidSavara. I've never heard of this site, but the About section tells me that Sid is "a technology leader who empowers teams to grow into their best selves. He is a life-long learner enjoys developing software, leading teams in delivering mission critical projects, playing guitar and watching football and basketball."

That doesn't mean anything. What are his LinkedIn credentials? With the caveat that anyone can lie on Linkedin, Mr. Savara appears to be a Software Engineer. Which is fine! I'm glad software engineers exist! But Sid's got nothing in his professional history which suggests he knows shit about finance. So I'm already pretty skeptical of his website, which is increasingly looking like a personal fart-huffing blog.

The article itself repeats the credulous claim made in the Forbes story earlier, but this time, provides no link for the 3% story. Mr. Savara is smarter than his colleages at Forbes, it's much wiser to just make shit up.

HOWEVER. I am not the first person to have followed this rabbit hole. Because at the very top of this article, there is a disclaimer.

Uh oh!

Sid's been called out before, and in the follow up to this article, he reveals the truth.

You can guess where this is going.

So to go back to the VERY beginning of this post, both Pocket/Good Housekeeping and Forbes failed to do even the most basic of research, taking the wild claim that writing down your budget may increase your income by 10x on good faith and the word of a(n admittedly honest about his shortcomings) software engineer.

Why did I spend 30 minutes to make a tumblr post about this? Mostly to show off how smart I am, but also to remind folks of just how flimsy any claim on the internet can be. Click those links, follow those sources, and when the sources stop linking, ask why.

[punkshort]

Just This Once: Part Two

Pairing: dbf!joel miller x f!reader

Summary: Your dad surprises you after work with a brand new bed as a late birthday present. The kicker? Joel is there to help assemble it, leading to a very tense afternoon.

Warnings: no outbreak au, language, smut (18+ MDNI), age gap, phone sex (alluded to), sexual tension, references to masturbation (both), reader's mom is dead, reader has hair (length unspecified), size kink, unprotected piv sex, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), dirty talk, sneaking around, mutual pining, takin' nudes

WC: 6.6K

Part One | Part Three

Let me know when you get home safe

You smirk and collapse into bed.

I've been home for 20 min. What took you so long?

Then...

??

You roll your eyes and burrow deeper into your covers.

I thought you'd text me sooner. I left almost 40 min ago.

You wait anxiously for Joel to reply, staring at your screen for the words to appear. Truthfully, you have no idea what you even want him to say, just that you want to keep him talking.

I had no idea what to say

You grin and before you can reply, another text comes through.

Still don't

Butterflies bloom in your stomach as you type out your response.

Where are you?

It takes less than thirty seconds for him to answer: bed.

You're thinking about me in bed?

You can practically hear his heavy sigh from across the city.

We can't do that again, I told you

Do what?

Don't play dumb darlin - you know what

I just asked a question.

Your old man's got a shotgun in his basement, I've seen it

Your shoulders sag and you relent.

Ok ok.... it won't happen again and I won't breathe a word of it to anyone. Promise.

Good

And you think that's the end of it. After you don't reply to his last text and he doesn't add anything further, you roll over to switch off your lamp and you do your best to focus on falling asleep without thinking of Joel's deep brown eyes gazing up at you while you ride him, all hazy and filled with desire. You quickly find it's impossible not to and it has you tossing and turning while trying to ignore the fresh ache growing between your legs. You skirt your hand down past your sleep shorts with a frustrated huff when, to your delight, your phone lights up again.

What are you wearing?

---

It's Friday, fucking finally. Your entire week at work had been shit. You made one tiny mistake that ended up costing you three hours to fix, a mistake you don't normally make and you just know it's because you've been distracted.

It's been two weeks since you've gone to visit your dad, meaning it's been two weeks since you've laid eyes on Joel. That night you shared should have slowly become a distant memory, but instead you found yourself texting him every single day, making it impossible to forget. Sometimes it was innocent enough, but at one point or another the conversation always turned flirty, which then turned heated, which then evolved to one of you giving in and calling the other so you could whisper filth into the phone with your fingers stuffed inside your pussy, but no matter how much you try, you're never able to get as deep or make yourself feel as good as Joel did.

It's driving you crazy.

So when you arrive home from work Friday afternoon and throw your car into park, you're too distracted to notice a familiar pickup truck parked on the street. To be fair, you live above a restaurant, so there's often cars parked along the street. You've learned to block it out. But when you go to open your door only to find it already unlocked, your heart stutters in your chest and you glance around. That's when you spot your father's truck and you roll your eyes.

"Dad?" you call up the stairs from down below.

"Yeah, honey, up here!"

You close the door behind you and trudge up the stairs, dodging various pairs of shoes you store on the end of each step. Right when you turn to enter your kitchen, you hear your father talking and laughing with someone. You don't have much time to wonder who it is because then you hear his voice, all low and velvety smooth. The very same voice that just the night before was telling you through the phone how much he missed your perfect, soft pussy and then begged you for a picture.

It suddenly became impossible to breathe.

"Hey, Kiddo," your dad says when he steps out of your bedroom. He's carrying large cardboard pieces to the stairs and sweat coats his face. "Me 'n Joel are puttin' your new bed frame together. Almost done."

Him and Joel. Joel. Putting together your bed. Joel is in your bedroom.

Your skin feels like it's on fire and your blood is pumping so fast, it makes you lightheaded.

"Uh, w-what new bed frame?" you stammer, forcing yourself to move out of his way.

"The one I promised for your birthday," he calls over his shoulder from your stairwell. Your eyes rake across the kitchen towards your open bedroom door, but Joel is nowhere to be seen. "Sorry it took so long but I told ya I'd get to it."

"Oh," you say, "uh, t-thank you. You didn't - um - you didn't have to do that."

Your dad emerges from the stairs and your gaze sweeps back over to him.

"Sure I did. It's your birthday present. 'Sides..." He awkwardly rubs the back of his neck and looks to the floor when he says, "felt bad 'bout our fight. Wanted to make things right, check in on ya. Miss seein' you 'round."

"Oh, Dad, it's fine. I'm not mad anymore, I've just been busy with work and stuff," you say. He looks down at your work clothes: a thin blouse half tucked into an off-white pencil skirt and heels.

"Look so grown up," he murmurs softly. You give him a small smile and shrug, temporarily forgetting Joel is just in the next room until your dad says, "Don't my little girl look all grown up, Joel?"

Joel's standing in the doorway to your bedroom, staring at you across the kitchen. You swallow and tighten your fingers around the edge of your counter and you fucking pray your father doesn't read the hungry look in Joel's eyes when he slowly and appreciatively sizes you up and down.

"Yeah," he finally says, voice only a little gravelly. It could be innocent, but you knew better. He clears his throat and tries again. "Look real grown up."

You give him a smile, one you hope looks natural. "Thanks, Joel."

Your dad snorts and crosses the kitchen, heading back towards your bedroom to finish your bed frame. "Callin' him Joel now? Since when?"

Joel locks eyes with you and you see it. You fucking see that heated look he gives you, letting you know exactly what he's thinking about: you, grinding down on his lap and whispering little teases in his ear while calling him Mr. Miller.

"Oh, uh, I-"

"I told her to," Joel says over his shoulder once your dad disappears into your bedroom. Joel's eyes remain firmly pinned on you when he adds, "She's grown now 'n all."

Your eyes widen and you shoot him a look, but Joel just grins and turns back around, back into your fucking bedroom, to help your dad finish up.

Your head spins. This is not the way you wanted Joel in your apartment for the first time. You tiptoe in your heels to peek inside your room, where your father is sprawled out on your carpet with a wrench and Joel is holding your new padded headboard in place. Your dad is murmuring to himself as he focuses on securing the headboard to the rest of the frame but all you can focus on are Joel's massive hands curling around the beige fabric. You bite your lip and lean casually against the doorframe, allowing yourself to fantasize about Joel's grip on that headboard while he's pounding into you over and over and-

"I'm gonna order some pizza!" you exclaim suddenly. Your dad pauses and looks at you curiously but Joel just smirks. There's no possible way he didn't see right through you. Not with that smile and the way his cheeks tinted.

"Alright," your dad says slowly before focusing back on his work. You hurry into the kitchen and place an order from the restaurant downstairs, then anxiously look around. You're lucky your place isn't messier. At least your laundry is put away and the only dishes in your sink are from breakfast.

Still in your work clothes, you wander over to check your fridge, delighted to find that you have a few cans of beer left over from your friends.

In your bedroom, you hear your dad tell Joel he's all done. You hear shuffling and you imagine they are putting your bed back against the wall because next, they pop out of your room and head towards your living room, where your mattress and boxspring are temporarily being stored.

Joel tosses you a wink as he trails after your dad and you have to turn around and do the dishes so they don't see how flustered you are.

Your legs press together when you hear Joel's familiar grunts from somewhere behind you while he and your father struggle to drag your boxspring and then your mattress back in place. You're scrubbing a plate so fucking hard, you're surprised it doesn't shatter in your hands because you can't stop thinking about Joel and all the things you'd let him do to you if your dad wasn't there at that very moment.

"- you listenin' to me?" your father's voice says, causing you to jump and drop your sponge.

"Huh?"

You look at him, trying to ignore Joel next to him as he sheds his flannel and plucks loosely at the black t-shirt underneath, unsticking it from his sweaty chest. Fuck.

"Said Joel's gonna take the trash out and I'm gonna go grab that pizza. How long they say it'll take?"

You blink, blood singing hot in your veins when you mumble should be ready soon, then slowly dry your hands on a towel while your father and Joel collect the trash from your bed frame to take down to the dumpster.

Your apartment is silent for a few minutes after they disappear outside, the only sound coming from your heart pounding steadily in your ears as you wait for the door downstairs to open again.

When you hear the squeaky hinges open and close, then the dull, slow thud of his footsteps climbing the stairs, you remain stock still at your sink. Your fingernails press so hard into the stainless steel, it's a wonder they don't break. You can't bring yourself to turn around when he steps through the door, back into your kitchen. He told you it couldn't happen again and you agreed, but your phone calls the last two weeks spoke otherwise.

Without saying a word, Joel's on you in an instant, spinning you around and crashing his mouth hungrily against yours, driving away that little voice in the back of your head that keeps reminding you just this once, just this once.

You nearly crumple in his arms, feeble fingers digging into his shoulders for something to hold onto. His tongue slips past your lips with a groan and his hands grab eagerly at your blouse, bunching up the fabric in his fists, too fucking crazed and desperate to feel you again.

You whimper and he swallows it down, big hands releasing your shirt to travel lower and grab at your ass confined in your tight skirt. His skin is slightly damp with sweat and he tastes so good and feels so warm that it has you guiding his hand to the zipper of your skirt, encouraging him to pull it down.

"Can't," he mumbles before latching his mouth onto your neck.

You're impatient. You rake your fingers through his tousled hair and he sighs against your throat.

"Y'smell so good," he says, body pressing against yours, pinning your back to the edge of the counter.

"Joel-" you beg, but he keeps talking and his hands keep searching, grabbing for any part of you he can find.

"Been half hard since I got here," he admits, the confession sending a shock of arousal straight through your stomach and down to your core. "Got any idea what it was like for me to be in that room, movin' that mattress, knowin' you were fuckin' yourself right there last night?"

You gasp and claw at his hair, his neck - anywhere - while his mouth drags down the column of your throat. He ruts his hips against your stomach and you squeak when you're reminded of just how fucking big and thick he is. You drop your hand and rub your palm against the soft denim, over his impossibly hard cock caged in his jeans, and you whine in his ear. A wordless plea.

"Can't," he says again, but his hips buck forward, chasing your hand. He pulls you closer, his teeth scrape your jaw, and then his lips are seared over yours once again, smearing whatever remains of your lipstick.

Joel gasps and breaks the kiss but keeps his hips firmly pressed into your palm. He looks down at you like he wants to swallow you whole, his brown eyes so dark they look nearly black. One hand lifts to get tangled in your hair as you both fight every impulse to tear each other apart right then and there.

"I'll ... I'll call you tonight-" he begins, voice sounding pained. You shake your head. His grip in your hair tightens.

"No, Joel, please," you beg. Not another phone call. If you didn't know any better, you sound as if you're on the verge of tears. He sighs and presses his forehead to yours, his wet lips hovering over your mouth when you say, "it's not enough. I need you. Please, Joel, I can't-"

The door downstairs swings open and you fucking fly apart. Joel's eyes, which were just filled with lust, now are wild with panic.

"Go to your bedroom, y-your hair and-" he waves his hand in front of his mouth and you hurry away as he's wiping the lipstick from his own mouth, closing the door behind you. A few seconds later, the door to your kitchen opens and you hear your father's voice. With trembling hands, you unbutton your blouse and unzip your skirt so you can change into more comfortable clothes while you hear plates being pulled from your cupboard. Your dad is telling Joel some story about the customer ahead of him in line who was asking every question under the sun about the ingredients in their sauce as you pull on a soft pair of leggings and an oversized shirt.

Before joining them for dinner, you tug a brush through your hair, taming the mess Joel's hand left behind, and wipe off the lipstick from your mouth and cheek. Once you think you look somewhat normal, although internally you might be on the verge of a fucking stroke, you take a shaky breath in and step out of your bedroom.

"Hey! There she is!"

You give your dad a weak smile and head for the fridge, avoiding Joel's eye but feeling his stare burning into your back.

"Here, I have a few of these," you say, grabbing the cans of beer and putting them on the table. "Some friend left them behind, I think."

Joel is sitting at your small, round kitchen table next to your father with an untouched piece of pizza on his plate. Meanwhile, your dad is nearly halfway through his first slice. You pull a glass from your cupboard and fill it at the sink, using the opportunity to take deep breaths and calm your nerves.

Unfortunately, when you turn around, Joel locks eyes with you and you feel as though you may melt into the floor. His fists clench tight on the table and you wouldn't notice unless you were looking for it, but his chest rises quicker than usual and there's a pink tint to his cheeks.

You sink into the chair across from him and shakily pick a piece of pizza from the box. You're hungry but you're so fucking turned on, it's hard to think about anything else. The pull between your legs is so uncomfortable, it has you shifting your weight in your seat while you take a few small bites of food. Joel must be feeling similarly because out of the corner of your eye, you finally see him slowly unfurl a fist and pick up his pizza.

"You seein' someone?"

Your eyes snap up to your father and you freeze. "What?" you ask breathlessly.

He points to the beers before grabbing one and cracking it open.

"You said a friend left 'em. You seein' someone new?"

Your throat closes up. You shake your head and take a bite of pizza so you can avoid elaborating. Across from you, Joel stiffens but remains silent. Your dad chuckles and he elbows Joel, snapping him out of his trance.

"'Member when we'd sit on the porch, waitin' for her dates to bring her home?"

"That only happened, like, twice," you mumble.

"Boys need'ta learn early on not to mess 'round and have some manners. Kept 'em in line," your dad continues, grabbing another piece of pizza. "Say the word and I can do it again-"

"How about you, Dad?" you ask, cutting him off. You can practically feel the tension radiating off Joel's shoulders from the direction the conversation was heading, and you need to put a stop to it. "Are you seeing anyone?"

The distraction is sufficient. Your dad launches into a ten minute monologue about his dry dating life while you and Joel do your best to act interested. The last fucking thing you want is for your dad to scare Joel off by reminding him of his fierce, protective side. Like he isn't already aware.

But perhaps you were too late because after they both finish eating and say their goodbyes, Joel can't look you in the eye. Something tells you that it isn't because he's trying to hide his attraction for you. You can't put your finger on it. Something about his body language and energy just seem... off. And then sure enough, hours later when you are distracting yourself with television after sending Joel multiple unanswered texts, you think your suspicion is correct.

---

A loud pounding on your door wakes you from a deep sleep. You startle awake with your heart in your throat. Your television is still on, forgotten, just like your phone buried somewhere in your sheets. You stumble out of bed after another knock that threatens to bring down the entire building and squint at the microwave to check the time.

Just past two in the morning. What the fuck?

You are about to go downstairs when logic prevails and you go to your window, instead.

The only car on the street is Joel's truck, right in front of your building.

Shit.

You fucking race to your bathroom and gargle with mouthwash for about three seconds. As you are hurrying down the stairs, you comb your fingers through your hair, hoping you look decent enough but knowing deep down it wouldn't really matter.

When you open the door, a shiver shoots down your spine.

"Joel," you barely get out before his crowding you, pushing you up against your stairs, mouth already devouring yours as he kicks the door shut behind him.

You curse, but it's muffled. His mouth is hard and insistent against yours, almost like he's angry, but not at you. His hands scan your body, over your pajamas, your face, your exposed skin, while his tongue explores your mouth. It's familiar now, for you both, under the cover of night once again, where your secret can remain safe.

It's a miracle you make it up the stairs without falling. You don't remember his mouth or hands ever leaving you as you stumble through your kitchen and into your room.

The television still plays in your otherwise dark room. Flickering lights dance across the walls, soft syndicated laughter is registered in the back of your brain. He untangles one hand from your hair and the other he pulls from underneath your shirt, then he takes a step back. You both drag in air, panting and studying each other's faces. His cheeks look flushed and your skin feels just as hot. Hair equally wild. The energy between you is palpable, crackling like electricity.

"Thought you got scared off," you say, breaking the silence. He blinks.

"Why?"

You shrug, already wishing you had waited til later to bring this up.

"You seemed weird when you left."

His throat bobs and he shakes his head, then his gaze shifts to your chest before finding your eyes again.

"Just needed to get the hell outta here 'fore he noticed somethin' was goin' on."

You nod slowly. Oh. So maybe you're a little paranoid. It doesn't explain the unanswered texts, but you don't feel much like talking anymore.

You dip down, crawling backwards onto your bed and whisper his name, dropping your head onto your pillows with a sigh, then fight back a smile at the greedy way his eyes rake up and down your body.

"Come here," you say quietly. You reach your arms out and wiggle your fingers. His dark eyes lock with yours and you grin.

His hands fall to his belt and warmth pools low in your stomach, deep between your legs. You squirm impatiently when he slowly slides the leather through his belt loops.

"Just..." he begins, pausing when you sit up to toss your shirt over your head, leaving your chest bare to him. He swallows hard and continues. "Just one more time."

You would have agreed to anything in that moment, so you nod while he pushes his jeans down to the floor before lowering himself to your bed. He crawls over you and your legs spread so his hips can settle there, pressing against your aching cunt. His arms tuck underneath your shoulders and just the weight of him pressing against your chest and pushing your legs apart is so fucking exquisite that it has your own hips circling for friction. You moan into his mouth when his lips find yours again and everything feels right, so fucking right, that tears burn the back of your eyes.

"Bad girl," he murmurs against your lips. Your fingers card through his thick, wavy hair and you smile. "Textin' me when I'm out with your old man. Coulda got me killed."

"You - what?" you breathe, tipping your head back so he could leave wet, open mouthed kisses along your throat. He sucks a little mark over your pulse point and then his lips find yours again before answering.

"Went out for a few beers after we left," he says while tilting his head to the opposite side. His tongue glides back inside your mouth and you taste it now, the remnants of the drinks he had earlier. Your fingers in his hair tighten. Relief washes over you.

You decide to ignore how obviously desperate you are for Joel's attention - something you know is a bad sign. Instead, you sigh and rut your hips upwards a little harder, pulling a low groan from his throat.

"Did you have fun?" you ask with a teasing grin. He picks up on it and growls, then palms your hip, squeezing the soft skin there, pulling you closer.

"Not as much fun as I'm havin' now."

You giggle when he pinches you and you try to squirm away, but you're still pinned helplessly underneath his broad frame.

Joel laughs, too, before leaving a trail of gentle kisses across your chest. It feels so loving and sweet that it has your breath catching in your throat even before his mouth latches onto your breast, tongue teasing your nipple with a satisfied hum before doing the same to the other.

"I missed you," you whisper boldly, pulse thrumming fast in your throat as you wait for his response. Is it too much? Maybe. But it's true.

"Was just here a few hours ago," he says. You roll your eyes.

"Not what I meant."

Joel sighs and rests the side of his head against your chest. You're absolutely certain he can hear how fast your heart is racing. He wraps his arms around you a little tighter when he admits, "Me, too."

And it's enough, for now, to know he craved you the same way you craved him.

His hand skids down your bare side, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake, until one finger hooks around the lace edge of your panties and gives them a playful tug. You pull your lower lip between your teeth and lift your hips so he can slide them and your shorts down your legs.

You become very aware you are stark naked underneath Joel Miller for the very first time while he somehow still has on his t-shirt and boxers. He pushes off the mattress and looks down to admire you all sprawled out for him and you feel a rush of embarrassment. That is, until he says-

"So fuckin' beautiful."

His voice is soft and filled with so much awe that you just might believe him. His gaze skims every inch of your exposed skin: your arms, your waist, your thighs. Like he's trying to memorize every little thing he sees.

"I want you," you gasp when his fingers delicately graze the inside of you leg. His deep brown eyes lift and he smirks when his fingers trail closer and closer to where you need him most.

"Yeah?" he asks. His voice sounds deeper and your legs begin to shake. His fingertips brush over your slit and you gasp again, body writhing on your bed - the bed he helped fucking build. You nod and lift your hips.

"Please."

Joel tuts and pushes one thick finger through your folds. He circles over your entrance but doesn't go any further. He just slowly slips his finger through your pussy, dragging it up, up, up until he's pressing down on your clit and you're moaning his name with your eyes squeezed shut.

"This what you want?" he breathes, arousal evident in his voice. You nod enthusiastically, chest heaving as he continues his slow, torturous route. Then he removes his finger and you whine in protest until your eyes reopen. He slips his finger into his mouth with a quiet groan, eyelids fluttering and you imagine his tongue swirling around, collecting your slick and swallowing it down.

You're afraid you may go insane if he doesn't fuck you soon.

"Joel-"

"I gotta- fuck," he moans before dropping onto his hands and settling his shoulders between your thighs. He pushes open your legs, spreading you wide so he can admire your glistening cunt up close. His teeth nip your inner thigh but his eyes remain glued to your center. "I gotta taste you, darlin'," he says, and it's amusing how he actually sounds filled with regret when he says it. You would have laughed if his lips didn't suction around your pussy a second later, tongue plunging through your folds just to flatten and circle your clit with the perfect amount of pressure to make your back arch off the mattress.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you moan his name. Your body is so wound tight, not only from earlier when he had you pinned against your kitchen counter with your father just downstairs, but from weeks without his touch.

"Can't believe how good this tight little pussy takes my cock," he mumbles, face buried between your legs, eyes closed.

Your thighs tremble underneath his hands, which are splayed wide, thumbs parting your lips to make way for his tongue. One of your hands snakes down to get lost in his messy hair, the other grips the sheets for dear life while Joel eats at your center with more enthusiasm than anyone else who has been in his position. By a mile.

His beard burns the inside of your thighs and in the back of your mind, you hope you'll still feel it in the morning. You're so desperate for any reminder of the way he tears you apart that you'll gladly embrace the discomfort.

Every time his warm tongue glides through your folds, he moans. Your face feels like it's on fire when you grind your hips onto his mouth, gasping and dragging in air like you're drowning. He seems to love it. Every roll of your hips causes him to squeeze the meat of your thighs, and when you whimper his name, all rough and needy, his tongue works even faster. He licks and sucks and moans into your cunt, and when he slides two thick fingers inside of you with ease, you curse and dig your heel into his back.

"Fuck," he whispers when he pulls his face away to catch his breath. He stares down at his fingers buried deep, watching the way you stretch for him, suck him in. His eyes go dark when a thick drop of your arousal slips down his fingers, pooling between his knuckles.

"Wish you could see the way this perfect pussy opens up f'me," he murmurs, still entranced.

You don't even think. Your mind is a hazy blur, heart thrashing in your chest at the way he holds you right on the brink of your release. So, you say, "Show me," and point to the Polaroid next to your bed.

Joel's eyes flicker, following your hand, and he grins.

You had been tinkering with it the past few days, trying to fix the blue marks that were showing up on all your photos. After cleaning the rollers and checking the expiration date on the film, you figured out a film shield was the answer and you had been taking test shots in your room since it had the best lighting.

Could he have taken pictures with his phone? Sure. But something about the way he handled the clunky camera with one hand was so fucking hot, you're eternally grateful you abandoned it on your end table.

He takes one picture, then two. The familiar whir of the rollers fills the air, drowning out the television behind him, then the photographs spit out, one at a time. You writhe a little when his attention gets drawn to the pictures and his hand between your legs stall. He waits about thirty seconds for them to develop, then without even showing them to you, he growls and drops them into the sheets. His mouth suctions over your pussy again and you gasp. He sucks and flicks his tongue over your clit while his hand pumps steadily into you, curling his fingers, making you nearly scream if it isn't for how fast and hard you're breathing.

"Joel-" you gasp, "Joel, I'm - I'm gonna -"

You struggle to finish your sentence but it doesn't matter. He knows. Joel hums between your thighs and works faster, devouring your cunt and dragging your orgasm out of you. Your body tenses and you cry out his name, but he doesn't let up. Not until your legs clamp the sides of his head does he remove his fingers to drink down every drop of your release, then he finally lets his jaw relax.

You're seeing stars. You have to be covered in sweat and you probably look insane, with your hair and eyes all wild while you lay there, completely fucked out.

He must enjoy it, though, because next thing you know he's covering you with his body once again. His lips are on yours and all you can taste and smell is you, but you aren't repulsed. In fact, you find you really fucking like it. When it's on him, when your taste and scent is mixed with Joel's, it's intoxicating.

"Shoulda done that last time," he rasps. He leans back to sit on his knees and tugs off his shirt, letting it fall somewhere on your floor. You blink and try to admire his bare chest while he's kicking his boxers off, but it's hard to focus. Then, just as fast as he sat up, he's back on you once again. His breath skips when he glides the tip of his cock through your folds, then rests against your opening. You're still struggling to come back to earth, body lax and sated and so fucking warm underneath him. He groans brokenly into your neck when he presses inside, reveling in how easily you welcome his cock now that he already worked you open with his mouth and fingers.

You make a soft noise and circle your arms loosely around his neck. There's no need to go as slowly as last time. You're so fucking soaked, you're more than ready for him, but he still takes his time. He holds your hip steady with one hand as he feeds you his cock, inch by inch, parting your walls and sighing against your dewy skin.

"Shit," he groans. His teeth pinch your throat when he bottoms out and you gasp. "This what you want? Needed my cock that bad?"

"Yes," you whimper, "Christ, Joel - yes."

He drags himself out and plunges back inside you with a rough grunt. Your legs fall open wider, giving yourself up to him entirely.

His beard is scratchy and it tickles your skin, making you shiver when his mouth traces the edge of your jaw. He fucks you slow and deep, like he wants to make it last, like he wants you to remember. Your lips find his shoulder and you leave a path of open mouthed kisses across his tanned skin. And when your tongue darts out to taste him properly, he groans and rolls his hips deeper.

It's perfect and intense and it's everything you could ever want.

"Jesus, look at you," he says. But you look up at him, instead. He looks how you feel - needy, wrecked, and desperate. Then his eyes fall between your bodies, where his cock slides in and out of you, coated in your arousal, and you groan when you see what he sees.

Look at us, you want to say, but you bite the words back. It feels like it's too much. But you think it. How could you not, when you seem to fit together so perfectly?

With his voice smooth and soft as velvet, he says, "Dirty girl... thinkin' 'bout me fuckin' you like this with your daddy in the room."

Your cheeks burn and you try to swallow, but your throat is too dry. When you meet his gaze, he looks different. He's worked up and his eyes are pitch black. His hips start to pound into you faster.

Your throat tightens.

"I- fuck," you choke out when he brushes up against a particularly sensitive spot. You try again. "Y-you're the one who kissed me whe-"

Joel chuckles and shakes his head, dark curls falling loose across his forehead.

"I saw the way you were lookin' at me 'fore all that," he goads, then leans down to nip at your earlobe before adding, "When we were puttin' together the bed. Tell me what you were thinkin' 'bout."

You whine and pitch your head back into your pillow. You can already feel your hips ache from how fast and hard he's fucking into you now. It has your breath stuttering and your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

When you take too long to respond, his mouth suctions over your breast. His teeth leave a sharp bite on your nipple and you yelp.

"Tell me," he says again. You shudder, breath too shallow and quick to answer, so you grab one of his arms and lift it above your head. You press his hand around the padded headboard and he gets it. The smirk he gives you is deadly when plants his other hand into the mattress for leverage.

Your legs wrap around his waist and he starts to slam into you. Each thrust knocks the air from your lungs. He pushes you further and further up the bed until the top of your head hits the headboard. Joel sees it and he drops to his elbow. The hand that was pushing into the mattress is now cupping the top of your head and you think you might implode from the way his arm curls protectively around you while the other is gripping your headboard so tight, you can see the tendons twitching in his wrist.

"Like this?" he grits out. You nod, mouth agape and brows furrowed. Tears spring to your eyes as you teeter on the edge. He sees them and kisses them away when they fall. Ultimately, it's the hours and hours of pent up frustration that have you coming so hard, your vision goes white. But it's the combination of how rough he's fucking you and how sweet he's holding and kissing you that has your cunt pulsing around his cock, dragging out your orgasm for what feels like an eternity.

"Fuck," he gasps. His fingers tighten around the crown of your head and you feel his bicep flex along the side of your face. "W-where? Where, baby?"

His voice sounds urgent but you still take a second to soak in the word baby before murmuring inside, just like before.

He doesn't hesitate. He comes a moment later, yanking on your headboard for support with a loud groan. You hear it rattle and you plant kisses on the underside of his jaw, hoping to melt away some of the tension being held there.

His hips flex forward erratically, each push paired with a heavy grunt until he finally stills. His hand drops from the headboard and his face tucks into the crook of your neck.

You feel his breath fanning across your sweat soaked skin and you close your eyes. There's no rush, this time. There's no risk. So you lay there and catch your breath with Joel's massive body pinning you into the mattress and heavy cock softening inside you.

"Goddamn," he murmurs in between light kisses to your collarbone. You hum and soothingly run your palms up and down his back with your eyes closed. He shivers when your nails graze his spine and he holds you a little tighter. You swear you could fall asleep, just like that.

Joel begrudgingly lifts himself up to slide out from between your legs. His eyes flicker with something dark when he sees his seed leaking out of your spent cunt, but he blinks it away and rolls onto his back with a tired groan.

"Just need a second and I'll get goin'," he assures you. His forearm is thrown over his closed eyes and you take the opportunity to study his broad chest and soft belly in the glow from your television. God, he's so handsome. How did you not see it before?

"Why don't you stay?" you ask, voice raspy and thick. He peeks at you in surprise and drops his arm to his side.

"Yeah?"

You remember his comment last time, about his house feeling lonely, and it pulls at your heart. "Yeah," you say, shifting onto your side and wrapping an arm around his middle. You nuzzle into his chest and he drapes an arm around your shoulders.

"Okay," he says softly. "But next time, we're figurin' out a way f'you to stay at mine. Want you wrapped up in my bed, feedin' you breakfast."

"Next time?" you repeat, unable to keep the eagerness from your voice. "What happened to just this once?"

The hand drawing aimless circles on your arm stills.

"It... I - uh -"

You lift your chin and shoot him a sly smirk.

He rolls his eyes but you see the corners of his mouth twitch.

"Just go to sleep," he mutters. He sounds annoyed but you know better.

You close your eyes with a smile and his hand resumes stroking your arm.

Deep down, you know what you're doing is so much more complicated than what you're willing to admit within your four walls. Maybe you'll figure it out, maybe you won't. But neither of you are willing to think about that tonight. Because tonight, away from familiar, judgmental eyes, you're just two people seeking comfort in each other.

And it's enough.

[hugsandchaos]

I’m writing this in the perspective of the citizens of Amity Park, just an fyi

Rules for interacting with Phantom

1. Don’t go looking for him. Phantom knows when someone is looking for him and will avoid you at all costs.

2. It’s suggested to learn a little sign language since Phsntom with randomly switch from English to ghost speak. This change seems uncomfortable in most cases and causes him distress when he can’t communicate what he’s trying to say.

3. If he picks you up or grabs your hand and starts pulling on you, don’t freak out. He’s trying to move you out of harm’s way. Follow him until he lets go.

4. If he approaches you at night and asks if he can stargaze with you, say yes. You won’t be in trouble if you say no, but we’re trying to get him used to humans.

5. If you spot him, don’t go out of your way to approach him. He doesn’t like that. He’ll notice you coming.

6. If you spot him and he’s near something you need, such as the entrance to your workplace or your campfire, simply say hi to him and continue to avoid startling him. He’s been reported to conjure up ice spikes from the ground around him or shoot ectoplasm when he’s startled, so avoid doing so if you can.

7. If you notice the Fentons near where Phantom is, try to redirect them. Phantom is our only real line of defense against other ghosts who want to cause harm.

8. If you hear a loud, haunting wail, don’t worry. That’s possibly Phantom’s most powerful weapon, and it’s highly effective against other ghosts. This is usually taken as a sign that the town is now safe again. Do not approach Phantom after he uses this power unless you want to get punched in the face. This power takes up most of his strength and leaves him vulnerable, which makes him extra cautious and scared of both humans and ghosts. If he’s injured and you want to help, it’s best to go in preparing for retaliation. (Extra warning: Phantom’s saliva contains ectoplasm, which is essentially acid for anything living. Be VERY careful, because he will try to bite as a last resort. Try to make sure he knows you’re there to help before touching him.)

9. If you’re a ghost hunter and you harm Phantom, and you hear a loud groan in the distance that oddly reminds you of a broken grandfather clock, apologize and do what you can to fix your mistake immediately. Phantom isn’t all alone. He has allies, and some of them, you never want to meet.

10. If he approaches you and strikes up conversation, it’s your choice to respond or not.

[satellite-evans]

his person

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: you are lando’s person <3

Word count: 2.3k+

Warnings: fluff

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

If you asked anyone — anyone who’d known Lando even half as well as the world thought it did — who his best friend was, the answer came easy, automatic, like muscle memory.

Max Fewtrell.

It was almost too obvious. They’d been inseparable since their karting days — the kind of friendship that was stitched together with inside jokes, shared playlists, matching scars from dumb teenage stunts, and years of standing side by side through wins and wipeouts. They were co-founders of Quadrant, partners in crime both on and off the track, the human embodiment of controlled chaos whenever a Twitch stream went live or an Instagram story popped up. If you ever bet on who knew Lando best — who could read him like a page out of his own life — your money was safe on Max.

But if you asked Lando — really asked him — his answer wouldn’t even take a breath.

“It’s her,” he’d say, soft but steady. Certain.

“It’s always her.”

You.

The girl who had known him before the podiums, before the fame, before the world chanted his name like a stadium-wide heartbeat. The one who saw through the swagger and the quick wit, the one who called him out when his ego got a little too comfortable, and who held him up when the weight of expectation became too much for one pair of shoulders to carry alone. His girlfriend, yes. But more than that. His person. His safe place. His best friend in every sense of the word.

And God, Lando could never seem to shut up about you.

It was an unspoken rule among his circle — one that started as eye-rolls and playful jabs but eventually softened into quiet acceptance. Your name had a habit of slipping into conversations without warning, as if his mind couldn't help but orbit around you even when you weren’t there. His engineers learned to expect it, Max would mock him with exaggerated groans, but none of it ever stopped him.

“Mate, we asked about tire strategy, not your girlfriend,” his race engineer would tease over the radio mid-practice, when his focus momentarily drifted.

And Lando, without missing a beat, would just laugh — the kind of laugh that sounded like pure ease, like home.

“Same thing, really,” he’d reply, grinning under the helmet. “She keeps me grounded. Technically part of the setup.”

On race weekends, it didn’t matter how chaotic the paddock got, how many fans called his name, or how tightly his schedule was packed. His eyes would always search the crowd — cutting through the noise, the flashing cameras, the blur of faces — until they landed on you. Like some unspoken radar tuned to a single frequency.

“There you are,” he’d mumble every single time, pulling you into his arms, cameras be damned. “Took me forever to find you.”

“You walked straight toward me, Lando,” you’d laugh against his chest, your voice the one sound that always, always managed to quiet his racing thoughts.

“Still felt too long,” he’d whisper, pressing his lips to your hair like that simple touch could steady the adrenaline still roaring through his veins.

You weren’t just the girl he loved. You were his favorite adventure. His co-op player. His partner in every messy, beautiful, unfiltered part of his life. Nights were spent tangled together on the couch, feet tucked under each other, controllers in hand, or phones abandoned on the table as you scrolled through old memes, trading soft jokes and lazy kisses. But the best part was always the silence. The ease of it. The kind of quiet that didn’t need filling, because being with you — just being — felt like the world had finally clicked into place.

And when the world outside got too loud — when the weight of expectation grew heavier than a leaden race suit, and headlines tried to script his story before he even had a chance to live it — it was always you he turned to.

“Do you think I’m doing enough?” he asked one night, voice quieter than the hum of the television, exhaustion settling deep into his bones after another long, hard-fought weekend. His head rested on your lap, and your fingers moved through his curls with slow, absent strokes — the kind that said I’m here, without needing the words.

“You’ve always been enough,” you answered, not even hesitating. “Wins don’t make you, Lando. You do.”

And something in his chest softened — like your words had reached places even his own self-belief couldn’t always touch. He looked up at you then, eyes warm, like he was trying to memorize the exact way you said it, the exact way it felt to be loved by you.

“See, this is why you’re my best friend.”

You smirked, playful but sincere. “Oh, I thought it was because I make better toast than Max.”

“That too,” he grinned, and it was the kind of grin that reached his eyes — the real one, the one that didn’t need cameras or podiums. “But mostly because you’re the only person who makes this whole crazy life make sense.”

And you always would.

Because even on the days when the world felt like it was spinning too fast, when the pressure of living under a microscope crept too close, you were there. Not with solutions or speeches — just you. Existing. Holding space for him the way only you could.

You brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, your fingers slow and familiar. “You know,” you murmured, “I don’t think anyone will ever understand you the way I do.”

“I don’t want anyone else to,” Lando replied, quiet but sure. “They’d get it all wrong.”

There was a pause, but the comfortable kind — the kind that wrapped around you both like a blanket, no need for more words. His hand found yours, thumb absentmindedly tracing circles against your skin, the rhythm steady, grounding.

“You’re stuck with me, you know,” you teased, squeezing his fingers gently. “For life.”

His lips quirked, soft and lopsided. “Good,” he whispered. “That’s exactly the plan.”

Race weekends always had a way of making that feeling even stronger — like the noise and the speed and the stakes only sharpened the way Lando looked at you, like the world could be spinning at 300 kilometers an hour and still, his attention would only ever settle on you.

You stood by the garage, tucked slightly out of the way, half-hidden behind a stack of equipment cases as the paddock moved around you in its usual, barely controlled frenzy. Journalists darted between interviews, chasing headlines with mics stretched out like fishing rods. Cameras tracked every flicker of expression on every driver’s face, lenses hungry for a story in a single glance. Engineers, crew members, mechanics — they weaved through the maze of people like clockwork, hands full of telemetry sheets and radios, their minds a million miles away, deep in calculations and split-second decisions.

And then, there was Lando.

The second his eyes found you through the blur of it all — the sponsors, the fans, the pre-race nerves knotted beneath his skin — everything else seemed to fall away. His entire posture shifted, tension melting from his shoulders as that unmistakable, boyish grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. The smile that wasn’t for the cameras, or the sponsors, or the sea of people waiting for autographs — the one that was just for you.

Like clockwork, he jogged toward you, cutting through the paddock like gravity had decided to rewrite the rules, yanking him toward the only place he ever really wanted to be.

“There’s my good luck charm,” he greeted, voice bright but edged with exhaustion and adrenaline — the kind that no amount of coffee or sleep could fully shake before a race. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek, the contact lingering longer than it probably should have given the dozens of eyes watching, but Lando had never cared much about timing when it came to you.

“You should probably be focusing on the race,” you teased, fingers finding the zipper of his suit, giving it the lightest of tugs, grounding him even as the rest of the world tried to pull him in a hundred different directions.

“I am,” he replied, tilting his head slightly, those warm eyes locking onto yours like they always did. “You’re the best part of it.”

And the way he said it — soft, steady, without even a hint of his usual playful sarcasm — left no room for superstition or charm. Just the truth, plain and simple.

You reached up, brushing your fingers along the edge of his balaclava, adjusting it slightly before your thumb traced the sharp line of his jaw, a familiar and quiet ritual between the two of you — like you were handing him the last piece of calm before the chaos.

“Go win,” you murmured, your voice low but sure. “I’ll be right here.”

“You better be,” he said, stepping backward, reluctant but smiling, his eyes still drinking you in like he could store the moment away for later. His race engineer’s voice crackled over the comms, pulling him back to reality, but even as he turned to go, he glanced back — once, twice — like the distance between you was the only thing that ever felt wrong.

And when he finally climbed into the car, helmet on, gloves tightened, visor down — the world might have narrowed to tire temperatures and corner speeds, but you were still there. A fixed point. The face he’d always find, whether he crossed the finish line first or not.

Later that night, long after the champagne had dried on his race suit and the headlines had already written their version of the day, you and Lando found yourselves right where you always seemed to end up — curled up on the hotel balcony, wrapped up in a blanket you’d stolen from the foot of the bed, legs tangled together like the world didn’t exist beyond that little pocket of quiet.

The city stretched out below you, lights blinking lazily in the distance, but neither of you paid them much attention. His hand rested on your knee, your feet propped comfortably in his lap, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns along your ankle — like his body hadn’t quite figured out how to sit still, even if his mind finally had.

For a while, you both just sat there, letting the silence settle. It wasn’t awkward or heavy — just easy. The kind of quiet that only ever existed between two people who didn’t need words to fill the gaps.

But of course, Lando couldn’t resist breaking it.

“You know,” he said eventually, voice light but thoughtful, “it’s kinda ridiculous, isn’t it?”

You turned your head slightly, raising an eyebrow. “What is?”

He let out a soft, amused huff, like the thought had been bouncing around his head for hours. “I spend all day surrounded by thousands of people — cameras, fans, the whole circus — but the second I step out of the car, the only face I ever want to find is yours. Like some lovesick golden retriever.”

You snorted, nudging him with your elbow. “You? A golden retriever? Please. More like a raccoon hyped up on energy drinks.”

He laughed, head tipping back slightly, the sound warm and genuine. “Fair, but still. You’re basically my human GPS at this point. Doesn’t matter how big the crowd is, somehow I always spot you first.”

You tilted your head, playful but sincere. “Maybe I’ve just trained you well.”

“Oh, definitely. Pavlov would be proud.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Guess that makes two of us, though. I could be anywhere — grandstands, the grid, the middle of a fan mob — and my brain’s only ever tuned into you.”

He grinned at that, the kind of grin that was all soft cheeks and crinkled eyes, and for a second the teasing dropped away, leaving only something honest and quiet between you.

“God, look at us,” he said, nudging your shoulder with his. “Disgustingly sappy.”

“Max would be physically ill if he heard this conversation.”

“Max would disown me,” Lando agreed, lips quirking. “But he already knows I’m screwed when it comes to you. No point in pretending.”

You stretched your legs out, nudging his thigh with your foot. “You’ve been screwed since the moment I stole your fries that one time, haven’t you?”

He chuckled, shaking his head like the memory was still fresh. “That was the moment. I knew I was done for. Anyone who can steal the last fry and not feel guilty? Dangerous.”

You grinned, leaning your head back against his shoulder, your voice soft but full of playful affection. “And you let me do it anyway.”

“Let you?” he scoffed. “I offered. You just didn’t hear me over the sound of your victory.”

You both sat there for a second, wrapped up in that perfect kind of comfort that came from knowing — truly knowing — you belonged exactly where you were.

Then, without looking away from the view, you murmured, “You’re my person, you know.”

He glanced down at you, his hand finding yours under the blanket, fingers lacing through yours with a quiet certainty. “You’re mine too. Always have been.”

You turned your head, catching the soft, lopsided smile on his face — the one that always gave him away no matter how hard he tried to act cool. “I hope you know I’m keeping that in writing. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“Good,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple, his voice lower, softer now. “Because I wouldn’t know how to be me without you.”

You leaned into him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your ear, and let the moment stretch. No flashbulbs. No roaring engines. Just the two of you.

And it hit you all over again, the same simple truth that always seemed to sit quietly at the center of everything: You weren’t just his girlfriend. And he wasn’t just your boyfriend.

You were each other’s person. The constant in the chaos. The soft place to land. And the best part of every single day.

Always.

[astonmartinii]

lessons in chemistry | george russell social media au

pairing: george russell x fem teacher reader

part time formula one driver and full time student kimi antonelli wonders whether a date with his teammate is an appropriate gift for his favourite teacher

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

kimiantonelli

liked by olliebearman, georgerussell63 and 367,200 others

tagged: yourusername

kimiantonelli: break from racing :( back with miss y/ln :)))))

view all comments

user1: first 18 year old actually excited to go to school

user2: and it’s the 18 year old who is already a formula one driver and millionaire

user3: probably helps if you’re in love with your teacher

user4: who is a milf

kimiantonelli: don’t sexualise miss y/ln like that :( she is an amazing teacher and makes me excited to learn about history!

yourusername: thank you, kimi!

kimiantonelli: if there are any spelling mistakes in my most recent essays please direct all of your critcism to @georgerussell63 and @charles_leclerc they were the ones who helped me

georgerussell63: of course i might have spelt things wrong your essay had to be in ITALIAN

charles_leclerc: yeah i have no excuse i didn’t really finish school

yourusername: kimi! what have i said about using your teammates and coworkers for homework?

kimiantonelli: i was being resourceful!

yourusername: you got me there… but maybe next time ask oscar, he’s the only one with actual qualifications

oscarpiastri: she’s not wrong but please do not ask me for help on your homework

kimiantonelli: okay just say you hate miss y/ln then

oscarpiastri: i didn’t say that?

kimiantonelli: okay cool i’ll see you in suzuka because i got an essay about the cold war due after the triple header

user5: i did not realise this was the kind of chaos the rookies were going to bring this season

user6: i mean kimi antonelli is just like me i am also emotionally attached to my history teacher

user7: real bitch representation

lewishamilton: i’m glad to see you are making sure to finish school

kimiantonelli: i’m sorry we missed out on being teammates you could’ve been the one i’m going to set up with miss y/ln

yourusername: excuse me?

lewishamilton: what?

kimiantonelli: i guess she’ll have to make do with george …

georgerussell63: rude?

kimiantonelli: well i wanted to set her up with max but he has a girlfriend and a baby on the way - boring!

georgerussell63: even ruder!

maxverstappen1: lol

yourusername: do i get a say in this?

kimiantonelli: well i wanted to give you a nice gift for getting me through school and this is the best i could think of!

yourusername: i appreciate that kimi but i’ll be okay with a bottle of bubbly

kimantonelli: hmmmmm… okay!

user8: he’s defo still going to try and set her up isn’t he?

olliebearman: 100%

f1

liked by estebanocon, dorianepin and 1,203,984 others

f1: happy international women’s day - which women in your life inspire you?

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user9: love me some susie wolff

user10: for real that’s my FIA president

user11: i know toto can’t handle all of that

estebanocon: my new race engineer laura!

user12: bearnelli this, lestappen that - these two are the best duo

user13: queens !!!

georgerussell63: shout out to doriane pin

user14: mercedes girlies sticking together

user15: will kimi say doriane as well or is he going to do the batshit crazy option …

user16: let’s be real we all know what he’s going to comment

user17: i’m willing to bet money on it

olliebearman: easiest money you’ll ever make

kimiantonelli: miss y/ln!!!

user18: omg someone study this guy’s obsession with his history teacher it’s getting crazy

kimiantonelli: woah who made you the authority on what woman i can find inspiring?

kimiantonelli: CAN YOU MAKE THE INDUSTRIAL REVOLUTION INTERESTING?

kimiantonelli: HUH?

yourusername: okay kimi let’s calm down

kimiantonelli: but you ARE inspiring

yourusername: that is very touching, kimi, thank you

kimiantonelli: no worries!!!!!!!!!!!!

yourusername: the amount of exclamation points is worrying me…

kimiantonelli: NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT HERE

georgerussell63: why have you just invited me to learn italian on duolingo

kimiantonelli: no reason…

yourusername: kimi! no meddling!

kimiantonelli: i’m not meddling!!! do you not want more people to learn the beautiful language?

yourusername: i am keeping an eye on you…

user19: i know she hates to see him coming

kimiantonelli: nuh uh i’m her favourite even though she can’t say that

yourusername: kimi please stop arguing with people in comment sections

kimiantonelli: okay! just for you miss y/ln!

georgerussell63: how did you get him to be so nice to you?

yourusername: i’m not sure, but if he’s mean to you i think that might be a skill issue

georgerussell63: this is crazy…

kimiantonelli: this is you guys flirting right?

yourusername: huh?

georgerussell63: huh?

yourusername

liked by kimiantonelli, georgerussell63 and 3,109 others

yourusername: shush don’t tell my students i’m at imola

view all comments

user20: oh i am not ready for kimi’s weird attachment to this woman to be irl rather than just instagram comments

user21: she’ll be in the paddock before she knows it

user22: does she know she’s a niche f1 star like ???

olliebearman: oh i just heard kimi’s scream from here

kimiantonelli: SHUSH

olliebearman: omg it’s like i don’t exist when she’s around… what about OUR SHIP???

kimiantonelli: let me conclude my master plan and we can go back to being vaguely fruity

olliebearman: OMG YAY

yourusername: you done?

olliebearman: what you gonna do? give me detention

yourusername: i can’t give you detention but i can give kimi detention and a little birdy told me you were going on a cycling trip…

olliebearman: I’M SORRY MISS Y/LN

user23: who is this woman and how does she have this much power

user24: one should never underestimate the power of a weird mother bond with a history teacher

user25: i miss mine so bad but it’s not socially acceptable to go see her now

georgerussell63: you just got me called into an emergency meeting because of this post

yourusername: and i should care because?

georgerussell63: because your little man is obsessed with setting us up so i would kinda want to like you before that happens

yourusername: oh so you don’t like me?

kimiantonelli: yOU DON’T THINK MISS Y/LN IS PRETTY ?

kimiantonelli: THAT’S NOT WHAT YOU SAID THE OTHER DAY ???

georgerussell63: kimi ???

yourusername: it’s fine george, i get it

georgerussell63: WHAT ?!

kimiantonelli: i can’t believe i’m doing all of this work for you george and this is how you repay me

kimiantonelli: i knew i should’ve chosen charles

charles_leclerc: why wasn’t i told i was in the running?

georgerussell63: WOAH HOLD YOUR HORSES

georgerussell63: i thought you said i was the best match for miss y/ln kimi?

kimiantonelli: i think you’d be a good match but it’s mostly for convenience because if she’s dating you i don’t have to argue for her to be in the merc garage over somewhere like ferrari

yourusername: i love how i am getting absolutely no say in this ?

kimiantonelli: have faith in me i know what i’m doing - he seems really uncool, annoying, a massive pain the ass, lanky, bitter and nosey but he gets better when you get to know him

georgerussell63: thanks? i guess?

yourusername: kimi i am more than fine to flirt and find a man for myself

kimiantonelli: but this is my gift to you!!!

georgerussell63: you can’t say no to the boy

yourusername: i guess i can’t…

user26: the most enthusiastic yes to a date

user27: kimi has george fighting for his life and i’m kind of loving it

kimiantonelli

liked by lewishamilton, maxverstappen1 and 651,094 others

tagged: yourusername & georgerussell63

kimiantonelli: i got on the podium at home and got to set up my most favourite teacher in the world and george on a date

view all comments

user28: y/n tearily filming kimi on the podium… that’s her kid actually

user29: i feel so bad for her other students omg

user30: as a student of miss y/ln we don’t have to worry - kimi is so bad at history there’s literally no way she could actually favour him lol

kimiantonelli: I TRY

user31: bro just got his first formula one podium and is arguing about school work i can’t

georgerussell63: first of all - i’m just george to you? second of all - i thought this date business was a joke?

yourusername: so i am a joke to you?

georgerussell63: i am so confused

georgerussell63: i thought this was a joke

georgerussell63: but i would love to take you for some pasta and wine if you’re interested

kimiantonelli: SHE’S INTERESTED

georgerussell63: right kimi, you’ve done enough - let the adults flirt in peace now

kimiantonelli: 🤐

yourusername: so where is this british boy taking me, an italian, for pasta

georgerussell63: well… i’ve got some recommendations from some italians

lewishamilton: I AM NOT ITALIAN, IF GEORGE FUMBLES THIS IT IS HIS FAULT AND HIS FAULT ALONE

georgerussell63: why does no one have faith in me?

yourusername: we’ll see whether they’re telling the truth won’t we

georgerussell63: oh really

kimiantonelli: SHE’S SAYING YES DUMBASS

georgerussell63: i am aware kimi

yourusername: he’s just trying to help george!

georgerussell63: as much as i want this to go well… you will always take his side won’t you?

yourusername: well one of you writes me cold war essays and one of you doesn’t

georgerussell63: i’ll write you essays !!!!

landonorris: good lord that’s embarrassing

user32: george is so pathetic i love him

user33: you’d never catch me writing an essay for a girl

georgerussell63: and that’s why you are single …

olliebearman: @lewishamilton what restaurant did you recommend?

olliebearman: for NO reason at all

maxverstappen1: we have completely innocent intentions

kimiantonelli: i don’t, i want to spy

kimiantonelli: but i will wear a fake moustache for your convenience

yourusername: that’s very kind kimi

georgerussell63: no it’s not ???

alexalbon: i also will be spying

yourusername: and what would that be for

alexalbon: well i need to sus out who YOU are

georgerussell63: finally, someone on my side

yourusername: so you think your friends won’t like me? i see…

georgerussell63: wait! no?

maxverstappen1: if this date is a couple hours of george digging a hole i will get you a life time supply of stroopwaffels kimi

kimiantonelli: i am so conflicted right now

georgerussell63

liked by alexalbon, kimiantonelli and 1,094,388 others

tagged: yourusername

georgerussell63: lessons in chemistry

view all comments

user34: the way this doesn’t acknowledge literally like half of the grid crashing the date

user35: i thought they were joking about the fake moustaches …

user36: was alex dressed as sherlock holmes?

alexalbon: there weren’t that many costumes available at the store

user37: you didn’t have to literally use the pipe

alexalbon: it’s called committing to the bit

yourusername: everyone in the restaurant had to leave early because you didn’t realise the plant on the table that you were trying to smoke was PLASTIC

alexalbon: god forbid a guy tries to get a bit goofy

kimiantonelli: @yourusername thoughts? feelings? i will slash his tyres if you didn’t like him

georgerussell63: i feel like this is a bit unfair

kimiantonelli: why? your myers briggs types say you should fall in love and get married so if you don’t it’s clearly your fault george

georgerussell63: thanks for the vote of confidence kimi

kimiantonelli: the science doesn’t lie, george

yourusername: i’m not sure that’s what it’s trying to prove kimi

kimiantonelli: ohhhhhh defending him already….

georgerussell63: i guess i just have that effect

kimiantonelli: ewwww not in front of my eyes

yourusername: i actually can’t win

user38: the fact that both kimi and y/n just go back to class on monday is killing me

user39: how is bro gonna be in the staff room with a straight face

yourusername: by the way i’m a history teacher

georgerussell63: so we don’t have chemistry

yourusername: oh! hahahahaa umm 😳

landonorris: omg girl get a grip it’s only george

yourusername: well i can certainly say he’s more charming than you

landonorris: wait why am i being attacked?

kimiantonelli: miss y/ln lando doesn’t know who stalin is !!!

yourusername: excuse me ???

landonorris: i’m so joe she’s stalin taking this dick

yourusername: i’m going to fight you

landonorris: george ??? kimi ???

georgerussell63: i’m on y/n’s side

kimiantonelli: i love miss y/ln so i wouldn’t spit on you even if you were on fire

user40: this is all so confusing

user41: i’m actually kinda enjoying it

yourusername: i’m enjoying it too

kimiantonelli: is it too soon to say i told you so

yourusername: yes. give me a couple days

georgerussell63: i’m very much enjoying this

kimiantonelli: gross.

charles_leclerc: so a date with me is off the cards now?

georgerussell63: YES

yourusername: sorry charles i’ve been charmed

georgerussell63: you don’t have to be sorry

charles_leclerc: omg mr possessive already

georgerussell63: well yes!

yourusername: oh my …

yourusername

liked by kimiantonelli, olliebearman and 51,0347 others

tagged: georgerussell63

yourusername: please don’t ask me what on earth has happened in the last few weeks because i honestly don’t know but george is cute and mine now i guess? back off!

view all comments

user41: well well well

user42: what a turn around

user43: gal realised that kimi really wasn’t joking and locked the fuck in

georgerussell63: i knew you’d come around

yourusername: you’re very confident

georgerussell63: well kimi loves you so i knew he wouldn’t knowingly set you up with someone you wouldn’t like

yourusername: he knows me better than he should, i think i should be worried

georgerussell63: how did you guys end up so freakishly close anyway

yourusername: well obviously someone got scouted by toto young and has missed a lot of school and in order for him to catch up i tutored him

georgerussell63: oh that’s… actually cute

kimiantonelli: why did you doubt it was cute - i don’t just attach to any adult figure in my life?

maxverstappen1: sure jan

yourusername: well if you could tutor him in geography that would be great

maxverstappen1: this is what i get for being a flag nerd

user44: her preparing to battle the fans is the funniest thing ever, good luck babe

user45: literally works in a public school i think she can handle kids

user46: do george russell fans even tussle like that

yourusername: someone messaged me to say that they made a voodoo doll of me out of a frankenstein beanie baby and sonny angel but they promised it was just to help us create a soul bond ???

user47: the grussell sprouts are an interesting bunch

user48: love how kimi has just inadvertently fucked every student younger than him at that school

yourusername: i will not abandon my kids!

georgerussell63: the way she talks about them? she’s never leaving that school

georgerussell63: and that’s a great thing!

georgerussell63: i’m only slightly jealous…

kimiantonelli: george, be careful she’ll defo dress code you

georgerussell63: oh so she’s strict

alexalbon: HOLD UP BUDDY

landonorris: we’re getting into weird kinky territory now…

georgerussell63: i’ve seen your internet search history you cannot chat to me right now

landonorris: well i’ve also seen yours sooooo i guess you’re a happy bunny

yourusername: right well my students can actually read these so do we want to stop?

landonorris: what? you gonna spank me?

georgerussell63: LANDO?

georgerussell63: not cool

landonorris: i’ve been blocked

georgerussell63: as you should be you scoundrel

user49: i am so scared of them

georgerussell63: all jokes aside, i am very happy to have met you and can’t wait to see where this is going to go

yourusername: you’re such a gentleman, this is definitely better than the bottle of bubbly i asked for

georgerussell63: maybe i can get some champagne for you next race?

yourusername: i’ll only accept if you help kimi get some too

kimiantonelli: real

georgerussell63: i just have to accept him don’t i

yourusername: you wouldn’t have me without him so yeah you do

georgerussell63: I HAVE YOU???

georgerussell63: i mean yeah i guess he did me a solid

yourusername: you’re such a loser

georgerussell63: but your loser

yourusername: yep :P

kimiantonelli: i think that is mission accomplished

olliebearman: setting us up next when?

olliebearman: huh? who said that?

fin.

note: so we all saw that tiktok.... it put this in my brain and i had to write it! also stay tuned... a certain chapter seven is in the works

[voxslays]

HAZBIN MEN AS DADS

Featuring >>> Adam, Alastor, Angel Dust (Anthony), Lucifer, Husk, Vox, & Valentino x Reader (Separately) as fathers.

(not proofread if that wasn’t obvious lol)

Adam:

Total boy dad. I can see him with a little girl, (let’s be honest, his daughter would 100% become an exorcist and take over after he retires as commander (if he ever retires lol)), but he would turn his son into the the next exorcist commander.

Adam is definitely a bit misogynistic…and no matter what you do, atleast a little bit of that would be passed down to your child. If Adam had a son (not him already having two other sons…), he would start training him at a very young age. (Kinda like the career tributes from the hunger games if yk what I mean. (Oh, you don’t? I don’t blame you lol. Idk what I even meant by this tbh. Don’t worry about it-))

With a girl, I can 100% see him being overly protective TO THE EXTREME. He’s the type to scare off teenage boys lol.

Alastor:

Is probably the best dad on this list (except for Luci ofc.) Is super protective of his family. Would not let your baby out of his sight for the first few weeks. Would offer to help you with the baby when it wakes up crying late at night.

Is totally a girl dad. He would willingly play dress up and have tea parties with her in her room…but it will not be mentioned outside of there. When going out for an outing, he would dress her up to match his colors—red & black—and give you a few extra minutes to get ready.

The two of you want some alone time? He’ll ask Rosie. If she’s busy he is forcing either Husk or Niffty to watch the child. Alastor also most definitely keeps your young, innocent child away from Angel Dust for ‘reasons’ he doesn’t want to elaborate on. Your child will inherit his powers and will be almost as strong as him one day!

Husk:

Okay…so first of all, the elephant in the room. His alcoholism. I don’t think Husk would completely stop drinking, but would tone it down for the sake of you and your child. When he’s drinking/drunk, he would make sure he wasn’t around your child, not wanting that kid to see the ‘real’ him.

He would totally be a girl dad. He would completely deny it but we all know it’s true. Like Alastor, if your daughter wanted him to dress up, have a tea party with him, etc. I think it would take a little more convincing than Alastor but in the end he would do it.

Would be overly protective. ESPECIALLY AROUND ALASTOR. Husk would make sure that your child was atleast six feet away from the deer demon at all times. Husk obviously has lots of experience with Alastor as a person, so he of all people knows that Alastor could (and maybe would???) manipulate his spawn into a deal.

Angel Dust:

Angel is extremely excited…but…He is nervous. VERY anxious.

Angel would be a good dad, but he is worried about his deal with Val. Who knows what Val would do if he found out he was in another relationship…let alone with a child! When the child in question is born, he does everything in his power to hide them from Val.

If Val found out, he would be pissed. After calming down (barely), he would try to get your child under contract to punish Angel. Therefore, Angel is obviously very protective. Angel would teach your child how to be street-smart and survive on the streets of hell. Your child would learn from Angel’s mistakes.

Lucifer:

WHAT? HES GONNA BE A DAD (again)!? He is so stoked. Before the baby is even born they have everything they could ever want. Anything for his little duckling.

Your child would be homeschooled, but not by you. By the most well-known and well-educated members of Hell’s society. Your child is truly getting a million dollar education. Oh! And if your child decides to get a higher education after high school? It’s already taken care of. Lucifer makes sure that there are schools ready to take your child to college before your baby even turns two!

For some characters, I feel like they would either be girl dads or boy dads, but Lucifer could truly be either. With a little girl, I could totally see him playing dress up or Barbies with her, no problem! With a boy, same thing.

Vox:

Your child hit the jackpot. I mean…who wouldn’t want the richest overlord in all of pride to be their father? I just pray the kid doesn’t come out looking like a leapfrog or iPad…

Your child would be an iPad kid (vPad?) They would have all the newest technology and toys, they wouldn’t even know what to do with it all! Seriously though, this kid 100% has a playroom just filled with all the toys Vox either made or bought for them. He definitely spoils them (and you).

Your kid is a nepo baby. As they get into their teenage years, Vox would make sure they started to gain fame. Whether it’s by singing or acting (or both), or becoming a powerful overlord like himself, Vox would help them reach that.

Both you and Vox would make sure that your baby is supervised around Val and Velvette, if Vox even lets the kid around Valentino. He does NOT want Valentino trying to swindle them into a deal.

Valentino:

Bestie...What were you thinking? Let’s be honest. Valentino would not be the greatest dad. Definitely not the worst, but not great.

He would 100% leave your kid unsupervised. You’d better always be watching because he definitely isn’t. Speaking of supervision, Val would just randomly bring your child into his studio…When the two of you are spending ‘time’ together, he would either get Vel or Vox to watch the baby, or one of the souls he has under contract. Is surprisingly overprotective.

Val would teach make sure your child knows Spanish, threatening to ‘disown the brat’ if they refused. Luckily, you are there to stop Valentino from going off on your baby. Your child definitely learns a few Spanish swears from him.

TYSM FOR 1K NOTES GUYS! I really appreciate the support. As of now, this is my most liked post ever. I’m glad you guys enjoyed it so much! Thank you! <3

[un-fwuit-un-fwog]

Falling Behind

Synopsis: The Prefect has ADHD and was medicated for it back in their old world, but when they go to Crowley for help getting a diagnosis here, he brushes them off. They proceed to struggle until finally breaking down. (+ Crewel basically steps up as a father figure)

TW: Pretty descriptive with the negative effects of The Prefect's ADHD, Talk of medication, The Prefect cries, Crowley says the usual things people who deny/downplay ADHD say, Crewel has the "Help me help you talk" with The Prefect, The Prefect cries and is overall just GOING THROUGH IT

NOTE: I went off of my experience as a person diagnosed with ADHD and medicated for it. My experience with it won't apply to everyone else with it, but rest assured this won't be a fic that portrays ADHD like a silly, goofy little quirk. (This is a pretty self-indulgent fic, tbh)

Many people who are diagnosed with ADHD and medicated accordingly have the thought cross their minds every once in a while of "Do I really need the medicine?" When you're on ADHD medication for long enough, you forget what it's like to not function at the level you do when taking it. The memories of the difficulty focusing can slip away with time and leave you doubting. You were no exception.

Key word is were.

When you got thrown into Twisted Wonderland you learned pretty quickly that the medicine in fact does help and that you in fact do need it.

But how would you even go about getting it here? You'd need a diagnosis and for that you'd need a psychiatrist and for that you'd need money (and an official identity which you did not have as an alien to this world).

You tried bringing it up to Crowley, but he brushed it off. He said the same lines you had heard 100 times before, many of which you found yourself thinking from time to time: "You just need to make yourself work. You're unmotivated." and, while he didn't say it out loud, you could clearly tell that what he was really saying was that you were lazy.

You suppose you should have expected as much. No headmage that gave two hoots about mental health would be running a school that has no student counselor.

After that interaction you had resigned yourself to the fact that you'd have to come to terms with being a student and doing schoolwork with no relief to your condition.

You tried your best, you really did. You sat at your desk for hours on end as you tried to finish a simple homework sheet, but hours passed with virtually no progress being made. You couldn't force yourself to focus. When you did your body protested. Your brain refused to allow a single proper thought to form and your eyes wouldn't focus. If you forced the issue further, it only got worse. Your brain and eyes felt somehow heavier than usual and sometimes you swore they were slowly liquifying to a goo in your skull.

You didn't bring it up to your friends. You felt weird talking about it with them. One too many times being told you were faking or doing it for attention you suppose.

Your grades began to slip. Deadlines popped up when you could have sworn you had more time. You made little mistakes you chastised yourself for. You knew the material. You knew you knew the material.

. . .so why were you messing up.

Assignments piled up and slipped through the cracks. It's not like your teachers could notice how out of character this was for you. They didn't know how well you typically functioned when medicated, and it's not like you told them about the disorder in the first place.

Each night you held back tears of frustration as you tried desperately to get any work done. You weren't one to cry easily. In fact, you hadn't cried since you got to Twisted Wonderland, and even before that it had been a while since you last allowed tears to drip from your eyes.

But everyone has a breaking point.

You had gotten so far behind on your assignments that it was decided you needed more than to simply stay in the classroom to work during lunch and you were put in after school tutoring (although it felt more like detention).

The first few weeks you managed to keep it together. You taped over the holes that chipped away into your composure and did your best to hold down the storm of emotions that thrashed violently inside of you.

Another day of after school tutoring came around. By now not even Grim was having to stay for these sessions. There were other students that were in them, but they were in a separate classroom. You knew what was happening even if nobody outright said it.

You sat in Crewel's empty classroom for the second week in a row. The clock on the wall ticked impossibly loud. Every sound around you was amplified tenfold and you could feel it wearing on you. Your arms shook in a sick combination of frustration and exhaustion as you tried in vain to get one question done.

You could feel the ugly jaws of your pent-up emotions gnashing away at your already tattered walls of composure.

Crewel sighed as you once again failed to answer the question: "Look, I really do want to help you, but in order for that to happen I need you to cooperate and listen to me. Right now, it feels like you aren't doing that."

You had had this conversation with him before; with all your teachers for that matter. You used to it. YOU WERE USED TO IT.

You chanted the phrase in your head over and over again.

"What do you not understand."

He didn't say it in a malicious way. He sounded genuine, just. . .exhausted.

He didn't know. He wasn't aware of the storm in your stomach slowly making its way to your eyes. He didn't know.

You don't blame him, but when he said those words you finally broke.

It wasn't anything grand or dramatic like you see in movies. A small catch of your breath in a short-lived attempt to hold it together and then tears. You choked on your sobs as you tried to quell them. The only thing worse than crying is crying in front of people.

Your knees curled up onto the bench, up to your chest, and you hugged them: trying to hide your face and muffle your sobs.

It was no use. Crewel already saw the tears.

He was momentarily stunned at how suddenly you seemed to break down and could only watch as your whole body shook with the sobs you were trying so desperately to hold in.

When he finally snapped out of it he was still unsure of what to do, so he did the only thing he could.

You felt his large, fluffy coat be draped over your shoulders before he somewhat awkwardly sat a comfortable distance away from you as he waited for you to calm down.

When your sobs finally quieted to small whimpers he apologized for making you cry.

You explained it wasn't his fault and, after a bit of silence, you explained to him what was wrong.

He sat with you and listened patiently as you told him about your ADHD, the trouble you'd been having since you got here, and finally recounted your interaction with Crowley.

He led you to the infirmary not far from his office, telling you he'd be back soon and to rest for the time being.

Luckily for Crewel, the headmage's office was just about as far away from the infirmary as it could be.

He could scream as loud as he wanted without disturbing you.

By the time he returned to the infirmary it was late. He was about to apologize for leaving you there so long but stopped himself.

There on the bed was your exhausted form curled up in his coat and sleeping peacefully.

The next day he asked you a few more questions, and the day after that, he accompanied you to the doctor's office. (you didn't bother asking how he managed to get you registered as an actual person)

You went through suspiciously less steps than you had back in your old world to get the diagnosis, but you just chalked it up to the fact that it was clear by your appearance that you had been going through it.

You got your medicine the same day. Wait. . .did Crewel just tell the pharmacist he was picking it up for his child?

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[cazshmere]

12th House Sign in the Natal Chart and How you can Heal and Find Closure from Past Wounds 🩵

materialist🔖

DISCLAIMER : healing is a journey, not a destination, and everyone moves at their own pace. these tips are here to give you a nudge, not to create pressure or perfection. if you’re reading this and some things resonate, that’s wonderful :) take what feels right and leave the rest. and remember, there’s no one right way to heal or find closure. it’s okay to stumble, feel lost, or take a break. trust that every small step forward, even the tiniest ones, are part of the process. be kind to yourself along the way; you’re doing the best you can 🩵

🧩 aries in the 12th house

1. you’re bold in action, but sometimes hesitant in introspection. reflect on fears you might avoid and tackle them directly, like you would any challenge.

2. pent-up frustrations weigh on your subconscious. try activities like boxing, painting, or writing letters you’ll never send.

3. give yourself time alone without needing constant action. Silence and stillness help you get in touch with buried emotions.

4. reflect on times you acted quickly and accept that growth often means making mistakes.

5. indulge in something silly, like playing a game or watching cartoons. It helps you reconnect with yourself. watching your comfort movie with your favourite snacks will surely help

HEALING TIP : try journaling with a twist : write letters to yourself from different ages, like your 5-year-old self or your future self, to see your emotions from new perspectives. this could be super cathartic for you and help you move through the hard feelings holding you back also try meditation that is targeted towards inner peace

🧩 taurus in the 12th house

1. learn to release your hold on past pain. Healing for you often means loosening your grip on comfort zones, even in memories.

2. reflect on areas where you’ve felt unappreciated, finding self-worth from within rather than external validation.

3. you resist change, so make small, gradual adjustments to your daily life that invite healing over time.

4. practice acceptance of things you cannot control or predict; even small, symbolic acts like letting go of a token can help.

5. revisit an old hobby that once brought you joy, like gardening, knitting, or cooking. it’ll remind you of your inner peace.

HEALING TIP : try a sensory grounding exercise: touch something soft, listen to calming music, and smell something grounding like lavender to soothe your mind and body. also something that can temporarily help is watching a super scary movie or just eating spicy food, it can help you distract yourself from your thoughts, at least momentarily

🧩 gemini in the 12th house

1. your mind runs fast, but your 12th house challenges you to slow down and acknowledge buried insecurities.

2. release old narratives, whether it’s past gossip, harsh words, or regrets, let go of thoughts that weigh you down. Practice rephrasing past stories with kindness.

3. try creative outlets that let you express emotions without words, like art or dance, to connect with deeper feelings.

4. when you socialize, make time for connections that feel supportive and honest, without intellectual posturing.

5. quieting your inner monologue helps you access the quiet truths below the surface. Breathing exercises can help here.

HEALING TIP : try recording voice memos on your phone when you feel overwhelmed. Sometimes saying things out loud can help you make sense of them faster than writing.

🧩 cancer in the 12th house

1. you tend to tuck away your deepest fears. Make time to reflect on past emotions without judgment or the need to ‘fix’ them.

2. address any unconscious attachment to people or situations that no longer serve you, knowing it’s okay to need change.

3. offer compassion to yourself, revisit times when you felt misunderstood or unsupported, and give your younger self the love they needed.

4. learn to let go without feeling abandoned. Spend time nurturing your sense of self apart from your relationships.

5. forgive old wounds, allow yourself to release grudges or hurts, understanding that they don’t define your future connections.

HEALING TIP : write a letter to someone from your past you’ve never fully moved on from, then release it (you don’t have to send it).

🧩 leo in the 12th house

1. step back from needing validation, explore who you are outside of praise or recognition. spend time with yourself, just being rather than performing.

2. acknowledge areas where you might have felt rejected or unappreciated. practice self-love that doesn’t rely on others’ feedback.

3. try activities where you’re a beginner. learning something new can help you find power in vulnerability.

4. let go of ego-driven fears, focus on what makes you feel genuinely fulfilled, not just admired. reframe your goals around personal joy rather than approval.

5. reclaim your authenticity by exploring what brings you joy outside of an audience, like a private creative hobby that brings you peace.

HEALING TIP : try visualising your inner child, close your eyes and picture yourself as a child full of hope and joy, and send love to that younger version of you.

🧩 virgo in the 12th house

1. acknowledge that some things don’t need fixing. practice letting go without feeling the need to control every detail.

2. practice self-compassion, allow room for mistakes and honor your efforts without focusing solely on flaws. embrace your progress, not perfection.

3. stop overanalyzing (ik it’s hard but your overthinking is what causes majority of your problems, the more you overthink the more power you’re giving to those unwanted thoughts) give your mind permission to take a break. activities like meditative gardening or painting can help soothe the inner critic.

4. connect with your intuition, trust your instincts rather than rationalizing everything. allow yourself to simply “know” without overthinking it.

5. embrace the chaos haha, let things be messy or spontaneous without judgment. Flexibility helps you grow beyond rigid expectations.

HEALING TIP : try writing a list of what you’re grateful for, it's a simple but powerful tool to shift your focus from worries to abundance.

🧩 libra in the 12th house

1. find comfort in solitude, learn to enjoy your own company, separate from others’ opinions or companionship. practice inner peace.

2. let go of past people-pleasing, allow yourself to address buried feelings of resentment that may stem from overextending for others.

3. balance your inner harmony, focus on inner alignment rather than external harmony. Journaling or meditating on your needs helps you center.

4. heal relationship wounds, reflect on past connections that left an impact. release blame, knowing each taught you something valuable.

5. set boundaries with yourself, give yourself permission to say “no” without guilt. embrace your inner balance, free from others’ demands.

HEALING TIP : you can try a heart-centered meditation to connect with self-love and release neediness for outside validation or try a balance-focused yoga routine, it can be both grounding and soothing, helping you connect with your inner equilibrium.

🧩 scorpio in the 12th house

1. embrace your emotional vulnerability, lean into your feelings without fearing loss or control. Sharing emotions helps relieve hidden weight.

2. release grudges (ik this is something hard for you but letting go is better than holding on to the things that cause you problems - forgive but don’t forget perhaps), practice forgiveness as a way of releasing old hurts that drain you.

3. face your darkest worries with courage, knowing they don’t define you. Write them down and let them go.

4. reclaim personal power, you’re literally THAT bitch don’t forget that queen, focus on how you can empower yourself from within, instead of seeking control externally.

5. trust others with your feelings when it feels right; vulnerability can be deeply healing.

HEALING TIP : you can try shadow journaling by exploring both light and dark thoughts to understand yourself more deeply or if you want something fun instead try listening to a mystery podcast or an immersive story app where you can dive into thrilling narratives. this helps you tap into your emotional depth while being entertained, offering healing through mystery and intrigue.

🧩 sagittarius in the 12th house

1. look inward for meaning, sometimes answers lie within, not in new experiences. find fulfillment in self-reflection rather than escapism.

2. explore spiritual grounding, sagittarius craves meaning, so find practices that connect you to a sense of purpose, like guided meditation.

3. release judgment and let go of self-criticism about past “mistakes.” accept that growth is a journey, not a fixed outcome.

4. embrace introspection by giving your adventurous mind permission to slow down and find contentment in stillness.

5. cultivate patience please (so so important) you may be prone to quick fixes; practice patience with yourself and your journey to healing.

HEALING TIP : start a personal travel vlog (even if it's just to document your local adventures) or use digital journaling apps to record your thoughts, dreams, and philosophical insights. It’ll allow you to process your emotions while in a fun way <3

🧩 capricorn in the 12th house

1. release pressure to always be “on”, let go of needing to achieve every moment. It’s okay to just “be” sometimes, without a goal in sight.

2. forgive your past mistakes, address any old guilt you’re holding onto. you’re allowed to grow beyond your old decisions and learn without punishment.

3. embrace vulnerability (very important) being open about your feelings doesn’t weaken you; it strengthens your ability to understand and trust yourself.

4. trust life’s timing, not everything has to be perfectly planned. lean into moments of uncertainty and find peace in simply experiencing.

5. reflect on your worth beyond productivity, spend time exploring who you are outside of what you “do” or “produce.”

HEALING TIP : try weekly self-check-ins to connect with your needs and desires, away from the hustle of daily demands.

🧩 aquarius in the 12th house

1. embrace your quirks and shadows, you have a unique mind, so allow yourself to be different even in your struggles. reflect on hidden fears and accept them.

2. let go of needing to understand everything, release the need to overanalyze or intellectualize every emotion; trust that some things are just felt, not solved.

3. balance independence with connection, don’t isolate yourself too much. healing also comes through genuine human connections.

4. explore spontaneous introspection, give yourself the freedom to meditate or journal in unconventional ways, like painting or singing.

5. lean into self-compassion, you may be hard on yourself for being “too different” or processing wounds and hurts “differently” but learn to embrace that unique perspective as your strength.

HEALING TIP : try creative expression exercises that bring your thoughts to life, like freeform art, dance, editing, posting stuff online (blogs, reels etch) or sound journaling helps too.

🧩 pisces in the 12th house

1. set healthy boundaries with emotions, your empathy can pull you into others’ feelings. spend time differentiating between your own emotions and theirs.

2. give yourself closure without finality, understand that sometimes closure isn’t perfect or neat, and let go of needing every question answered.

3. create a soothing retreat, build a healing environment, like a cozy corner or blanket fort lmao, where you can escape and connect with your inner peace.

4. release victim mentality, move beyond past hardships by reclaiming your personal power and seeing yourself as a survivor, not a sufferer.

5. TRUST. YOUR. INTUITION. you’re naturally in touch with the unseen. lean into that gift by tuning into your feelings without judgment.

HEALING TIP : create a healing playlist filled with calming music, or even soothing ASMR sounds, to help you unwind and feel safe in your own space.

© cazshmere 2024 [All Rights Reserved]

banner & pic credits to the rightful owners <3

[lupinqs]

paige x reader request!! okay so reader has never dated before (she’s always focused on school and boys around her never seem to “meet up” to her standards….right lol) when she gets to college she meets p and they become really close. they end up falling for each other but reader is conflicted bc she has thought she’s been straight but looking back all the signs were there. she’s never wanted to have sex before (men are scary) but she wants to with p, she trusts her. this could be p talking reader through this realization and/or smut (p being really sweet w her bc it’s her first time yk)!! thank you!!

FIRST TIME ━━ paige bueckers x reader

☆ ━ summary: your first time is with paige

☆ ━ word count: 5.3K

☆ ━ warnings: smut with plot (honestly just p eating r out)

☆ ━ links: my masterlist

☆ ━ author’s note: my gift to everyone after that hellish lottery… fuck dallas bro 😐😐 also this is not my best work this month has been fucking terrible so my bad

FOR YOU, it’s always been school. School, school, school. By seventh grade, you already knew you wanted to go into medicine. Your parents both work in the field—your mom at the hospital, your dad in his private practice. You grew up hearing their stories over dinner, listening to the ups and downs of their days, feeling that pull towards something important, something that could make a difference. The way they talked about their work, you couldn’t help but imagine yourself there, following in their footsteps.

So, you worked. Hard. From the moment you set your sights on medicine, there was no looking back. High school flew by in a steady cycle of textbooks, flashcards, volunteer shifts, and internships, each one a piece of the puzzle you were putting together. You spent weekends shadowing doctors, hours in study groups, a summer interning at the local hospital where you first learned what a real emergency room felt like. Even then, nothing could shake you from the goal you’d carved out for yourself. You’d known from the start where you wanted to end up: Yale. As a Connecticut native, it felt like a given. You saw yourself there so clearly that the idea of not getting in didn’t even occur to you.

Until it did. And when the rejection letter came, it was like the ground had fallen out beneath you. There was shock, disappointment, embarrassment. You’d done everything right—how had that not been enough? But still, UConn is a good college, and the goal is med school anyway. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter where you get your undergraduate degree, that you’ll just work even harder this time. When it comes to med school applications, there won’t be any mistakes, no missed chances. You won’t let it happen again—you will be going to Yale.

The thing is, school’s been your everything for so long that you don’t have much of a life outside of it. You had a first kiss once, an awkward moment with a boy who you never talked to again. But after that, there hasn’t been anything more. You’ve always been busy, and to be honest, there’s never been anyone who made you want to carve out time. Every relationship around you seemed like a distraction, a place for people to get hurt or get sidetracked, neither of which were part of your plan. Your friends like to tease you about it, saying your standards are too high, that no one will ever live up to the expectations you’ve set. And maybe that was true. Maybe that’s what it is. The boys just don’t meet your standards. You accept that, not caring to pay any mind to them (though they certainly paid mind to you), continuing to stay focused.

But at UConn, things start to feel different. College is strange that way—there’s structure, but there’s also space, a little more breathing room. It’s not like high school, where everyone knew what you were doing all the time, where your schedule was mapped out. Here, people let loose, go out, drink, stay up until all hours for no reason at all. You do it, too, and you realize it’s fun. But you never let it go further, never bother to get any sort of romance or even hook-ups involved in your life—because you’re still who you are. Your studies come first, always. You continuously remind yourself of that. Med school is the goal, and you work towards it every day.

Besides, you’re not even really interested in dating or anything of the sort.

That is, until you meet a certain blonde-haired basketball player.

It happens during the second semester of your freshman year, in a class you’re only taking for the credit. You barely even remember signing up for it—some easy elective with minimal workload to round out your schedule. You don’t care about the subject, don’t even plan on giving it much effort beyond the occasional assignment because you know it’ll be easy anyways. But then she walks in.

Paige Bueckers. You’ve heard the name before, of course. Everyone has. She’s the sophomore basketball phenom, the face of UConn athletics, practically a celebrity on campus. You’ve never paid her much attention—basketball isn’t really your thing—but the buzz around her is impossible to ignore. Still, when she strolls into the classroom, disheveled and running a little late, it takes you a moment to connect the dots. Her hair’s thrown into a low bun, messy strands framing her face. She’s in a gray UConn sweatsuit, the hem of her hoodie slightly frayed, her glasses sitting casually on the bridge of her nose. She scans the room, sees that the only open seat is next to you, and slides into it without hesitation.

“Hey,” she says, flashing you a quick smile before dropping her bag on the floor.

And that’s it. Nothing monumental. Just a simple greeting. But there’s something about her—her presence, the casual ease with which she takes up space—that immediately hooks your attention.

At first, you try to keep your head down. She’s just another classmate, someone you’ll probably never see again once the semester’s over. But Paige doesn’t make it easy to ignore her. She leans over to you during class, whispering comments about the lecture or the professor’s awkward hand gestures. She’s funny—unexpectedly so—and you catch yourself smiling at her jokes even when you try not to.

You notice other things, too. Like the sharp line of her jaw, the way her broad shoulders stretch the fabric of her sweatshirt, the subtle curve of muscle beneath her long sleeves. She’s not the type of traditional feminine pretty that you’d expect, not delicate or polished. No makeup, no carefully curated outfits. But there’s something about her—an almost sculptural beauty, like she’s been chiseled from marble by a particularly ambitious artist. It’s distracting. And you don’t get distracted easily.

When your friends convince you to go to your first basketball game of the season, you tell yourself it’s just for the experience. A chance to break out of your usual routine. But then you see her on the court. And suddenly, everything makes sense. Paige doesn’t just play basketball; she owns it. She’s gorgeous out there, all fire and intensity, her movements fluid and commanding. You find yourself watching her more than the game, mesmerized by the way she moves, just her presence in general.

After that, you start looking forward to class in a way you never have before. It’s not the subject, obviously. It’s Paige. The way she smiles at you when she walks in, the way she leans over to whisper something ridiculous during a particularly boring lecture. She’s the best part of your day, and you don’t even try to deny it.

When the two of you get paired up for a group project, it feels like fate. You go to her apartment to work on it, expecting the same easy banter from class, but it’s more than that. The two of you get off track almost immediately, laughing over something stupid, and before you know it, hours have passed and you’ve barely made any progress. You end up staying way later than planned, both of you scrambling to get back on task before you have to call it a night. By the time you leave, you’ve swapped numbers, and from then on, the texts come easily.

It starts with class updates, but soon it’s more. Late night conversations that have nothing to do with school, Facetimes, too. Hanging out becomes natural: grabbing frozen yogurt, wandering around campus, studying together even when you don’t need to. You talk and talk and talk, and somehow, it’s never boring. Paige has this way of making everything feel lighter, like the weight you usually carry around doesn’t exist when you’re with her.

One night, after one of your froyo runs, you’re sitting in her car. The frozen yogurt is long gone, but neither of you seems ready to say goodbye. The conversation slows, dipping into a comfortable silence. You glance at her, and she’s already looking at you. There’s a shift in the air, something unspoken passing between you. And then, suddenly, she’s kissing you.

You freeze. Not because you don’t want it, but because it’s so unexpected. Your brain can’t catch up with what’s happening, and for a moment, you’re completely still. Paige pulls back almost immediately, her face flushing as she stumbles through an apology. “I’m sorry—I thought—God, I must’ve read that wrong. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” you interrupt, shaking your head as you finally find your voice. “I didn’t mind.”

Her eyes search yours, uncertain, and then the silence settles again. Before you can second-guess yourself, you lean back in. This time, the kiss is slower, more deliberate. Her hand cups your jaw, warm and steady, while your fingers find their way to her arm, brushing over the solid muscle of her bicep. The center console is a nuisance, forcing you both into awkward angles, but you don’t care. It’s all soft lips and quiet breaths, a perfect mix of hunger and gentleness.

When she finally pulls away, she drives you back to your dorm, her voice soft as she says, “I had a good time tonight.”

You manage a quiet “Me too,” before slipping out of the car.

Back in your dorm, your roommate is asleep, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, your heart still racing. You just kissed Paige Bueckers. A girl. And you liked it. More than liked it—you want to do it again.

The realization hits you like a freight train. You’ve never thought about girls like that before, never let your mind wander there. You always assumed you were straight, just too busy or too picky to find the right guy. But now, as you think about Paige, about her hands on your face, her lips against yours, it all starts to make sense. You never wanted boys. Not really. That kiss in high school with that random guy had felt wrong, awkward. The idea of being with a man had never appealed to you—except for maybe Drew Starkey, but even that felt more like a joke than anything real.

But this? The thought of Paige, of her smile, her laugh, the way she made you feel like you were the only person in the room—that feels real. And it’s terrifying.

Because now you know two things for sure:

You’re gay.

And you really, really like Paige Bueckers.

And it turns out that she really likes you, too.

Because that first kiss turns into another kiss. And another. And now, every time you’re alone together, it happens like clockwork.

The two of you have started hanging out in your rooms more often, the need for privacy overtaking any desire to sit in common areas or go out. Paige’s teammates joke that the two of you have become “homebodies,” but they don’t know the half of it. They don’t know how, as soon as the door closes, her lips find yours, soft and insistent, her hands framing your face as if you’re the most delicate thing she’s ever touched.

You’re not dating—at least, not officially. You haven’t talked about it, haven’t dared to address what’s happening between you. It’s easier this way, or so you tell yourself. But a part of you wonders why Paige doesn’t bring it up. Why she hasn’t said anything about what this is or what it could be. And that bothers you, even if you try to push it to the back of your mind. Then again, you’ve never done relationships, so maybe this in between is for the better—at least, for now.

Tonight, her teammates have gone to Ted’s. Paige had asked if you wanted to go, but when you wrinkled your nose and said, “Not really,” she grinned and said, “Me neither.” So, here you are, alone in her dorm room, a movie playing on the small TV mounted to the wall. Neither of you are watching it.

You’re lying on her bed, her weight hovering above you, and there’s no space, no breath between the two of you. Her lips are on yours, insistent and hungry, her body pressing against yours as if she can’t get close enough. There’s an urgency in her kiss tonight, a need that you can feel deep in your chest. You kiss her back with equal fervor, your hands tangling in her hair, pulling her closer, trying to anchor yourself to her.

Her hands are on your hips, her fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp against her mouth. You feel her smile against your lips at the sound and it makes you smile, too.

And, for the first time, you find yourself wanting more. Your skin feels like it’s on fire, your nerves alight with a buzzing energy that you don’t fully understand but don’t want to lose. Paige seems to sense it too because her hands slide up your sides, her thumbs tracing slow, deliberate lines against your skin.

Her lips leave yours, trailing along your jaw, down to your neck. The kisses are messy and open-mouthed, her breath hot and ragged against your skin. When her hands slip under your shirt, tracing over your stomach, you shiver.

“Can I take it off?” she asks, her voice soft but tinged with want.

You hesitate for a moment before nodding, lifting your arms to help her pull the shirt over your head. It’s gone in an instant, and you’re left in just your bra. The cool air against your skin makes you shiver again, but it’s nothing compared to the way Paige looks at you.

Her eyes roam over you, but not in a way that makes you feel objectified. It’s more like she’s in awe, like she can’t believe you’re here with her, like she can’t believe she gets to see you like this. It’s overwhelming.

You look away, suddenly self-conscious. It’s nerve-wracking, you’ve never done this before, and you know that Paige has. But Paige also knows that you haven’t, which you suppose makes things easier. You feel her fingers catch your chin, gently turning your head back to face her. Her touch is so tender it nearly makes you cry.

“If you wanna stop, tell me,” she says, her blue eyes locked onto yours, her voice steady and sincere.

You shake your head, your heart pounding. “I don’t wanna stop,” you say quickly, and then, after a pause, you add, your face flushing slightly with embarrassment, “I’m just a little nervous.”

She smiles softly, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Her hands move to your ribs, tracing slow, soothing lines along your skin. “It’s okay,” she murmurs. “You don’t gotta be. I’m right here.”

Her words settle something inside you, easing the tension in your chest. You nod, and she kisses you again, her lips slow and deliberate against yours. The urgency from earlier is still there, but now it’s tempered by something softer, something deeper. You want her closer, impossibly closer.

Her hands slide up your sides once more, stopping just below your chest, and the anticipation alone makes your breath catch. When her palms finally cup your breasts through your bra, her touch is firm yet reverent, and the sensation makes you gasp against her mouth. Your breathing deepens, your chest rising and falling under her hands.

It’s instinctual, the way your hands move to her waist, your fingers slipping underneath the hem of her long-sleeve shirt. Her skin is warm beneath your touch, and you can feel the subtle definition of her abs as your hands explore, your palms smoothing over her sides.

Paige groans softly into your mouth, her body pressing harder against yours as if she’s trying to fuse you together. Then she pulls away just enough to tug her long-sleeve shirt over her head in one fluid motion, tossing it carelessly across the room. The moment it’s gone, she’s back, her lips finding yours again, more insistent than ever.

She’s in just her sports bra now, and you can’t help but let your fingers trail along the edges of it, brushing against the smooth fabric and the warm skin beneath. Paige shivers under your touch, and the knowledge that you’re affecting her this much makes your heart race even faster.

Then you feel her hands move behind your back, her fingers toying with the clasp of your bra. She hesitates, her lips hovering over yours as if she’s waiting for your permission.

You pull back just slightly, your lips still brushing hers as you murmur, “Take it off.”

Her eyes flicker with something intense, something almost vulnerable, as she nods. She unclasps your bra with practiced ease, sliding the straps down your shoulders before pulling it away completely. For a moment, she doesn’t move, her gaze dropping to your bare chest. Her throat bobs as she swallows hard, and when she finally speaks, her voice is low and husky.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” she mutters, her eyes locking with yours for a heartbeat before her lips are on yours again, desperate and consuming.

Her hands return to your breasts, cupping and kneading them in a way that makes your head fall back against the pillows. A quiet whimper escapes your throat, and Paige groans in response, the sound vibrating against your lips.

Her mouth begins to wander, leaving your lips to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jawline, then lower to your neck. She lingers there, her teeth grazing your skin before she soothes the slight sting with her tongue. Each kiss feels deliberate, like she’s trying to memorize the way you taste, the way you react to her touch.

She moves lower, her lips brushing along your collarbone, her breath warm and uneven against your skin. Her hands continue their slow, deliberate exploration of your chest, her thumbs brushing over your nipples in a way that makes your breath hitch.

Her lips trace the edges of your breasts, teasing and deliberate, and it’s almost too much. Your fingers tighten their hold on her sides, your nails digging slightly into her skin as you try to ground yourself.

Paige’s lips move with an unrelenting intensity, open-mouthed kisses peppered across your chest as though she’s determined to worship every inch of you. When her mouth closes over one of your nipples, the heat and pressure of her tongue send a jolt through your body, and you swallow hard, trying to keep yourself steady. The sensation is new, overwhelming in the best way, and you feel a steady, growing thrum between your legs that you can’t ignore.

She doesn’t rush, her lips and tongue moving with precision, her hands anchoring you to the bed as if she doesn’t want you to float away. Her mouth trails from one breast to the other, lavishing attention in a way that makes your breath hitch and your fingers curl into the sheets.

“Paige,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper, your chest rising and falling heavily as her lips continue their descent.

She hums softly against your skin, a sound that vibrates through you as her mouth moves lower. She lingers over your stomach, her lips and tongue leaving a warm, wet trail across your skin. When she sucks on a spot just below your navel, you know she’s leaving a mark, but you don’t care. The sensation is intoxicating, her gentle pressure grounding you as your thoughts scatter into nothing but her touch, her presence.

Then, her hands move to the waistband of your sweatpants, pausing just above your hips. Her fingers don’t tug or pull, just hover there, her thumbs brushing lightly against your skin. You glance down at her, heart pounding in your chest, only to find her already looking up at you.

Her eyes are soft, full of a question she hasn’t yet asked, though there’s no mistaking the want clouding her gaze. When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet, careful, “Do you want me to?”

You swallow thickly, your throat dry. Do you want her to? God, yes. It’s not even a question. You don’t just want her—you think you might need her in this moment, need her to fix that ache that’s been building between your legs since she first kissed you tonight.

But it’s scary. Already, you’ve never been this exposed with anyone before, and this—this is something else entirely. A deeper kind of intimacy, one you thought you’d be ready for but now realize the weight of. Whenever you pictured what your first time might be like, you never really thought it would be too important, but now, here, with Paige above you, it feels monumental.

But who else would it be, if not her? Paige, who makes you feel safe, wanted, adored. You trust her in a way you’ve never trusted anyone. She’s kind, patient, and you like her so much it almost hurts. It only makes sense for it to be her. Even if it’s scary. Even if the thought creeps in—what if you’re not enough for her? What if you’re different from the others she’s been with, and she’s disappointed?

Your thoughts are interrupted as Paige reaches for your hand, her fingers threading through yours in a gentle, grounding gesture. Her eyes stay on yours, searching, concerned. She says your name, softly, once, then again. And then, “Baby…” Her voice cracks just slightly, and it tugs at something deep inside you. “Please don’t feel pressured. It’s okay. We don’t gotta do anything else.”

The way she says it, so sincere and unselfish, almost undoes you. You shake your head quickly, squeezing her hand in reassurance. “I don’t feel pressured,” you say, and though your voice wavers, it’s honest. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself before you continue. “Just… just keep going, please.”

She hesitates, her eyes locked on yours for a long moment, as if she’s searching for any sign of hesitation, any flicker of doubt. When she seems to find nothing but your own need and trust, she nods, her expression softening into something almost reverent.

“Okay,” she murmurs, her lips pressing a kiss to your stomach, this one gentler than the ones before, less insistent but no less meaningful. She kisses you again, and again, her hands moving slowly as her fingers hook around the waistband of your sweatpants.

She pulls them down your legs with care, her eyes flicking back to yours to make sure it’s still okay. You nod, your heart racing but your body completely at ease with her. And as Paige tosses the sweatpants aside, her hands return to your hips, her lips never far from your skin, and you feel nothing but trust, nothing but her.

She places feather-light kisses along your inner thighs, moving slowly, her lips brushing over the sensitive skin in a way that makes your breath hitch. Her hands rest on your hips, thumbs tracing lazy circles that feel both soothing and electrifying. When her lips press against the edge of your underwear, your heart races so fast it’s all you can hear.

And then, without breaking her rhythm, she tilts her head slightly and presses a soft, lingering kiss right over your clothed clit. The sensation is light, almost teasing, but it sends a shiver coursing through you. You take a shaky breath through your nose, swallowing hard, because she’s barely touched you, and already your body feels like it’s on fire.

When her fingers slide to the waistband of your underwear, she pauses, her eyes flicking up to meet yours. The unspoken question is there again, and this time, you don’t even need to think about it. “Mm-hmm,” you hum softly, nodding as your chest rises and falls a little faster.

Paige nods back, her expression soft but full of intent, and she hooks her fingers around the elastic, sliding your underwear down slowly, carefully, as if she’s unwrapping something fragile. The cool air against your skin makes you shiver, and when her gaze lowers, taking you in fully for the first time, you feel your face heat up, a mixture of anticipation and self-consciousness twisting in your chest.

Instinctively, your legs start to close, but Paige catches them gently, her hands warm and steady as she presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Don’t hide,” she murmurs, her voice low and soothing. When you don’t immediately relax, she looks up at you, sincerity written all over her face. “You’re so pretty, baby,” she says, her words soft but firm, like a promise.

Her reassurance eases some of the tension, and when she presses another kiss to your thigh—this one closer to where you want her—you let your legs fall open again, trusting her. Paige doesn’t rush. She kisses along your thigh again, then again, each one inching closer to where your body feels like it’s burning.

And then she’s there, her breath warm against your clit as she places the softest kiss there. The contact has you gasping quietly, your hips shifting involuntarily. She pauses, letting her lips linger, as if testing your response. When you let out a quiet, broken sound, she pulls back just slightly, her eyes lifting to yours as if checking one last time.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” she whispers, her hands smoothing up and down your thighs. You nod quickly, a whispered, “Okay,” tumbling out, though it feels like an understatement.

And then, without wasting any more time, Paige’s tongue slides along your core. That alone is enough to make your whole body flex, your stomach shuddering. Before you even get to process that foreign feeling of her tongue running up your slit, Paige presses her mouth against your clit completely, rolling her tongue right to the collection of nerves.

Her tongue alternates between soft, sweeping strokes and precise flicks that have you gasping for breath. It’s almost too much, and yet, not enough all at once. You bite your lip, trying to stay quiet, but a moan finally escapes when her tongue moves a certain way, hitting a spot that has your whole body tightening. The sound you make is desperate, unrestrained, and your face flushes in embarrassment. But Paige doesn’t seem to mind—if anything, she doubles down, a soft moan escaping her lips, vibrating against you that sends a fresh wave of pleasure rolling through your body.

Jesus Christ, she’s good at this. Somewhere in the back of your mind, it makes you wonder how many people she’s been with, how much practice she’s had to make you feel like this. But then her tongue slips inside you, making you forget any and all of your thoughts, before it slides back out and smoothes back along your clit.

“Mmm, P,” you manage to gasp, your voice shaky and uneven. She glances up at you, her gaze meeting yours, and the sight of her—eyes dark with want, lips glistening—sends heat flooding through you. When she holds your gaze and tilts her head just slightly, her tongue hitting that same perfect spot again, your head falls back against the pillow, a breathless cry slipping out.

“Right there?” she murmurs, her voice low and muffled against you. The vibrations of her words are enough to make you tremble, and all you can do is nod, your fingers tightening in her hair as you whisper a choked, “Yeah—yes, shit.”

Paige doesn’t let up for a second, her lips and tongue working in seamless harmony to drive you closer and closer to the edge. It’s overwhelming, how good she is at this. Every flick of her tongue, every deliberate motion feels impossibly intentional, like she knows exactly what to do to unravel you piece by piece. Your thighs tense around her, hands tangling into her blonde hair as you press her closer, hips shifting instinctively to meet her movements.

Her hands grip your thighs firmly, keeping you steady as she focuses all of her attention on you. You can feel the intensity in every motion she makes—each swirl of her tongue, every press of her lips against you is filled with purpose. She’s completely locked in, as if nothing else in the world exists but you. The tension in your stomach coils tighter and tighter, your breaths coming in short, shallow gasps.

The noises slipping from your lips are no longer something you can control. You’ve never felt anything like this before, never imagined something could feel this good. Your hips move against her instinctively, searching for more, for everything she can give you. And Paige? Paige meets you exactly where you are, matching your every movement with a rhythm that drives you absolutely wild. As your legs begin to shake, she seems to sense your need for something more, and she slides her hands beneath your thighs, lifting your legs and placing them over her shoulders to get ever closer to your wet, dripping cunt.

“Fuck,” you breathe, your voice trembling as the pressure builds higher and higher. You’re teetering on the edge, every nerve in your body alight with sensation. Paige doesn’t stop, her brows furrowing slightly in concentration as her her mouth becomes more precise and focused, tongue swiping so quickly against your wetness that you can tell she’s determined to push you over. “Paige, I think I’m gonna—”

You feel her nod against you, her tongue chasing the movement, and, between her kitten-licks and sucks, she gasps, breathless herself, “I know, I know. I gotchu, ma.”

And when she dives back in, taking your clit into her mouth and sucking it, her teeth scraping against you, her head shaking with the effort, that seems to do it. Your body tenses, toes curling as you gasp her name again, louder this time. The dam finally breaks, a wave of ecstasy crashing over you so intensely that it leaves you trembling. You cry out, your back arching off the bed as your hand grips Paige’s hair tightly, holding her to you as your orgasm overtakes you, your pussy dripping.

Fuck.

Paige doesn’t pull away, her hands steady on your thighs as she guides you through it, her tongue slowing its movements but not stopping, easing you gently down from your peak. Your body shudders with aftershocks, and you’re left breathless, your heart pounding wildly in your chest.

When Paige finally pulls back, her lips are swollen and glistening, a soft, almost smug smile on her face. She crawls up your body, pressing a kiss to your hip, then your stomach, before finally reaching your lips again. Her kiss is soft, tender, a stark contrast to the intensity of what just happened.

“Hey,” she murmurs against your lips, her voice gentle as she brushes a strand of hair from your face. “You good?”

You nod, still catching your breath, and manage to whisper, “That was… fuck, P.”

Paige grins, her fingers lightly tracing circles along your side. “Did so good for me,” she murmurs, her voice warm and affectionate. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

Her words make your heart flutter, and you bury your face in her neck, a shy smile spreading across your lips. Paige wraps her arms around you, pulling you close as you both settle into the bed. The steady rhythm of her breathing against you is soothing, grounding you after all of… that.

“I’m really glad it was you,” you murmur softly, your fingers idly tracing patterns on her shoulder.

Paige presses a kiss to the top of your head, her voice low and full of sincerity as she replies, “Me too.”

[simpjaes]

Loser jake who's just so pussydrunk™️ that he overstimulates tf out of reader and reader tries to crawl away but he just pulls them back and begs them for one more he promises he will be good :(( (we love loser!jake in this household 🫶)

the one where jake, a super loser, accidentally gives the best and most painful head. warning: jake is SUCH a fucking loser fr, like he has fumbled every girl ever before this.

It's not even that he's a loser, it's just that you never knew someone so fucking awkward could eat this aggressively.

yet, there he is, rubbing his nose in it like a puppy being scolded. You could argue he's enjoying it more than you are if his moans are anything to go by. Only because he's already gotten you off twice this way, and has yet to stop and let you breath.

Your legs have grown so weak that you can't even close them in an attempt to squeeze his head away, and all that's left now is the energy left in your arms. You release his hair, where you were trying to pull him back but he, instead, endures the pain of you trying to make him stop.

He knows it feels good for you, he can tell by the way your clit swells and throbs in his mouth. He couldn't stop even if you begged, even if you kicked him square in the face. He'd find his way back and attach these slick lips right back to you, yearning, fucking pining for one more. Just one more.

And upon that release of his hair, you grip the rug under you, trying to pull yourself up and away from him. Stuttering, almost sobbing at the sensitivity of it all, but he just drags you back down. Hands on your hips preventing you from escaping the relentless assault.

Only when you finally give in, when he releases a guttural moan/growl right into your sopping cunt do you break for a third time. It hurts, god it hurts so bad, but at the same time you can't help but call out his name desperately. As if inviting him for a fourth, or even a fifth orgasm.

A mistake on your part, truthfully, because his tongue only goes stiffer at that, and now he's got three fingers fitting inside of you just to prolong the painful orgasm. So messy with it too, you can feel the slippery heat as he slides his tongue up and down, in and out of each fold and crevasse your pussy offers.

Only when the tears start falling and you go silent does Jake pull up to breathe a true and intentional full breath. He looks at you, pupils blown out wide and mouth slack.

"I did good?" He asks, anticipating some sort of praise, and all you can do in your half-dissociated state is laugh.

This motherfucker? The Jake Sim who managed to fumble girl after girl? The Jake Sim who made you pity him during this short project session of an assignment, admitting that since college started, he hadn't landed a single hookup? The same guy who dead ass asked if you wanted him to leave when you laid down on this floor and spread your legs for him? Enticing him, fucking seducing him to try his skills out on you? He's asking if he did good? Despite the pain, and ignoring the way you can't even sit yourself up to look at him clearly, all you can do is nod in a daze. "Where did you learn how to do all that?" You mumble incoherently. Jake simply shrugs. "Ionno, i watch a lot of porn I guess."