#honestly every time this happens it makes me want to just throw in the towel

[mickules]

YOU'RE FREE OF THE MATURE FILTER THING I THINK

LORD YOU'RE RIGHT

And it only took *checks notes* 23 days, removing infinite scroll from my theme, 4 separate support tickets, 3 times I linked them their own TOS, 2 'how did we do :-3?' surveys and one post @'ing staff.

At the end, I still couldn't reply to a single e-mail, couldn't 'review' my flagged post, and they never even told me why it had triggered the "Mature" label in the first place.

Fix your shit first tumblr Fix the tags, fix the search function, fix the bots, fix your '''community labels''' before you listen to how profit-makers who've cannibalised the internet say you should ☝️ improve 👆 the site

for folk who like to throw stones at twitter, you sure are sitting in a fucking glass house

[shiftthemoon]

why you’re wrong about quitting shifting

so, you’re ready to give up on reality shifting? let me get this straight—you’re throwing in the towel because it’s “too hard” or because you haven’t succeeded yet? honestly, that’s not a reflection of the practice; it’s a reflection of your mindset. i’m not here to sugarcoat it for you. this whole “i can’t shift” narrative is not only false—it’s lazy. let’s dismantle this flawed thinking piece by piece.

1. “i can’t shift.” wrong. you haven’t shifted yet. stop acting like you’re hardwired to fail because you’re not. stop convincing yourself that it’s impossible when it’s more likely you just haven’t given it the time and effort it deserves. imagine trying to start a fire with two sticks. most people wouldn’t get a spark on the first try. does that mean fire is a myth or that they’re incapable? no—it means they need better technique, more patience, and consistent effort. shifting is your fire. just because you haven’t seen the flames yet doesn’t mean they’re not coming. every moment you’ve spent trying has been building heat; quitting now ensures you’ll never see the light.

2. your impatience is not proof of impossibility. let’s be real: you’re expecting results on your timeline, and when it doesn’t happen, you declare shifting a failure. that’s not logic—that’s entitlement. imagine planting a tree and stomping on the roots because it didn’t grow tall overnight. that’s essentially what you’re doing. you have no idea how close you might be to success because you’re too focused on the absence of instant gratification.

3. you’re underestimating your brain. your mind is adaptable, but it needs consistency to form new pathways. reality shifting involves rewiring your entire perception of existence—it’s not something you’ll master just by wishing for it. the tools—meditation, affirmations, visualization—aren’t magic tricks; they’re exercises for your subconscious. if you quit now, you’re not only rejecting shifting but also your brain’s potential to grow.

4. your perspective on “failure” is flawed. let’s get one thing straight: failure isn’t the lack of success; it’s the decision to stop trying. every attempt you’ve made so far has laid the groundwork for future breakthroughs. you think those hours scripting or visualizing are wasted? they’re not. every time you try, you’re training your mind to align with your desired reality. quitting means throwing all that progress away.

5. you’re putting shifting on a pedestal. you’re treating it like some mystical, unattainable miracle instead of what it really is: a practice. people have been shifting, lucid dreaming, astral projecting, and training their minds for centuries. the only difference is that they stuck with it. if they can do it, why not you? what makes you the exception? the truth is, you’re not.

here’s the thing: the act of giving up is far more definitive than the idea that you “can’t shift.” quitting guarantees failure, while continuing guarantees possibility. do you really want to shut the door on that possibility just because it didn’t happen on your schedule?

the bottom line is this: shifting is as much about discipline as it is about desire. your current mindset isn’t just dismissing the practice; it’s dismissing your own potential. so, stop wallowing in disappointment and start recognizing that you’re not stuck—you’re learning. if you can’t handle that reality, then maybe shifting isn’t the problem.

[sierrale8ne]

40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS CHAPTER SIX

thought i’d be lying if i said ‘i didn’t want you to myself.’ when you look me in my eyes and, tell me that it’s mine, i…

pairing wnba!paige bueckers x singer!oc

taglist @thaatdigitaldiary @ohbueckers @xxloveralways14 @patscorner @wbbgetsmewetter @rosemariiaa @tndaqlifwy @makethemhoesmad @authentic-girl03

warnings infidelity, some sexual content

kalena speakss 🪽! this is easily my favorite chapter so far (for reasons that will become obvious towards the end) don’t expect another back to back update bc it’s not happening 😭 maybe thursday or friday at the earliest, i still have priorities!

June 2025 — Crypto.com Arena, Los Angeles, California 

“Paige, your shot wasn’t falling tonight like we are used to seeing from you. What was different tonight for you than either nights?”

It’s this that I’m not quite yet used to. The post lost pressers. It was different in college, where the team had way more wins for every one loss, but right now we’re at .500 and each time a loss follows a win and they ask me the same variation of the same question I get irritated.

But I’m media trained, which means I just answer the question no matter how dumb I feel it is. The real answer is that I played like shit tonight, forcing shots and getting into my head. Instead, I’m forced to say:

“We’re playing a team that has the reigning defensive player of the year and was just in the finals. It was gonna be a dog fight, for us to get settled against a defense like that, and they simply out performed us.” I look down at the stat sheet in front of me, I had 5 turnovers to my 4 assists, and I fucking hate turning the ball over. 

“Kayla McBride is a dog, she guarded me well tonight, forced me into some bad shots and got a few turnovers from me. But I gotta take all that and learn from it, it’s still too early in the season to stress out over things that are fixable.”

I'm the only one sitting at the podium tonight, Rickea and Dearica doing theirs together and Zia who had just gone before me. I knew what the gist of the questions would be, turnovers, defense, and the most gruesome: injuries.

“We saw you roll your ankle pretty bad tonight. Even though you finished the game, can you tell us a bit about the seriousness of it?” It’s a different reporter now, one that I recognize from our win the other night.

I shake my head. My ankle was fine up until he just mentioned it. Now, it stung bad. I had some extra tape around it, it was only sore, while I was sitting but walking and running full speed on the court made that shit hurt like no other. 

“It’s not serious.” I reply honestly. “We got two days off before the next game at home so I’m not worried. I’m gonna treat it like any other tweak and just follow what the trainers got for me, and hopefully we have a better night against Minnesota on Friday.”

It seems like that is a sufficient answer for the rest of the reporters in the room when I hear that wonderful “no more questions.” I stand up gingerly from my seat. They don’t miss my slight limp, but after a few steps the pain shakes off and it just feels uncomfortable. 

When I get back to the locker room it’s damn near empty except for Cameron and Rae. I give them both curt nods before heading over to my locker.

They don’t speak to me, which I’m silently grateful for because I might snap at them unintentionally. Losing is one thing, playing like dog shit is another, but my ankle really put the nail in the coffin.

I attempt to clean up my locker a bit, making life a little bit easier for the ladies who’re gonna come in and clean up when we leave. I throw my jersey and shorts in the growing pile of towels and warm ups and all other gear before reaching for my phone in the bag. 

just saw the injury on tv, pray it’s not too bad ❤️‍🩹

That’s the second most recent text in my phone, from about an hour ago from Maraye. It just briefly brings a smile to my face that I can’t even fight. It’s crazy to me that even when I’m at my grumpiest she finds a way to make me forget about it all.

I scroll through the rest of my notifications before tapping on her contact. I see that she texted me multiple times tonight throughout different parts of the game.

don’t fuck up my parlay tonight. jk good luck fav! 7:09pm

OKAY BLOCKKK GET UP THEN 7:20pm

omg the cross over??? don’t do her like that p 😮‍💨  8:03pm

I laugh fights through my lips, she told me in Atlanta she would start live texting me during games, I didn’t think she was serious. Nevertheless, I find it adorable. Maraye, throughout the busyness that is her schedule, turned on my game and watched the whole thing, keeping me posted on all her thoughts throughout the night.

I’m so beyond saving.

My thumb scrolls back down to the bottom of the thread. I can’t deny the way my heartbeat quickens in my chest at the choice of heart emoji. It’s not quite a red heart, but it’s enough to let me know she cares. I can’t believe that I’m sitting here like I’m in high school again, psycho analyzing her texts and gushing over them until my face is red.

“You headin’ out?” I look up and Cam is getting ready to leave. She’s going to be fully cleared to play this week, probably not playing with us until right before All-star. I’m excited for her, and I can tell that she is too because it’s practically beaming off of her.

I nod. “Yeah, inna minute. I’ll catch you in the morning.” Cameron takes that answer and walks out alongside Rae. I grab my back shortly after them, getting up and leaving the locker room. The arena is quiet, so is the parking garage as I make my way out there. The chirp of my car alerts me to it. I drop my bag in the trunk before sitting down in my seat.

The cushion practically eats me alive, I haven’t been this physically exhausted in months. 

Then I’m reminded that Maraye and I’d thread is still open on my phone. When I glance at the time I realize it’s not that late, I know that if I go home, I’ll just fall into the rabbit hole of watching film all night.

Instead I reach for the phone heavy in my sweatpants pocket. My thumbs begin typing away before sending Maraye a text back.

Nah it’s not all that bad 

You busy? Or can I slide?

I make sure my phone is connected to the speakers. When He’s Not There by Kehlani plays through the car while I get settled. Following that, I place my phone on its spot on the center console. It isn’t until Maraye’s name flashes on my carplay screen that I finally pull out of the parking garage.

yes please, come see meee

—

Paige sits comfortably to my left on my couch. Her leg propped on my coffee table with a bag of ice resting on her swollen ankle. 

It’s her first time at my apartment, but even then she navigates the place like she’s been here countless of times. It feels so similar to our friendship, just comfortable. 

Her arm is draped over my shoulder as I nestle into her side. When she first came over, I sat on the other side of the couch, so far away from her you would think we were fighting. And then she started talking, pulling me closer with her words until I sat right next to her. My body is leaning into her warmth.

An NBA finals game plays on the TV. Knicks versus the Thunder, it’s in the last few minutes of overtime, a high intensity game that Paige swore she couldn’t miss a second of.

“He’s so fine.” I chirp jokingly, Shai Gilgeous Alexander is on the screen, about to shoot game tying free throws.

Paige pulls her arm off of me, looking down at me incredulously before reaching for my remote. She lowers the volume on the TV, reducing Mike Breen’s commentating to a whisper.

“Who, Shai?”

“Yeah. You don’t think so?” I ask, looking up at her with a grin.

“I’m like a raging homosexual, but if you like it I love it?”

I laugh at that, pushing her hair away from my view. It cascades down her shoulders in soft bright strands that tickle my face. 

“You can never just laugh at my jokes.”

“Your jokes aren’t funny.” Paige says. The face she makes reacts to her own statement like it’s obvious, when we both know I could make her laugh until she cried if I wanted to. “And Shai isn’t your type.”

I move from my spot next to her, jumping up and turning my attention to her face, while hers are stuck to the game. The way she is seated briefly makes me forget my train of thought. Her legs are spread comfortably and she leans back on the couch with her arms against the back of the couch. She looks like a fuckboy, and in any other scenario I would make fun of her for it, but the TV glow shines on her face just right and her cologne in my nose nearly makes me go blind.

I cross my arms over my chest. “What’s my type then, Paige?”

A commercial cuts on and Paige finally draws her eyes away from the screen. “What, Julian’s lightskin ass wasn’t the giveaway?” She laughs at her own joke, it’s stupid, but I love that laugh. So uniquely her. “Or y’want me to say you like six foot blonde girls.”

I roll my eyes, and when my vision clears up again, Paige is grinning at me.

“C’mon it was funny!”

“I don’t like women, idiot.”

“You like me.”

“I do not. I don’t even know why I let you hang out around me.” My body turns and my back hits the couch with a soft thud. Just to annoy her I sit further away from her body.

“Yeah okay, ma. You keep tellin’ yourself that.” Paige’s voice is low, a deep and raspy tone that I have never heard from her before. With Julian that had always been a given— he’s a man with a deep voice, that’s obvious. But when I hear it from Paige, I don’t know. It’s different.

My body just barely reacts to the pet name, but it’s there. The glob of saliva that pushes down my dry throat. And my legs just slightly press together. Paige reaches for the pocket of my striped shorts, tugging me back to my original spot in the curve of her body. 

“You’ve really never done anything with a girl before?”

“Paige—”

“No, not to be annoying. I’m just wondering.” She shrugs. Her hand reaches over to flick the bag of ice off her ankle and brings her leg down to my carpet. She looks down at me slowly, a lick of her lips and scan of my face lets me know she’s listening, waiting for my response.

I return her gaze. “Yes, I’ve really never done anything with a girl before.”

“Why? We’re much better. Better than whatever Julian is doing for you, I can tell you that much.” Paige’s voice is smug, teasing almost. I don’t know if she’s trying to rile me up between my legs or in my heart so I defend Julian. Either way it’s working, my heartbeat quickening in my chest.

“You seem sure about that.”

She nods. “I am. I think you forget how often you complain to me about that guy.” She says with a laugh.

The game in front of us is dying down, a three point lead for the Knicks with 40 seconds left in overtime, Oklahoma just now calling a timeout. I know she’s into the game, way more than me, but still she looks at me with an intensity that makes it feel like we’re the only two things in the world.

“Doesn’t mean a girl could do it better.”

Her eyes darted from my eyes to my lips, I’m expecting them to move. To look back at my eyes or even at the TV but she doesn’t. Just me.

“Y’believe that?” Paige asks me.

“Uh huh.” 

I’m going to lose. Whatever is going on with Paige and I, what has been going on for the last few weeks. The banter, the tension, the constant touching, it’s all a fight. Her and I are going back and forth like a fucking tennis match and she’s about to win. She’s about to make me lose whatever is left of my composure and grab the collar of her Hopkins High School t-shirt and kiss her until there’s no more breath in my lungs.

“Yeah? Ion know, can’t knock it till you try it.” She says, leaning into me for all of 5 milliseconds before sitting back in her seat and looking at the screen. The volume raises on my TV the cheers and commentary bouncing off the walls of my home.

Paige has left me frozen. Stuck there, in the exact position that she left me in. My eyes staring into the side of her perfect skin, burning holes there if I had the capability. I need her. My thighs are damn near glued together to keep me from dripping down my couch. 

I adjust my position some, sitting uncomfortably on my heels but with the way Paige is manspreading, it gives me just enough to be an inch taller than her. She looks at me, eyes trailing from my thighs past my covered stomach and chest, suddenly I’m hyper aware of how close my tits are from falling out of my Skims top.

“There some’ you wanna tell me, angel?” She asks. I hate the way that nickname makes me feel. She’s the only one that calls me that, the only one who makes me feel so small with just a single word. “Or you jus’ gonna keep lookin’ at me?”

The words just barely die in the air before I’m leaning into her, pressing my lips to hers. 

It starts off soft, so soft. Her body hesitates, like she knows better than to kiss me back but she does so anyway, tilting her head further and deepening the kiss. Paige hums against me, her arms still pressed against the back of the couch as if she has to avoid touching me. As if the second her hands touch my body then it’s game over. 

She bites my bottom lip, making me moan against her. I further into the kiss, cupping her cheek and then it really is game over. Paige reaches for my hips, lifting my body onto her lap and settling my thighs on the outside of hers.

Her tongue is entering my mouth, warm and tasting like candy. They’re clashing, messy and sticky and so damn hot. Now that I’ve gotten a taste of her I’m not sure I want to give it up. 

Paige roams my body with fervor. Trailing just a bit further to grab at my ass, kneading it in her large and veiny hands. I pull back from her breathlessly. Her hair is messy, lips so swollen and pink. It leaves me soaked as a response.

“This is doin’ so much damage. Y’know that?” She asks. Her hand travel back up my body to the back of my neck. I know it’s wrong, but still I let her pull me back into her. 

“Mmm, Ion wanna— stop.” I speak against her lips, letting her kiss me as she pleases. Grope me as she pleases. Talk to me as nasty as she wants to. I miss it, the feeling of being so vulgar with another person. Paige is on a different level and I want so much more. More of her, more than anyone has ever given me but for whatever reason I know that she can.

My phone starts ringing. I try to pull back to answer it but she pulls me right back, navigating my mouth with her tongue.

“Don’t.” She mumbles.

“I gotta.” I tell her pulling back with such force that I’m almost falling off the couch. I need to. Because if I don’t stop, I’m gonna let her see me in my most vulnerable state and even I know how wrong that would be. 

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, swiping to answer the call before I can even see who it is.

“Hello?” My voice is wheezy, and I’m huffing and puffing into the speaker.

“Hey, baby. You home?” 

It’s Julian. Of course it is. Of course God would let this man call me in the middle of making out with Paige just to make me feel guilty. Like the asshole I so obviously am right now.

“N— yeah. Yeah, but I’m busy. Sorry.” I stutter. “Paige is over right now.” I tell him honestly. But still, my breath hitches at my mention of her name. She rubs my thighs while I speak, looking at me like I’m a piece of meat. 

Her hand travels to her mouth, holding up one finger to her lips with a snide glare. I reach to slap her hand away, barely listening to what Julian says to me on the other line. 

Blah blah blah I miss you blah blah blah needa start hanging out with me blah blah less Paige. It’s gibberish. And I don't care.

“Yeah, okay. Goodnight Ju.” I tell him, bothered by his continued talking and wanting to occupy myself with something else. Namely, the pink lips in front of me that look so fucking pretty and the gorgeous face just inches away from mine.

I toss my phone on the couch after Julian responds and hangs up.

“You fuckin’ like me.”

“And don’t.” Just when I’m about to hop off of her lap, the TV blares loudly.

“Bang! Bang! Shai Gilgeous-Alexander takes us into double overtime!” Mike Breen’s cheers echo into my ears. Paige looks past me, obviously upset that she missed the shot.

“Damn. He’s good and fine?”

“Dont get fucked up, Raye.”

[darlingdaisyfarm]

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚 ˖° a day at the beach with the Pines twins headcanons 

author note: okay, this is kinda a “what if au” where Stan never got kicked out of home (Filbrick I hate you), meaning he and Ford stayed together in new jersey and grew there too

u can imagine Stan with his mullet and twins being like… i bet you seen those edited screenshots of them where they are young and look like cousins of Mabel and Dipper? IDK HOW TO EXPLAIN I’m so sorry

Stan x reader x Ford, nsfw? (mostly it’s just wholesome and intimate but there’s mentions of sex still)

✧ Stan’s got you perched on his shoulders for a fight in the water and he’s talking shit the entire time, calling Ford “the human string bean” and yelling, “ya better hold on, sweetheart, ‘cause i ain’t lettin’ this nerd win!” spoiler: Ford wins

✧ the three of you build a sandcastle, no, no really. because Stan and Ford argue over everything in the process. Ford wants it to have “structural integrity,” while Stan insists on making it look “badass.” somehow, it ends up being both, a tower with a moat and little seaweed flags that Stan claims are “pirate-approved!!!” you’re the judge, of course

✧ Stan steals your sun hat. just straight-up snatches it off your head and plops it on his, smirking at you. “whaddya think, doll? does it suit me?” and honestly it kinda does, but you’re not gonna tell him that. Ford’s the one who eventually grabs it back, muttering about “immature antics” while carefully placing it back on your head

✧ imagine playing with Ford’s hair as you lay next to him on the beach, getting your fingers tangled in his soft strands, the ocean breeze making it swirl a little. you’re leaning closer to his face next thing he does is pressing soft kisses to your wrist. Ford’s eyes are beautiful, so when he glances up at you, he looks like he’s asking for permission to take that next step. like he can’t wait to kiss you, but he’s waiting for you to make the first move

✧ sharing the towel with Stan and Ford after you’ve all been in the water. sand sticking to your skin, that salty taste all over your lips. Stan just drops his towel on top of yours, pulling you in close so you’re trapped between them. “ain’t no way I’m lettin’ ya get cold, pretty,” Stan’s hands are sliding up your legs, getting close to the waistband of your swimsuit bottoms. Ford’s fingers caress your skin, too, both of them deciding who gets to take you first. god, you could melt between them. it’s totally not because of the sun

✧ they challenge you to a volleyball match, and oh god, it’s a disaster. because Stan’s so competitive, diving for every ball and yelling, “yer gonna hafta do better than that, sixer!” while Ford tries to play by the actual rules. sadly, it ends with Stanley smacking ball right into Ford’s face with “oops”

✧ Ford’s got sunscreen smeared across his nose because he applied it so meticulously he missed the most obvious spot. Stan, being a little shit, doesn’t say a word until you point it out and that makes him die at his brother’s embarrassed reaction. Ford just says, “at least i won’t look like a lobster.”

✧ Stan teaches you how to skip stones. but “teaches” is a strong word because he mostly just shows off, throwing perfect skips and smirking at you every time yours plops straight into the water. “ain’t no shame in bein’ bad at it, sweetheart. not everyone can be as talented as me.” Ford, of course, chimes in with, “it’s all about the angle of release,” and then he decides to demonstrate, making it look annoyingly easy

✧ they both get weirdly protective when some random guy starts chatting you up. guess who’s first to speak and says “don’tcha got somewhere else to be, buddy?” ??? 

✧ IDK WHY BUT I JUST SEE IT HAPPENING. hear me out. Stan buys you ice cream from a cart on the boardwalk, but the bastard purposely gets himself the messiest one he can find, idk, like a triple scoop with chocolate drizzle and sprinkles AND GUESS WHAT? it’s melting faster than he can eat it, dripping all over his hands and chest. HAH SUCKER (sorry i love him sm) and if you’ll look at him, his chest especially, thinking he won’t notice, believe me he will, “whatcha lookin’ at, doll? ya wanna lick it off me or somethin’?”

✧ Ford’s way more methodical with his treat, carefully choosing something sensible like a popsicle. he tries to eat it while reading, holding his book with one hand and the other balancing the melting stick. but he’s a silly guy who doesn’t know what summer is, so his popsicle drips onto the page and Stan immediately makes fun of him for it 

✧ more bout ice cream thing: it becomes like some kind of foreplay. Stan insists on buying you the biggest cone they have, all drippy and sweet, just so he can watch you try to eat it before it melts. “careful, baby,” as he messily licks a stray drop off your wrist. Ford doesn’t stop himself from leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth, tasting the sweetness. by the time you’re done, the three of you are a mess of sugar and salt and heat

✧ at one point, Stan flops onto your towel, shaking sand everywhere. “hope ya don’t mind sharin’ with yer favorite guy,” he says, throwing an arm around your shoulders. however Ford tries to protest, pointing out that there are plenty of other towels, but his brother just smirks and says, “don’t be jealous, sixer. there’s room for you too.” and that’s how you three end up all squeezed together in a ridiculous pile

✧ Ford collects seashells. of course he does. hes a cutie. he’s walking along the shore, muttering to himself about “the fascinating variety of mollusk species” while carefully placing his finds into a small bag. Stan tries to look cool in front of you so he mocks his twin, calling it “nerd treasure,” or “typical nerds hobbies”, but later you catch him sneaking one of Ford’s shells into his pocket :)

✧ you challenge ford to a sand sculpting contest and he takes it so seriously because he’s sketching out blueprints in the sand, muttering about “load-bearing structures” while you’re just piling up sand with your hands. Stan joins your team, of course, and together you make the stupidest creation ever. Ford’s castle is a masterpiece, all detailed and structured, but when you ask the kids nearby to judge, they pick yours because it “looks funny!” 

✧ Stan’s sunglasses break because he sits on them and instead of admitting defeat, he just steals Ford’s

✧ it starts innocent, like most things do. Ford’s helping you tie the strings of your bikini top after a swim. but he’s not as composed and cool as he seems. Stan, being nearby, catches the whole thing. “aw, sixer, don’t be that nervous. want me to show ya how it’s done?”

✧ Stan’s teaching you how to body surf, him standing waist-deep in the water, his chest glistening from salt water and all golden from the sun. “so you just have to let the wave carry ya, toots,” he grins but he doesn’t let you go far, placing his big hands on your hips before squeezing your ass  

✧ they’ve set up a beach blanket, which is big enough for all three of you, and somehow you’ve ended up pinned between them. as always. not like you complaining though. Stan’s lying back, laying his arm around your shoulders. but Ford is more intimate, he’s talking about something you can’t even focus on because his hand is on your thigh as he brushes his fingers against the skin just beneath your bikini bottom. and then you both hear: “ya gotta share, sixer. can’t hog her all to yerself.”

✧ they both look at you like they’d devour you right there if they could

✧ Stan likes to tease, but he’s downright filthy when he gets you alone in the water. the sunlight makes your skin glisten beautifully and he can’t keep his hands off you. “ain’t nobody around, cmon,” he whispers in your ear as his fingers sneak beneath your bikini bottoms. “lemme feel ya, darlin’.” the saltwater does nothing to cool the burn as his fingers press in slowly and your body trembles, while his free hand holds you steady against him, his cock hard against your ass

✧ Ford acts all gentlemanly at first, adjusting your sun hat when the wind threatens to blow it off, complimenting how stunning you look with the ocean behind you. but you just have to tease him, so you lean into him and whisper something sweet and a little filthy in his ear. his reaction is immediate when he pulls you into the shade of a lifeguard tower, slipping his hand under your bikini as he kisses you and grinds his hips against you

✧ Stan cant help himself, he likes to watch your lips wrapped around the straw of your drink. it drives him wild. guess why

✧ Ford’s chest a little pink from the sunburn he’ll complain about later, but right now, he’s distracted by the way Stan’s fingers are trailing up your thigh as he applies sunscreen on you. he spreads the slick lotion higher, closer to where your thighs meet. Ford glares, but he doesn’t stop him; instead, he leans down and kisses your shoulder, saying something about needing to check for missed spots

✧ uh. . . imagine sneaking off to one of those little wooden beach huts which are meant for changing clothes, but it barely fits all three of you. but don’t be sad, the cramped space only makes things hotter!

✧ you’re dripping wet from a late afternoon swim and your bikini clings to your skin what makes Stan whistle and Ford fumble with his towel. the sun is setting behind you, turning everything in this golden, honey-like colour and you look like something out of a dream for both twins. “y-you’ll catch a cold,” Ford says as he wraps the towel around your shoulders. “nah, she’s burnin’ up already, don’t u see,” Stan is already behind you as he kisses your neck and the towel falls to the sand

✧ there’s something so funny but intimate about the way they take turns rubbing sunscreen onto your skin, even when you protest you’re fine on your own

[a66-1]

starving.

Simon x Fem!Insecure!Reader.

Part 1 | ???

TW: Talk of ed's, negative self talk, low self esteem, bad mouthing (from reader to herself, comes with the territory) cursing, self harm. i tried not to be too descriptive with the reader, so EVERY insecure girlie who reads this feels seen. (these tw are for the whole thing, im pretty sure this is gonna be a series)

a/n: hey. if you need help, dm me. ill talk to you if you need it :). (also i made my banners. if you want one dm me! i make them for free, just with credit :)) NOT PROOF READ

i hope your doing okay honey.

Stepping out of the shower, the towel around you just big enough to touch ends is slipped around yourself. Showering is getting harder. You can barely stand glancing at the mirror now.

You dry yourself off, and hand the towel back up. You can do it, just walk past the mirror to grab your clothes.

You take the steps past the mirror, and turn your back to the mirror to change. Slipping your bra on, and it squishes the skin on your back and you grimace.

Once your dressed, you turn back around. The nagging voices are just waiting to pounce. I mean, what? You used to be so skinny.

You used to be pretty.

You decided to let your hair air dry, and you walk into your bedroom. You had work today, but you really wish you didn't. It was a bad week, you'd skipped 3 meals in the last few days and you know what your therapist would say.

'The progress you've made, hun. You can't go back now.'

The bad days are getting too close to each other now. You used to have at least a week between them, but now it's barely 48 hours. Maybe being off medicine isn't working good anymore.

Maybe you're no good.

You throw in a big hoodie, one that covers you, and some sweat pants, glancing at the big mirror in your room.

You can't stop analyzing yourself.

There's not one good thing on you is it?

Fuck.

The rest of the day was spent at your stupid 9-5, with your stupid boss, in your stupid, lonely life. Christ, being off anti-depressants is really hitting you hard. Everyone at your job is stupid and today every customer who wants to blow you ear off about how you kids these days, by the end of the day, your so tense that your shoulders are aching.

You got about 30 minutes left at this off-brand kroger store, when a big, big ass man walks in, shoving a mask with a skull print on it on. You curse to yourself, you really don't want to have to call the police for a robbery, you just want to go home.

To be honest, if he had a gun, you'd be half tempted to let him shoot you-

"Ma'am?" A heavy British accent came from your right. You turn your head, and scan his few items. You don't bother with the how are you's and you sigh.

"It'll be 16.84." You drag your eyes to his, and he reaches to his pocket, pulling out..

A wallet. What else were you thinking?

He hands you a twenty, and you hand him his respective change. He bags his own items, because honestly, you seem like the only worker in the store. Your face is written with exhaustion, whether it be from this job or something else, and the guy notices.

"Have uh... A good day." He nods to you, and walks off.

You purse your lips, and sigh, closing your cashier, because fuck finishing today. You're too close to a breakdown, and you're not trying to let anyone see.

You drive home, your hands tight around the wheel. You know it's a bad idea to be driving this emotional, to the point you wonder what would happen if you swerve your car into a tree.

You won't do it though.

You need to get back out there. It's why you stopped taking your meds.

You promise yourself that tomorrow you'll go out, and at least get a one night stand, you want need, anything.

Once home and in bed, you scroll and scroll and scroll. Doom scrolling is too common on these longer nights. You have a pillow tucked into your arm, and your hand squeezes it every time that pang in your lower chest rings out. Loneliness, you think.

You always scroll through your old friends instagrams or snapchats, seeing their nice bodies and nice boyfriends. You've been so nice and kind and karma should be on your side, but it always failed.

Especially after your last boyfriend.

Your friends say to wait.

To wait.

To wait.

But waiting is getting harder. Days are getting longer, and your head seems to spin more when left to its own devices. Why do you have to wait?

Your looks.

Your personality.

Who'd wanna be seen with you?

You flip your phone over, and shove your face in the pillow, your breathing staggered.

You fell asleep late, that night. The tears brought you to exhaustion.

woah why did this take 2 tries to write.

be waiting for pt.2

TRUST FINALS ARE SOOM COMING TO AN END and summer i will be STEWING TRUST!!!

Taglist!

@i-am-hungry-24-7

thank you for all the support. drunk simon blew up and im crying bc i came back after a 2 year hiatus and i wasn't getting the same feedback as usual so to finally seeing people enjoy my work again makes me feel great. <3

sorry simon wasn't in this part much. you gotta know the reader first tho, right?

bye babes..

-a661

[sc0tters]

Behind Closed Doors | Trevor Zegras

summary: you and Trevor have been in a FWB relationship for over a year, but what happens when he gets jealous during your families yearly trip to the lake house?

song: I Can See You - Taylor Swift

request: yes/no

warnings: jealous (and lowkey toxic Trevor), fwb relationship, mentions of sexual themes but nothing explicit.

word count: 1.54k

authors note: this is the first Hughes sibling piece that I have ever done! Trevor does honestly give me that toxic boy vibe sometimes so I’m hoping I’ve given it justice. if you want to see more or be apart of the 150 celly you can check the playlist out here!

pt2

Everywhere you looked he was there.

Trevor had been apart of the steady stream of guests that the lake house had homed for the last week and a half. Usually you loved having your brothers friends there, most you had grown to call friends of yours to. But Trevor was different.

You had been a study at the university of California for the entire duration of your degree. Jack had asked the older boy to look out for you because he couldn’t stand the idea of his twin sister being all the way across the country.

Being the good best friend that Trevor was he fully took on the role making sure that he saw you at least once a week and if the Ducks were playing a weekend game at home then you were there. You two spent two years doing that, you’d watch the occasional girl walk in and out of his life and you couldn’t help but feel your heart full with sorrow. From the day you met Trevor you actually found him really irritating but on your fifteenth birthday when he simply said that you looked nice, it all changed. Suddenly he was no longer just Jacks friend and national teammate but he was now also cute.

Over the two years you were his usual plus one to team events to the point where you somehow cracked the nod to join the wags group chat. Despite both of your efforts to shut down those rumours it always fell on deaf ears as the team had actually made a bet on when you two would finally admit to it.

But of course that day never came, the day that did come though was the one where you two slept together. It was after a surprising Ducks win and when Trevor came over to celebrate you were in nothing more than your towel as you were about to hop in the shower. With a simple surge of confidence that you got when he was left speechless at the sight, you asked if he wanted to join.

That was over a year ago yet it was the start of a different stage in your relationship. Once you two toed the line of being something more than friends you two got addicted, thus throwing yourselves into the deep end of that pool headfirst.

It was nice, your needs were met in bed and Trevor never treated you like you were just his fuckbuddy. You were everything that girlfriend was, except you didn’t have the title and beyond the comfort of your dorm and his apartment you were clearly nothing more than a friend.

Your mind refused to see the red flags that your friends raised. Each time they did you would brush it off as you tried to explain that he kept you his little secret for the sakes of the relationship he had with Jack.

As much as you loved your brothers you knew that they would kill any boy they learnt was in your bed.

Somehow your friends convinced you to see where you really stood with Trevor though. The plan was intricate and detailed but your job was simple.

All you had to do was treat him how he treated you. It meant that you practically had to ignore him.

By day three you wanted to give up, you wanted to send him a text and tell to come to your room.

But with the thought of your friends killing you, it caused you to prevail. In a way it was actually not as hard as you thought it would be, not when Alex was practically attached to your hip “Al!” You let out a squeal as the boy tackled you into the pool.

Trevor watched the interaction with a scowl on his face. Was Alex the one that you were inviting to your room when everyone went to sleep? And since when were you two so close? It seemed like every time he wanted to talk to you Alex was with you, either on the end of your sun lounger, sharing your couch with you. Or Trevor’s least favourite how you would be sat on Alex’s lap as his hands laced around your waist as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear.

It irritated him how nonchalantly Jack reacted about the actions, how the Devils player even laughed when your head came up out of the water.

You shoved the boys arm as you sent him a playful glare “asshole,” you murmured as you shook your head.

Alex grinned as he pulled you into a hug “you love me.” He smiled as he rested his chin on your head.

If you had to describe the Kings player you would say he was nice. Alex’s personality deserved more of a description than what the bland word gave him but it was exactly how you felt around him. Quinn came out of the kitchen pulling everyone’s attention away from the pool “who is on the boat in ten?” He asked as he placed his hands on his hips. Through the stream of nods you shook your head “gonna take a shower,” you announced as you got out of the water smiling as your younger brother was quick to hand you a towel.

This was the moment Trevor needed “I gotta call my mom,” he lied as his eyes watched you make your way back into the house.

The chirps from the boys were met with silence as the Ducks player didn’t care, not when he was going to talk to you.

For Trevor the week had been hell, having to watch you walk around in your little bikinis and not being able to touch you was the worst. Yesterday he watched you eat a popsicle and swore that you were doing it all to screw with him. The way your lips wrapped around the flavoured ice was the same way your lips usually wrapped around his cock.

So naturally there was a slight pep in his step as he didn’t really care about the fact that all three of your brothers were still downstairs “mom?” You called out from your bathroom as you heard the door open.

It brought a laugh from Trevor’s lips “haven’t called me that before,” he teased as he leaned against the frame of your bathroom door.

Your eyes went wide as you looked at the boy “what are you doing here?” You asked as you crossed your arms.

It irritated you how calm he was being “missed you,” he confessed as he walked into the bathroom and sent you a smile “missed these,” he added as he let his finger run through the strap of your bikini.

The feeling sent shivers down your spine “took you a week to decide that?” You cocked your head as the boy moved his finger to the gap between the two cups of your bikini top as he pulled you closer to him.

Trevor gave you this look that made you weak in the knees “knew it from the first day,” it came to a surprise for the boy when you didn’t even get off of the couch to hug him when he arrived.

You were too engrossed in the game of Mario Kart that you had going with Cole to even bat an eyelash at the New York native.

His possessiveness put a smile on your face “you jealous?” You asked as you raked your fingers through the ends of his hair.

It was a move that made him melt, he loved it when you had your fingers in his hair “nope,” his lips popped as he shook his head “why should I be when I’m the one in here with you?” Trevor pointed out as he ran his thumb over your lip.

The comment caused you to frown “could have had Alex in here just as fast.” You mumbled as you tried to look at the ground.

Trevor didn’t let you though as he hooked his fingers under your jaw “you know he couldn’t give you what I can,” he warned as he softly squeezed your chin.

You almost wanted to laugh “and what is it that you can give me?” You batted your eyelashes at him.

The hockey player pecked your lips “the fucking world baby,” he explained as he smiled “now he a good girl and start the shower for me.” His voice was soft as he leaned over to turn your speaker on that immediately connected to his phone.

The request made you furrow your eyebrows “why?” You asked as you watch him pick the playlist that you had made one day when you were bored.

Trevor leaned down to your ear “would hate for your parents to hear what I have in mind for you,” it made your knees buckle as your back was pushed against the cold tile of your bathroom wall.

You were quick to nod “my good little girl,” he repeated those words as he kissed your neck before he watched you make your way to the shower to fulfil his request.

No matter how hard you tried, your relationship was always going to stay like this.

Only for your eyes,

Only behind closed doors.

[cherrygirlfriend]

ice cold pairing: stanford!bsf!art donaldson x iceskater!reader synopsis: you injure your foot while ice skating, your best friend takes care of you. warnings: fluff! wc: 700 this is very me coded because i literally slipped and injured my foot to the point i couldn't walk properly for two weeks. or the time i fell down the stairs and broke my ankle. bottom line is; i'm as clumsy as the mc of a wattpad story. originally posted 12/19/2024

being on ice felt almost like a second nature to you, and art loved watching you skate, whether it was for an ice show or for a skating competition, watching your white skates almost blending in with the ice as you turned, spun, and jumped in a way that caused his heart to jump in his chest so naturally, he thought that it'd be a great idea to take you out to a skating rink.

you blew on the hot chocolate you held in your hands, covered by a pair of white mittens decorated with adorable pink snowflake patterns, "you do know that i skate every day?" you said with a chuckle, your brows raised and your cheeks stinging from the cold.

"yeah, but you never skate with me." he shrugged, sitting down to put his skates on his feet; honestly, he was sure he was going to fall, not having gone ice skating since he was a teenager himself; he actually had to borrow patrick's ice skates. luckily, they shared the same shoe size.

"have you thought it's because i skate every day?"

"yeah, but you play tennis with me." he quipped back, making you roll your eyes, "i just thought it'd be a fun idea!"

"it is a fun idea." you shrugged, finishing the last of the hot-now-lukewarm chocolate, before placing the mug down, starting to put on your own skates, ones you always wore when you practiced, "i just like giving you shit for no reason."

"of course you do." he chuckled, the two of you making small talk as you tied your respective skates to your feet, hoping the warm liquid would soon start taking effect and warm up your body.

you rose to your feet, holding your hand out to your boyfriend expectantly, "are you ready to embarrass yourself and fall flat on your ass, donaldson?"

"we'll see who's falling flat on their ass."

"did you put a curse on me, or something?" you mumbled, letting out a hiss as you tried to step on your swollen ankle, art stuttering and trying to get you to stop as he sat you down on the bench next to the rink and took off your skate along with wool sock, a nasty, purple spot starting to form on your ankle. "how bad is it?" you asked, and art could tell how desperate you were feeling, how badly you were hoping, praying it wasn't broken.

it all happened in a split second. you'd been doing a pirouette, something you did tens, if not hundreds, of times a day, and suddenly, you were on the ground.

"i'm pretty sure it's just twisted." art said, both of you letting out nearly identical sighs of relief. art, for your health, and you, for your skating.

"thank god." you sighed, "i haven't gotten properly injured while skating since i was, like, thirteen. i have no idea how this happened.

"maybe you just deserved to fall on your ass." art shrugged, causing you to roll your eyes and smacking his arm while exclaiming that he wasn't funny.

the moment you got home, art basically carried you onto the couch while you kept complaining that you were going to be fine, that his fussing wouldn't do any good, but the blonde immediately put three throw pillows under your foot and bringing an ice pack wrapped in a towel, placing it on your slightly swollen ankle.

"i think you should get this checked tomorrow, just in case." art sighed, "i'm just worried-"

you took his hand, bringing it to your lips and placing a small kiss to the back of it, art's eyes widening slightly, "what was that for?"

"for being fussy."

"obviously." he rolled his eyes, "i'm gonna put on some tea, and we can watch anything you want."

"anything?" you asked with a small grin, making him shake his head.

"i'm not watching another low-budget horror movie."

"you said anything!"

and before he knew it, your foot was on art's lap, an ice pack over it as he massaged your ankle, a half-drunk cup of tea, christmas cookies and a bottle of aspirin placed next to the sofa as you snored while cuddling up to a pillow, art's stanford hoodie covering you, while the blonde was trying to ignore hostel still playing on tv, instead focusing on watching your serene face.

[ghosts-bandwagon]

can we have a headcannon of y/n (female) thats throwing dark humour around everytime and have 141 + Rudy, Alejandro nd konig react to her lmao 🤣

Can we have that? 💜 Thank you

Girl. Literally me. (I give my coworkers whiplash but they dish it pretty good too lmao)

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley:

Might actually get a decent laugh out of him, we’ve all heard his horrendous hilarious jokes, so we all know he can dish it, but can he take it? Depends on the type of humor

If it’s self-depreciating, probably not. Doesn’t really get it? Like he does but he sees you too positively for the humor to click.

Unalive jokes? Definitely not. Hates hearing it from you even if you’re laughing about it, so if you want to make them, you better be cheeky about it (“Head down, sergeant you’ll get spotted.” “Aw sweet, you think so?” You don’t have to be near him or even see him to feel his glare)

Jokes about your traumas? Not super keen on it but if you’re at a point in your life that you feel ok enough to laugh about it, he’s not one to take wind out of your sails (“Damn, this drink hits harder than my dad.” “Sweetheart. Please.”

But if your jokes are similar to his, then your chances of getting a laugh out of him went up exponentially (he thinks he’s so god damn funny and he’s right. king.)

“How do you turn a salad into a Cesar salad?”

“How?”

“Stab it 23 times.” Soap audibly groaned,

“That’s my girl.”

All in all, you’ll get a deep sigh with pinching the bridge of his nose for every joke you make, and maybe you’ll get a pretty laugh from him (god I bet his laugh is so nice 😭)

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish:

(laughs nervously) what the fuck?

He’s heard Ghost’s jokes firsthand, so the dark humor isn’t new to him. He might even laugh with you and crack a few of his own

Honestly, as long you’re having a laugh he’s not really that worried (still a little worried tho)

He trusts that if you’re feeling particularly bad about something, you’d talk to him about it and he’s here for that

He kind of enjoys the theatre of it, the dramatic reactions to something so seemingly mundane,

“So when are you gonna take me out?”

“To dinner? We just ate, bonnie.”

“… not what I meant but I love where your heads at.”

“Not in a million years.” He laughs kissing your temple and squeezing you against him

“So you’re saying there’s a chance? It’s just a matter of when, got it. Thanks babe, I owe you”

John Price:

He’s not thrilled about it but he’s worked with Ghost so he’s somewhat built a tolerance

He knows you sometimes use dark humor as a coping mechanism but he’ll tease you saying you should come with a warning label

He’s definitely choked at hearing some of the things come out of your mouth, at least the jokes relating to your own traumas, those always give him whiplash

He finds your situational dark humor much funnier than anything you might say that involves you being harmed, even if it is a joke that’s kind a nightmare scenario for him

Those will definitely get a chuckle out of him, just please stop making jokes about yourself, he loves you a little too much to stomach them

“What does my dad have in common with Nemo?” He refuses to answer, he knows, he fucking knows

“They both can’t be found.”

God damn it, sweetheart

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Gerrick:

He’ll join you for sure lmao

He’ll see you sparring on the mats with Soap and he sees you land a particularly rough kick that he managed to block

“Damn babe, that was clean. Now do it right here.” He’s pointing at his temple, you laugh and throw your sweaty towel at him

You’re out on recon and you’re making your way towards the targeted area,

“I’d be terrible if I was discovered, sure hope there aren’t any snipers to take me out. That’d be awful.”

Price groaned even as Kyle stifled a chuckle,

“Come on, love, we’re a bit too good to let that happen to you.”

“That’s the real tragedy, honestly.”

“Enough, you two.”

König:

He thinks you’re funny but low key a little worried at how easily the jokes come to you

But if you’re laughing and having a good time, then so is he!

Sometimes you really do say some crazy things and he doesn’t know whether to laugh or to hug you

He likes the jokes that have nothing to do with you much better, you’d be sitting at a briefing in the far corner when you lean in and whisper quietly,

“Köni, what’s red and bad for your teeth?”

“Hm?”

“A brick.”

He stifles a laugh and shakes his head, you can see the corners of his eyes crinkle as he tries to hide the smile.

Alejandro Vargas:

Honestly, he kind of gives me the vibe of “telling a joke becomes receiving a lecture”

Like you’ll make a joke and look at him and he’s deadpanned,

“Mi amor, that’s no laughing matter.” And then he goes into a full lecture about why what you said was out of pocket and a little hurtful

It’s not that he doesn’t understand the humor he’s just concerned

But, he prefers the goofier jokes I feel like,

“An apple a day keeps the doctor away, or at least it does if you throw it hard enough.”

“Mensa.” He pushes your shoulder playfully with a laugh.

Dumb jokes like that get a good laugh out of him, just don’t make them about you please he loves you so much and he will lecture you

Rodolfo Parra:

Mortified in Spanish

“Mi vida, please don’t make those jokes.”

They break his poor little heart :( he loves you so much it makes him sad to hear make such harsh jokes about yourself or even see such awful things

He sighs every time he hears one of your jokes and gives this look 🥺

He doesn’t like that you joke about yourself or the things that have happened to you like that

He understands that humor is sometimes a coping mechanism, but he’d much rather talk through the things you’re joking about

He just cares about you so god damn MUCH

But if they’re nonsensical, then he’ll chuckle quietly,

“You don’t need a parachute to go skydiving.”

“What? Amor you definitely-”

“You need a parachute to go skydiving twice.”

“Dios mío, amor.” He chuckles.

[irene9900]

NSFW ALPHABET

Kyojuro Rengoku Edition

Kyojuro Rengoku x Fem!Reader

CW: Sex and Fluff (some sections turned out more fluff compared to others). Some have small drabbles and some don’t.

TW: Breeding kink, oral, lots of fluff, oral both giving and receiving, bondage.

Please let me know if I missed any of the tags.

Minors and Ageless Blogs please DNI.

A/N: The amount of times I typed cunt and it corrected itself to cube, I’m hoping I caught and fixed every single one. I believe it’s proofread.

Aftercare

He is such a sweet man. Husband material. Takes care of you first and foremost. Gentle thigh massages as he cuddles you that may or may not turn into another round.

Cuddles. Pulls you in as the little spoon or right on top of him. Definitely cages you in with his arms.

Always, always, always gives you a kiss on the head before going to sleep. He never forgets.

“One moment Little Flame.” Kyojuro says, getting up from the futon.

Moments later he comes back, small towel in hand. He gently wipes up your thighs and stomach, making sure he’s wiped up all of his cum before throwing the cloth out and returning to bed.

He lays on the futon next to you, pulling you close in his arms. You feel his lips brush the top of your ear, a quick peck before he, and you, drift off to sleep.

Body Parts

For himself, I honestly want to say his entire body. He’s not vain about it or anything. He’s just proud of himself and he takes care of himself. He knows how important each part of his body is and he’s proud of his strength.

Sexually, his favorite part would be your boobs. It doesn’t matter the size, he still enjoys resting his head against them, listening to the steady strum of your heart beat.

Non-sexually, his favorite part is your eyes. It’s the silent way you talk through your eyes that he ultimately adores.

You’re laying against your shared futon when Kyojuro walks in, looking a bit worse for wear.

“Darling what happened?” You sit up, watching the man pull is haori off.

“I’m fine, just tired is all.” His getting to the buttons on his uniform top now.

“No, Kyo, that’s not just tired. Let me help you get cleaned up.” You push his hands aside, continuing his work. You push the top off gently, checking for any bleeding or scratches. You continue with the rest of his clothes before ushering him into to the bath.

“You don’t have to do this.” He says, seeing you strip yourself,“I can wash myself.”

“Relax Kyojuro, I’ve got you.” You gently lather his hair, scrubbing all the dirt and sweat from his latest mission off.

You lather the rest of his body, massaging every nook and cranny. His body instinctively leans into your touch, eyes closed and seemingly relaxed.

“Isn’t this nice Kyojuro?” You ask him. He hums in response, enjoying your tender touches.

You finish washing him off and go to grab him and yourself each a towel.

“Let’s get dressed and lay together, hm?” You say, “does that sound good?”

“Yes it does.”

After getting settled into your shared bed, he pulls you close, face nestling itself into the expanse of your chest.

“I can hear your wonderful heart.” He smiles, drifting off to sleep.

Cum

When he cums, he stiffens up hard. If you’re in missionary or cowgirl, he will grip on to your thighs for life. He’s left some bruising sometimes. If you’re in doggy, it’s the same deal except more so on your hips.

He definitely prefers to cum inside, but like the gentleman he is, will cum anywhere you ask him to.

His second favorite would be your face. He didn’t think he’d be as into it as he was, until he painted your face with cum for the first time. The way your lips darted out to lick up his cum had him ready for round two.

You were crouched on your knees, uniform top splayed open, exposing your bare breasts.

Kyojuro, on the other hand, just had his pants undone just enough to pull his cock out.

You tongue swirled across the tip, hand at the base providing extra stimulation.

“I-I’m close.” Kyojuro places a hand in your hair, gripping tightly. His hand covers yours, pulling himself barely out of your mouth, painting your face with his cum.

You smiled, licking your lips. You wiped some off your face using your finger, licking it off your finger straightaway.

“You taste delicious Kyojuro.”

“I think we need to find a more secluded area.”

Dirty Secret

He definitely has woken up to a few wet dreams about the two of you. Especially before you two had any sort of sexual contact. On occasion, he has also found his eyes wandering around your uniform, in a way he shouldn’t be looking at you.

You were one of his best friends, someone he trusted with his entire life. Stuff that you would say about him too and here he goes having wet dreams about his best friend.

But he still can’t get the thoughts out of his mind. The way you took control, placing your hands on his chest, pushing him against his futon. The way you moaned, head tilted back as you bounced on his cock.

The mere thoughts of the dream make his cock twitch.

Experience

Personally, he’s got little to none. BUT he does have a really good friend with three wives. He has definitely heard and learned a thing or two from him.

Especially when it came to prep and making sure you were pleasured enough before penetrative sex. It’s safe to say he put those lessons to good use.

“One more My Flame, I know you can do it.”

“Kyojuro,” you moan, toes curling as his fingers reach that one spot inside, “it’s too much!”

His tongue returns to your clit, giving it a few kitten licks before swirling the nub in his mouth, sucking tenderly. The band that had been threatening to snap again finally did, cumming again on Kyojuro’s face, as he lapped up every single drop.

“I think you’re ready My Flame.” Pulling himself up from your wet heat.

Favorite Position

Missionary, cowgirl, mating press.

He wants to see your face at all times, but he won’t deny how good it feels having you in doggy.

Sometimes he loves just having you pushed against a wall or tree (after training and he can’t wait to take you) legs wrapped around him as he pounds into your wet cunt.

~Continuation of Experience~

He pushes your legs apart further, guiding himself closer to your wet heat.

He nudges the tip across your folds a couple times before pushing past, into your soaking cunt.

“You’re taking me so well, Little Flame.” He groans, grip on your hips tightening as he bottoms out.

“Kyojuro, please move.” You whine, hips bucking for any sort of friction. He grabs your thighs, pushing them against your chest as he slowly pulls himself out, slamming right back in.

A loud moan escapes your lips. Kyojuro continues at that pace, abusing your cunt with the harshness of his thrusts, but loving how much you enjoy it. Watching your head tilt back against the sheets, eyes shut, unlike your mouth. Airy moans constantly stream from your lips, only word you’re able to get out is his name.

Goofy

Sometimes accidents happen during sex. Sometimes they’re fucking hilarious. The amount of times he’s accidentally slipped out too far and messed up the pace.

You both tend to laugh off the mishaps and continue forth like nothing really happened.

Hair

Like the rest of his body, I think he’s pretty unruly down there too. Carpet matching the drapes.

He also doesn’t seem like the type to care about if you’re shaven or not. As long as those legs are spread and you’re willing, he’s diving right in.

Intimacy

He’s a romantic. Like Prince Charming, let me sweep you off your feet, romantic. Listens to you and knows what you want.

He turns the smallest moments into the most intimate. He’s just very domestic. Husband material.

He trails kisses down your next, starting with your earlobe. His touch has small whimpers coming out, wanting more. You’re perched in his lap on the floor, supposed to be getting ready for bed.

“Kyo-,” you moan out, “please don’t tease me.”

“My Flame, I wasn’t trying to I promise. Let me make it up to you.”

He plants kisses further down your neck, pulling your kimono open to gain access to your chest. He pulls away first, admiring your bare form.

“You’re lovely, Y/N.” He kisses your collarbone.

“You mean the world to me.” Closing in on your breasts.

“My Flame, my other half. My world would be nearly empty without you.” He takes your left breast into his mouth, sucking tenderly, massaging your right breast with his callused hands.

He lets go of your breasts, hands finding the rest of your kimono, half draped on your body still. He finishes pulling it off before undoing his own, leaving you both bare in the darkness of the room.

He pushes you completely against the futon. “Feel my love tonight, My Flame.”

Jack Off

It’s very seldom he masturbates. When you’re away on missions and it’s been long since he’s felt your touch, he often jacks off to relive some of that tension.

Best believe you’re in for a wild night of intimacy when he has you in his arms again.

Kinks

Breeding Kink; I see him wanting a big family. He’s happy with anything that you’ll give him though. Be prepared. The moment you tell him you’re ready for a baby, you won’t be leaving your bed for a week at least.

Praise Kink; both giving and receiving. He enjoys knowing he’s doing good and he loves letting you know how good you’re making him feel.

Bondage; I think the biggest thing for him is trust. He trusts you completely to tie him up and have your way with him and vice versa.

Switch; as long as there is no heavy degradation going on, he’ll gladly let you take the lead and vice versa.

Location

He prefers the comfort of your shared room. There have been a few desperate times on the training grounds where he’s gotten a bit risky.

Sex is really intimate for him, knowing he can take his time with you and make sure you both get enjoyment is why he prefers it as private as he can get it.

Motivation

This man can think about to hand get horny. It doesn’t take much for this man to get a hard on.

He’s a goner when you caress his forearms and nibble on his neck. He’ll be hard in seconds.

NO

I don’t think he’d be into threesomes. Nor anything that will leave lasting marks.

I feel like the safe word would be food related (not umai) but the first word that comes to my head is tea.

Oral

He prefers giving more than receiving. He knows that’s where you’re more likely to get better orgasms, compared to him.

He’ll lie between your legs until he’s pulled one for sure but he likes to get you to two or three before penetrating you.

With receiving, like mentioned previously, he loves cumming on your face. Also likes when you use a combination of your mouth and hands to get him off.

Pace

He starts off slow at first. He tends to keep that pace until you ask for something different.

He loves watching the way he disappears inside of your warm cunt.

In doggy, he’ll pull out slowly, but slam his hips back in quickly.

Quickie

Make him desperate enough and he’ll take you right then and there. He does not handle teasing well at all.

He’s roughest during these sessions, normally because you’ve riled him up to the point he’s semi-frustrated and he’s fucking it out on you.

Elaborated on in Risk.

Risk

It depends on two things: how fast he’d be able to get to the bedroom and how desperate he is for your touch.

There have been a couple instances on the training grounds that have tried his patience and won, pushing you against the tree and having his way with you.

“We won’t get any training done if you keep grinding your hips against me like that.” His hands gripped your waist, stopping your motions.

“I can’t help it. You look hot right now. I’m finding it really hard to control myself.”

He picks you up, carrying you over to a nearby tree, leaning you against it. He helps you wrap your legs properly around him.

Undoing his pants, while you push your panties aside, he enters in one quick motion. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding on tight as he pounds hard and fast into your sopping cunt.

You moan loudly, nails digging into his back as he shows no signs of stopping.

Stamina

He lasts one round typically, but he’s an all or nothing type of guy. These aren’t quick rounds where he cums and you maybe cum once.

No, no. He takes his time. Always starting with your pleasure first. Making sure you cum on his tongue and fingers at least once or twice before stuffing you full of his cock.

Toys

I don’t know if this counts as toys, but I think he’d be into bondage. Both ways. He definitely wouldn’t mind being tied up and at your mercy. But he also would like to tie you up.

Unfair

I think it depends on his mood, but usually he’s really fair. There are times when he definitely teases you, with that huge smile plastered all over his face.

Most of the time he’s there to make sure you receive all the pleasure he can give you.

Volume

I would say he only has one volume, but I fully believe he can, and will, get louder. It’s gotten you caught once or twice. He just can’t help it though, not when he feels so good inside you.

Wild card

He’s big on hand holding during sex.

Missionary or cowgirl? Perfect, he’ll hold both of you hands and rut into you at a nice soft pace.

“Come here, My Love.” You pat the futon, urging him to sit down.

He obliges, only for you to climb on top. You place your hands on his chest, pushing him down against the futon.

“Let me take care of you, Kyojuro.” You hands go to your obi belt, slipping it loose, you pull your kimono off the rest of the way, Kyojuro watching intently the entire time.

You pull yourself of him slightly, pulling his clothes off with some assistance from him.

You climb back on his lap, rubbing your folds against his hardened dick. You slide up, using your hands to guide his cock inside, slowly becoming flush with him.

He grabs your hands once you begin to move, interlacing them and you begin to bounce on his cock.

X-ray

At least 7 inches on the girthier side. Definitely veiny too (Know how his forehead pops?) and he knows how to use all of it.

Yearning

Some part of him always wants to be buried inside you, as close as possible.

He misses you constantly. You both have responsibilities that you need to attend to and when you have the time he makes absolutely sure that you know how much you mean to him.

He’s really vocal about how much he missed you, your touch, your smile, everything about you.

Always peppered with kisses.

Zzz…

Like mentioned in Aftercare, he’s normally quick to fall asleep, whether it’s for the night or just a quick power nap to refresh after all the wonderful activities.

He always holds you in some sort of way as he falls asleep.

Sometimes he asks if you’ll be the big spoon.

He loves hearing your heart beat as he falls asleep.

[chaotic-mystery]

Jaded | J.M.

ꨄ Pairing: bfd!Joel x f!reader

ꨄ Summary: It’s been rocky between you and your secret boyfriend who just so happens to also be your best friends dad, ever since you moved to a new city without him. Surprising him for his birthday probably wasn’t the best idea, for either one of you.

ꨄ CW: established relationship, age gap (Joel’s in his late 40s, reader late 20s) swearing, mean!joel, arguing, Joel saying stuff he doesn’t mean like usual, no outbreak!au.

ꨄ WC:2.6k

A/N: am I an asshole for leaving it the way I did? Maybe. We all knew it was coming though! This honestly broke my heart and I hope it reads how I envisioned it. Let me know what you think! 🖤

🝮Songs to listen to for this🝮

Jaded - Miley Cyrus

Sucks 4 U - Sophie Cates

Complicated - Avril Lavigne

Look After You - The Fray

Over You - Daughtry

About You - The 1975

“Joel..” you muttered with your eyes still closed, your arm extending out to the other side of your bed. Slowly blinking your eyes open and sitting up, you breathed in deeply as you looked around confused. There was no reason you should’ve been calling out his name considering he hasn’t come to see you in weeks. Joel was older, it was unrealistic to think he’d text you many times during the day. He preferred calling or coming to visit when he had the weekend off. The past few weekends he decided to stay home which didn’t bother you, but he didn’t call much either. If he did call, it was short and brief, like it was a chore. Joel used to lay the phone on his bare chest, your voice on speaker while he dozed off listening to how pretty you sounded. That hasn’t happened in months.

You hurried to find your phone on the floor, texting Sarah as fast as your fingers could type.

Hey! Are you guys doing anything for your dad’s birthday this weekend?? Should we drive to see him?

Minutes that felt like hours passed and you bit at the inside of your cheek in nervousness, dying to see her response.

I heard from Uncle Tommy they were throwing a surprise party, but i won’t be able to make it home this weekend, soccer game! Feel free to go tho, I’m sure he won’t mind you taking my place! Love ya xo

Your thumb brushed over the side of your phone as you reread the text about a dozen times, contemplating the idea of going. What if he didn’t want to see you? Could you handle that amount of rejection? You needed answers from him though, what happened to him where he felt comfortable treating you like a stranger? Fuck it.

In a matter of 30 minutes you managed to get every single detail from Tommy, your bag packed and GPS routed to Joel’s house. It seemed a little crazy, a spur of the moment trip to drive 4 hours to confront the man who was trying to ghost you. As you got in your car and your playlist blaring through the speakers, you gave yourself a small pep talk, bracing yourself for whatever was about to happen tonight.

———————-

Finally you arrived at the Millers house, Joel’s truck nowhere in sight. You parked a few houses away so he wouldn’t see your car if he took the same route he always did to get home. Tommy pushed the screen door open and greeted you with his arms open and a grin on his face, a kitchen towel over his shoulder. “Well well well, she does live!” Tommy joked with you and grabbed your bag from your hand, walking up the sidewalk to the house. “Alive and well, just fucking starving and I need a shower before I get dressed.” Your arms wrapped around his torso and hugged him tightly. Tommy knew about you and Joel, he knew not to tell Sarah or lead on to anything going on between you and Joel in front of her. “Well c’mon then! Get your shit and let’s go inside, fix ya somethin’ to eat. Joel’s at work but he’ll be here after. All your shit is still upstairs so go on while I make you something I can find in this god forsaken fridge.” Tommy shouted from the kitchen as you shut the front door. Birthday decorations scattered across the walls and the floor, balloons tied to the lamps. Joel always told you to not make a big fuss over his birthday but you and Tommy never listened. Surprise parties were your thing you did for him, so it was nice to see Tommy continuing the tradition. This would make surprise party number three for Joel since you started dating him, and it stung a little bit you didn’t think to come down and plan one for him regardless if he deserved it or not.

You walked up the stairs to Joel’s room, pushing the door open slowly before poking your head in. It smelled just the same, the cologne you got him mixed with the faintest hint of laundry soap that he swore up and down was the best. Tossing your bag on his bed and sighing deeply, you ran a hand through your hair as you wondered what the hell were you doing here.

I miss you! Can I see you this weekend, maybe grab a bite at that favorite restaurant of yours down here? You hesitated to hit send, your heart racing in your chest.

Too nervous to sit and wait for his response, you stripped and made your way to his bathroom. The hair soap you swore you left was nowhere to be found. There was Joel’s sitting on the shelf, so what happened to yours? They were pretty full and Joel didn’t like to use yours. A pit grew in your stomach, the confusion eating at you. As you stepped under the warm water, your tears started to flow freely. It was like Joel was slowly erasing you from his life, piece by piece. For what?

You washed your hair quickly and grabbed the body soap and your wash cloth. Your eyes couldn’t help but flick down to where your soap bottles used to sit, anger coursing through you. If he wanted to see other people, he should’ve just been fucking honest. As you dried off and started to get ready, your mind replayed everything that could’ve caused this. Your relationship wasn’t perfect by any means, you fought almost daily a few months ago before he stopped calling so much. It would be over nothing, just Joel being stubborn. He’d bring up your age and how you’d get bored of him, how he’s not the man you want, how you resent him for not wanting to move with you, stuff you’d never say about him. He was the one that was embarrassed of you. He never wanted you to meet his friends, and when he got tired of your begging and pleading, he finally took you out with them to the bar. That was a fucking joke you thought to yourself as you recalled that night from a year ago.

“Joel what the fuck was that? Why didn’t you call me your girlfriend when you introduced me to them?” you questioned as you got out of his truck in his driveway. You slammed the door shut and he groaned loudly from inside the vehicle, climbing out reluctantly. “The hell are you on about? I told ‘em we were datin’, is that not good enough?” He loved doing that thing where he’d spin it back on you and make you feel so stupid for even bringing it up. “Oh my god, no It’s not like that! I just wanted to know why you didn’t tell them I was your girlfriend and have been for a year!” you bursted through the front door and threw off your purse, tossing it to the ground. “Well excuse the hell outta me! I thought it was the same fuckin’ thing!” he shouted, following you through the house to his room. “Why does it matter so much to you? If you’re with me, what’s it matter, huh?” Joel's hands grabbed your arms and forced you to look at him, his face riddled with confusion and anger. “Because, Joel! I love you and you’re fucking embarrassed to show anyone that!” The hot tears were streaming down your face as you tried to fight him to let go. His face finally softened and he sighed. “Baby…”

That was so long ago and here you were now in his room, finding out the man you thought loved you had maybe not wanted you anymore. Finally zipping up your dress, you fixed your hair one last time and checked your makeup. Something came over you and told you to open the bedside table you used to call yours, wondering if anything was touched. The cool wood brushed over your knuckles as you grabbed the knob and pulled gently, bracing yourself for whatever could be in there. All of your old pictures of you two were in a pile, scattered like someone was digging through them from time to time. The one that was your favorite was all the way at the bottom. It was of Joel, in the ocean and he looks gorgeous. That was your first vacation together, you both went to go see Sarah’s soccer game and you snuck away together while she was at practice to go swimming. He told you he’d help you learn how to swim so he took you out so far you almost couldn’t touch and helped you get over your fear of drowning. “I won’t let that happen, ok? I gotcha sweet pea. Don’t be scared, I’m here.” You recalled how his arms wrapped around you and you felt so safe. He looked so ethereal, like he wasn’t real.

You closed the drawer and found your phone buried under your towel on the bed, checking to see if maybe Joel messaged you back. Nothing. There was nothing. A sigh of frustration left your lips and you walked out of Joel’s room, looking for Tommy downstairs. He was in the kitchen getting the drinks and snacks out. “There you are! I made ya a grilled cheese but it got cold, thought ya fell asleep up there girl, been almost two hours.” Tommy’s eyes met yours and he noticed you weren’t your normal self. He gave an apologetic smile and rubbed your back softly, “Cmon, we’ve got about fifteen minutes ‘fore he gets here. Help me with the cake?” You gave Tommy a small smile and nodded, reaching to open the box the cake was in. You both were careful not to bump the box on it and set it on the table for everyone to see. His house filled up rather quickly with people while you were upstairs for those couple hours, which to you felt like minutes.

“Everyone get down, he’s here!” someone shouted from the living room and suddenly the lights went out, leaving you standing in pure darkness. Tommy tugged your arm and you snapped out of the transe you were in, crouching down in front of the kitchen table. The front door swung open and there he was, your man. The broad shoulders on the silhouette made your breath hitch and your knees weak. Immediately the lights went on and everyone popped out shouting happy birthday. Joel’s face lit up with a smile and the little confetti poppers went off, small rainbow bits of paper cascading down to the floor in front of him. He was met with many hugs as everyone crowded him, leaving you by the table by yourself. You couldn’t bring yourself to go up there to him, not in front of all these people. Small conversations were forming as Joel was finally making his way out of the clump of bodies, his beautiful brown eyes locking with yours.

“H-happy birthday.” you stated quieter than you wanted. His arm dropped to his side as his smile slowly faded, walking over to you. “What’re you doin’ here?” Joel asked harshly. Was that all he had to say? A lump grew in your throat and your mouth went dry. “Tommy um, Tommy invited me.” Great, now you were stuttering and tripping over your words. Joel was now toe to toe with you, his expression not changing. “Oh” he muttered sarcastically and nodded. Tears stung your eyes at his cold tone and you knew you couldn’t deal with this all night. “Listen, I’ll go if you want me to, just tell me…but if I walk out that door Joel, we’re done. I can’t do this anymore and by the looks of it, you don’t want to do it either. You’ve practically hidden every single memory of me or gotten rid of it and for what?” your eyes were overfilled with tears as they threatened to spill from the outer corners and Joel's head snapped away, his jaw clenching at the silence you shared.

“Yeah, I want you to leave. We’re done.” He didn’t even have the fucking decency to look at you when he said it, when he plunged the knife into your heart. There was nothing more you could say to him to see how hurt you were, how much you wanted him to beg you to stay. You wanted him to tell you why he’d been acting this way for months and why he felt so comfortable acting like you meant nothing to him after three years. You pushed passed him and ran up the stairs to gather your bag. He didn’t deserve you, and that was so clear now. He didn’t deserve all the late nights you stayed up with him and assured him Sarah wouldn’t find out about you two. How many vacations you took him on just to get him out of Texas. He didn’t deserve all the brand new things you introduced him to. Most importantly, he didn’t deserve the amount of patience you had with him. He was as stubborn as a fucking mule, but not once did you ever think about giving up on him like he was doing to you right now.

Mascara was running down your face as you practically sprinted to your car, your bag flailing behind you. You dropped your car keys trying to unlock your trunk and you lost it. You leaned against the trunk with your hands covering your face, sobbing your heart out. You gave him everything, you gave him all of you. “Wait, don’t go..” Joel shouted out of breath as he ran down the sidewalk. You looked up at him through blurry eyes, that burning anger igniting in your stomach once more. “No, fuck you! I’m leaving. I told you if you let me walk out that door we were done and what did you do? YOU LET ME LEAVE!” your voice echoed between the houses but you didn’t care anymore. “You’re nothing but a selfish asshole, Joel. I should’ve known better than to think you wouldn’t break my heart. Fuck you, just go.”

His arms engulfed you and you beat your fists on his chest, crying harder than you were before. Joel’s grip on you tightened as he pulled you in close, shushing you quietly. “Stop, just stop. Shhh” he whispered and petted the back of your head softly. “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, sweet pea. I think I just got so busy with work and you with getting adjusted in your new place, we were like ships passing in the night.” Joel’s hands cupped your face, his thumb swiping away your tears. “You don’t just give up and act like I don’t exist Joel! Why would you do that to me?!” you demanded and looked at him through tear clumped lashes. “I thought it was easier for you! Jus’ let me prove to you I can be a better man to you, darlin. Please, I need you. I’ve been so lonely without you.” Joel’s tone softened as his voice cracked, a tear falling down his face.

“This is what I’ve been wanting to hear for months. I need some space. I can’t keep doing this shit, Joel. Happy birthday.” You placed a photo of you and him in his hand that you swiped from the drawer earlier. A croak of your name left his lips before you walked away and climbed into your car. You looked at him one last time in the rearview mirror as he stood there staring at everything he just fucked up. He needed to sit with what he’d done, and you had a lot to think about on your drive back home.

[strawberryamanita]

Okay, so... hoo boy.

I try to acknowledge every time I make a political post that I cannot tell anyone what to do. I'm one irrelevant person, I'm not a political spearhead nor do I want to be one, I haven't been able to sway anyone about anything, yadda yadda blah blah blah. If this post gets completely overlooked, so be it. If I get verbally trampled-on by people who don't agree with me, so be it.

But while everyone else is causing a flood of coins on the floor, I'll throw my own 2 cents in.

I think what would be helpful right now -- just in this moment, for the short-term -- is getting through these feelings of worry and despair and panic that I see many posts on my feed announcing. The facts are in front of us: there was an assassination attempt, it failed, and that's worrying because it's gonna embolden the Right even further than they've already been lately. That's completely reasonable to be upset about, it's not irrational to see the danger this will put us in on the streets on the days leading up to the election.

At the same time, there ARE, believe it or not, some positive facts that are having an impact on your life right now. Trump had to go the hospital. He could possibly have a heart-attack. He could possibly go septic. He could possibly be assigned a medical professional that is brave enough to kill him. There was a person brave enough earlier today to show him and his following that enough people in the world hate him to want him dead. Social media being flooded with cheers that he was injured and laments that it didn't kill him is further proof to said willfully ignorant following that they are in the minority. Even if more US voters are enthusiastic about Trump as I type this, most of the world wants him obliterated, and that should be something to hang onto. So much of this is about ego and confidence of the Right. It's not in our best interest to let them think they have a leg up on us.

And the biggest piece of good news is, the US presidential election didn't happen yet! That wasn't the last stand right there, that wasn't the ballot count or the televised verdict. "Surviving" a non-lethal shot that didn't hit any important organs or arteries doesn't mean you automatically win an election. That didn't push an Eject button on Biden's seat to launch him out of the White House or anything like that.

Trump is not invincible. He is not immortal. He is not unkillable. And just because his cult of followers want to canonize him (though they wanted to do that before he was even elected the first time), that doesn't mean WE are obligated to throw in the towel and hang our heads and lick their heels. If it's cathartic or it's helping you de-stress, then by all means cry all you need to -- but we unfortunately can't afford to let this sink us into a collective depression.

He didn't win an election that hasn't happened yet. I promise you this. Look on ecosia.org if you need proof of who is in-office, since they don't use AI(currently).

And no, none of this is to downplay anything. I'm not living in a lie. I promise you, I've been making myself physically ill from the horrors of the world I've been exposed to, day after day, non-stop, on this fucking website. If exposing myself to the bottomless abyss of human evil actually desensitized me and helped me be less fearful, it would've worked by now, but all it does is exhaust me.

It honestly oftentimes makes me actively suicidal -- and I know for a fact I'm not the only one, especially after today, or when Trump was granted legal immunity, or any of these other awful past days. But if I killed myself before I did everything I could to keep this sinking ship of a country afloat just a little longer, that wouldn't be responsible of me.

So, if you're still reading, and not already typing out some response accusing me of things I already tried to tell you I'm not doing before you even finish reading...

Now is the time to practice being brave.

Look at the facts. Don't let yourself spiral from doomscrolling. Cry when you need to, and then keep going. Vote in every local election you can, attend protests and rallies, spread information from trustworthy sources to every social media handle you have -- and for God's sake, find something to keep you hopeful. Escapism is a survival tool: as long as you aren't using it to avoid reality, it doesn't have to be eliminated from your life. You will feel stronger if you let yourself recharge with moments of happiness, I guarantee this.

If you're too suicidal to keep going for yourself, keep going for someone else. It can be someone in your immediate life, it can be a stranger suffering overseas, it can be a child who hasn't been born yet that will see a future built on top of our present. Whatever it takes to keep you from giving up, put it to the front of your mind. Link arms with your Leftist siblings, and then make a habit of it. We cannot keep collapsing from the inside from the smallest of inconveniences, it helps literally none of us.

It's not over until they ring that bell. We have 3 and a half months, don't lose speed now.

I believe in you.

[tommybowefuneralattendee]

79 for shaymien tyvm - katie (the last one was also me you get it)

79. “i like being close to you. you’re warm.”

linked on ao3 || read under the cut || 4k, rated m

summary:

"Would it be okay if we just sat here?" Shayne asks quietly, the exhale of his speech warm on Damien's shirt. Damien scratches over Shayne's scalp and it's like his best friend turns to liquid in his lap. Damien grins. "We can sit here as long as you want." || Or, Shayne's tired after a workout and it leads to a conversation that's been a long time coming.

It's not like they ever plan on doing stuff like this. This happens every time they're both single, every time neither of them have seen their families in a while, every time one of them needs and the other can provide. Damien unlocks the door of Shayne's apartment without a bit of pause. Shayne is at the gym at this time most days, so Damien isn't exactly surprised to find the flat empty. He smiles at the two stacks of video games already set up on the coffee table, the groups divided by whether the game is multiplayer or single player, all ten of them games they both enjoy. His boy knows him too well. They hadn't even discussed hanging out today. 

He's been combing through the snacks in the kitchen for about five minutes when he hears the door being unlocked once again, cracking a smile as he closes the cabinet he was rifling through. 

"Hey man, let me get a quick shower and we can game?" Shayne calls from the living room. Damien makes an affirmative sound and begins transferring the snacks he had collected to the coffee table, barely aware of the sound of the bathroom door shutting behind his friend. Despite the fact that Shayne still shops like he and Damien live together, most of what Damien's grabbed are Shayne's favorites- the guy's always starving after working out, and if Damien gets him snacks now, he won't have to hear about it. Not that he even really minds when Shayne does complain. 

That was honestly the first thing that made Damien think that maybe his relationship with Shayne was different from all of his other relationships, that maybe this is what people are talking about when they say they have a best friend. It's not that he doesn't know who he would be if he didn't have Shayne. It's that he doesn't know that he became himself til loving Shayne shaped who he is. Who would he be without Shayne's hand over the gearshift, laughter ringing in their ears nearly an hour after the joke had been told, Shayne's smiling face colored pretty by the pink of the setting sun? 

He grabs Shayne a bottle of water. He heaves out a breath. He sits on the couch. 

He doesn't know how much time he's lost writing a sketch in his head before Shayne walks out of the bathroom, steam rolling out after him like some early aughts Old Spice commercial. Damien can't help but grin at him; Shayne throws the towel he'd been rubbing through his hair at Damien's head. Damien catches it, throwing it back faster than Shayne is apparently prepared for, as it strikes him directly in the chest rather than being caught in his hands. Despite being the one to throw it first, Shayne seems a little out of sorts. He's got that look to him that he gets after live streams sometimes, the one that's half tired and half overwhelmed, though the look is mellowed some by the comfort of being in his own home. Still, Damien leans back against the side of the couch and pulls his legs up as well. He's not even entirely settled, arms wide to hold his best friend and knees apart to accommodate him, before Shayne is diving into his lap, arms wrapped around Damien's waist, face rubbing into the other man's chest affectionately. Like a fucking cat.

A chuckle punches its way out of Damien's chest at the sight. "You alright there, bud?" he asks, settling back into the arm of the couch and running his hand over Shayne's hair. Shayne hums.

"I like being close to you. You’re warm," he says simply, as if that's all there is to it, like being with Damien is the easiest thing in the world. Damien knows it isn't. The way that Shayne has always disagreed with him on that still makes him feel warm after this many years together. No matter how much time he spends with his best friend, he doesn't know that it will ever feel like enough. Sometimes the sheer luck of meeting Shayne, of being on the same set as him at the same time, it hits Damien in the chest. On a universal level, he was so close to never having this. He holds onto Shayne a little tighter just because he can. Shayne hums again, pressing in and nuzzling his face into Damien's chest.

"You wanna play something or you just wanna sit here, baby boy?" Damien asks, his tone making it clear that he doesn't mind either way, even if the words aren't so clear. Shayne makes a noise of protest and starts pushing himself up, but Damien keeps him settled in the cradle of his hips with a gentle hand; it's obvious from his face and posture that Shayne is only trying to remove himself because that's what he thinks he's supposed to want to do. Damien runs his fingers through Shayne's hair, making the other man relax against him nearly instantaneously.

"Would it be okay if we just sat here?" Shayne asks quietly, the exhale of his speech warm on Damien's shirt. Damien scratches over Shayne's scalp and it's like his best friend turns to liquid in his lap. Damien grins.

"We can sit here as long as you want," he says, sliding down a little bit more so that Shayne's face is against his throat and they're settled chest to chest. He pulls the blanket off of the back of the couch, spreading it over Shayne's back.

"Thank you," Shayne murmurs. His mouth is right against Damien's throat, his breath warm and the vibration of his speech something Damien didn't know he found comforting. He should know, as many times as they've done this.

"Any time, bud. You know that," Damien reminds him, pressing a kiss to the side of Shayne's head. That's not new either, a long time habit from when they were so much younger and so much more scared, broke as fuck all the time and never knowing what the fuck to do about it. Shayne tilts his head up to brush a kiss against Damien's jaw, settling back down quickly. If Damien didn't know to look for it, he might miss the proliferation of rose spreading across Shayne's ears. But he does know to look for it. And seeing it always warms him from the inside out. The idea that he can still make Shayne blush is one he'll always be grateful for, and maybe a little winded that he can. He loves this boy so much.

They don't talk for the next little while; Damien couldn't even hazard a guess of how long, his phone left abandoned on the coffee table and his watch missing entirely. He doesn't always put on everything when he's just coming over to Shayne's, leaving off accessories at random just because Shayne is one of the only people in the world that Damien doesn't feel like he has to present himself well around. Sure, he gives some of his best to Shayne, but Shayne has also been the person to handle a lot of his worst, to hold him after breakups and reassure him when he's scared and all of the bullshit that comes with being just a little bit too codependent with your best friend. Damien brushes another kiss on the crown of Shayne's head just for thinking of it. Boredom doesn't pick at him in this quiet place with Shayne as it typically would. The weight against his chest, the warmth of another body, Shayne, it's all very calming.

"I love you, you know," Shayne says quietly, virtually apropos of nothing. Damien hums, rubbing his hand up and down Shayne's back.

"I know, baby boy. I love you too," he replies, natural and easy. Shayne lays a kiss down on Damien's shoulder.

"I mean it," he stresses. Damien raises an eyebrow even if Shayne can't see it, his hand moving from Shayne's back to the back of his head, gentle as he pulls Shayne up to look at him, pushing back to sit up a little himself. Shayne reluctantly moves to support himself so that he can make eye contact. Seeing the question in his gaze, Shayne sighs. "You're my person," he whispers, looking at Damien with so much emotion that Damien has no idea how to pick through it. Instead of trying, he cups Shayne's jaw.

"You're my person, too, Shayne. No one I trust more than you," he assures. It doesn't seem as if this was the response Shayne was looking for, his head listing into Damien's palm and his lips pursed. Damien raises his eyebrow again, asking Shayne to elaborate without asking aloud. Shayne kisses his palm before resettling into his grasp.

"You're my best friend and it still never feels like enough," he says quietly, no longer making eye contact with Damien. A hard feeling settles in Damien's chest, the easy happiness of a moment ago draining from him. Not enough is something that Damien has heard before. It's never been a good thing.

"Did I do something?" he asks, unable to keep the shake out of his voice. Shayne's eyes snap to his and then go soft; immediately, he gets his knees more steadily beneath himself so that he can reach up and cup the back of Damien's head, careful fingers tangled in his hair. Unable to make himself think any better of it, Damien catches his hands on the backs of Shayne's thighs and pulls, shifting Shayne to have his knees spread across Damien's lap. Immediately, there's relief in every place they touch. Reassurance. Peace. Shayne is smiling at him. He looks fucking beautiful.

"Move back in with me." Shayne drops this suddenly, his gaze still soft where Damien can practically feel it against his skin, and it sends Damien blinking in surprise. Of all of the things he might have thought Shayne would say, that wasn't one of them.

"Beg pardon?" he asks. Shayne's smile falls.

"It's- it's just an idea," Shayne says, looking away from Damien and looking like he wants to disappear in his own apartment and Damien can't have that.

"Shayne, you live in a one bedroom apartment," he says gently, putting it ahead of any of the other protests knocking in the back of his mind, addressing the most practical first. Shayne tries again to push himself up and out of Damien's lap, but he's still doing that thing he does. Sometimes, typically when he's showing any emotion at all instead of handling the emotions of most everyone around him, Shayne tries to recede back into himself. He'll pull in all of his tells and shut Damien out and it's so fucking frustrating, not because Damien doesn't want to do the work of loving his best friend, but because Shayne thinks he has to. Because Shayne thinks this is what everyone else wants from him. For him to be easy. Damien has only ever wanted Shayne. Not so interested in easy. He keeps his hands on Shayne's thighs and Shayne isn't trying particularly hard, so in Damien's lap he stays.

"I miss you," Shayne mumbles nonsensically. After a moment, though, it makes a lot of sense to Damien, honestly. He misses those early mornings with Shayne, the nights when Shayne would climb into bed with him just because they were still talking, the reassurance of knowing that no matter what kind of day he had, he'd be coming home to Shayne fucking Topp. Damien lifts one of his hands and holds it to Shayne's chest, fingers brushing his collarbones through his shirt. Shayne looks at him with far too much melancholy for a face like that.

"How about when both of our leases are up? Mark can find a new roommate, you and me can find a two bedroom, we'll live together again, yeah?" he suggests, surprised then when Shayne's expression twists before he catches himself, smoothing it out into a smile. "No, no, I saw that. What's up, Shayne?" he asks, patient and even. Shayne closes his eyes.

"It's stupid," he says. Damien hums, encouraging him to elaborate. Shayne sighs. "I don't want a two bedroom apartment." When he opens his eyes, Damien tilts his head at him, confused.

"Come on, man, you know I don't really get the whole beating around the bush thing. We've gotten as far as you want to live together again, but I don't know what that part means. Tell me what the problem is." He moves the hand on Shayne's chest over to his side, thumb stroking over his oblique. With a deep breath, Shayne seems to steel himself.

"I haven't been sleeping well lately," he says, the words falling out of his mouth like they're the beginning of something, but Shayne pauses once they've hit the air. Damien nods, silently imploring him to continue. "Best sleep I've had in months was when we were sharing that hotel room in Vegas." His voice is thin, and it only takes Damien a second to figure out why. Their room had been scheduled incorrectly in Vegas. Technically, anybody in their party could have shared the room with one bed and let them have one of the rooms with two, but it was the room Damien and Shayne had been given and they hadn't made any sort of fuss about it. He'd woken up with Shayne beautifully sleepsoft, tucked comfortably into his chest all three days they were in that hotel.

"You want to move in together, and you want to share a bed," Damien says; Shayne's face colors a deep red, but he nods in confirmation. A smile creeps its way onto Damien's face. "I guess we're about to have a lot of sleepovers til my lease is up, yeah?" he asks, watching with delight as Shayne's expression goes from that melancholic fear to overwhelmingly pleased. Impulse control completely with the fucking wind, Damien leans up and kisses his best friend on the mouth. Like that's a good idea. He doesn't even realize that Shayne is kinda kissing him back before he reels backwards, putting space between their faces even if they're still touching more than they're not. Shayne makes a soft noise, quiet protest clear as he tugs Damien back into another kiss, harder but no less full of care. He's delicate with the way he holds Damien's face in both hands, his movements deliberate as he tries to tell Damien through touch alone that he wants this too. That this is all he wants.

"Dames," Shayne breathes out against his mouth. Damien leans up to catch him in another kiss. For this being the first time they've done this, it's the easiest this has ever been for Damien, the most comfortable, the only first kisses he's ever had that didn't feel like a hostage negotiation he was having with his brain to wrest enjoyment from the clutches of discomfort. Of course he's comfortable. It's Shayne. There's not a more comfortable place in the world for Damien's hands than on Shayne's skin, no more comfortable weight in his lap than Shayne's warm body. Damien pulls back again and this time Shayne lets him, makes no move to stop him from burying his face in Shayne's shoulder, breathing out his overwhelm as best as he can. His heart is fucking pounding. Still, he can't help grinning when he lifts his head to look at Shayne. It's Shayne. Loving him is the easiest thing he's ever done.

"Are we doing this?" he asks, smile coloring his words with fondness more overtly than he's ever allowed himself to display. Shayne's grin is confident, but when he speaks, his voice is quiet.

"Please," he says, broad hands warm on Damien's face, and this is it. It is different. His relationship with Shayne is different because he fucking loves him, not just the barrage of platonic affection that has bowled him over for nearly half his life, he loves Shayne like cracking his chest open and letting the other man stick his hand in. In that moment, it needs to be said again.

"I love you," he says, turning his head to press a kiss against one of Shayne's palms. At that, Shayne climbs out of his lap. Not expecting the movement, Damien makes no protest, instead raising an eyebrow at Shayne once he's on his own two feet.

"I'm in love with you. I also want to be in bed with you," Shayne says, pulling him up by the hand. Knowing it's not what he means, Damien leers suggestively anyway.

"Very forward, baby boy. Here I thought you were gonna treat me like a gentleman," he teases. Shayne huffs out a laugh and looks down at his socked feet, smiling at the floor.

"Not what I meant, you asshole. I mean- we can do that at whatever pace, like, works for us? But I want-" Shayne cuts himself off, that deep red taking over his face once again, trailing down his neck. Damien knows exactly how far that blush goes, but that doesn't mean he's not thinking about it still. He wants to taste the heat on Shayne's skin. He wants to hold Shayne so he'll sleep well. He leans further into Shayne's space, not quite close enough to kiss but close enough it definitely wouldn't be hard.

"What do you want, Shayne?" he asks, the rasp of his voice sending a visual shiver down Shayne's spine. He leans his forehead against Damien's shoulder.

"I want you to hold me," he whispers, less like he's afraid to say it and more like he's afraid to break this moment. Damien nods, grabbing Shayne by the hand.

"I can do that."

He leads Shayne by the hand to his own bedroom, strips him of his shirt gently, and then of his sweats, even getting Shayne to pick up his feet so that Damien can take of his socks for him, and suddenly he realizes that none of this is new so far. Well, the kissing, that's new. But holding Shayne's hand? Leading him to his own room? Undressing him? He remembers late nights in their shared space, Shayne's tired eyes strained from practice script after practice script, his energy scraped thin. Damien would take his hand then, get him comfortable, tuck him in. Stay if Shayne grabbed for him, which he almost always did. Damien never minded. Divesting himself of his own clothing, Damien has to ignore the way that Shayne's eyes roam over his chest, his stomach, his boxers. He never thought when they were younger that Shayne would ever look at him like this. Looking retrospectively at all of this, he can't imagine he would have done anything differently if he knew then what he knows now. Who knows how long he and Shayne would have lasted if they'd jumped into this young and unsettled? He wouldn't do it any other way.

The chief sound of the two of them getting settled into bed together is laughter; they've never been able to share a bed without getting into some kind of wrestling match. Staring down at Shayne's pretty face with his best friend on his back underneath him, it strikes Damien that perhaps that wasn't always as platonic as it had felt. He leans down to kiss Shayne again, but they end up having to pull away given that they're both still laughing. His heart feels fit to fucking burst. Just looking at Shayne makes something catch in Damien's chest. Fuck, he loves him. Fuck. Shayne pulls Damien down on top of himself, knocking the breath out of Damien in the form of a surprised bark of a laugh. Grinning against his temple, Shayne runs his hands along Damien's back with eager hands, digging in his fingers in a way that feels good, and Damien groans.

"God, magic hands," he mumbles into Shayne's collarbone. The rumble of Shayne's laugh beneath him is probably one of the best things in the world. Right after Shayne's fucking magic hands, his wide fingertips digging into the knots in Damien's back, slight ache of it smoothed out by his broad palms. He's always liked Shayne's hands though. The feel of them, the weight of them, the look of them, the blunts of his nails, the scar between two of his fingers he got breaking a glass when he was thirteen. There's so much story in those hands. So much story in this boy. He kisses his way along Shayne's collarbone, not with any heat really, but just to move his lips across Shayne's skin. One of Shayne's hands moves up from Damien's back, clutching at but not pulling Damien's hair as he guides him up to look at him.

"I love you," he says again, voice laced with awe like he's lucky just to be able to say it, to be able to love Damien aloud. He gets halfway up on his knees between Shayne's thighs, making them fall a little wider to accommodate him. With the way Shayne is looking up at him, he doesn't think he minds.

"I love you so much." With that, Damien dips down and connects their lips. Shayne is pliable under him, soft skin and hard muscle both giving way to being manipulated by Damien's whims. His hands are hungry as he grabs at Shayne, nails skating across the other man's skin. He doesn't know what it would be like to love Shayne without a certain degree of violence. His love for him has never gone quietly, never been something that Damien could pack away into boxes like everything else, reduce the clutter of his mind and move on with his life. Instead, he built the whole world around him, the chaotic life of a performer in Los Angeles moored by the touchstone that is Shayne Topp. Things, in a lot of ways, make a lot more sense with Shayne's tongue in his mouth. Like, at least now he knows why he never really liked any of Shayne's exes. Just thinking of it makes Damien pull away from Shayne's mouth, laughing into his best friend's shoulder. Is that still what he calls Shayne? They should probably talk about that.

"You gonna share with the class?" Shayne asks, teasing in his tone as he nuzzles his face into Damien's hair. Damien kisses the junction of Shayne's throat and shoulder.

"I guess this kinda clears up why I never liked any of your exes," he says wryly, delighting in the bark of Shayne's laughter that immediately follows.

"I mean, yeah." He could have said anything, really, for as much as Damien is paying any mind to it- Shayne has freckles on his shoulders that Damien has always wanted to count, maybe in the back of his mind somewhere always wanted to kiss, and the opportunity begets compulsion. 

He traces feather-light kisses from one to the next, counting in his head with his mouth otherwise occupied. When he gets down Shayne's chest someways, he gets a giggle out of Shayne kissing one a few inches below where his armpit hair stops. When he gets to one not far from Shayne's nipple, the touch of his lips brings a gasp out of him. Another compulsion begotten by opportunity, Damien touches his mouth next to that nipple, already pebbled beneath the contact. Not wanting to take things too quickly, he abandons the journey down the route of Shayne's freckles, instead pressing kisses on his way up til he meets again with Shayne's mouth. He just brushes him with a kiss then, rolling off of Shayne and onto his back. Shayne tilts his head in question.

"How do you want to be held?" Damien asks, reminding Shayne of why they had moved to the bedroom in the first place. Half hard in his boxers, Shayne takes the pivot with admirable grace, still grinning as he pushes his way against Damien's chest.

"Like this," he says, tangling their legs together and nudging Damien until he puts his arms around Shayne's shoulders. His grip on Damien's waist is nothing to joke about either, his hands splayed possessively across Damien's lower back. Damien presses a kiss to the side of his head.

"I can do that."

[euphoriafanfix]

warm sheets: chapter 1

warnings: s3xu@l content 18+

38 unread messages

9 missed calls

5 voicemails

Nate turns his phone off and rolls over. He can't stand the thought of Maddy or Cassie right now. He loved one girl. One girl. The sheets are warm where she had been laying. She had gotten in the shower just about five minutes ago. Nate couldn't get images of her out his head. He traced his hand across the sheets. Feeling the heat. Remembering her body laying there. Remembering how he would gently brush against her thigh. Remembering how she would put her hands in his hair as they kissed. He loved how soft her hands were. How she would grab him and pull him into her body. How she would kiss a trail down his stomach. Then kiss his inner thigh. He loved the way she would drag the whole situation on before actually going for his cock. He loved the suspenseful yearning. The anticipation of it all. But most of all he loved the way she went down on him. She knew exactly what to do. He loved feeling her tongue on his bare skin. He loved cumming in her. He loved how she acted like it was no big deal swallowing. He loved her. He didn't just love to fuck her. He loved her.

Confident as always, she walks out of the bathroom. The tiny towel wrapped tightly around her body makes her tits pop. She is beautiful, Nate thought to himself. She waltzes over to his dresser and pulls out the first t-shirt she sees. She giggles. "2017 Beer Pong Champion" is slapped across the front of it.

"What's this?", she says with a grin on her face.

"It's my dad's. I didn't know he was cool enough to play beer pong until he gave me that shirt," he sneaks a smirk.

She lets the towel slide off her body, throwing the t-shirt over her head. Still grinning, she walks over to the edge of the bed. Nate looks down at her. She kneels to the edge of the bed. She grabs his ankles and pulls him closer. This time she starts with his shins. She kisses him slowly moving up. He can't help but get hard.

"Well that was fast. I usually have to get to your thighs before that happens."

She kisses his thighs. She rubs his stomach and brings her head up to his happy trail. She rubs his abs and arms and shoulders. She knows the suspense is killing him and yet he loves it.

She skips his cock and moves up to his neck. She nuzzles her face in the space between his collar bone and chin. She kisses him. She slides her tongue across his collarbone. Finally, she kisses him on the lips. Their bodies collide as they make out. They are completely in sync. Their bodies have a rhythm. She runs her hands through his hair. He grabs her waist and pushes himself into her. She takes off the shirt. He takes off his boxers.

Jules was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. Everything she did was magical. He adored her.

Nate slid his dick into her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him for dear life. As if she were on a rollercoaster. And honestly having sex with Nate Jacobs is just about as fun for her as amusement park rides are.

He thrusted his hips into hers. She felt his cock, rock hard, moving in and out of her pussy. She pushes him a little harder, a little deeper. She wanted him to go faster and he did. He loved control, but with Jules it was different. He liked to let her control him.

She could tell he was close to cumming and she wanted to torture him a little, so she pulled him out. She rolled back on the bed and giggled. Nate knew what this meant. He picked himself up and got on top of her. He kisses her tits. Sucking on her nipples. Licking all across her stomach. She liked when Nate licked her. She liked how he would lick every inch of her if she asked him to. He picked her up and slid her further up on the bed. Then, he got to work. He started licking her thighs and labia and eventually her clit. He knew exactly how she liked it. He twirls his tongue in circles first. Then up and down. Then he took his fingers and pressed on her. He rose back up to her face, his hand still in her pussy. He stroked, hard. She tried to suppress her moans so that no one would hear but she couldn't help herself. She gasped and moaned trying hard to be quiet. She grabbed his dick and shoved it back into herself. Nate, still rubbing her clit, thrusted deeper into her. He felt the heat of her body against his. "oh fuck nate don't stop don't stop," she whispered in his ear. "i fucking love you jules." "i know. nate keep going. harder. faster. come on." She grinded up against him, feeling every part of their bodies touch. "holy fuck jules," Nate moaned. He gasped for oxygen as the heat and pleasure consumed him. "OH FUCK FUCK," he whined. She moaned, loud. He came in her. She came on him. They both throbbed with pleasure. She felt his cum inside her pussy. Warm and wet. He stayed inside her even after they both orgasmed. They both liked feeling interconnected. She liked feeling him inside her. He rolled to her side and laid his head down on her boobs. She nuzzled herself into him and closed her eyes. He kissed her forehead and nose. They fell asleep in each other's arms. Before they knew it, the sun came up and the mourning dove was singing its woeful song.

[obwjam]

ok but hear me out- loved the killmonger one shot you just posted. What if you continue it and have a Giant Everett Ross save them 👀

honestly shocked with myself because i banged this out in like two hours during my downtime at work lol please enjoy

If it felt like days had passed before somebody came back to you, that’s because it was.

You had no choice but to assume that Killmonger had completely forgotten about you. Thankfully, you were used to going this long without food and water. It was the restriction of your freedom that was driving you crazy.

No matter how many times you slammed your body against the seemingly invisible wall, it refused to budge. The only thing it accomplished was making you sore and tired.

So when you finally heard the sounds of real human voices coming from the other side of the door, you weren’t sure if that made you excited or terrified. At the very least, it meant you didn’t have to be stuck in some high-tech cube anymore.

Everett Ross silently cursed to himself. He had let Killmonger get away again. It was like someone had told him he was coming, so he got the hell out of Wakanda as fast as he could. Ross was running out of places to look, and T’Challa and Shuri were running out of patience.

This was one of the last places he and his team were looking before officially throwing in the towel. Gun in hand, he motioned for a few agents to back him up as he kicked the door in. His eyes darted around the room, which was mostly empty, save for a few chairs, a table, and… a tiny person sitting inside a cage.

Wait. 

A tiny person sitting inside a cage.

Ross blinked a few times before turning his head around to the other agents in the room. “Go, I’ve got this one secure,” he said sternly. The agents nodded, not even noticing what – or who – was on the table as they left.

Slowly, he brought his gun down, not wanting to intimidate you any more than he already had. You had no idea what was going on, or who this guy is, but you knew it couldn’t be good.

Ross walked right up to the end of the table and bent down to meet you at your current height. He had seen a lot of things – more things than most people on the planet, he liked to think – but even this was new for him. The thing that struck him was that everything about you was remarkably human-like… you just happened to be four inches tall.

You stared back at him in equal parts curiosity and horror. As desperate as you were to get out of here, you didn’t know just how far you were willing to go. How could you possibly trust another person after this? You were hoping he would just let you go and figure your own way out of this.

“Wow. Um…” Ross was at a loss for words. “Hi. I’m, uh, I’m Everett Ross – Agent Everett Ross, with the CIA. I – um… who… why are you in here?”

You were surprised that this giant almost seemed… nervous. Huh. Maybe he could help you after all.

“Please… please let me out,” you squeaked, surprised you were even able to form words. “Please let me out of here.”

“Okay, okay,” Ross said, his voice dripping with sorrow at your terrified state. “How… how does this thing work, exactly?”

You shrugged. He didn’t actually expect you to know that, did he?

Ross chuckled when he noticed your confused expression. “Yeah, stupid question, huh? It’s just, I’m not so good with this Wakandan technology myself…” he trailed off as he waved his hands aimlessly around the invisible barrier, the electricity shimmering every time they passed by. “Man, they really made this stuff difficult to figure out, didn’t they?”

Despite the logistics, you flinched each time his hand passed over you, and Ross noticed.

“Let’s, uh, let’s take a pause on that,” he finally sighed. To your disdain, he reached back and dragged a chair over. “Now, I never asked you your name.”

All you could do was stare.The last thing you wanted to do was give up your name. It was all you had left.

“Yeah, okay, I understand,” he said quietly. It was beginning to dawn on him just how freaked out you were, and how warily you eyed his each and every movement. “This is all pretty scary, huh? Giant city, giant person…”

“...is he coming back?” you let slip. You immediately pursed your lips, as if that would take back the words you said. God, that’s embarrassing.

“What?” Ross questions. “Who? Is who coming back?”

There was something about this Everett Ross that was almost… comforting. The way he looked at you with raised eyebrows, sad eyes and a slightly open mouth gave him a soft expression that signaled compassion.

“Killmonger,” you offered, barely a whisper, but Ross heard, and his blood began to boil.

“Did you say Killmonger? As in Erik Killmonger?” You nodded. “Oh, god damn it! What did he do to you?” You flinched as his tone shifted into anger. “He didn’t hurt you, did he? I swear, when I catch that son of a bitch–”

He was cut off by you shaking your head. “He… he put me in this thing. I…” You didn’t really want to relive it, but Ross wouldn’t take his eyes off of you. “I snuck into his pocket, b-back in England. And now I’m…  here.” You looked around, still not quite clear where here was.

“Woah woah woah. You’re all the way from England?”

You nodded sheepishly. Was that a bad thing?

“Christ, kid,” he tutted under his breath. “How the hell did you end up here?” To his relief, your tremors had subdued slightly, but you still had that deer-in-headlights look that just wasn’t going to work if Ross was going to save you, scoop you up and protect you from everything and everyone.

“When was the last time you saw him?”

A pause. “I dunno. A few days ago?”

“Days? Jeez, we really need to get you out of there. You’re probably starving.”

“It’s nothing new,” you muttered. To your surprise, he heard you. 

“We can unpack that later,” he quipped. He resumed his frantic hand waving, and it was useless until you remembered something.

“Um…” You clammed up when he looked at you with those big, expectant eyes again. “I think I remember him going like this.” Ross could barely keep it together as you lifted up an impossibly tiny hand to show him a very specific gesture that he was most definitely not doing. “Try that?”

Wordlessly, he lifted his hand up and repeated your gesture, and to both of your delights, the forcefield twinkled away. Ross stuck his finger through just to make sure it had really gone.

“Alright, buddy, it’s safe for you now,” he smiled. “Let’s get you out of here.”

You took cautious steps as if you were navigating a minefield, pausing when you reached the former site of the barrier. You closed your eyes, sucked in a breath and took a stride forward.

You were free.

“There we go,” Ross cooed from far above you. He was almost afraid to make his next move, but he needed to get you out of here and report back to T’Challa. “You’re probably not gonna like this, but…”

Your heart skipped a beat as his hand, now palm-up, landed right next to you. You gaped up at the human, finally able to get a good look at him without the forcefield distorting your view. Everything about this guy screamed seasoned veteran… yet you couldn’t help but feel the sincerity in his eyes the longer you stared into them. There were no smirks, no scoffs, no degrading nicknames… he truly wanted to help. And you really needed it.

To Ross’ surprise, you didn’t really hesitate to amble onto his palm. His muscles twitched at the small impact, but he soon got over the feeling as you settled into the middle of his hand.

“Okay, this is weird,” he mumbled as he began to stand up. “Hold on there, buddy, I’m gonna start moving now.”

Ross felt his heart flutter as your tiny palms pressed into his. You felt yourself blush, knowing full well his gaze was fixated on you as he began to move.

“Where… where are we going?” you dared to ask.

“Good question, kid,” he said, voice full of affection. “First, I have to tell the prince and princess that Killmonger was in England before coming back here. They might be able to retrace some of his steps.” Your stomach churned at the idea of meeting new people, but Ross didn’t seem to realize. “Then… we gotta get you someplace safe.” 

He paused, almost embarrassed to ask his next question. “Are you alright sticking with me for a while? Be–before we find you a new home, that is,” he stumbled.

It was your turn to chuckle. “I– I think I’m alright with that.”

“Good, good.” Ross pushed the door open, tucking you near his chest to keep you shielded. “Maybe now you can tell me your name?”

For the first time in a long time, you smiled. Yeah, you supposed you could tell him your name.

[highfunctioningflailgirl]

Damage Control - 1x11 Scarecrow

After fleeing from the orchard, they check into a motel several miles away from town, paying for an extra room for Emily. They’re all tired, and after making sure that Emily feels safe and comfortable, Dean feels his knees wobble when he steps into the room he’s sharing with Sam. His head hurts, the bruised area around his eye is throbbing in sync with his heartbeat, and his vision is a little fuzzy. One more concussion to work through, he guesses. 

“Hey, you should ice that,” Sam says on cue when Dean flops down on the first bed, not intending to get back up again. Ever. 

“Thanks for the advice, mom,” he answers into the pillow.

Sam pats his leg. “Seriously. You don’t look so good. You need to take care of that eye. What happened, anyway? Did they knock you out? Did you lose consciousness?”

Dean’s too exhausted to talk. And Sam really doesn’t need to know that he took the butt end of a rifle straight to his face.

“Tripped. ‘S nothing.” Facedown, he’s barely audible.

Sam scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

Eyes closed against the pounding in his head, Dean waits for more grilling from Sam. Instead, he hears the door open and softly click shut again. Suddenly, he’s scared. Did Sam leave? Did he just fucking pick up his bag and walk out on him again? 

With Emily in the car, they hadn’t been able to talk about why Sam had returned and if he was going to stay. Honestly, Dean’s afraid to ask. It near broke him when Sam left for Stanford four years ago, in the middle of a fight with Dad, never even saying goodbye to Dean. And it took all of Dean’s self-control to hold himself together when, two days ago, Sam took off to California. 

Of course, he hadn’t let his feelings show. He’d wanted to punch Sam. He’d felt like crying. Neither would’ve been helpful or dignified, so he’d slapped on the patented Winchester poker face, even taunting Sam. And his little brother, clearly no longer as little or as impressionable as he used to be, had turned his back and walked away. 

Dean doesn’t think he can take it a third time.

He sits up, too quickly, in an irrational panic, head swimming, heart racing. Nausea wells up in him that he blames on the concussion. He wants to get up, wants to run after Sammy, but when he tries his legs are rubber and the room tilts, and he drops back onto the bed, hands white-knuckling the edge, breathing hard.

I’m gonna throw up.

He gags, and there’s no trash can in sight. Somehow, he gets back onto his feet, willing his legs to carry him this time. He barely makes it to the bathroom, lurching and bumping into the doorframe before he’s on his knees on the floor and retching into the toilet. Every heave makes his skull feel like exploding. It’s so bad he almost passes out. 

Then, he feels a gentle hand on his back. 

“Dammit, Dean…”

Sam.

Dean gags and pukes again, although there’s nothing left but bile. When he’s done, he shakily fumbles for the flush, but Sam’s faster, one hand still steadying Dean from behind. A towel appears in front of Dean’s face. He grabs it, sitting back on his haunches and burying his face in the threadbare fabric. He cannot suppress a small moan somewhere between misery and gratitude.

“You should’ve told me you have a concussion.”

“What diff-“ Dean swallows. His mouth tastes like crap. “What difference does it make?”

“I could’ve taken you to the ER to get you checked out. Still should.” Sam’s pouring water into a glass and handing it to Dean.

“Not gonna happen.” Dean takes the water and drinks, hands barely shaking. “I’ll be fine. Just need a couple hours of sleep.”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen either,” Sam says sternly. “Concussion protocol. You know the drill.”

Dean groans. All he wants is oblivion now, and not being woken up and prodded by a mother-henning Sam every hour. This is exactly what he’d wanted to avoid. On the other hand, Dean’s so relieved that Sam is still here that he doesn’t want to complain.

“Fine,” he grumbles into the towel. “You can hover. But no hospital! Deal?”

Sam huffs behind him. “It’s your brain damage. Just don’t grand mal seizure on me, alright?”

“Won’t. Promise.” Dean’s fairly sure he’s speaking the truth. 

“Alright.” Sam’s hand reappears under his arm. “Let’s get you to bed, then. You done hurling? Think you can stand?”

Dean nods - very carefully since the room’s only just stopped spinning. He shuffles his feet back under him and, with Sam’s help, goes vertical without face-planting or diving for the toilet again. Progress. As they make their way to the closest bed, Dean can’t help asking.

“Where were you?”

Sam gently lowers him onto the mattress. “Just now? Getting ice.”

“Whiskey?”

“For your face, dude.”

Indeed, when Dean’s settled, eyes once more closed against the headache and the residual nausea, something cold is softly placed on his swollen eye, and Dean recognizes the familiar feel of ice cubes wrapped in a dish towel. He winces, then segways into a moan of relief. 

“Good?” A sound of hollow plastic as Sam places something beside the bed. A trash can or a tub, probably, just to be safe.

“Yeah. Thanks, man.”

He wants to ask Sammy what his plans are for tomorrow. If he’s going to stay, or if he’s going to leave. But his brain feels like jello, and he’s tired and too fucking raw for chick flick moments. He really just wants to curl up against that ice pack and sleep, his brother in the next bed over.

A blanket settles on top of him.

“Wake you in an hour.”

Yeah. They can talk tomorrow.

Read the whole series on AO3 here:

[bakingtherapy]

Robby's Baking Therapy #15 Nutmeg... Strawberry Cake

Hello, every birdie. Today we are making what is labeled in the cookbook as a “Strawberry Cake.” I am not going to spoil what was wrong with it until the end. This is not really a recipe that I would recommend you make. 

For the ingredients, I followed the recipe, to the T. Even though I knew that something was not right about it. The ingredients that are in this recipe are:

Sugar

Butter

Berries

Flour

Eggs

Baking soda 

Nutmeg

If you want to look at the recipe and the measurements they will be down in the description below. 

When I looked at the recipe for this cake, I was confused. Why nutmeg? Maybe to give it an added spice or something. I questioned it a little bit, and I definitely questioned the amount. The recipe called for 1 teaspoon of nutmeg. I don’t even put a whole teaspoon of nutmeg in my sugar cookies. So I was a little bit nervous. 

After I got all of the ingredients out, I preheated my oven to 350. And again the recipe called for a bundt pan, but I used 2 cake pans. I greased and lined them. 

I combined all of my ingredients and then poured them into the pans. I always like to follow a recipe going with the top ingredient, then adding the next. Until I know that I have all the ingredients. 

Honestly, I knew that this cake wasn’t really going to have a strong strawberry flavor because it didn’t have a strong strawberry smell. All I could smell was the nutmeg. 

I put them in the oven for about 30 minutes. And the only reason I say about is that every oven and kitchen temperatures are different. Just keep baking it until you have a clean toothpick when you stick it in the middle. Always start with the lowest amount of time, because you can always add time, you can never subtract it. 

While the cakes were out and cooling. I worked on my buttercream. And boy, is this something that I struggle with so much. Even just a simple American buttercream is hard for me to do. Am I throwing in the towel and giving up? NO!

I am going to be trying some other buttercreams. Personally, I don’t care that much about ABC (American Butter Cream). I am on the team ABC is SO sweet. When I put in 4 cups of powdered sugar, I am always thinking that it is way too sweet. So I am going to be experimenting with my frostings in the coming future. 

Once the cakes were cooled, and out of the freezer. It was time to frost this cake. It turned out looking really sad. I didn’t really know what happened with it. It turned out to be somewhat edible. It just wasn’t the strawberry cake that I wanted. Everyone said it tasted good, but it wasn’t a strawberry cake. It was a sad nutmeg cake, that was slightly off for some reason. 

I hope that you liked this recipe. If you want to check it out for yourself, the recipe and the measurements are down below. See you in the next recipe. Thank you. 

Show the original author some 💖💖💖 Robby's Cookbook Collection

Here is a printable version of this recipe: on the blog

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