#it does not stay with you and if you start to think too hard about their choices it just like Falls Apart

[cameronsbabydoll]

tagging along to sexist!rafe and your sons boys trip ♡

warnings: misogyny, emotional neglect, subtle sexism, dismissiveness toward female-coded labor, maternal isolation, gender role conflict

wc: 1,000 — a/n: this is pretty sad guys :(((

the car hums along the mountain road, tires crunching gravel, and you’re tucked in the passenger seat, hands folded neatly in your lap. rafe’s gripping the wheel, jaw tight, eyes hidden behind sunglasses. your two boys, jake and noah, are in the back, giggling over some game on their tablets. you’d packed their bags with care—snacks, extra socks, bug spray, the works. you’d even slipped in a few of your own things, hopeful, when rafe grudgingly agreed you could come on their “daddy-son trip.”

“didn’t think you’d actually wanna come,” rafe muttered that morning, tossing the cooler in the trunk. “this is a guy thing, y’know.” his tone wasn’t mean, just dismissive, like you were a kid begging for a seat at the grown-up table. but you’d smiled, bright and sweet, and said, “i just wanna be with my boys!” he’d rolled his eyes but didn’t say no, so here you are, trying to fit into their world.

you glance at rafe, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “the lake looks so pretty,” you say, voice soft, pointing out the window at the sparkling water. “maybe we could all swim later?”

he grunts. “boys don’t wanna splash around with their mom. they’re here to fish, maybe hike. man stuff.” his words sting, but you keep your smile, nodding like you get it. you don’t want to push too hard. you’re here, that’s what matters.

at the campsite, rafe’s all business, barking orders. “jake, grab the rods. noah, help with the tent.” you hop out of the car, smoothing your sundress, and start unloading the cooler. “i can help with the tent, too,” you offer, voice bubbly, grabbing a pole.

rafe snorts, not looking up. “nah, we got it. why don’t you… i dunno, set up the food or something?” his tone says stay in your lane, and your cheeks flush. you nod, retreating to the picnic table, arranging sandwiches and fruit with shaky hands. jake runs over, all freckles and energy. “mom, can i have a juice?”

“course, sweetheart,” you say, handing him one, ruffling his hair. he grins, and for a second, you feel like you belong. then rafe calls, “jake, quit messing around, c’mere!” and your son scampers off.

the day drags. rafe and the boys fish at the lake’s edge, laughing, bonding. you watch from a blanket, book in hand, but you can’t focus. you want to be in there, part of their world. so you try. you walk over, barefoot, skirt swishing. “can i try fishing?” you ask, voice small but hopeful.

rafe raises an eyebrow, lips twitching. “you? fish?” he chuckles, and the boys giggle, like it’s the funniest thing. “baby, you’d probably scream if you caught something. just… go make yourself useful, yeah? maybe start the campfire.”

your stomach twists, but you laugh it off, tucking hair behind your ear. “okay, sure.” you head back, fumbling with the firewood. you’ve never started a fire before—rafe always does it at home—but you try, stacking logs, stuffing newspaper underneath. it takes forever, and the matches keep going out. you’re kneeling there, smudged with soot, when rafe and the boys come back.

“jesus,” rafe mutters, seeing the sad pile of unlit wood. “gimme that.” he takes over, and the fire’s roaring in minutes. you bite your lip, feeling useless, but you try again. “i made s’mores though!” you say, holding up graham crackers and marshmallows, voice bright. noah cheers, but rafe just says, “hope you didn’t burn the chocolate, too.”

dinner’s quiet. you eat your hot dog, listening to rafe tell the boys about his fishing days, all bravado and big catches. you want to share something, anything, but when you open your mouth—“i used to camp with my dad, we’d—” rafe cuts you off. “yeah, well, this is about us now. pass the mustard.”

you do, silently. the boys are happy, though, and that keeps you going. later, under the stars, you try one last time. you grab a flashlight and the camp’s trail map. “there’s a little path to a lookout,” you say, eyes shining. “we could all go, see the stars from up high?”

rafe sighs, rubbing his neck. “sweetheart, it’s late. boys need sleep, not some midnight hike. why don’t you just… clean up the dishes or something?” his voice is softer now, like he’s trying to be patient, but it still lands like a slap. you nod, swallowing hard, and start gathering plates.

as you scrub the dishes by the campfire’s glow, you hear jake whisper to noah, “mom’s trying really hard, huh?” noah nods, and your heart lifts, just a little. you might not fit into rafe’s idea of this trip, but your boys see you. and maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.

[snottyped]

Hey i really like your writing! This is my first time I’m writing an ask so I hope I gave enough information 😅

Anyway! Can you write an Incubus x fem reader?

Like the incubus get so lost in reader that he can’t stop himself? So maybe a bit of pussydrunk with a mix of marathon sex I guess?

You can take your time writing and if you don’t get any inspiration in this ask, you don’t have to do it then (or if you get another idea with Incubus x fem reader it’s fine too)

Don’t forget to take care of yourself!

(I’m never going to heaven with this request 🥲)

devour

incubus x female reader nsfw

The room is thick with heat, the air humming like it knows what's about to happen. He doesn't just look at you—he devours you with his eyes, like he's already tasting you before he even touches. Shadows curl along the walls like they're drawn to him, like they recognize what he is.

You should be afraid. But your pulse isn't racing from fear.

He’s on you before the thought fully settles, hands rough and reverent at once, dragging up your thighs, spreading them open like he has every right. Maybe he does. Maybe he’s already marked you in ways your body hasn’t caught up with yet.

His mouth is on you instantly, no teasing, no slow burn—just hunger.

“Oh—fuck—”

Your back arches as his tongue drags over your folds, impossibly skilled, impossibly eager, like he’s been starving for this. And the way he groans into you, low and animal, it’s not for show. He’s not pretending to enjoy it. He’s drowning in it.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, meaning to guide him, but the moment you tug, he growls—a warning, a promise—and grips your thighs hard enough to bruise.

He’s not letting you go. Not until he’s had his fill.

Except you don’t think he can get full.

“Darling,” he mutters, voice wrecked, voice ruined. His lips are wet, shining with you. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

He drags you to the edge with terrifying ease—then keeps going. Your body trembles, hips bucking against his face, and still he stays there, tongue flicking, sucking, thrusting, fucking into you with his mouth like he’s desperate to live inside you.

You fall apart once. Twice.

He doesn’t stop.

By the third time, you’re crying out his name—or trying to—but it doesn’t sound like a name anymore. Just breathless noise, the kind only he can pull out of you.

When he finally rises from between your legs, his lips are swollen, slick, his eyes burning gold through the shadows. He doesn’t look human now—he never was—but now the mask is off. What looks down at you is want given form.

Hunger shaped like a man.

“Beautiful,” he says, reverent. His fingers slide between your thighs, collecting the wet heat he coaxed from you. He raises them to his mouth and sucks.

“Y-you can’t possibly still want—”

He laughs, low and dark, like thunder behind your ribs. “I haven’t even started.”

Then he’s pushing inside.

The stretch makes you gasp, and he groans—deep, involuntary, like your body’s too much for him, like he’s fighting to stay in control.

But he loses.

He thrusts, hard and full and claiming. Not rough to hurt—but to own. To brand.

Your hands clutch at his back, his shoulders, anything to ground yourself as he fucks you like he means to rewrite the shape of you.

“You don’t understand,” he pants against your ear, breath hot, body hotter. “This... this shouldn’t feel this good. You shouldn’t—fuck—feel this good.”

His pace stutters. He growls again, deeper this time, like his instincts are slipping their leash. His hips snap harder, faster, deeper, chasing some primal need.

He’s never lost control before. But you’re under his skin, in his blood.

He’s drunk on you.

“Can’t stop,” he gasps, forehead pressed to yours. “Won’t.”

You feel him everywhere—his hands on your throat, his teeth on your shoulder, his cock buried so deep it feels like he’s splitting you open.

And still he moves.

You lose track of time. Of how many times he’s made you come.

At some point, your legs go numb. Your voice breaks. Maybe even you fall asleep.

But he’s still chasing it—that perfect moment, that unbearable high, like if he can just take one more thrust, he’ll finally be satisfied.

He won’t.

You don’t know how long it’s been.

The world outside this room could’ve crumbled and you wouldn’t have noticed. The only thing that exists now is him—his heat, his weight, the relentless rhythm of his body driving into yours like he’ll die if he doesn’t.

You’ve come so many times, your thighs are shaking, slick and trembling and spread wide for him because he won’t let you close them. Every time your muscles twitch like you're trying to pull away, he growls—low and dangerous—and pulls you back down onto him harder.

Your body isn’t your own anymore. It’s his.

“Look at you,” he pants, watching the way your eyes flutter, your mouth open on a moan that never fully forms. “never looked so fucking sweet.”

He leans in and licks a stripe up your throat like he’s tasting it—tasting what he’s done to you. He’s soaked in sweat, in your slick, in his own lust. His hips move like he’s possessed—no rhythm, just need. Just the animal inside him, fucking you raw and deep and endless.

You’re babbling, now—nothing coherent, just gasps and broken words, begging and moaning and pleading but for what, you don’t know.

For him to stop?

For him not to?

He doesn’t stop.

“You think I can stop?” he grits, voice shredded. His eyes glow gold in the dark, wild and lost and locked on your face like you’re the only thing tethering him to this plane. “You let me in. You opened up and let me taste heaven, and now—”

He slams into you, again and again, until the rhythm turns punishing and perfect, until your back arches and your cries get louder—

“—now I can’t live without it.”

Your hands find his chest, his arms, scrabbling for something to hold onto as he fucks you through another orgasm—this one brutal, so deep it feels like it tears through your soul. You don’t even scream. You shudder.

Your body locks. Your vision whites out. You fall apart under him like glass.

And still, he keeps going.

He’s growling again, teeth bared, breath ragged. There’s a frantic edge to him now, like he’s past the point of no return. Like he’s unraveling from the inside out.

“Gonna fill you up,” he groans, voice nearly unrecognizable. “Make you mine. Not just for tonight—always.”

You can feel it—the way he throbs inside you, thick and ready and desperate. The way his thrusts grow uneven, needy. The way he presses his forehead to yours like he’s trying to climb inside your chest and stay there.

“Say it,” he pants. “Say you want it. Say you're mine.”

You're barely breathing, body wrung out and oversensitive, but somehow, you still whisper it:

“Yours.”

Something breaks in him.

He growls—roars—as he pushes deep, holding himself there, twitching inside you. His hands crush your hips down to meet him as he spills into you, pulsing thick and hot and endless. You feel it flood you, feel it fill you, feel it claim you.

He doesn’t pull out.

He doesn’t even slow down.

Even as he finishes, he’s thrusting through it, desperate for more, for everything.

You cry out, trembling under him, overstimulated and raw.

He licks into your mouth, kisses you filthy and open and needy. “One more,” he mutters against your lips. “Give me one more, sweetheart. Just one more.”

You’ve given him so many.

And still—he’s begging for more.

You don’t even get a chance to answer before he's rolling his hips again, deeper this time, like he’s trying to reach your soul. You feel everything—his cum leaking out around him, the raw friction, the wet heat of your body clinging to his every thrust.

You’re a mess. But he worships it.

“Can’t get enough of this pussy,” he groans, hips stuttering as he slams into you again and again. “You were made for me. Fuck—you were made for me.”

You choke on a moan, body twitching violently as your next orgasm crashes over you with no warning. You can’t even scream. Your whole body locks, clenches, milks him, and that’s what sends him over again.

He lets out a strangled sound, mouth slack, eyes dark with possession. He fucks you through it all—his second release, your third, fourth—whatever number you’re on now.

This isn’t the end.

He might never be done.

And the worst part?

Neither are you.

[pankesitopank]

AAAAAAAAAAA OMG AAAAAH THE WAY I MOANED AAAAA MMMHHMMM LOLLL

omg just thinking about riding him like that aaaahhh

like I have this idea where reader (who I may or may not have imagined as her... but that's very virgin so I'll just leave it as reader) is riding him in that same pose and he does NOTHING just watches her while she falls apart on top of him. Then he's the one who takes control and AAAAHH.

STAY WITH ME I HAVE A MINI SCENARIO

It was that pose. The one he knew made you crumble.

Hyunjin laid back against the couch, arms resting behind his head, his shirt stretching deliciously across his chest. His legs were spread like he was inviting you in—but his expression? That was the real trap. Heavy-lidded, smug, lips parted in just the faintest smirk. He looked at you like he already knew how this would end.

And maybe he did.

You were supposed to be proving a point. Something about not always needing him to take the lead. Something about how well you could ride him without begging for help. But the second your knees settled on either side of his hips, and your hands found purchase against his chest, you felt that confidence flicker under the weight of his stare.

“You sure you wanna try this?” he asked, voice a low hum, almost bored. “You remember what happened last time?”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks already warm.

“I can handle it.”

Hyunjin didn’t argue. He just arched a brow, the gold of his necklace catching the light as his head tilted slightly. “Alright then,” he murmured. “Go ahead, baby.”

And fuck if that didn’t already do something to you.

Your fingers trembled just a little as you reached between you, lining him up—hard and hot, his length already pressing against your folds from just a few soft grinds during your makeout session. He hadn’t even touched you properly yet. That was the worst part.

The teasing was all you.

You sank down slowly, inch by inch, your breath catching as his cock stretched you open. That familiar burn, the delicious fullness—it made you pause, hips trembling as you adjusted. He was big. Every time felt like the first. And from the slight twitch in his smirk, he knew it.

“Still doing okay?” he asked, voice smug and lazy.

You bit your lip, trying to focus. “Fine.”

You weren’t fine.

You were already clenching, already too aware of how he filled you up, how deep he was when you were on top. But you started to move—hips rolling slowly, experimentally, finding a rhythm.

And god, it felt good.

The friction, the angle, the way his cock hit just right inside you. You set your pace, slow and deep, hands pressing against his firm chest for leverage. Your thighs ached just a little, but you pushed through, trying to stay in control. You had to. That was the point.

Hyunjin didn’t help you. Not once.

His arms stayed behind his head, that stupid gold watch catching your eye as he laid there like a fucking painting, letting you do the work. Letting you work for it.

He just watched.

Watched the way your breath got heavier, the way your legs started to tremble, the way your movements got a little more desperate. You tried to stay composed—keep a rhythm—but the tension was building fast.

And Hyunjin was silent.

No moans, no groans. Just that same smug look on his face. That calm, unreadable gaze that made you want to snap.

“Why aren’t you—” you panted, lifting and dropping onto him again, “—doing anything?”

He just blinked slowly. “You said you wanted to ride me, remember?” A pause. “You were so confident. So cocky. Wanted to prove a point.”

You hated how turned on his voice made you. It was too casual. Too calm. And you were already shaking.

“I—fuck—” you gasped, grinding down against him with more force, chasing the friction you needed. “I can. I don’t—nngh—need you to—”

“Oh?” he said, tilting his head. “Because you’re getting real sloppy, baby. Haven’t even made yourself cum yet.”

You whimpered.

It was true. The angle was almost there, your clit barely brushing against his pelvis, but it wasn’t enough. You couldn’t get enough speed, enough force, not without help. Your legs were already burning.

Still, you didn’t want to give in. Not yet.

You braced your palms harder against his chest and moved faster—bouncing on his cock with shallow, needy motions, chasing something that was just out of reach. His cock dragged perfectly inside you, but you were losing rhythm, falling apart.

And all the while, Hyunjin just watched you.

“God, look at you,” he said softly. “So pretty when you try.”

His voice made your stomach flip. You were whining now, desperate little sounds falling from your lips every time your hips met his. You were so close, but it wasn’t enough.

You needed help. You needed him.

And the second your pace faltered again, the second you let out that frustrated little whimper, Hyunjin moved.

His hands came down from behind his head, strong fingers wrapping around your waist. He didn’t flip you. He didn’t sit up. He just gripped you tight and started thrusting up.

Hard.

“Ah—Hyun—fuck!”

You collapsed forward instantly, hands fisting in his shirt as he rutted up into you, hips snapping with a rhythm that stole the breath from your lungs. Every thrust hit deep, his cock slamming into your sweet spot like he’d been waiting for you to fail.

“Wanted me to let you ride me, huh?” he grunted, voice right against your ear now. “Wanted to show me how good you are?”

You couldn’t speak. You could barely breathe.

His grip was tight, his rhythm brutal. You could feel his abs flex beneath your stomach, his thighs tensing with every upward drive. The couch squeaked under the pressure, the sound of skin against skin filthy in the air.

“Not so cocky now, are you?”

You cried out—his cock hitting so deep it felt like you were about to fall apart. Your body went boneless on top of him, your chest pressing against his as you moaned shamelessly.

“Say it,” Hyunjin growled. “Tell me who’s in control.”

You shook your head, tears threatening at the corners of your eyes.

He slammed into you.

“Say it.”

You gasped. “You! You’re in control—fuck, Hyunjin, I can’t—”

He grinned, breath hot against your skin. “That’s what I thought.”

One hand slipped between you, fingers finding your clit and rubbing in tight, fast circles. It was too much. His cock ramming into you from below, his fingers on your clit, his voice in your ear—

You came hard, body convulsing on top of him as your orgasm ripped through you.

But he didn’t stop.

“Good girl,” he whispered, still thrusting up into you. “Now let me finish.”

You were sobbing now, overwhelmed, your walls fluttering around him as he fucked you through your high. You were limp against him, totally at his mercy, thighs quivering as he chased his release.

And then—deep, low, a growl against your throat—

“Gonna cum inside you.”

You moaned so loud it echoed.

“Gonna make sure you remember who really owns this pussy, baby.”

And with one last, brutal thrust—he came.

You felt it. Hot and thick, spilling deep inside you as he groaned into your skin, holding you tight against his chest. Your body pulsed with aftershocks, your breath ragged, your legs trembling uncontrollably.

The room was silent.

Only the sound of your breathing. Of Hyunjin’s heart pounding beneath your cheek.

You didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

He kissed your temple, still inside you, still warm and hard.

“Next time,” he whispered, “just ask.”

You let out a breathless laugh, cheeks burning.

Maybe you’d let him win this one.

[beanarie]

part 3 of buck takes a mental health break. things get kind of epistolary (ish) from here on out.

~

Los Olivos is... nice. Super nice. Buck has driven through a couple of times, but he's never stopped here. He squints at his phone, triple-checking the address, before he rings the bell.

The door opens, and it's like the sun came out. "Buckaroo!" Carla smiles big and wide. "You get in here right now." Her arms wrap around him as unabashedly as they always did. He gleans as much warmth and comfort as he can before she lets go to give him a once over. "Look at Mr. Universe! My goodness, so much more of you to love now. Come in, come in. I hope you're hungry. I've been cooking since late morning, but if you'd shown me a recent photo, I would've started yesterday."

He manages to put away most of the ribs she put in front of him, with her husband Elden polishing off the rest. After ignoring her protests and helping load the dishwasher, he takes in the photos taking up most of the wall space and several surfaces.

She chuckles at the one he stopped in front of. "That's from the wedding of, uh, you-know-who."

"It's a beautiful photo." Elden is wearing a suit a similar shade of blue to the one Buck wore to his and Abby's disastrous first date. If he closes his eyes, he can still hear Bobby's voice in his ear, giving last minute advice as he helped Buck with his tie.

That part of it was a good memory.

"You okay?" Carla asks.

Buck shakes himself, seeing a way out that's sure to be worth it if only to see her reaction. "Uh, hey. Do you remember how Abby had that ex that kind of smashed her heart into little pieces?"

"Oh, yeah. She was hung up to an embarrassing degree. Her mom used to talk about the guy, too. She loved him."

"I forgot about that," Buck says under his breath, suddenly thinking about Tommy hanging out with Abby's elderly mom, being mildly caustic at each other while playing scrabble or doing a puzzle.

"Why would you bring up whatshisn-?"

"Uh, Tommy."

She tilts her head, intrigued. "Good memory."

Later Buck is proud of himself for making sure she's sitting before he gives her the story. As it is she laughs so hard she almost falls off the couch.

"Your life, I swear," she says, wheezing. "I don't know why I'm even surprised."

Buck finds himself grinning along, wider than he has in a long time.

"You know, you lit up a little when you talked about him. You still like this guy?"

"Yeah," he says, only a little doubt in his mind. "I think so."

"He really thought you were in love with Eddie?" She has an incredible gobsmacked face. "Now, I adore that man, and the two of you would be pretty as hell." She winks and Buck snickers. "But he has a talent for making things hard, and you, Evan Buckley. You deserve something easy."

~

(Hen): Hey, Eddie told me what he said. Say the word, and Karen and I will get him ostracized from every parent group in the county.

(Buck): Don't do that.

(Buck): It affects Chris.

(Hen): Good point. We could do gyms. You have no idea how important gays are to that scene.

(Buck): I might not be Gay-gay but I have spent a little time in gyms. I know.

(Hen): Right, that's fair.

(Hen): You seemed like you were managing. I should've noticed you were making yourself smaller.

(Buck): Thanks, Hen.

(Hen): You're missed, just so you know. Not just during shifts. You'll always be one of ours, understand?

(Hen): Buck?

(Hen): Maybe you don't understand. That's on me. I'll do better in the future.

(Buck): I miss you, too. The lady who served me at this truck stop diner had glasses like yours.

(Hen): I hope you gave her a good compliment.

(Buck): Of course I did. And a big tip.

~

Oakland is next, Lucy doesn't have a spare room ("My partner's brother is staying with us for a while. He's a funny little shit. You'll probably be best friends.") but she does have a pullout couch, and when Buck lies at an angle, his feet don't dangle off the edge.

He and Lucy get just this side of absolutely trashed. When they've toasted to Cap's memory multiple times and the stories slow to a trickle, she grabs his phone. "I'm gonna find you a not-nice boy on grindr."

Buck sits back in his chair and gives a have at it gesture. He watches her, always so comfortable in her own skin. "When did you first, y'know, know?"

She doesn't hesitate for a second. "Eleven. Heather Edison. Sixth grade English. She read for Juliet in class and I wanted to be Romeo so bad."

"Who did you get instead?"

She makes a face. "Tybalt. Ugh."

"What's it like growing up knowing pretty much the whole time?"

"Well, I got a couple years on you. It was a lot of sussing people out and very carefully figuring out who was safe to share that part of myself with." She picks up her shoulders breezily. "Sometimes I was wrong. It happens."

"That sounds terrible. I'm sorry."

"Price of admission," she says. "Now, do you wanna stick with the Greek god aesthetic, or do you feel like broadening your horizons a little?"

Sheree, the girlfriend, brings him coffee the morning after.

"Do you miss it?" she asks. "The job? If you're anything like Lucy... She broke her wrist once and the whole time she couldn't be out there it was like she was locked in a glass case full of water."

The job is what killed him, Buck thinks idly. But even now, he recognizes that it's also what kept him going as long as he did. Buck sips at his coffee. "It's only been a few days," he says with a little teasing smile. "Right now it barely counts as time away."

~

(Eddie): Chris said it's my fault you left and then he stopped talking to me again

(Eddie): it's not really is it?

(Buck): I don't know what I'm supposed to say to that. It feels like no matter what I do it's wrong, so I'd rather not engage at all for a while.

His phone rings. Buck rejects the call, then pulls over and drinks half a water bottle.

(Buck): I know this was hard on you, but finding out after the fact was not worse than being there. It wasn't. Bobby's face that night will be with me on my deathbed. Maybe you'll always remember how Chris looked when you told him, but you get a lifetime of new memories to replace it with.

Buck plugs all that in from the notes app, then immediately has a thought.

(Buck): If you ever talk to me like that again I'll transfer for good.

Hands shaking, he turns off alerts from Eddie. Then he texts Chris a photo of himself and Carla at her house. The amount of exclamation points he gets in return chips away at the concrete block around his heart.

~

(Buck): Am I exhausting?

(Buck): Sorry. Hi how are you?

(Tommy): Too late, you already set the tone. Exhausting? You did tire me out on a regular basis

"Oh," Buck says to himself.

(Tommy): in the bedroom. But I'd never say you were exhausting, that's not how I think of you at all. I don't see how anyone could.

(Buck): Oh

(Tommy): Howie told me about your sabbatical. Where are you now?

(Buck): A couple hours outside Salt Lake City.

(Tommy): Exciting stuff. Don't let the mormons get you.

(Buck): Truck driver fell asleep and caused a pileup. That was pretty exciting.

(Tommy): Not for an old pro like you. Did you have to bust out your skills?

(Buck): For a bit. No fatalities, that was good. Mostly just concussions and whiplash.

(Tommy): Look at you, working on your vacation.

It's such a simple exchange, but the concrete block feels even weaker now. He remembers Bobby saying He's good for you, at a time that they later found out was him saying his goodbyes. That taints it, somewhat, but Buck can't get over that Bobby thought he'd be leaving Buck in a good place, with Tommy.

(Buck): Thank you, Tommy

(Tommy): For responding to your texts? It was a real hardship. I'll never get those 90 seconds back.

(Buck): For making me smile. You always do that.

(Tommy): You're pretty good at that yourself. Drive safe, Evan.

[robinminustherichard]

Fuck(ing) it Friday 😈

Rating: E | Bucktommy

The thing that convinces Buck to stay in LA is Tommy.

Or, to be honest, Tommy's cock. Buck just doesn't know that yet.

After Chim's big speech, nothing actually changed except for Buck being expected to move out with barely two weeks notice; lest he wanted Christopher to be homeless. So of course Buck leaves. He gets a temperature controlled storage unit that can't actually afford to waste money on, and he starts apartment hunting.

The realtor is nice and does want to help him, she tells him that her dad was a firefighter too, but he just can't seem to find anything he likes in anything she shows him. Too new, too shiny, too cold. So he tells her that he needs some time to think about it and starts looking at new cities instead.

He has his sights set on San Diego and he doesn't really know how to tell anyone, so he figures he can go practice by telling Tommy.

Except, that was an hour and two rounds ago, and Buck is now blinking sweat out of his eyes while he rides Tommy into the stupidly plush California king mattress that Buck could never admit to loving more than anything he's ever slept on.

"Fuck, Evan, please," Tommy bites out, not even a sentence. Buck has been moving torturously slow, feeling the burn in his thighs as he moves up, holds, down, holds, grinds, and does it all again.

Tommy probably doesn't deserve it, but Buck feels something harsh and powerful rise up in him when he sees how he's got Tommy begging for Buck's body--feels something click into place when he realizes that for the first time in weeks he's in control here, totally and absolutely.

Buck bites at his lip hard, closes his eyes and lets his head hang back for a moment. He sits up, Tommy's cock just barely popping through his rim. His eyes open when he hears the groan Tommy lets out, quickly followed by a hiss when he realizes that Buck isn't moving.

"Evan," Tommy says, trying sweet. It gets him nowhere, Buck just tilting his head and looking down at him. Tommy huffs, narrows his eyes and tries again.

"Evan, move." It's forceful this time, and it's closer to what Buck wants, but it just isn't enough. He holds his position and when Tommy moves to shoot a hand up and grab Buck's hips, Buck's hands grab at his wrists and pin them to the bed.

Tommy thrashes, and Buck knows the grin that takes over his mouth isn't exactly a nice one. He knows that Tommy can overpower him, that he's got a stronger core and a better eye for grappling, but he also knows that he can't fully get out from under Buck's hold without risking hurting himself or Buck.

"Evan, fucking move or I'll--"

"You'll what, Daddy?" Buck says, forcing his tone to go bored and unaffected. His thighs are starting to shake, but he's going to hold this until he goads Tommy into what he wants.

This was always the problem with you two, a voice in Buck's head says, never just saying what you want.

Buck's too far gone, too deep into feeling like he has a say in what happens to him right now, he feels drunk on it. Buck presses Tommy's wrists tighter and watches his eyes flare open wider.

"That's how this is going to be?" Tommy says lowly, dangerous in a way that excites Buck.

Nothing like feeling afraid of Eddie in kitchen that was only his for a month and a half.

Buck makes deliberate eye contact with Tommy, stares him down and slowly loosens his grip, trailing his fingers down Tommy's arms, skating his blunt nails down Tommy's chest, catching on his nipples. Tommy never looks away, and he doesn't move his arms from where they still lay where Buck pinned them.

"That's how this is going to be." Buck says, clearly and without hesitation, feeling like his whole body is shaking now.

"God, you--" Tommy says, cutting himself off with a harsh breath out. For a moment Buck thinks that he's read this wrong, that he's finally asked for too much, that he's gone and fucked up the last thing that could have made him feel okay, even for one afternoon.

And then he's flipped so fast that he doesn't even realize it's happening until his back hits the mattress. His breath rushes out of him, and he thinks he tries to say something, but any words he could have gotten out are stolen when Tommy grips his thighs harshly and yanks them up over Tommy's, cock sliding in with no resistance.

Buck lets out a long whine, keening and involuntary, and it takes him a moment to realize that Tommy is fucking into him with short and pounding thrusts that jumble Buck's brain and slam against his prostate repeatedly.

"Fucking hell, you come here and tell me you're fucking leaving and then this is how you act? By being a fucking brat?"

Despite how mean the words should be, Buck feels them settle over him like a blanket, like a lap bar on a roller-coaster keeping him in his seat, like the only thing that's tethering him to his body right now.

Buck thinks his mouth is trying to say something but only moans fall out of it, going breathy every time Tommy buries himself to the hilt. He feels wild with it, like he's just crash landed back into his ribcage and is ricocheting around in it.

"God damn you make me fucking crazy," Tommy is telling him before he's grabbed by the back of the next and hauled into a kiss that barely qualifies as one, Buck unable to get his lips to do anything but form a perfect 'O' around the sounds Tommy is forcing out of him, "you can't just leave, Evan, how are you gonna get fucked this well somewhere else, huh? How are you gonna get this needy fucking hole filled hours away from me? Didn't even let me put a condom on and you think you can just leave after this?"

Buck's orgasm hits him like a freight train, ripping a near-scream out of his throat, Tommy never stopping through it all. Buck thinks he whites out a bit, thinks he might be somewhere else for a moment before Tommy's biting down more gently than he deserves where Buck's shoulder meets his neck and letting out a vibrating moan that Buck feels in the walls of his heart.

Buck's floating for a long time after that, or maybe it was a few seconds, he's not sure. He feels good, so good in a way that he hasn't in months. Nothing bad can touch him there, only Tommy's hands, softer than before; gently easing Buck's legs off of his hips, rubbing down Buck's bad leg, reaching up to card through his too-long hair.

"--Evan?" Tommy's voice breaks through and Buck realizes he's probably been trying to get his attention for a while.

"I, uh, sorry," is all Buck can say, looking up at Tommy and swallowing thickly. His throat feels raw and his eyes burn.

"Yeah, that's what you've been saying. Why are you sorry, Evan?" Tommy's face is concerned, his eyebrows drawn together and mouth twisted.

"I said I'm sorry already?" Buck asks, trying to remember but coming up short.

"That's all you've been saying for about five minutes."

"Oh, so--"

"Don't say you're sorry. Tell me what's wrong."

Buck looks away from him then, feeling raw. He blinks a few times and feels mortification settle in for a moment when he realizes that he's been crying.

"I don't-don't--" Buck says, trying to come up with anything that will salvage this one last moment with Tommy, "I don't know. Nothing. Everything."

Tommy's hand comes up to cup Buck's jaw and turn his head, and Buck doesn't fight it even when it brings his eyes right back to Tommy's.

"I'm sorry, Evan. I shouldn't have asked you questions like that when you're coming out of a drop. I'm going to hold you now, and then I'm going to feed you, and then we can talk, and I won't be mad no matter what you tell me."

Buck waits for a flare of annoyance to bubble up in him just like it has towards everyone else who has tried to handle him lately, but it never comes. It's so different, it's to him and not about him, it's reassurance instead of patronization.

"O-okay," Buck manages, wobbly but there all the same.

Tommy makes good on his promise, he reaches into his night stand for supplies and wipes them both down gently and efficiently; then gathers Buck up in his arms and holds him with an arm across Buck's chest and leg between his knees. Buck feels panic flare and die in his throat almost simultaneously, and he lets himself have this for a moment.

[aro-culture-is]

Aro culture is seeing the signs that your friend is in a toxic relationship but they refuse to acknowledge it when you tell them and say "we're in love, you wouldn't get it"

hey, something I've noticed is that people... don't know how to bring up signs of toxicity. and the thing is, the major "do not" is to directly call the relationship abusive/toxic, or the other(s) in it such, which is also the thing almost everyone I talk to says they did in your position.

quoting from a New York state gov site about domestic violence:

Here are some examples of how you can Start the Conversation: - “I noticed that sometimes [insert partner’s name] does this [insert concerning tactic that you’ve seen]. Does that happen a lot? How does that make you feel?” - “I’m concerned about your safety. Is it okay if we talk about it?” - “I’m so glad you told me about [insert disclosure of abuse]. How can I help or support you? What do you need?” - “I noticed lately that you’ve been [insert survivor’s behavior like “getting hurt a lot lately” or “not going out as much”]. Is everything okay? If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here for you.” - “I know this can be really hard to talk about. I promise I believe you and won’t judge any of your choices or experiences. I care about you and just want you to be safe.” - “I recently read/watched/heard [insert book, article, movie, podcast about domestic violence]. Have you read/seen/heard it? What do you think?”

These are all adaptable to toxic relationships, high control groups like cults, and generally, someone experiencing distress. For example,

"I've noticed that sometimes [person/group/work] does [concerning tactic, addressed as factually as possible. ie, talking over you, making jokes you don't seem to enjoy, grabbing you, etc, NOT 'being a bitch']. Does that happen a lot? How do you feel about it?

Then, DO NOT say how you feel about it without letting them speak! Don't launch into "I saw them do it 8 times today, and I think you're ignoring it because you think you love them, and that's bad!" Let them tell you what they notice, do not blame them for staying, and do not call the situation bad until they do!

If they say, "oh, I don't think it's that bad/that frequent.", you don't have to agree, but you could say, "I thought it happened a few times today, but if you aren't worried, I'll try not to push. Just know you can always talk to me if it does change."

If you DO push too far, and that happens, be careful. The main problems from that are 1) they feel like you're judging them, so they stop engaging with you. 2) they tell the abusive group, who WILL try to stop them from contact with you, 3) this actually pushes them FURTHER into the toxic situation, because now someone who cares is inaccessible. Dial it back.

"I'm sorry I came across so strong. I shouldn't have been so accusatory, I was worried and got carried away. You can always talk to me if things change, but I shouldn't have gone about it like that even if it were that bad."

Good luck.

[neonbonded]

Their breaking point — When you tease them just a little too much

♡ ft. love and deepspace men x fem!reader ♡ cw: explicit themes, power dynamics, rough language, dominance/submission tones, possessive behavior (18+)

Xavier

♡ don’t mistake quiet for soft—he’s just waiting for you to beg for it.

It starts innocent. You straddle his lap during downtime, playful and light, your fingers slipping just under the hem of his shirt as you lean into him, lips brushing his jaw like a tease.

He doesn't move at first. Doesn’t speak. But his eyes? His eyes are tracking every shift of your body like he’s calculating how long he can stay composed.

You murmur against his ear, deliberately soft:

“What if I don’t want you to be gentle?”

His breath stills. And then his hand snaps up, catching your wrist mid-stroke. Not harsh. Not angry. But final. Like he’s made a decision.

His voice is low, rough—like it’s been dragged from somewhere dark.

“You think I don’t want to lose control with you?” “I think about it every time you touch me like that.”

And then he shifts. One knee wedges between your thighs, and you gasp—your hips reacting before your brain does. He watches your face twist in surprise, his mouth curling just slightly.

“Look at you,” he whispers, breath hot against your throat. “Already shaking. And I haven’t even started.”

You try to respond—but he moves faster.

One hand tangles in your hair, angling your mouth open for a deep, consuming kiss, while the other trails under your shirt��slow, torturous. His fingers barely ghost the edge of your bra and you still whimper like you’ve been touched raw.

He breathes your name against your lips, and it sounds like a warning.

“You don’t get to act this sweet and pretend you’re not begging for it.”

He kisses down your neck, biting just enough to make you arch into him, and then he grabs you—lifts you—and carries you to the nearest surface like you weigh nothing.

“You want me to be rough?” he growls, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand. “Then take it. Every. Fucking. Inch.”

And when he finally pushes inside—deep and slow, holding eye contact like it’s everything—your breath catches. Because he’s still not rushing. Still completely in control.

But that control is cracking. Every sound you make, every grind of your hips, it’s unraveling him.

“Say it,” he pants, voice wrecked. “Say you want me like this.”

You do. Over and over.

And when he finally breaks—hips stuttering, mouth messy against your shoulder, voice shaking with something too big to name—you know one thing:

Quiet doesn’t mean soft. Not with Xavier. Not when it’s you.

Zayne

♡ it’s always the composed ones who ruin you the most.

It starts with a smirk. Yours. You crawl into his lap while he’s mid-review—patient records on one screen, his fingers absently scrolling—but you don’t care. Your thighs slide over his, settling just right. You tug on the knot of his tie with two fingers, lazy and deliberate, and lean in so close your breath fans over his cheek.

“Am I distracting you, Doctor?”

Zayne stiffens. Doesn’t answer. His jaw tenses, eyes flick to yours over the rim of his glasses, and for a second you think he’s going to tell you off.

But he doesn’t. He just watches you. Like he’s waiting.

So you push further. You kiss beneath his jaw, slow and taunting, shifting your hips in his lap until you feel him—thick and hard against your core, straining under the fabric. You moan softly, breathless against his skin.

That’s when he moves.

His hand comes up, fingers wrapping around your throat—not tight, but commanding. Grounding. Possessive. You freeze, breath catching in your lungs.

“You think you’re in control of this?” he says, voice low and even—but his pulse is racing.

You open your mouth to respond, but you don’t get the chance. Zayne surges forward, kissing you hard—deep and ruthless, stealing the breath from your lungs. His tie is already undone. His shirt, half unbuttoned from your teasing fingers, gets shoved aside as he grips your hips and drags you down against him with a frustrated growl.

“I’ve stitched up lacerations with steadier hands,” he mutters, lips brushing yours between kisses. “But you?” “You make me fucking lose it.”

Before you can even fully process it, he’s lifting you, laying you flat across the edge of his desk. Papers scatter. His name badge hits the floor.

He kneels.

And then he drags his tongue up the inside of your thigh—slow, methodical, like he’s mapping pressure points with every flick and kiss. His hands slide under your skirt, pushing it higher until you’re exposed and trembling.

“You wanted my attention?” he murmurs, licking his thumb and pressing it exactly where it hurts. “Now you’ve got it.”

He doesn’t stop. Not when your legs start to shake. Not when you sob his name like a prayer. He pushes you to your edge, pulls you back, and starts all over again. Controlled. Measured. Absolute.

Because Zayne might have been calm when you teased him— But now? He’s going to make sure you never dare try it again.

Rafayel

♡ the teasing king gets dethroned—then shows you exactly who’s in charge.

It starts with a shift in power. You crawl into his lap, straddling him in his paint-stained studio chair, arms draped loosely over his shoulders like you’re just relaxing. Like you don’t have a plan. But the moment you press your mouth to his jaw and whisper—

“What’s wrong, baby? You’re usually the one making me blush…”

—Rafayel forgets how to breathe.

He freezes. Hands gripping your thighs like a man caught off guard, lips parting, eyes blazing. You grin against his skin, smug and wicked.

“Oh, you’re evil,” he groans, voice rough, breath hot. “A menace. A certified brat.”

You roll your hips once—slow, deliberate—and that’s when he snaps.

His hands slide down to your ass, squeezing hard, dragging you flush against him. You feel him—hot and already so hard beneath you—and it makes you gasp.

“You wanna act bold, cutie?” he grits out, pupils blown. “Then take responsibility for what you’ve started.”

His mouth crashes into yours, all tongue and teeth and need, and when you whimper into him, his groan rips from his chest like he’s been waiting forever.

And then?

He flips you.

You barely process it before you’re bent over the edge of the canvas table—brushes crashing to the floor, half-finished painting forgotten, his hands already dragging your panties down your thighs like he owns you.

“You wanna play games?” he hisses against your neck. “Let’s fucking play.”

He doesn’t even undress fully—just enough to free himself, enough to pin you with his weight, his mouth grazing your ear as he presses inside you all at once.

“Still smug now?” he growls, thrusting deep enough to make your knees buckle. “Huh? Still wanna tease?”

But it’s not just rough—it’s worship. His hand slips between your legs. His fingers circle exactly where you need him, teasing and coaxing moans from your throat like he’s painting with your pleasure.

“You sound so good like this,” he breathes. “You always do.”

You try to speak—but your voice breaks on his name.

“Say it again,” he whispers, teeth grazing your shoulder. “Say my name like that, and I’ll let you come.”

And when you do?

He paints the memory of it in every corner of his mind—and later, on canvas too. Because he might’ve lost control in the moment—but you? You’re the only masterpiece he’s ever truly come undone for.

Sylus

♡ you poke the wolf—and now he’s done pretending to play nice.

You knew what you were doing. Showing up late at his private Onychinus suite, all soft legs and sweet lips, wearing one of his silk shirts that barely covers anything. You strut in like you own the place, settle onto his velvet desk, and give him that look—the one that says “come get me.”

He doesn’t move at first. Just leans back in his chair, red eyes locked on you, sipping whiskey like he isn’t already seconds from snapping.

“You’re bold tonight,” he says, voice lazy and lethal. “Trying to make me lose focus?”

You tilt your head, innocent and shameless.

“You looked tense. I figured I’d offer a distraction.”

He closes his drink and stands—slow and deliberate, like a predator that’s finally finished circling.

“You want to be a distraction?” he murmurs, stepping between your thighs. “Careful. I don’t do half-measures.”

You grin and graze your fingers up his chest.

“Maybe I want to see what happens when you stop holding back.”

And just like that, the leash snaps.

His hand wraps around your throat—not tight, but possessive, anchoring you to him. His mouth crashes into yours, devouring every teasing word you were about to say. You barely register being lifted until your back hits the desk, his body caging you in completely.

“You think this is a game?” he growls, yanking your panties to the side. “You think I don’t notice every time you sway your hips around my men? Act like you don’t know what you’re doing to me?”

He slides two fingers between your thighs, feels how soaked you already are, and smirks.

“Of course you know.”

He spreads you with one hand and lines himself up with the other, dragging his cock through your folds in lazy, torturous strokes.

“Beg,” he says, hovering just outside you. “Beg me to ruin you for anyone else.”

You try to stay quiet.

You fail.

And when he finally sinks into you—slow, deep, all control and no mercy—you shatter around the sound of his low, broken groan.

“That’s it,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “That’s what I wanted. You—under me, ruined, mine.”

He doesn’t fuck you fast. He fucks you thoroughly. Every stroke calculated. Every movement designed to make you sob his name. His hand stays firm around your throat, not choking—just keeping you right where he wants you.

When your legs tremble and your voice breaks, he leans in, teeth grazing your jaw.

“Next time you wanna tease me, remember this—” “You don’t get to play with fire unless you’re ready to burn for me.”

And burn you do. For him? You’d burn gladly.

Caleb

♡ you thought he was soft—until you touched the part of him he hides from everyone else.

It’s supposed to be playful. You curl into his lap on a lazy evening in his Skyhaven apartment, still wearing one of his flight jackets—nothing underneath but your underwear and a mischievous grin. You start slow: kissing his jaw, tracing the edge of his collar with your teeth, whispering against his throat.

“Colonel Caleb,” you tease. “You’re awfully quiet tonight. Cat got your tongue?”

He huffs a laugh, pretending to keep his focus on the report in front of him. But his grip on the tablet tightens. His breath catches when your hips roll forward, just enough for him to feel how wet you already are through your panties.

“You really think I’m gonna sit still while you tease me like that?” he mutters, voice low and strained.

You press closer, mouthing at the shell of his ear.

“I don’t think you’ll do anything at all.”

And that’s it.

The tablet hits the floor.

In one motion, Caleb grabs you by the waist, lifts you, and throws you down onto the couch like it’s instinct. His body is on top of yours in a second—knees on either side of your hips, hands already yanking his shirt over his head.

“You wanna poke the bear?” he growls, dragging your panties down your thighs with zero patience. “Fine. Let’s see how long you can handle the fallout.”

You open your mouth to say something smug—he shuts you up with a kiss that leaves you dizzy.

“You think I haven’t wanted to fuck you breathless every time you strut around in my clothes like you own me?” he says, biting your bottom lip. “You do own me. But now I’m gonna make sure you remember who you belong to, too.”

He sinks into you with one deep, hard thrust—and the moan you let out? It wrecks him.

“That’s it,” he groans. “You sound so pretty when you break.”

But he’s not rough without tenderness.

He holds you down with his body, forehead pressed to yours, his mechanical hand gripping your thigh with perfect pressure, fingers shaking with restraint.

“You’re everything,” he whispers, fucking you deep and slow, “everything I’ve ever wanted. And I can’t—won’t—lose you.”

You wrap your arms around him and pull him closer, and something in him shatters.

The pace snaps. His hips slam into yours, needy, desperate—like he’s making up for all the nights he held back. All the time he tried to pretend he wasn’t this far gone for you.

“Say it,” he pants against your skin. “Say you’re mine.”

You do. Over and over—until your voice is hoarse and you’re clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

And he is.

Because for Caleb? Loving you was never gentle. It was everything. All at once.

[moon-fics]

saw you were asking for requests and I am absolutely DYING for some bob floyd with a girlfriend/wife in her early twenties: the little age gap is simply too hot 🧎‍♀️

POV: you see me across the room. I teleport in front of you and hand you a 20 page paper as to why you should request more often.

I am SO bad at age gap stuff but imma try so stay with me now.

Bob is not the type to flaunt his possessions because he sees no reason to.

Bob is in his late 20s to early 30s so when he enters the Hard Deck with an early 20s partner everyone is confused.

They have no clue how he bagged you or even got to talking with you.

However, he absolutely adores you.

He fawns over you at the bar and actively holds your hand the entire night.

Not because he’s worried someone will hit on you, but because he just likes it.

He also goes into great detail about how you guys met to all his coworkers/copilots. It’s one of his favorite memories.

It does bother him when people bring it up as a ‘bonus’ in the relationship. Simply because he does not see it that way. It’s just a factor.

It definitely took some getting used to with the age gap and how it makes you two different.

But he truly embraces every part of you no matter what.

Now, when you first started dating he wasn’t as confident.

He was super worried that you’d think he was taking advantage of you or that he only liked you for your looks.

He’d need a bit of assurance the first two months, but after that he’d grow more stable.

I also think that since you are a couple years apart he hears about ‘nobody wants to be romantic they just want hookups’ stuff often.

So he makes it his responsibility to remind you how much he loves and cares for you.

He buys you flowers without being asked, he cooked breakfast, and he makes sure you are heard.

Side note: if you tease him about having a gray hair (which he does not) he will internally panic. He is not old enough to have gray hairs in his opinion. You’d have to calm him down with kisses and promises that there aren’t any.

[delilahsturniolo]

— ♡ off the table . . . m.s

in which . . . matt helps you get through a rough patch of thinking you can’t find love again.

warnings . . . angst, comfort, crying, fluff, talks of past relationships + losing someone important

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

POSITIONS WRITING MARATHON . . . fic #5

you don’t talk about the past much. not out loud. not when it still haunts you in quiet moments, late at night, when the room is dark and your chest is heavy and the silence gets too loud. you loved someone before. you gave them your whole heart, and when they left, they didn’t give it back. so now, you walk through life with a half-healed soul. smiling when you need to. laughing just enough to keep people from asking. but love? you keep that off the table. until matt.

he comes into your life quietly. no grand gestures, no drama. just soft glances and easy conversation. he’s gentle where the world’s been harsh. patient where others rushed. he never asks for more than you can give, but he gives. constantly. and without expecting anything in return. at first, you keep your distance.

he texts, you wait to reply. he leans in, you lean back. he offers comfort, you pretend you don’t need it. but matt never makes you feel bad for pulling away. he just… stays. and somehow, that’s what starts to break your walls down. you’re sitting on his couch one night, legs tucked beneath you, eyes on some movie you’re not watching. he’s beside you, close but not touching. his fingers tap a lazy rhythm on his thigh. he looks over and catches you staring. “you okay?” he asks, voice low. you nod. pause. then shake your head. “i don’t know how to do this.” he tilts his head. “do what?”

“be with someone again.” he doesn’t speak right away. doesn’t rush you. he waits. and when he does speak, it’s soft. real. “you don’t have to be ready right now. i just want to be where you are. even if that’s just… here.” your eyes sting. not because you’re sad, but because you’re not used to being seen like this, fragile and unsure, and still wanted anyway. “i keep wondering,” you whisper, “if love’s even on the table for me anymore.”

he shifts closer, his hand barely brushing yours. “what if we built something new? something that doesn’t look like what you lost, but something just as real?” you look at him. really look. matt, with his warm eyes and steady voice. matt, who never pushed too hard. matt, who waited. you exhale. “it won’t work.” he smiles. “then i’ll help make it work.” and slowly, so slowly, you let your fingers lace with his. he doesn’t squeeze. just lets it happen. lets you come to him. and in that moment, it doesn’t feel like pressure. it feels like possibility.

© delilahsturniolo

[elliespassagerprincess]

The song save your tear - the weekend reminds of a fwb situation, could you make a ellie williams x reader one?

Maybe one where ellie didnt want to have a relationship with reader and treated her like a friend so now reader treats her like a simple friend and rejects ellies advances

(if you want to make it dark you can! But i leave that up to what you think its best!)

Thank you babes!

Save your tears - ellie williams x reader

hi anon! i hope you enjoy! i wrote 2 versions to this. This and a darker version, lmk if you want that one too!!

this story is based off the song Save your tears by the weeknd, if you can please listen to the song as you're reading:)

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

requests are open, send me your thoughts:)

Warnings: friends with benefits dynamic, angst and emotional manipulation, power imbalance (emotional), jealousy and toxic behavior, alcohol use

Summary: Ellie Williams never wanted commitment. When you first tangled in each other’s sheets, it was her rules: casual, no strings, no complications. You agreed—half-heartedly. But feelings grew in the silence between skin and shadows.

masterlist

The first time it happened, you were both drunk.

Not the sloppy kind—just loose enough to forget the warnings stitched into your better judgment. Ellie’s hand on your thigh, the glint of a dare in her half-lidded eyes. “We don’t have to make this a thing,” she said against your neck, casual like it was just another Friday night. “Just... fun, yeah?”

And you—foolish, soft, already hooked—nodded. “Yeah. Fun.”

It became a pattern. Late nights, tangled limbs, and laughter that always faded too quickly when the morning sun hit. Ellie would slide on her hoodie, brush a kiss to your cheek, and mutter, “Don’t catch feelings, alright?” Like it was a joke. Like she wasn’t the one carving space inside your ribs.

You told yourself it was enough. That the warmth of her body beside yours was worth the cold that followed when she left.

But the thing about pretending? Eventually, someone forgets it's not real.

The night everything shifted, you were at Dina’s.

A party, crowded and loud, red cups everywhere. You didn’t expect Ellie to show up—she hadn’t texted in three days—but there she was: leaning against the kitchen counter, beer in hand, her gaze flicking over the crowd until it landed on you.

You were talking to someone else. Some girl from Lit class. Laughing—genuinely, for once. Ellie watched, her expression unreadable.

Later, when she cornered you outside, her breath visible in the cold, her voice cracked. “Who was that?”

You blinked. “What?”

“That girl. You were flirting.”

You laughed, bitter. “Isn’t that what we do, El? Flirt with people we don’t care about?”

She flinched like you’d slapped her. Then she kissed you.

Hard. Desperate.

You let her. Of course you did. But something inside you stayed locked this time. You didn’t fall into her like before. You didn’t cry when she left.

After that night, Ellie started showing up more.

Texting. Calling. Bringing you coffee “just because.” She’d sit too close on your couch, her hand brushing yours like a ghost of what used to be. But you didn’t let her in.

You stopped waiting for her messages. Stopped rearranging your world to fit around hers.

When she said, “Let’s hang out tonight,” you told her you had plans. No explanation. No apology.

Ellie looked stunned, almost hurt. “With who?”

You shrugged. “Does it matter?”

That night, she posted an old photo of you on her story. Just your hand in hers. No caption.

You blocked her for a week.

She showed up at your apartment. Rain-soaked. Eyes red.

“I miss you.”

You looked at her like a stranger.

“You had me,” you said softly. “And you didn’t want me.”

Ellie didn’t know how to mourn something that was never officially hers.

She spent nights lying awake, replaying your laugh, your voice, the way your fingers curled into her shirt in your sleep. She used to pretend she didn’t notice. But she did. She noticed everything.

Now, she notices your absence.

The silence in her apartment is thick with your ghost.

She tries to move on. Hooking up with someone else—a distraction. But when she touches her, all she feels is how different she is from you. The wrong perfume. The wrong laugh. The wrong everything.

She leaves before it’s over.

Back in her car, knuckles white on the steering wheel, Ellie whispers to herself, “What the fuck did I do?”

You see her again at the art building.

She’s leaning against the wall, sketchbook in hand, pretending to draw. Her eyes dart up when she spots you, and there’s that flicker of hope—raw and real.

You approach. Calm.

She straightens. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

Silence. She breaks first. “Can we talk?”

You nod. “Sure.”

You walk beside her, down quiet paths where words feel louder. She tells you everything. How she was scared. How she didn’t think she deserved you. How she messed it all up.

“I’m ready now,” she says. “For real. I want—”

You hold up a hand.

“Ellie…” You meet her eyes. Steady. “I don’t want that anymore.”

She freezes. Like her heart stops.

“You—what?”

“I don’t want to go back,” you say. “Not after how it felt to be your ‘almost.’ I won’t do it again.”

You see it hit her. The panic. The grief. And still—you don’t flinch.

“I’m sorry, Ellie,” you whisper. “But I stopped waiting for you.”

Later, Ellie listens to “Save Your Tears” on repeat.

She finally understands the lyrics now. Every word.

“I broke your heart like someone did to mine…”

She used to think heartbreak made her immune.

Now, she knows it just made her cruel

You move on.

Not with anyone else—not yet—but with yourself. You go to therapy. You heal. You fill your days with things that make you feel whole again. Not dependent on someone’s half-hearted love.

Ellie tries, once more. She leaves flowers. A letter.

You don’t read it.

You leave the flowers on your doorstep until they wilt.

It’s not about punishment—it’s about peace.

You don’t cry for her anymore.

She watches you from a distance sometimes, wondering if she ever really knew you. If she ever deserved to.

She doesn’t chase again.

She finally learns what it means to lose someone who loved you completely.

You let Ellie into your apartment one night, not out of love—out of curiosity.

She stands awkwardly near the door, like she knows she’s trespassing somewhere sacred.

“I’m not here to mess things up,” she says. “I just… needed to see you.”

You nod slowly, arms crossed.

“I never knew how to love you right,” she says, voice low. “But I never stopped wanting to try.”

You tilt your head. “Ellie, wanting to try means nothing when I was begging for it before.”

Her face crumples.

You let her cry.

But you don’t hold her this time.

You just say, gently, “Go home, Ellie.”

Two years later, you meet again. Different city. Different lives.

She looks older. Softer. Worn down in the way heartbreak shapes you.

You talk. Lightly. Carefully. Like a bandage being peeled.

“I never loved anyone after you,” she admits.

You smile. “I loved myself after you.”

There’s silence.

And then, for the first time, Ellie smiles too.

No expectations. Just understanding.

Sometimes love isn’t a second chance. Sometimes it’s knowing when to let go.

You sit in your apartment, tea in hand, the rain tapping against the window. You used to cry every time it rained.

Now it’s just weather.

You think about how far you've come.

How love isn’t meant to be begged for, or bargained with.

And if Ellie ever really loved you, she’ll learn that too.

You close your eyes. You are whole.

And finally—

You don’t miss her.

[dina-winchester]

Still Mine

Pairing: toxic ex!Dean x you | steamy & intense

Summary: When Dean just won’t let you go—What’s his, stays his.

You didn't plan to run into Dean Winchester tonight. Then again, you also didn't plan on wearing that dress—the one you used to tease him with—or laughing like that with someone else at the bar, but here you are.

It's been weeks since the two of you burned your shared world to the ground. The shouting, the slammed doors, the way he gripped your wrist a second too long as you walked out. But tonight you needed to feel wanted. So when that guy—what was his name? Ryan?-bought you a drink and leaned in a little too close, you didn't stop him.

The music's loud, the kind that makes your bones vibrate just enough to drown out the sting of the past few weeks. You've had two drinks—maybe three—and you're laughing at something Ryan said.

Dean sees you before you see him. Leaned back in a booth, nursing a whiskey with Sam nowhere in sight, he freezes the second your laugh hits his ears. His jaw tightens. His girl—his girl—flirting with some punk-ass nobody?

Nope. Not tonight.

Your heart stumbles in your chest as your eyes sweep the room—and there he is. Across the bar, half in shadow, leaning against a post like he owns the place. Whiskey in one hand, rage coiled tight beneath that smug, hard expression. His eyes? Fixed right on you. Like you're the only damn thing worth looking at.

Your breath catches. You don't look away.

Neither does he.

Ryan doesn't notice at first—he's still running his mouth about something, hand drifting to your lower back like he's got any right—but Dean notices. Oh, he notices everything.

He's already moving before you even see him push off the post.

"Hey—Dean, don't—" you start, already stepping toward him, but it's too late.

By the time you reach them, Dean's got Ryan shoved up against the wall, arm across his throat, eyes dark as sin.

"You think you can touch what's mine?" Dean growls through clenched teeth, voice low and dangerous.

Five minutes later, the bar's a mess. Blood on the floor. That guy? Curled up groaning near the jukebox. You're wide-eyed, furious, heart pounding. "Dean, stop it! You're gonna kill him!"

He doesn't say a word. Just grabs your wrist, tight and possessive, and pulls you through the bar like he has every right to. You're fuming, breathless, your whole body buzzing with adrenaline and fury and something else you don't want to name.

You're halfway to your car when you wrench your arm free. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

His jaw clenches. "What's wrong with me? You're out here letting some guy drool over you like you're just free game now?"

"I am free game, Dean! You made damn sure of that when you let me walk out!"

He steps into you fast—too fast—and you back up until your spine hits the car door.

"You done playing games, sweetheart?" His voice is low, rough, full of something dangerous and damn near magnetic.

His body cages yours in, heat rolling off him, his eyes locked on yours like he's searching for some version of you that didn't leave.

"You really want me to believe you came here dressed like that to just talk?" His hand brushes your hip, slow and lethal. "You knew l'd see. You wanted me to see."

You should slap him. You should walk away.

But your breath shudders out of you. "You're delusional."

His lips brush your ear.

"Maybe. But you're still gonna let me take you home."

And fuck—you hate him for being right.

You don't remember the drive back, just the way his hand stayed tight on your thigh the whole time, like he needed to remind you you were still his.

The second you step through his door, you're on each other. Your back slams against the wall, mouths crashing, teeth clashing. His hands are rough, desperate, fingers digging into your thighs as he lifts you up like you weigh nothing. You wrap your legs around him, nails raking down his shoulders, gasping his name between kisses that taste like anger and everything you swore you were done with.

"You can't just beat up a guy and think I'll come running back," you whisper against his mouth.

Dean smirks, breathless, cocky as hell. "You didn't run, sweetheart. You fell."

And when he finally lays you down in that bed that still smells like him, when he mutters your name like a prayer against your throat and takes his time reminding you exactly who you belong to—there's no more pretending.

Because even when it's broken...

Even when it's toxic...

You've always been his.

[kpopsexstories]

QUICK FIX GAY #14: You Wake Up to NCT Haechan Climbing Naked on Top of You

This is a 100% gay story. Check out this post for my straight smut and this post for more gay smut.

Pairing: NCT Haechan x Male Reader

Content: Your boyfriend Haechan wakes up horny and turns to you without asking permission. Him on top of you while you're half asleep.

Type of Sex: MEDIUM/STEAMY

Word Count: 2,031

This is a continuation of sorts, of this story in which you were horny and woke Haechan up with a hand on his boner. It inspired me to turn the table and write this new story which takes place later that same night/early morning, in which Haechan is the one who is awake and horny and comes on to you…

💬 Request: Hey! Do you think you could write a Haechan x Bottom Male Reader one-shot? The details are up to you!

It's six in the morning and you're sound asleep when Haechan, your boyfriend, wakes up with a sudden jolt. He's had a dream and it lingers as he orients himself in the dark.

He soon realizes where he is, and that it wasn't real. What a pity. It was so hot. It's made him horny again, and he wishes he hadn't been taken out of it.

He lays naked and slightly sweaty in bed. You have your back toward him, oblivious to the wet dream he just had and how bewildered he's feeling in this moment.

If only there was a way he could cling to the amazing sensations he experienced. Oh wait, but there is. He doesn't need a dream to satisfy his lust. He has you, and he suddenly can't stay away from you. His crotch and hard dick is immediately drawn to your warm skin.

Haechan rolls on his side and puts an arm around you. He aligns his naked body with yours, pressing his pelvis and boner against your cheeks. His stomach rests in the curvature of your lower back, and his arm around your waist and chest are a perfect fit.

He tries to go back to sleep, not wanting to disturb you. Maybe he can return to the dream without having to wake you. But the erection makes it impossible, and he knows the dream is already gone no matter how much he wants to hold on to it.

He's still half asleep when he starts to rock his body back and forth. He gently grinds against your rear and holds you tighter, without really thinking about what he's doing.

The boner rubs against your cheeks. It feels great to him. His hand caresses your chest. He really does love you, you know. He plants his lips on your shoulder, eyes closed and mind on only one thing: sex.

So far you haven't noticed a thing. You're so deep in sleep that the man rubbing and thrusting slowly against you might as well not even be there.

To Haechan, however, your presence is amazing. He kisses your back a little more intensely, his lips jumping around on your shoulder and blade. He pulls you closer, eager to feel more of you, all of you, while slowly but repeatedly rocking his hips and grinding his pelvis against your body and ass.

There's definitely no way he can go back to sleep now. At the very least he'll need to jerk off, but that feels like both a terrible waste and too much effort in his semi-conscious state. All he wants to do is touch you, feel you, fuck you. Just like he did in the dream.

You let out a grunt, perhaps subconsciously aware of your boyfriend's physical touch. Haechan takes it as a sign, and an electric sensation shoots through his body.

You still don't notice, not really anyway. You're so far gone not even his lustful thrusts and horny touches can produce any further reaction from you.

He no longer cares. He doesn't give it a moment's thought, suddenly consumed with desire. He's so fucking horny, and now that he's gotten a taste of you he desperately wants to use you to do something about it.

Pushed by Haechan's weight and motions you roll further onto your stomach in your sleep. You snooze gently into a pillow. Haechan instinctively follows your body, leaning slightly over you, unwilling to pull his lips and dick away from your wonderful skin.

He grinds a little faster, kisses a little louder, and pulls you a little harder around the chest.

“Mmm,” he moans in the dark. “Mmm, mmm.”

That's when you finally open your eyes.

You hear his voice behind you. “Mmm, mmm.”

You feel his arm around your chest and stomach which makes you happy, and the full length of his warm body pressing against you from behind.

“Mmm, mmm, oh yeah.”

“Babe?” you say.

“Mm?” Haechan whispers.

“What are you doing?”

“Loving you.”

The words and situation makes you chuckle. “Are you horny?” you ask.

“Mm.”

You lay completely flat on your stomach and turn your head to face him, but he disappears before you see him. Instead he wraps both arms around you, sliding his hands under your chest, and lifts his ass to climb on top of you.

You feel his weight on your back. He spreads his legs around your thighs, a knee on either side of you. He grinds and rocks his ass, rubbing his dick between your cheeks repeatedly.

He didn't bother to ask, didn't seek permission. But that's okay. You don't always either.

You could have used the sleep, but you like it. You close your eyes and moan which makes that fact clear.

“Ahh, babe,” you whisper in the dark. The fact that you don't reject him makes Haechan want more. The fact that you're awake makes him feel like he can take what he wants.

As he thrusts and jolts he suddenly pulls his hands and arms out from under you, and push himself up on his elbows. Before long he's rolling his ass and hips in wide motions while stretching out somewhere above and behind you, a hand passionately gliding up and down your side.

“Ahh, fuck,” you exclaim when his pelvis pushes down on your ass, and your own dick gets hard between your stomach and the sheets.

Haechan touches your back and finds your shoulder. He squeezes it and spreads his legs further to find his balance while he positions himself and pushes higher over you.

“Mm, I'm sleeping,” you mutter, but it's far too late for that and you don't actually want him to stop.

Haechan doesn't care about your words. Or, he does, but he knows you want this too. It's not the first time you fuck like this at night, one waking up all horny and possessive.

His ass bounces gently up and down, his dick pleasured by the friction against your cheeks. Your body makes little jumps on the bed, generated by Haechan's lustful movements. You keep your eyes closed and start to grimace and pant, enjoying the sensation and becoming fully immersed in it, while your boyfriend's hands go up and down the full length of your upper body.

He feels your back and shoulder. He touches your ass and hip. He rubs his cock between your cheeks, until he eventually slows and reaches in to grab his shaft.

You have your mouth half open and your mind is fully focused when you feel the head poke around and find your hole. You spread your legs slightly, pushing Haechan’s knees even further apart, and raise your ass somewhat so that the man can get access.

“Mmm,” he moans and you can imagine the grimacing expression, when the head stretches your rim and is slowly pushed inside your ass.

“Ahh,” you grunt and twist your face, when the narrow part is cleared and the shaft slips all the way in.

“Mmm, mmm,” Haechan tiredly moans again, as he slowly resumes his intimate thrusting, with a hand firmly planted on your lower back to control the pace.

“Yeah, fuck me baby,” you whisper, and that's what finally brings Haechan over the edge. He's gotten what he came to you for and there's definitely no sleeping now.

He quickly starts to thrust at a faster pace. He's keeping his upper body high on an out-stretched hand an arm beside you on the bed. He uses his knees and feet to push, making his whole body rock back and forth and the dick go in and out repeatedly.

He holds your waist, a hand just above your ass, using it to steer the angle. And he rolls and thrusts his ass and hips, penetrating you deeper with each hot jolt.

He quickly starts to pant behind you. “Ahh, ahh, ahh, ahh,” he repeats somewhere above the back of your head.

Your arms are straight out to your side. You pull them in and squeeze a pillow, your head turned sideways to chip for air. The dick in your ass feels amazing the way it fills you up, and you're glad Haechan woke you because this kind of passionate early morning sex is wonderful.

“Yeah, baby, fuck my ass,” you say to edge him on. Not that you need to help him. He was ready to burst the second he woke up, before he even knew where he was and that he'd been in a dream. With your body below him and his cock inside, he won't be able to last very long.

He suddenly lowers himself and plants his lips on your shoulder. He aligns his body with yours, your asses jumping and grinding in sync. He slides his hands and arms back under you, feeling your chest and holding you tight while you fuck.

You feel his lips on your neck, his shallow and rapid breaths on your skin, his heavy weight on your back and his soft chest gently gliding along it. His loving arms around you make you feel great in your heart.

He pulls his knees in, pushing your thighs together. Your hole and cheeks tighten around the shaft which makes it feel thick and fulfilling. And he never stops moving his ass up and down, as he fucks you at an increasingly fast pace.

He uses his hands to pull himself up your body and shove the dick deeper inside you. Your ass combined with gravity naturally pushes him away which makes the dick slide back out, until he pulls again and the process repeats. Faster, deeper, harder.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you groan into the pillow.

“Ah, Ah, Ah, Ah!” he heaves behind you.

“Mm, fuck me Haechan, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!”

“Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah!”

The bed is shaking and it suddenly slams against the wall.

“Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah!��

SLAM, SLAM, SLAM, SLAM, SLAM, SLAM, SLAM, SLAM!

“Yeah! Yeah! Fuck my ass! Yeah! Yeah! Yeeeah, baby fuck meee!”

Haechan abruptly lets go of your body and half way sits up. With the dick still inside he spreads his knees again, puts a hand on your ass and looks down on your cheeks, and violently thrusts onto and into you repeatedly.

“Ahhh, ahhh, ahhh!” he exclaims, pushing and pulling to bring you onto his length again and again. “Ahhh, Ahhh, AHHHH, FUUUUCK!”

His whole body jolts. His hand on your ass pushes down hard. You hug the pillow extra tight, and grimace excessively when your boyfriend erupts inside you and releases his load in your hole.

“AHHH, Ahhhhhh!” he heaves and jolts a few more times. “Mmmm, fuck you're sexy!”

The experience makes you feel so good.

When he's done Haechan becomes weak. He's wide awake now yet simultaneously never really woke up. He pants loudly as he tries to catch his breath, and eventually slowly pulls out and slides off you.

He crashes on his back beside you. You open your eyes and look at his droopy expression. You both smile when your eyes meet and you lean in to give him a kiss on the lips.

“That was amazing,” Haechan says and throws his head back. His chest is moving up and down in quick succession.

“Yeah,” you agree and smile wide, and put an arm on his stomach without otherwise moving a muscle.

Haechan relaxes and gently strokes the back of your hand. His skin feels warm and soft. He turns to kiss you again, and you retract your hand when he slowly rolls toward you.

You're starting to drift off again. You never fully woke up either. Haechan hugs you and buries his head near your shoulder, while his hand glides up and down your back, then comes to rest on your ass.

It stays there as you both fall back asleep. Outside the window, the sky is already starting to get brighter, but you'll spend many hours more in bed.

That's the second time you've woken up for sex on this night. And you're likely to do it again before lunchtime.

You look forward to a lazy morning of sex and cuddles. Haechan is an amazing boyfriend.

<- Click here to read the previous story about the first time you woke up horny on this night.

[ddeerslayer]

Modern TSH Pandemic AU

Henry got to opt out of standardized testing because unis and colleges weren’t requiring it (also one of the things that helped Bunny get into the school).

The class only has zoom classes for a few weeks before Julian is able to convince the school to let them be in person (both he and Henry hate the online schooling with a burning passion, the rest of the Greek class do too, but Julian and Henry much more). Richard still has to do online classes for French.

The twins experiment with cooking together because of boredom. Charles begins to play the piano more often, and Camilla gets into origami (don’t ask me why I just feel like this makes sense).

Bunny’s an anti-masker, this freaks Francis out a lot, considering he will not leave his place without hand sanitizer, masks, and a prayer (even though he’s not the biggest science believer, he’s still superstitious and a hypochondriac).

Charles and Camilla ask Richard for advice on how to cut their hair themselves, and considering they have each other to make sure it doesn’t go too poorly, it turns out alright for them. Bunny tries to cut his because he doesn’t want to let it grow too long and look ‘girly’, it goes about as well as anyone would expect and gets an actual laugh out of Henry. Francis just grows his out, being too lazy and not caring enough to cut it. Henry’s hair somehow stays looking the same, and it makes them wonder if he’d been cutting it himself beforehand or if he’s got some personal barber who will still take him.

Bunny, being on his own and insanely bored (which he makes very clear in the class group chat (that does not include Henry, who only has a landline, but Bunny just calls him to blab), and to his other friends like Cloke), starts to draw more.

Bunny’s more prone to getting sick because of his asthma (weakened immune system), and when he does get sick, the twins bring over some soup, and Marion goes over to help him out sometimes. Bunny milks it, of course, but actually doesn't feel well, and when there’s an actual scare, and Bunny ends up in the hospital, Henry gets called because he was Buns emergency contact. When Bunny recovers, “Of course I’m alright! I drank a lot of milk when I was growing up, still do. Grew up a strong boy, just like my Dad said I would!”

Judy gets really into the whole ‘whipped coffee’ thing that was going around, and experiments a lot more with makeup.

Richard spends a lot of time binging movies.

Charles and Francis end up on a lot of late night calls, which often end with actual admittance from both ends on missing each other, it could mean something different for both of them, they don’t talk about it.

Henry’s still getting dressed as usual everyday, Francis is just lounging around in a robe, Richard is wearing his older clothes that he usually wouldn’t wear in front of the class, Charles and Camilla just gave up on any separation of their clothes and just wore whatever, and Bunny was in his pajamas practically every day.

The isolation hits them all hard, even Henry, and especially Bunny. At some point, after Francis insists on multiple tests beforehand, they go out to the Country house and everything feels just a bit better for that week or two.

(Thank you to this post for making me think about this.)

[kaiasky]

so I do flow art things & obviously this has a lot of woo & astrology folks. & I have figured out a BANGER script for handling these. it works so so well

I really like the aesthetic of astrology & occult & especially how you can weave connections between numerology and tarot and astrology (get em on side)

Buuuuut... idk... astrology seems fun until people start making decisions about/for you based on it & then it's so obvious how terrible it is. (the hesitance is important u don't wanna be lecturing u wanna be sharing ur honest thoughts)

I once talked to this guy who said that because his girlfriend was a water sun fire moon, she was just always mad for no reason & that he didn't need to listen to why she was mad bc he understood that it was just her nature. what the fuck man!! (get people on side by conjuring a Shitty Dude. the guy is 100% real though.)

Buuuuut that I think they can be neat as a social technology to have deeper conversations without it being awkward! Ex: If somebody asks "what do you admire about yourself" I'd be super tempted to make some joke answer. but being able to talk genuinely about how u see urself is useful!

wait. okok I'm a cap sun virgo moon aries rising. stereotypically what does that tell you about me. (fun minigame!)

Rejected: "other than what time my mom gave birth" (u can throw this in with the right crowd for a laugh but 3/4 times I had to like explain. unfun)

(looking for stuff like hard worker, organized, leader, routines, jobs & material success) ok god I wish I'm sooo lazy and disorganized there's like 4 pans in my sink right now probably.

so like idk inferring from the signs to the personality is I think totally wrong like. [draw an incorrect & possibly insulting conclusion from their signs]. which is like so rude. but like when you explain it [repeat something they've attributed to their signs] it's like a good way to talk about yourself on a deeper level. (show u are listening. also demonstrate zodiacal knowledge by pulling out insulting stereotype for their moon/sun combo.)

the thing I do relate to with "earth sign" is that. when I want to comfort somebody the most natural way is by doing something physical. yknow--let me get you some water. I'm sorry your head hurts, here's some ibuprofen. let me cook you soup. let me bike to chipotle and buy you a burrito. like I know some people who... you just talk to them and you remember everything you love about the world. and I have to practice & work really hard to get close to that. but I *can* insist you stay hydrated & I think that counts for something. (playing, in good faith, the astrology psychoanalysis game. By playing the game well, it demonstrates my thesis about how it's a useful game but a terrible belief.)

but even then there's still... something about it that weirds me out like.. I feel like once I tell somebody my chart, it's easy to unconsciously remember the things that fit the stereotype and not the bits that don't fit, flattening people. idk it's kinda unavoidable, I feel the same with like "nerd" or "raver". or gender stereotypes too. Like it's unavoidable but I wish I could know people as just themselves without that baggage, right. (THAT'S RIGHT FUCKERS WE'RE GONNA TALK ABOUT GENDER ROLES. but also like. i think this plays well in the flow community where people do value being individuals & the idea that someone should try to know *you* at a deep and honest level. it's tailored to the crowd.)

(here is where I play my private little prank) i guess the other way I relate to earth sign stereotypes is like. ok when I was explaining how I feel about astrology it's all about the effects, right. Like it's not "I don't like it bc it's factually wrong" or "I like it because it connects me to spirituality". I don't like it because it's prejudiced and unfair. but I'm sometimes cautiously fond of it bc it's a conversational tool to have deep talks about personal subjects. For me it's all about what it does and how it leads people to treat others. (that's right fuckers. I don't believe in astrology Because I'm An Earth Sign. it was all leading up to this.)

generally at this point it's time to let other people talk so I don't sound lecture-y

idk like. idt I'm gonna make people stop using astrology but I do feel like it maybe gives people a perspective of like.. "oh yeah it does seem pretty fucked to use this predictively, I do rly wish people would see the real me". at the very least I hope I give them something to think abt next time they trip lmao

[ratofthenest]

i despise the idea that Tim Drake's character has some sort of huge "problem" arrrgehebeh

for starts, when it comes to Tim the title "Robin" was never a regression or a starting point. unlike Dick and Jason, Tim's character wasn't written to just be "Batman's sidekick" like they were. the whole point is Tim was... perfect. everything Batman could ever need and more on the field.

Dick quit being Robin once he start university, picking up the mantle of Nightwing. Dick started out as Robin REALLY young, and the whole thing was a nickname from his parents. he became Robin to avenge them, and then stayed afterwards to continue to help people. he was a really good Robin, too! there's a reason so many people like him. he's like, what every sidekick dreams of becoming, yk?

similar situation with Jason (but not really?). he starts off a completely different person from how he is portrayed today, and especially after his death? there was no way he could go back to being Robin after all that. Either way, Jason started out with that same REALLY strong sense of justice Dick had (although, let's be honest, Jason has always been a little violent with his delivery of it)

[Side note: these are brief, 2 paragraph overviews and obviously their characters are so much more convoluted than this, but this post aint about them!!]

Tim? Tim doesn't come from a broken background, which sets him apart from the first two Robin's immediately. he starts off with both his parents alive and well, and he's a white rich kid. He didn't have an incentive to become Robin, yet he did it anyway, completely for the sake of "saving" Batman. after Jason flopped with the readers, the writers went ahead and did a 180° with Tim. he was created with the idea of someone who was nearly perfect for the position. someone smart, adaptable, charismatic, and likeable. and hey, it worked really well when he came out, too!

this really makes Tim standout from the other Robins, though. sure, being Robin was definitely a learning process, and it's not like he immediately knew how to do everything right off the bat, but he learned quick! like, really quick! there wasn't necessarily an urgent need for him to take up a new title as a way to show he's "grown up" because he's already mature as hell as is. what's there to progress to when he was literally molded for this?

now, the issue of Red Robin. Tim took up that title in a time of pure crisis. the mantle was born out of grief, anger, and the desperation to bring Bruce back home, no matter what. Anyone who's read the Red Robin comics can tell you how he was crashing out throughout it. through my eyes, if he's ever to drop the Robin mantle, it certainly shouldn't be to go back to Red Robin. Does that mean I think he should stay Robin forever? No! Course not!! but I also think the writers need to pause and actually think about the kind of character his is before deciding to make a mantle that's purely Tim, if that makes any sense.

all that aside, it's important to acknowledge that Tim started off as a narrative tool. a support character ready to go at any given moment through other people's stories, not just Batman. countless times we see DC utilizing Tim just to progress the plot, which isnt inherently a bad thing, but it does explain why he's such a wild card in the comics lol

his character changed a LOT from the 90s to the 00s, and he's gone from a character at Batman's side 24/7 to a character who gets sidelined more often than not. and with everything else going on in DC rn, im not surprised he hasn't been in the spotlight for a hot second. but hey, i heard there's some possible content coming out for him this and the upcoming years so yay?

final thoughts: it'd be pretty fucking hard for a writer to properly write a good transition for Tim from Robin to something new. he can't be Robin forever, obviously, but there's no reason to put such a rush on it, especially when DC seems to forget his portrayal 90% of the time lmao. anyway i love tim sm

I hope this ramble made the slightest sense it's the middle of the goddamn night and the words are starting to blur together

[joelsbeard]

horny pre-outbreak!joel hc’s

this is the longest smut ive ever written idk if its even hc’s at this point, may or may not change the title. Anyways thinking about joel’s millers insanely thick COCK and heavy balls.

all amazing pictures from @ellies-puns !!

enjoy 🤭🤭🤭

mmfffh i need to stick my face into this man’s balls 😩 i bet they’re heavenly. I could just just keep my face pressed up against his warm, soft fuzzy balls and inhaling his musk all day 🤤 my little emotional support balls 🥰🥰 bonus if you can still smell a mix of his and your cum from that morning 🤭

id greet him home from work, then he’d go sit down on the couch from exhaustion (poor baby always tired from work) and while the food finishes roasting in the oven i’d kneel in front of him and coo “okay baby dinner’s almost ready. Let me help you relax while it finishes cooking 😏” and he’s so tired but at least happy he’s home, it takes him a second to realize what you’re doing until you’re already tugging his jeans and boxers down.

He’s half hard, and you can feel yourself drooling by looking at it and getting a whiff of your man’s musk. You dive in and put your face in the spot between his balls and his dick, and give it a little nuzzle while inhaling before you move down to press your lips to his balls ❤️ you love rubbing your nose and lips against them, and pressing little kisses to the soft and warm little sacs. You give them little kitten licks and then use your tongue to lift up the heavy weight of each one. Your man tastes absolutely delicious, you love the slight salty taste and tang from coming home after a long day of work, you would lick him all over if you could.

Then you suck on each ball bc how could you not, and spend the rest of the time pressing more kisses all over his balls and to the underside of his cock at the base, and nuzzle your face against the soft fuzzy skin. Those are your children in there, ofc you want to give them some lovin!!! Joel is in between feeling turned on as fuck that you’re worshipping his balls like that and it feels AMAZING, but in the other hand he thinks it’s adorable how much you love his balls lol. He wants to drag you up so he can kiss you but you resist and stay put, saying “no!! 5 more minutes 😾😾” so you can continue nuzzling your face against his velvety soft and slightly wrinkly balls lol, and giving them little kisses.

When you’ve had your fill and decide not to torture joel any longer you go to sit on his lap (not before giving him a little strip tease). Poor joel is writhing at this point. You don’t take too long to strip since he’s been so good waiting for you, at the same time though he couldn’t wait either and takes off his clothes when you do. He grabs your hips and you finally sit on his lap and you both pull each other together, grinding on each other and making out like there’s no tomorrow. You grind your dripping wet pussy on those delicious balls of his and he groans at the feeling of you just soaking his balls. As you keep grinding your moaning in his ear and digging your fingers into his hair, he’s grabbing your ass and biting at your neck, god he could eat you.

Joel’s fighting so hard not to cum, he says “fuck baby you feel so good soaking my balls 🤤 that feel good baby? that’s it, keep grinding that pussy all over my balls. Your pussy is so goddamn soft 🤤” And it does feel so good, but it’s not enough and he finally goes “god baby i need to be inside you 😩”

and he grabs a hold of his thick dick and starts running it up and down your slit. You could cry it feels so good, the smooth head of his cock running up and down and coating itself in your wetness. You moan a little more whenever it catches inside you or when he rubs it against your clit, and you continue moving back and forth on it and try and get more friction and contact. You have no idea how joel isn’t falling apart right now, it feels amazing. “that’s it baby, yeah, you like that?” and without warning he slips into you, and you gasp as you slowly sink onto his thick cock. Your foreheads are pressed together and you’re looking at each other with open mouths, sighing into one another at the sensation.

“God baby you’re so thick, you make me feel so full” “that’s it baby, squeeze this cock, god your pussy is so tight.” and you slowly move up and down his length, leaning forward a little more so you can go up and down more easily on your knees. His hands are grabbing your ass tight, lifting you up and down on his cock, and you slide your hands down from his head to his arms to feel the muscles flexing as he lifts you up and down.

You eventually pick up the pace, throwing your head back as he looks up at you with dark eyes and breathing heavily through his mouth. You can feel yourself getting closer to finishing, and you look down as you feel him squishing his face hard against one of your tits, and greedily opening his mouth wide against it to fit as much of it as he can into his mouth. You let out a loud moan when he starts sucking hard, pulling his head back and tugging on your nipple before he licks and bites all over your chest. You arch your back into him so shove more of your breasts in his face, and hold onto his hair tightly as you keep his head against your chest.

He feels his balls start tightening and drawing up before he shoots warm spurts of his cum inside you, just as you begin to climax. Your pussy becomes even tighter as you cum, squeezing his dick and making you see stars. Your love the sound of your man grunting as he empties his delicious huge load into you, and as you boy cling to each other and start to come down from the high you can still feel his cock pulsing as he finishes cumming in you. You stay on his lap, slowly grinding against him and making out, going “mmm yes baby that was so good.” and you kiss slowly but hungrily, not being able to get enough of each other. although you’re still on his lap and he’s remains inside of you, you can start to feel your combined spend start leaking out of you and down his cock. “Fuck baby, look at you dripping down my cock. That’s it, soak me baby, love when i’m covered in your juices” “yeah?mmhm” and you continue making out, just enjoying the feel of your bare skin against one another.

You continue cuddling for a little bit and enjoying the after glow, telling each other sweet nothings in low voices and caressing each other. You go to lay down on the couch and drag him on top of you and wrap your legs around him, where you continue to (guess what?) make out. eventually becoming sleepier and sleepier until you fall asleep and your sides, with you enveloped in joel’s arms against his warm chest ❤️