#proper living space on the road

[art-for-a-reason]

Culture! Swag! Slightly Skeevy Vibes! I'll take the mod with the fuckoff huge speakers please!

Shaggin-wagon van interiors of the 70's and 80's

[anghraine]

My best friend and I moved in together with his closest friend from his MA program, and while I had met her before (the friend; my bff is a man), we hadn't spent much time together because I've never lived away from the West Coast (and only two years out of the PNW) and she's never lived outside of North Carolina and only briefly visited the PNW once, when she went to Portland last year.

It's been a delight to show her around the PNW and realize we need to explain things that are just sort of omnipresent in our lives. The bff and I were casually griping with each other about having to run an errand to Trader Joe's at an inconvenient hour, and were telling her, "it's okay, you can stay in the car and avoid the people if you want" and she was like "NO I MUST SEE IT, I'VE ONLY HEARD OF THEM" and nearly ascended to another plane when we showed her around the store.

The bff and I grew up in the same town in NW Washington (him for his first 18 years, me from 9 to 19) and he lived in Bellingham and Seattle for years before he went to NC for grad school (I went to the SF Bay Area for mine, a very different experience). Both of them are hardcore coffee aficionados, but he struggled with the different Coffee Ways of the South, so for the true PNW experience they want to tour various indie coffeeshops next.

Also, she adores Kaidan in Mass Effect and we were like, oh, is your passport up to date? We could take a trip sometime and show you your boyfriend's beloved English Bay. It's very beautiful :)

her: O_O

me: Actually, it's worth going to Vancouver BC for its own sake as well, it's truly spectacular. We used to go all the time as kids.

bff: And Victoria!

her: O_O

[strange-dreams-are-made-of-these]

Your Heart Fits Like A Key

Summary: Your ex boyfriend is your knight in shining armor rescuing you after a bad date. There's nobody else like Logan, and you finally see it. This is imagined with 2013 Logan in mind, but any Logan could work Warnings: MDNI!!! its porn without plot. Logan receives road head, afab!female reader, reader receives oral, pet names (baby, baby girl, princess), car sex, logan talks reader through it, not proofread, no use of y/n Word Count: 3.7k+

You blamed yourself for not checking the weather report before getting ready for your date today. Westchester County was huge, but the upper part of the county wasn't the kindest to pedestrians. Granted, you did have a car, but good ole Casper the white Dodge was sitting in the shop still waiting on that part needed to fix the transmission. Had you lived closer to the southern end of the county you could have at least been within decent walking range of the subways and trains that made the lives of New York City's residents easier.

Your phone buzzed again on your bathroom counter as you plucked the stray eyebrow hair between your brow and temple. As you looked down, you saw his name, and a flutter rose in your chest. You shook your head, deciding to answer it. "You would have thought that after i didn't answer your third call you would have thought I didn't want to talk to you."

A gruff filled the space in a response. "What can I say? If I'm known to be anything, its protective. Something could have been wrong and I would have to come and save you"

"Did you mean protective or possessive?" You asked, though not able to get rid of the smirk that crept up on your face.

"There's a very fine line between the two, darlin'." he cooed into the phone, sounding just as smooth as his line delivery.

It had been nearly a year since you and Logan broke up, yet he couldn't quite just leave you alone. It wasn't just that you two dated for two years, two wonderful years filled with love and domesticity, and the occasional fight between the forces of good and evil. You weren't much one to fight with the team known as the X-Men. Your powers occur in the cases of near accidents or without much effort. Probability field manipulation made it nearly impossible for you to receive a scratch or bruise.

Which was ironic due to your lack of success in your dating life after Logan. What was that saying about being unlucky in love?

"I'd love to stay and chit-chat with you, Logan-"

"Perfect, let's have dinner tonight at Lucky's." You could barley hear the jingling of keys in his hand, as if he was spinning them around in his finger.

You rested one hand on the bathroom counter, dropping your jaw slightly before speaking again. "I can't. I'm already going out tonight."

The keys stopped spinning and an audible change could be heard in his tone. "I'm sure the girls from work won't mind having a scary dog privilege around, or whatever you girls are saying these days."

"It's not with the girls, or with coworkers." You looked at yourself int he mirror, then pressing your brows together. Why did you tell him that?

Logan hummed on the other side of the phone, not a jovial one. "So, some slob is taking you out tonight?" He asked you.

You didn't think Jake to be a slob, except for the inappropriate water cooler bathroom humor, but he was nice and somewhat good looking.

Not as good looking as Logan though.

"Nothing too crazy. Just pizza and a walk." As you looked at your dress in the mirror, you knew you were overdressed, but you couldn't help yourself. It had been ages since you last wore the dress, and it was the perfect combination of being short enough to leave the mind wanting more and hugging your curves in the right way.

"Sounds like he can't afford to take you on a proper date. Who knows what else he can't properly do." Logan replied, knowing the sound of his voice was already driving you wild. He could imagine your face now, how soft your eyes would be as he looked down at you.

You knew the voice he was using was his bedroom voice, and it drove you mad. To feel his arms wrap around your waist and pull you back into his hold, to feel his lips dance across your cheeks and ears, nibbling the lobes had sent shivers down your spine.

Oh, how you missed him dearly.

"Too bad you'll never know." You responded, trying to force the thoughts of Logan out of your mind.

"We'll see, princess."

–

Later that night, you and Jake had sat in Martin and Rocco's pizzeria, a little place you enjoyed from time to time. Jake had showed up not only half an hour late, but he decided to wear an ill-fitting grey t-shirt and baggy jeans. His hair looked as if he had just rolled out of his bed. All while you were in the slim red dress with your black leather jacket tucked on your lap.

Jake had been laughing rather loud and ruthlessly, spitting food out as he did so. It left a sour taste in your mouth as you protectively shielded your glass of red wine from his debris. The waiter came back asking about your check. "It'll be one, bro." Jake spoke. The waiter nodded, handing the printed check over to Jake. He shook his head, then pointed at you. You looked at him dumbfounded as the waiter left.

"Why are you pointing at me?" You asked him.

He threw his hands up. "Don't look at me. This was your idea." He sounded rather confident, making your blood boil.

"I don't mind paying for my own, I would rather pay for my own. I'm not paying for you." You spoke firmly, clutching your purse. Now the bill wasn't large at all. A medium-sized pizza that you ate only one slice of as he consumed the rest, your one glass of wine, and his three beers came to around forty-five dollars before tip. "I'll pay for the drinks, no problem. I'm not paying for a pizza I barely touched."

Jake narrowed his eyes at you. "This date was your idea. Why do you think I didn't bring my wallet? Just my I.D." He asked you again.

Eyeing the rest of the wine in your glass, you looked back at Jake. The highest road to take would be to pay for the meal, tip the waiter, and never speak to Jake again.

But you never were one to take the high road.

Hanging your jacket over your arm, you stand up and walk over to Jake. "You know what?" You swirled the red liquid in your glass, watching as it stained the sides temporarily. "He's right... You wouldn't know how to treat me right." You turned to look at him, changing your posture. "Suck a bag of dicks." You then turn the glass over in your hand, drenching your pathetic date in the rest of your wine.

He wiped his eyes, making a scene of himself as you walked away. You spoke to the waiter, making sure to pay for the drinks and tip him as you said you would, then leaving the staff to take care of the rest.

You felt a newfound sense of confidence as your hips swayed leaving the restaurant and putting on your jacket.

Then the rain started to soak your hair. The confidence started to fade as you then remembered to had to use an Uber to get to the restaurant because your car was in the shop. You sighed loudly, turning on your heel to begin your long walk home.

A car pulled up toward you as the passenger window rolled down. "Need a ride, baby?"

You looked over, feeling defeated that Logan had found you. Of course, he would, like he did with all of your previous dates. "I'm good." You lied.

You knew better, he could tell by the way your cheeks had been red, even under the street lights, that something was wrong. Logan got out of the car, shutting the door before walking around, opening the passenger door, shielding it from the rain. "You sure about that?"

Option A: Tell Logan, the honest love of your life, to leave you alone and continue to walk home.

Option B: stick around until Jake comes out of the restaurant smelling like the house wine special for the night and risk watching Logan beat the shit out of him.

Option C: Accept the universe's way of telling you everything will be alright.

You pull your jacket around you a little tighter as you turn and approach Logan and his car. You look up at him, placing a hand on his cheek and gently patting it. Before you could sink into the seat, he gently grabbed ahold of your wrist, bringing it to his lips and pressing those perfectly soft lips to the inside of your wrist as he kissed it.

After making sure you were in the car, Logan closed the door, walked around the front of the car, and entered the driver's side. As he turned the engine back over, police sirens could be heard in the distance. "What's going on?" He asked watching as they approached the pizzeria and a couple of cops entered the restaurant.

"Well, if we don't get out of here, I may end up in handcuffs.” You sighed, your chest rising and falling harshly. “Not in the good way.”

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s my girl.” He turned the wheel, quickly speeding out of the parking spot.

He rested one hand on the steering wheel, the other was on the gearshift as he comfortably sped down the roads of the town you called home. You ignored the burning pit in your stomach, reaching into your bag and pulling out your perfume. It was a small bottle with a roller ball, applying it on your wrists and neck. Logan looked over at you, smirking. “You’re too dolled up for that slouch, Doll.” He spoke, then peering back at the road.

You hummed a little, then resting your elbow on the side door, pressing your temple on your hand as you looked over at him. “What can I say? I wanted to dress up for somebody.” But Jake was the wrong somebody.

“When you feel the need to dress up, just call me.” He spoke lowly, turning down the scenic route on the backside of the town.

You knew what he was doing, what he had planned from the time you spoke to him on the phone. After the night you had, you weren’t going to deny your knight on his white horse the pleasure of making you happy.

You knew it made him happy too, something you craved. Nobody else you have ever met was Logan. Nobody was going to be Logan. It was impossible.

“You know, I’m more than just a pretty little girl to look at, Logan.” Your left hand reached over slowly to rest on his jeans. His perfectly fitting jeans, matching with the dark button up he wore. Logan knew exactly what he was doing. His face remained pointed at the road, his eyes looking down at your hand as you finally reach to ghost over his clothed erection. He bit his lip, quickly closing his eyes as you palm him over his jeans. “I can be evil.” You coo, leaning over as you press your forehead to his shoulder.

Logan sucked in a deep breath, now placing both hands on the steering wheel. “You already torment me, princess.” He responded, now looking over at you.

You shift in your seat, now pressing both knees on the seat bottom, your hands busy unbuckling his belt. Your fingers rested on the button of his jeans as you look up at him, a devious glare in both of your eyes. “Say the word, and I’ll stop.”

His eyes searched yours, triangulating your eyes and lips. “Come back to me.” He whispered to your lips before you could capture them in yours. Falling back into your vicious cycle, your lips mold well with his you give into your desires.

Logan pulls away only to look at the road. This gives you enough time to unbutton and unzip his jeans. You slip your hand down his boxers, taking a hold of his girth as you bring it to the surface. You lick your lips, then pooling some more saliva in your mouth, spitting on him. As you lower down to him, your lips meet his red tip, already leaking pre-cum, and kiss him a couple times. This earned you an approving groan from Logan, who drew his lips into a thin line as he focused on the road.

You lick down his veins, then kiss up his shaft, feeling the heat in your belly grow into something different. You took Logan in your mouth, tongue wrapping around his length as you went down on him. You felt his hand then lace a crown in your hair as you bobbed up and down on him, sucking him the way he deserved.

“Good girl,” He practically purred, making your thighs shake in response. One of your hands braced yourself on his leg, knowing if you reached for yourself Logan would tear into you. The other hand reached for his balls, thumbing the skin as you massaged him. Logan began to speed, the sensation of you taking all of him without a gag reflex was pure ecstasy to him. He groaned out, huffing harshly as he praised you. Warm, velvety ropes of cum filled your mouth and throat as Logan breathed heavily. It was sweet heavenly music to your ears as you worked him through his orgasm, feeling your core deprived of attention.

“Fuck this.” Logan spoke harshly, taking another turn down a dirt road. He pulled the car into a space off the side of the dirt road, turning it off as you left go of him as you lick up the rest of his cum. “My girl needs me.” He spoke again, pulling the level on his seat back. The seat scooted all the way back before he grabbed both of your hips, practically pulling you into his lap. “You need me, don’t you baby?” He asked you, bushing your hair out of your face as you straddled him.

You had long discarded the leather jacket to the passenger seat floor, resting both of your hands on his shoulders. You nodded quickly, licking your lips feeling yourself quake over his body. “Take me to bed, or lose me forever.” You whisper between the two of you.

This sent chills down his spine as one hand raced up your spine, grabbing you by the neck and pulling your faces to each other, grabbing you in a passionate kiss. A hungry one. A desperate one. He never wanted to let you go, never again. He would gladly taking a beating every day if it meant he could hold you life this again.

His free hand reached between your bodies, unsheathing one claw to cut through your underwear. The delicate lace fell between the both of you in shreds. “I just bought those.” You complained as you broke the kiss for air.

Logan then lowered the seat back giving you both room. “I’ll buy you new ones.” He promised.

Both his and your hands reached for the back of the dress, pulling the zipper down. Logan was faster pulling it off of your body, his eyes scanning over your body once again. Like a child in a candy store, he stared in awe as you were now only clothed in your bra. Your hands made quick work of his shirt, ripping the buttons apart as the scattered around the car’s interior. “You’re not the only one with money.” you retort, now pressing your lips to his, then lining kiss to his jaw and down his neck.

One of his arms braces you, holding him closer to you as the other hand now begins to give you attention. His index and middle fingers part your folds, bringing a moan from you as you bury yourself between his neck and shoulder. “I got you, princess. I’ll work you through it.” He whispered in your ear, feeling your hips buck up into hand. His palm rubs against your core, soaked in your pre-cum as your body shivers in his. “Gotta get your ready for me, baby.” You gasp into his shoulder, lips now splayed on his shoulder as you wrap your arms around him. His finger and thumb pinch the delicate flesh of your clit, making you buck again. He used your bucking to his advantage, pressing two fingers into you. “Just like that. You take me so well.” He rubbed your gummy walls, feeling you already clench around him.

“Lo-Logan… please.”

You feel the rumble in his chest, how your chest begins to quickly rise and fall into his as you plead with him. He wonders if you will ever find out how cute you are begging him. “Please what, princess?”

You pull away from his shoulder, grinding your hips against his fingers, your bottom lip quivering. “Please fuck me.”

His lips crashed onto yours again as he removed his hand, stroking it over his length before guiding himself toward your entrance. You both sigh at the same time when he presses his tip in. His hands find your hips, grabbing handfuls of your skin as you skin onto him. You busy yourself with kissed to his hairy pecs as you roll your hips over him, bouncing on his length. Logan’s head dipped back, closing his eyes briefly. He looked up at your face, your jaw dropped again as your hands rest on his stomach to brace yourself. “Good-Good girl.” He then reached up to your bra, unsheathing his claws again and he sliced it off of your body. Once off, his hands reached your your breasts, palming your nipples, pulling your breasts together and pinching your nipples.

You bounced more on him, feeling the car rock with your movements as you clench around him, not even a whole three minutes in and your are already weak for this man.

Logan must have sensed this as he then pulled you off of him, carefully and skillfully he maneuvered you to the back seat, setting you on your back. He shimmed around, moving his head between your thighs, lining kisses from the middle of your thigh down to your core, suckling your clit as he slung on of your legs over his shoulder. You brought your hands up to your face, covering your eyes before dragging down your cheeks, then lips, then neck. “LOG-ah!” You called out as he pressed further into your core, his tongue lathing up your undoing.

As your breathed heavily recovering front our high, he continued to pamper you with kisses. Kissed from your core up to your belly button, to your sternum as his nose danced between your breasts, his arms now reaching up to cage you in after throwing both your legs over his shoulders. “It’s time to let me take care of you.”

He pressed himself inside of you again in one harsh thrust, picking the pace up as your joined bodies moved in unison. Your hands reached to cup his face as you breathed heavily in each others face, chasing another high together.

Oh how you missed Logan, and how he knows how to treat a lady.

It felt so right, all of it. Your mascara began to run down your face. Logan wiped your face with his thumb. “It’s okay, pretty girl. You’re fine. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” He soothed you.

“I-I’m gon-” You scrunch your face before looking back up at him.

“Cum for me, princess.” He commanded. AS your coil came undone again, Logan’s lips met yours, causing you to moan into his face as he rode your high out on him. Your cries of pleasure fill the car as Logan’s release fell over him. Your pussy milking him for all he was worth. Logan hovered above you as you both came down from your highs, clinging onto each other tightly.

Once things began to settle for the both of you, He removed himself from you, then shifting you around to where you were now resting on top of him. His arms wrapped around your lower back and the back of your head while yours laid on the sides of his chest. Your breathing and heart beats began to slow down to as the buzz filled your head.

After a few minutes of silence, and one long over due fuck session, Logan broken the silence. “What did you mean earlier? When you said take me to bed or lose me forever?”

You looked up at him, adjusting yourself to be able to look at his eyes as you spoke. “You were right. He was a slob, and he didn’t know how to treat me.” You look as if you were caught in thought as your finger traced a figure eight on his chest, causing Logan to look at you in his usual inquiring way. “Nobody will ever be you.”

This caused him to laugh, fog inside the windows growing at the statement. “Here, I was thinking you had watched Top Gun and wanted to be cheesy.”

You narrowed one eyebrow at him, a flirty smirk growing on your face. “You’re no Goose, but you sure are a big stud, Wolverine.”

Logan nodded, the hand resting on your lower back slowly ran up and down your spine. “So, about Lucky’s?”

You hummed a little thinking about the events of the night. “Tomorrow. I’m quitting my job, no thanks to Jake. So any time after noon?”

Logan nodded, accepting the terms of the date. He then cocked his head at you, tsking you and wagging a finger. “You remembered his name, baby girl. That means I need to fuck it out of you again.”

“Maybe in a bed next time? Or a shower?” You ask him, knowing your addiction to this man was a hard one to break.

He stared at you, his face turning soft as he nodded. “Come here.” He whispered. You were more than happy to oblige, pressing your lips to his again.

Oh yes, Logan Howlett was a man of many talents. But one thing you were more than thankful for was his way of loving you harder outside of your relationship.

[tkbrokkoli]

it’s horrible monday monday  😜

[kwimii999]

Tutorial : How to make roads with car parking space

When I first started using the create a world tool, I immediatly wanted to make roads with car parking space. The only world where I had seen these types of roads were in Boroughsburg by potato-ballad-sims. So, I searched up the internet as one would do when you don't know how to do something and nothing until I found this post by krrank on their forum. I already knew how to make roads at that time. In fact, it was only when I saw her showcase of dirt roads, that I saw how there was a way to make roads larger to then add cars parked on the side. Now, because I haven't found a proper tutorial on how to actually do that, I decided to make my own tutorial and share how I managed to do it. It's not as perfect as Boroughsburg in term of sidewalk intersections (because I'm not the best at texture editing) but enough to have the look of parked cars, which can make a town look so much more lively.

What I'm assuming before this tutorial :

You're familiar with the CAW tool

you know how to place roads

you know how to create roads using textures provided by EA or CC road textures

You know how to add custom content for CAW (only applicable if you don't own the university EP)

The downside

The only downside with these roads is that sims will walk/run through the cars when going somewhere because we're basically using the sidewalk as parking space. To balance that out, I suggest using hybrid roads in your world : normal roads with normal sidewalks and roads with parking space.

On the left we have a road with car parking space

On the right a normal road with sidewalks

Step 1 : Choosing your road textures

Example of what it should look like :

Possible question #1

" Okay but there's no sidewalk now, what do I do ? " : Simple ! Place independent sidewalks on the side. A bit like this (ignore the fact that this is not completly aligned to the grid) :

Step 2 : Placing cars on the road

I highly suggest using cars that are meant for decoration and aren't high poly. If you're using super CAW do not use the drivable cars that can be bought in game. In my case, I used the debug cars from the university EP meant for decoration and lowered them until it hid the parking curb. If you don't have the university EP, the world CC from Boroughsburg includes deco cars used for the purpose of parked deco cars !

Do not put too many cars on the roads (I only do it because I do not care since I'm making my own personal world, but if you intend to share the world you're making, limit the cars that you put on the streets)

How to hide the parking curb (for university cars) :

Lower your car's position (Y axis, green line) to : 15,4 - (Good enough height to hide the concrete curb and only hides a tiny bit of the car's wheels)

Don't forget to rotate (Y axis) the cars to the right direction. In fact, to be 100% accurate in the rotation placement of your cars, you can write the exact degree in the board that appears when you select an object. So, basically : 90 / -90 OR 180 / -180

Possible question #2

"In what direction should I rotate the cars ?" : Here's a reminder of traffic directions in game :

And that's about it. Hope this will be useful to anyone who was wondering how to make larger roads and add cars parked directly on the street :)

[lizzy019]

𝐼𝓉𝓉𝓎 𝐵𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓎 𝐵𝒶𝒷𝓎!

Dom!Dallas Winston x Petite!Fem!Reader

cw -> size kink, some mentions of drug intake (cigs), reader is a teensy bit dominant, doggy style to prone bone, ig a switch reader?, a semi-sweet ending

Word Count -> 2.5K

This idea thooo

Maybe it was the breeze hitting your face as you drove recklessly down the narrow roads Tulsa held open for you. Maybe it was how Dally was so calm and collected, laughing as if he wasn’t scared of accidentally crashing or getting hit by another angry driver.

Even though your seatbelt was strapped on tight, only put on because he asked (not really) for it to be put on you, he still used his arm to shield you when he hit a bump or stopped a little too fast. In a way, it made you feel oh so protected and safe.

You were speeding in someone else’s car, not even Dally’s, but it was thrilling.

Call it stupid, but maybe you had a bit too much tobacco for the night. Maybe you were picking up on Dallas’ poor habits.

“Y’know, if we crash, I’m not helpin’ you pay for the repairs. This is gonna be all on you!” You laughed, clutching the arm that held your chest to the seat.

Dally only playfully scoffed, taking his sunglasses and putting them on your sweet little face before speaking a proper answer.

“You know damn well I’m at least somewhat responsible, sweetheart.” He smiled. That stupid grin that always had you smiling back.

You had finally arrived at your destination; your place. A very teeny tiny bungalow just enough for you and your family. You had hurried him inside, your little hands grappling at his arms and pulling him along. God, you were just so sweet, so tiny but so mighty.

Once you had unlocked the door and shooed him inside, you locked the door once you both were situated inside and found yourself laughing when Dally accidentally bonked his head on the closet door’s inner hook. Even if he didn’t find it all that funny, he was warm inside from hearing your mocking laugh.

“Fuckin’ shit, what a menace. Laughin’ at my pain? What are you, a sadist?” Dally chided playfully, kicking his shoes off as he teasingly punched your shoulder.

His joke erupted a bark of mirth from you, causing you to fumble while you took off your coat to hang up. Call him stupid, but he secretly liked it. Your reactions made everything priceless, especially when you laughed like a sinister witch-cackling goof.

“Yes, I’m such a sadist, your pain brings me so much joy.” You teased sarcastically, hurrying off into the living room of your place while Dally followed behind you.

Your words squeezed a small chuckle out of him, a squirmy smile embedding itself onto his lips. Those pretty, pink and puffy lips of his that you just wished would crash onto yours. You shoved the thought away, letting Dally sit beside you while he tangled his fingers into your hair.

He simply adored the texture of your hair, it soothed him in a way with the way it tickled his fingertips. So while you sat watching your TV, with him mindlessly twirling away at your hair, he found it in him to come a bit closer.

Dally’s arm draped itself over the warm flesh of your shoulder, the relaxed muscle of his bicep pressing into the back of your head to provide cushioning was quite comfortable. You didn’t really think much of it anyway, you just kept your eyes focused on the screen in front of you.

Dally grew a bit discontented when you just handled his little physical contact like it was nothing, but he knew he shouldn’t overreact if he’s trying to stay smooth while doing this. So gently, his hand grazed your arm, pulling you closer to his body as if asking for something.

Your sweet eyes glanced up at him, the coy smirk teasing your lips was nearly enough to have the poor man short-circuit. Since when did you think you could look all tough and dominant and get away with it?

“What’re ya doin’, lookin’ all sneaky like that, sweetheart?” He asked, his tone holding a sarcastic malice as he tauntingly got a bit too close into your personal space. His breath hit your cheeks, that little smell of tobacco wafting through your nose.

You gave a playful shrug, looking at his eyes, down to his lips, and back at his eyes again. Good God, you were testing his patience and self-control.

“I’m not lookin’ at anythin’ sneaky!” You retorted, using a chiding tone while your lips dangled dangerously close to his. But Dally knew better, he knows he could pin those pretty arms of yours under him just to destroy you from the inside.

So he waited. He waited for you to have your fun.

“Fuckin’ tease.” Dally snarled, using his grip to keep you up against the door of your bedroom.

Long story short, you went a little too far. You teased him too much, gripping his cock through his jeans, running your hands all over his body and tugging on his St. Christopher. Poor Dallas was hanging onto a thread, a sliver left of self-control. Now he was almost bare as he molested your neck with fierce kisses.

His teeth grazed across the major artery on your neck, feeling that little pulse. Oh, he’d love to feel it in your pussy with his dick being squeezed, the little repetitive pulse of your heartbeat that got all fast and overworked from how he would handle you.

No, he had to have patience.

Sure, his neck hurt a bit since he had to lower himself to reach you, but it was worth every ounce of pain that jolted through him. Maybe he was a bit of a masochist for you.. not like he’d ever say anything about something as embarrassing as that.

The soft sounds of your whimpers that just seemed to bounce off the walls of your room was like an intimidation attempt, something to throw you off. But could you really be intimidated when Dally’s soft lips just kept sucking hickeys into your neck? No, you couldn’t find it in you to lash out and push him away.

Your hands mindlessly tugged at the hair mounted on his head, the soft little waves of his hair making your fingers shiver. Your hands needed that stimulation of touching something soft, and it allowed you to let out more soft moans and whimpers. His lovely kisses, God, this was gonna be where you died, wasn’t it?

Dally finally pulled away, a little string of saliva connecting him to your neck until he broke it to move you onto the bed. He didn’t waste any time taking off the last of his clothes before aiding you in taking off your own, his nimble fingers working fast to take off your shirt while you got your pants off.

Soon, you were both bare to each other, and Dally was practically stunned speechless. You had such pretty breasts, they’d fit into his hands so nicely. Such a lovely figure, such warm and radiant skin. God, Dally couldn’t keep his hands to himself.

Dry, cracked hands came to massage those lovely breasts of yours, holding the supple skin and caressing it like they were two precious jewels. Jewels in a thief’s hands, what irony. Yet he didn’t have to steal these jewels either, they just waltzed their way into his palms.

Soft tugs to your nipples was what really got a whimper out of you, the stimulation causing your chest to tingle and respond to his actions. Dally was just in love with all of you, so once he was done consentfully assaulting your nipples, you were being manhandled onto your own bed.

God, he loved it. You were so tiny, so easy to throw around and use like a toy. His hands were tight around your waist as he heaved you and almost threw you onto the bed, flipping your body in a slightly rough manner so you were on all fours for him.

Jesus Christ, that ass.

That pretty fucking ass.

Dally’s hands were on it in no time, squeezing the soft flesh with his roughened fingers to feel its plushness. Good lord, you were such a snack. With his two hands still holding your asscheeks, he gave them both a simultaneous slap, chuckling at the little recoil they did at his action.

Poor Dally didn’t know how to handle himself, and he certainly didn’t wanna give you any prep if you were already so soaked from the previous moments. So he palmed needily at his greedy cock hidden away under the soft of his boxers, grinning almost maliciously as he took them off. He found it almost erotic how you were just backing your hips into him, to find some release.

“Oh sweetheart, you really that needy? You fuckin’ slut, you don’t have patience? Good girls don’t get what they want.” Dally chided you teasingly. He was taunting you, to get you to whine for his cock.

No. For someone so tiny, you were as stubborn as a mule.

So you waited as he fondled the tip of his angry cock against your soaked pussy lips, the lovely liquid arousal that doused the pink of his cock’s head was all warm and sticky. He knew you wanted it, but some teasing wouldn’t hurt, yeah?

You were so pent up, practically drooling in anticipation for his dick to be shoved to your core. But no, Dally just wouldn’t let it happen yet, would he?

“Dal- Dal, I wan’ it. Please.. I’m good. I’m good, right?” You finally managed to mumble out, a bit embarrassed by your straightforwardness.

These words that tumbled from your lips made poor Dally sit upright in shock. A light squint of his eye, a small smirk on his lips, made it all too clear how flummoxed he was at your sudden submission. While he wasn’t all that adamant before, he certainly was now!

“Yeah.. yeah, sweetheart, you’ve been good. You wan’ it? Whaddya want, baby?” The little bit of genuine emotion mixed with a harsh overlap of condescension was all you needed to get all prepared.

You were so ready to take his cock, anticipating the moment the hard length rammed itself into your cunt, but you suddenly lost your expectation when it seemed he was taking too long.

Was he staring at your cunt like a creep? Maybe he was putting a condom on?

You couldn’t tell from your current position, so you adjusted your head just a bit before Dally stopped all of your thoughts with a harsh rut of his hips. Soon, you weren’t even focused on reprimanding him, simply engulfing in the pleasure he doused you in every time his cock kissed your cervix.

The mewls and whines that escaped your loose jaw was already enough to get him off, but seeing your tiny form under him taking his cock that looked just a size too big for you?

Fucking god, he was gonna die on this bed and he knew it.

Dally was having the time of his life ramming the girth of his hardened length into your sweet little core, pounding relentlessly into you, using his strength to counter whenever your little hand flailed to try and push him away. Maybe he was a bit too kinky for this, or maybe you were just a bit too tiny and cute looking.

Your legs were getting weak with every deliberate rut of his hips, only serving to further weaken your knees and calves as well as the muscles in your inner thighs. You were going to collapse, you were sure of it. Your body grew more unstable from his weight pressing on you, but you couldn’t find it in you to tell him to stop when he just kept making your cunt cream and gush around him.

It wasn’t long until your legs gave up, your body crashing into the plush of your mattress which honestly felt a bit better than the relentless and merciless thrusts of his cock to your core. Dally was quick to accommodate, the weight of his own body pressing lightly against your back as his hands caged your arms that flailed about. Your wrists were soon pinned to the soft plush of the mattress.

Your poor cunt was just gushing for him, trying to lubricate itself to accommodate to his repetitive and thoughtless rutting motions, and you were gripping the fabric of your sheets for dear life as your eyes rolled to the back of your skull, jaw slack and a little daze in your head. There was an orgasm bubbling up within your stomach, it was getting intense too but you were sure Dally could feel it.

Oh, he could fucking feel it.

The throbs of your pussy walls, the sweet little pulse of your heartbeat whenever he paused for a second or two for his stamina to build up again, the lovely fluid that released itself from your achy cunt. He was in heaven.

But soon enough, you were teetering off of the thin line of pure ecstasy. Your body practically trembled as you fought to hold on, but you knew it wasn’t enough. You were unable to control the clamp of your pussy as you screamed when you came.

Long, pulsating squeezes of your cunt were delivered to Dally, causing his hips to falter in pace as he allowed your climax to wash away. It was only a few moments, and you were barely hanging onto your consciousness. But soon, once most of the tingling nerves settled and Dally, he was back at it again to chase his own orgasm.

Though, it didn’t take long either since he was already close when you came. Now it was just a matter of getting that rhythm back to climb the steps of ecstasy. His thrusts were at a reasonable pace, faltering here or there until finally, Dally came.

Thick spurts of his babies filled the latex sheath he wore to protect your lovely womb from a possible unwanted child, his breaths growing ragged and uneven as his body weight crashed atop you. This seemed to startle you awake, as instantly you wheezed out a puff of air and squirmed about to try and get him off.

“Dally! Dally, you’re crushing me! Get offa me, you fatass!” You heaved in for air, trying to get your oxygen back while he laughed and rolled off of you, taking his cock out of your cunt simultaneously and sighing happily.

Dally took the condom off, tying the open end and chucking it to wherever on the floor, designating it as an item to deal with later. Now it was all about some lazy makeout session to end off your pleasant evening with stupid Dallas fucking Winston.

At least his kisses weren’t sloppy.

Shoutouts to:

@johnnycadesslut @raycravens116 the pookies fr

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 23

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: I sprained my ankle.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The king shifts you off of him, lifting you with him as he stands. The tension is rigid in his grip. He steadies your bodies and helps you over the edge of the tub. Another pounding sounds at the door and his name arises again. 

King Geralt follows, splashing water on the floor in his expediency. He takes a bath sheet from the wardrobe and wraps it around you, not saying a word. Your heart races as you let him move you. You’re paralysed with the embarrassment of that moment. You’re about to be caught out in a perilous position. 

He urges you towards the bed and points you onto it. You hug the sheet around you and sit near the pillows. He pulls shut the canopy around you, blocking out the room behind the drapings. You sink down, horrified. He’s hiding you. As thankful as you are for his discretion it only reminds you of your own guilt. 

He coughs and his feet slap around. You hear another rustle of linen and your ears prick as he goes to the door. He inches it open with a creak, “Vesemir,” he greets flatly. 

“Ah, the king lives,” the gritty voice is more familiar without the barrier of the wood, “ah, and look at him, in his respite, enjoying the hot waters as his wife runs amok in my castle.” 

“Wife?” Geralt repeats grimly, “what is your meaning?” 

“Do you mean to keep my out in the corridors of my own home?” The man demands and slaps the door. “Boy--” 

“Eh,” the king grunts, “mind yourself.” 

“Don’t play proper with me,” the man scoffs and the door groans, letting him in. You can see shadows through the small slot between the curtains. You shy away, hoping whoever it is won’t look back. 

“Vesemir,” the king repeats, confirming the identity, “what is my wife about?” 

“Won’t you come see?” The man challenges, “her and her soldiers are raiding my cellar. I allowed one bottle and now I will be drunk dry. I serve the kingdom but I did not swear myself to spoiled summer welps.” 

“Mm,” the king growls as he moves beyond your sight, not that you can see very much through the narrow space. “I’ll tend to her--” 

“Certainly, you will or I will march her out with my ax.” 

“You needn’t go so far,” the king girds with a sigh as you hear the stiffness of leather. 

“When you marched south, I didn’t think it would soften you,” Vesemir rebukes, “you hide in a tower, soaking in steam.” 

“It has been a long road. We won’t be long here and I thought to wash,” King Geralt sneers defensively. “Even bears like you need a good scrubbing. You more than any, I think.” 

Silence. Tense and roiling. You crawl forward to get a better view of the room. You put your eye to the slat between the curtains and nearly squeak as the older man booms with laughter and claps the younger’s bare shoulder. 

“Aye, I probably do smell like the caves,” he rumbles. “And you always did smell like a horse, Geralt.” 

The king mutters again as he pulls a tunic over his head, the wet tails of his hair leaving speckles of water across the wool. You blink as the other man shifts and you see his profile clear. You know the man. It is the cook. Rather, not a cook at all but Vesemir, the lord of the castle. You're caught in surprise, staring through at him. 

As if drawn by your gaze, he glances over and you quickly retreat from the curtain, hoping you were not spotted. His tongue makes a noise against the roof of his mouth and he huffs. His sole scuffs as the king’s laces whip against his boots. 

“Geralt,” Vesemir intones with disappointment. 

Silence and another heavy breath. You don’t know from which man. The chair scrapes as the king stands. 

“It isn’t to mind,” King Geralt insists, “I will fetch my queen and put her back in her chamber.” 

Vesemir growls, “I do wonder why she might act so, with such a loving husband.” 

“Enough. It isn’t your concern.” 

“Not as yet, but the king’s business is everyone’s concern. Especially of those who marched on his behalf for a summer’s kingdom and a summer’s queen.” 

“You did not march,” the king rebuffs. 

“Eh, do not,” Vesemir warns, “I do not lecture, I warn you. You are a king now, mm, not a boy playing at tourney knight.” 

“I am aware,” King Geralt snips, “tell me what you are aware of, hiding away in your vultures’ pit. These winter lords wanted home to their families, so I made it so. I agreed to marry that... traitor’s daughter and what have I got for it but a headache? You need not make my skull pound any harder, Vesemir.” 

“Oh yes, your father was no fan of politics either. Nor did he play them well. Perhaps you might take another lesson after him,” Vesemir rebukes, “that turncloak’s daughter will not be any more amenable should she learn of her husband’s follies.” 

“She cannot see past her own nose,” Geralt straps his sword over his back. 

“You are hard to miss,” Vesemir insists. 

“Let us go to the cellar, I tire of your reproach.” 

“Ever obstinate, my liege,” the lords tuts and shakes his head, turning for the door. 

You angle to watch them go, the door shutting heavily in their stead. You let out a breath and hug your legs to your chest. You look up at the canopy and the looming bed frame. And so it begins, you sit, trapped by the king’s deceit. 

⚔️

After some time, you dare to step beyond the canopy. You dress and sit at the table; the chamber growing still as the water cools and stagnates. The fire crackles to embers but you’re too fraught to think to feed it. You stare at the door. The longer you wait, the more your doubt threatens to consume you. 

There is no dial or no sunlight to gauge how long but it is longer than you anticipate. You grow restless and rise, pacing as you twist your palms against each other. Is it the queen the keeps the king? Or something more dire? 

When at last you hear movement on the stairs, you can’t help but hide against the wall. The footsteps hammer up and the door bursts open from the other side. At first, you fear the worst. Perhaps your mind has made it all a bit too extravagant but in a manner, you long for it to end, one way or the other. 

King Geralt storms in like a gust of wind and snow. The wood snaps against stone as he blusters across the floor and kicks a chair. It cracks against the table and the armrest splinters. You curl your fingers into your apron and sway.  

The king grabs the edge of the table and overturns it, sending the books and plates atop it to the floor. He circles like a rabid wolf, stomping and seething, growling as his anger simmers up his throat. He stops as if struck and goes to the bed, tearing back the canopy. His chest puffs as his brow furrows. 

“Treasure...” he breathes. 

You shudder, “your highness.” 

He turns and sees you, his shoulders easing. He closes his eyes and his jaw locks. He pushes his hands over his hair as he calms himself. He opens his eyes against and drops his arms. 

“Did I frighten you? I didn’t mean to,” he slowly comes closer, “you know I could never harm you.” 

“Yes, your highness, I only meant to be out of the way,” you utter. “Something is amiss?” 

“Mmm,” he hums through his nose, “that is a way to say it.” He takes your hands in his, his thumbs rubbing your knuckles, “my wife has not been a very gracious guest. Lord Vesemir’s hospitality quickly wanes. The storm won’t be much longer before we can depart...” he doesn’t look happy for the fact, “and we would be best to do so quickly.” 

“Is that not good? Aren’t you happy to go home?” You ask. 

His expression softens, “little maid, of course. I cannot wait to show you it all but... I hoped we might have some more time before that. The road is not easy.” He exhales and raises your hands, kissing each, “I must let you go for now. I have acted hastily and there are still matters to attend to. The war I started still roils in the air.” He shakes his head, “I have foes to harry as yet.” 

You blink, “what do you mean?” 

“Never you worry,” he lowers your hands, “I’ve only one mission for you, little maid.” 

“Yes, your highness.” 

“You will return to the queen’s service, yes? You will tend to her as you always have but you will watch and you will listen. Every lord, every lady, ever single vermin that keeps her company, I want to know of,” he sneers.  

“Your highness? Why--” 

“Do not ask why. I require it, that is all you need to know. For our safety, you must do this,” he clings to you, “treasure, I know you are a loyal creature, it is what first drew me to you, but that woman you serve wouldn’t know loyalty if it crept up her skirts.” He lets you go hesitantly, “she is still a traitor’s daughter.” 

Your lip trembles and you quickly still it. He is asking you to play spy. On Jazlene. On your queen. His very own wife. But why? She is foolish, she is a drunkard, but she is harmless. 

“You swore yourself to your duty, didn’t you?” He arches a brow. “The king comes above all. Regardless of house, of master, you serve me.” 

“I will serve as I swore,” you grit out, injured by his tone. 

That same day he was gentle and now he is steely and demanding. He toys with you. He only means to use you in whatever way the moment calls for. It is not grand revelation but no less painful. 

“Do not be sombre, treasure, in due time,” he rasps. He backs away and puts his back to you, “go, before I let my heart get the best of me. Should you stay longer, I might never let you leave.” 

“Your highness,” you bow and walk to the door. 

“The knight awaits you. He will take you to the queen.” 

“Thank you,” you stand in the doorway. 

“Wait,” he calls to you and follows after. You turn to find him with cloak in hand, “you will need this.” 

You look down at the cloak. You take it without protest. Even if it is tainted, he isn’t wrong. You will face the cold soon enough and you wouldn’t fare long in your wool and linen. You thank him and he sees you through the open door, closing it as you descend. 

As you come to the bottom, you find a shadow awaiting you. It isn’t Bryce. The figure is broader and his white hair shines in the torch light. You step off the bottom step and bend your neck. 

“My lord,” you greet the castle lord. 

“Maid,” he returns dully, “so it is the little dove that coos as the king.” 

You keep your head down, turning it away in shame as you purse your lips. It is your first lesson in judgment but not an easy one. 

“I didn’t expect you so much as you didn’t expect me. Sir Bryce has allowed me your time but he warned me he would be back,” he explains. “I only wanted the measure of the king’s fancy. I’ve known him a very long time so it is curious to me that he has put himself in such a... circumstance.” 

“My lord,” you whisper, throat crackling. 

“Hmmm,” he gives a thoughtful hum. You languish in his silence as he looms in the flicker of lanterns. He pushes away from the wall and steps closer. “You are not offended, but guilty. There is no presumption in you, dove. You do not take insult from what I say, you only take on the onus of the king’s desire.”  

He leans in and brings his hand under your chin, forcing your head up. He looks at you, examining you like some riddle. His wrinkles deepen as the shadows make caverns of his eye sockets. 

“I see it clear,” he remarks as he pulls his hand away. “I remember the dove who treated cook no lesser than lord,” he stands straight and crosses his arms, “I see no difference between her and you. Yes, I was not mistaken before, but I believe our king is. He does not know you though he believes he does.” 

“My lord, I serve the king.” 

“You serve your queen,” he counters, “you are of the summer, just like her. So how do you choose?” 

You stare at him and your eyes sting. Can you choose? 

“It doesn’t matter which one, either would clip your wings,” he lets out a gray breath. “Dove, I will keep your peace. I hold no malice for you, no, I pity you.” He puts his hand to his chest, “while you are under my roof, you will have whatever you need. I will have that soldier find you a proper chamber. For yourself, and should you want, you will have the pick of my pantry. What little delights you might have, I would enjoy them while you can.” 

“Thank you, my Lord, but that is very much for a maid.” 

He touches your cap, his fingers lingering on the linen, “summer dove... I told you these winds were too cold for you.” 

“I must go to the queen,” you plead. 

“Yes, go,” he backs away, “I will send your soldier to you.” His lips go crooked as his eyes narrow thoughtfully, “I’ve known Sir Bryce a very long time. That man alone is the best army you could have at your back.” 

“He is kind, sir,” you say. 

“Is he now?” Lord Vesemir scoffs, “well, maybe one day, I might remember him as such. Do not let me keep you from your duty.” 

He stays by the wall and you step around him. You don’t look back as you march forward, the cryptic conversation follows you through the corridors. There was something unsaid in his voice, as if he knew something you don’t. One might take it as him making a joke of you, but you don’t see that man laughing over such grave matters. 

[pia-nor481]

A Halloween special

Daniel ricciardo x reader smut 18+

1.7k words

"I don't get it sweetheart." Daniel said looking, down at his girlfriend. She'd been invited to a house party on Halloween by a few of her friends, who insisted she bring her boyfriend. They were told to dress up for the night of drinking. Daniel had the idea of going as the joker and Harley Quinn. Although she shut him down immediately, she had a much better, dirtier idea. "It's fine if you don't get, almost everyone else will." She laughed lifting the make up brush higher on his leg. "Could you at least tell me why you're painting my leg black. I already have a tat of my other thigh." He said, watching her paint the letters on. "Don't get me wrong, I love seeing you in a short skirt and showing off your tits, but it don't know who I'm supposed to be." She was wearing thick framed glasses and had her hair tied up high. A slutty school girl costume was easy to come by this time of the year. "Baby, I'm gonna freeze. I'm going out wearing just as black shirt and boxers. Not to mention, you usually steal my jacket when your cold, which you will be considering you're wearing next to nothing." She stood up quickly going for a kiss.

"It will be fine, we are inside the whole night and we'll be drinking." She spoke quietly, fingers brushing through his curly hair, his hands made way to wards her waist, pulling her closer. "You are so hard to resist right now." He huffed out, running his hand all over her sides, slipping them below the red school skirt briefly. "I can tell." Dropping down to her knees to finish painting his leg, Daniel let a out a groan at the sight, clearly expecting her to suck him off, disappointed when she picked up the brush. "Oh, don't tease me like this, everyone will be able to see." She gave a small giggle and a smirk as a response. Once finished, she stood up, dragging him in the direction of the door.

"You fucking minx." He let out with an exaggerated sigh, helping her down the steps of the house, guiding her towards the car. While diving, Daniel kept looking over to his girlfriend, he couldn't spend hours admiring her like he wanted, so he had to settle for a glace every minute or so. The drive was long, maybe an hour or so of torture for him. He couldn't even touch her for long as his hand needed to be on the gearstick, cure the manual car. They could hear the music from the end of the road. Daniel felt his anxiety rise slightly, he didn't anticipate this party being so big, it was like something from a film. "You will be fine, Danny, I promise." It was like she could read his mind, always knowing how to make him feel better. He parked the car opposite the door a few houses down the road, most of the space already being used.

As soon as she got out of the car, grabbing his hand, she dragged him through the door. He was happy to follow, as always. They quickly reached the kitchen, looking for alcohol. Daniel's hand's remained on her body the whole time, many of the other guys in the room couldn't keep their eyes off her; he felt the need to protect her more than ever, she was his, no one else's. He was the one she spent hours on the phone will, he was the one she came home to, he was the one making her cum. Doing shot after shot was easier than nursing a full drink, so they felt the buzz a lot faster than usual. She always got handsy when she was drunk, Daniel was aware of this, and he didn't see a problem with it. So he walked her to the living room, where the music was coming from. He was immediately bombarded with the smell of green; But he couldn't care when she was feeling him up until she could feel the beat of the song in her whole body. "Owen Grey and a slutty school girl, that's quite funny." She turned her head to the side, upon hearing her friends voice. It had reached a point where she got giggly, so out of it that she couldn't articulated a proper sentence. She was right, Daniel didn't know who he was dressed up as, but her friends did. "I'll be right back, I'm getting another drink." He didn't like her going off on her own in in a situation like this, but he had so many questions for her friend.

"Who is he?" Daniel shouted over the base. Her friend have him a weird look, painted with confusion, Daniel clarified, "Owen gray, considering I'm dressed up as him and she's not told me who he is." Her friend giggled, pulling her phone out and heading straight to safari. "You seriously don't know?" Daniel gave her a look of disappointment, this amplified after he saw what was on her phone. She laughed out watching him walk away.

Blood rushed through Daniel's body, he was scanning the room for her, he wasn't furious, but almost jealous. He couldn't believe his girlfriend dresses him up as a pornstar to go to a Halloween party, it was unbelievable. He was slightly out of breath when he reached the kitchen, from walking with so much pace. She looked so inviting, if he wasn't on a mission now, he would have sweetened her up a little bit, maybe even played with her hair just because she was so stunning.

"I can't believe you, sweetheart. Honestly I'm shocked." He said, placing his hand on her lower back, as she took another shot and poured him one. "What?" She was clearly more than a little tipsy and Daniel planned to join her. Her hands quickly made way up his chest, pulling on his shirt once she reached the collar. She was intoxicated with him, she wanted him there and then, he would tell. "Come on, before I fuck you right here."

They hurried off up stairs, Daniel let her up before him, claiming he was there to catch her if she slipped or fell, and with those shoes and the volume of alcohol she had drunk in the time she was away from him, it was very likely, he also wanted to enjoy watching her. He could see up her skirt from this angle, and he could see where her stockings met and it only got him hard. Daniel smacked her ass once she reached the top step, her gaze shifted left and right, searching for the bathroom.

Once inside, he pushed her up against the door by her neck, careful to not restrict her breathing. Their lips connected quickly as she pushed her pelvis towards him. Daniel’s hand slid up her thigh and into her underwear, feeling how wet her cunt was. “You are fucking soaked baby.” She whined into his mouth, struggling to breathe. It wasn’t rare for Daniel to get rough with her, they had long conversations about what they enjoyed or wanted to try in the bedroom. This was definitely on the list.

“Come here.” Daniel said, walking away from her and towards the mirror. She was keen to follow, not wanting his hands away from her, even just for a second. He pushed her against the counter, with just seconds for her hands to support her weight, she looked up at him through the glass. Daniel always liked to take his time with her, so he began to undo the buttons of her shirt, as she pushed back slightly, pressing her ass against his cock. Normally he tell her off for this but he was becoming too desperate, this was made apparent by the tent in his boxers.

“Be good. Yeah?” Daniel rasped out, pushing her skirt up and pulling her underwear to the side. She arched her back as he pushed his cock in, not wasting time in teasing her. Her head dipped low, looking down at the sink with closed eyes as he began to rock his hips back and forth. She moaned rather load and quickly tried to cover her mouth with her hand. “No. None of that. Not after today, making me dress up as a porn star. Do you think Owen Grey could fuck you as well as I can?” She clenched upon hearing the name and stayed silent, choosing to focus more of the sensation he was giving her. “Answer me.” Daniel enjoyed being dominant, it quickly became second nature when they were together. “No, Danny. Only you could.”

“That’s what I fucking thought, baby.” Wherever Daniel said something particular harsh or degrading he’d follow it up with something sweet, to ease the pain just a little. She began to get drunk on the feeling, the buzz was quickly approaching so she pushed her hips back on his to meet the thrusts. She wanted him deeper. “That’s it. Good girl. Make yourself feel good on my cock.” His hand edged slowly back towards her underwear. Wanting to rub her clit. He wanted to feel her clench around him, he wanted to hear her voice as she neared ecstasy, he wanted to see the pleasure he was giving her.

Her moans got louder, the faster he began fucking her. She was so close, so close to the edge that her eyes began to roll to the back of her head. As a response Daniel grabbed her hair and pulled so she was looking at the mirror; looking at him. “Keep your eyes on me baby, you’ll cum.” It just felt too good, too much for her. The risk of getting caught mixed with the alcohol made it all so much more pleasurable. “Please Danny.” She spoke, cumming hard and fast, shaking in his grip, struggling to stay up right. Daniel followed soon after her. The look on her face, the fact she was on cloud nine just sent him over the edge.

Her makeup was smudged and the glasses she was wearing were no where to be found. She noticed a few buttons on the sink as he pulled out of her dripping cunt. “I know, baby, I know.” Daniel said stoking up and down her sides with his tattooed hand. They kissed briefly again, not wanting to break contact. He pushed her underwear into the right place before tucking himself back into his boxers, letting out a light laugh. “Let’s get home sweetheart.”

If this looks or feels a bit rushed that’s because it is. If there are any mistakes let me know. <3

[strawberrysodaslut]

On the Road Again - Rockstar!Eddie Munson x GN!reader

tags/warnings: ~700 words // SFW, fluff, no use of Y/N, established relationship no descriptors for reader, sleep troubles, slight mentions of nausea and vomit as well as mentions of the standard toilet system in tour buses, in my writing world the bunks are big enough to fit you and eddie no matter what!

i wrote this for @corrodedcoffinfest’s writing event day 5 prompt as it has officially been the 5th of July for about 2 hours for me so.. yeah. I had fun writing this so i hope you enjoy!

❛ ━━━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫･━━━━━━━━━ ❜

You’d grown used to the quirks of the tour bus. It wasn’t easy at first. Eddie warned you about the difficulties when you first agreed to come with him on his band’s tour. Living on the road has its challenges, and the bus is as cheap as they could get it. But you’d survived 14 hour road trips, and this time you’d have the love of your life and, most importantly, a bed. How hard could it be?

It was fine, mostly. Although not ideal in the long run, relying on gas station snacks worked for now. The toilet had an odd design where you couldn’t flush toilet paper or any solid waste. Gareth proved this when he forgot and caused a lingering stench on the bus for 3 hours, but you could manage. What you weren’t prepared for was the disastrous effect it would have on your sleep.

At first Eddie; ever the man-child, called dibs on a top bunk. He assured you it would work fine, and while the bed had enough space, the swaying was so bad you almost vomited 3 times in two hours. Jeff only offered to trade after Eddie had convinced the group that the smell of vomit would be even worse than the Gareth incident.

Despite the warm welcome of your stomach settling once you were in the bottom bunk, you still struggled to get to sleep. It seemed every time you would drift off, the bus would make a sharp swerve, drive over what seemed to be the largest rock possible and crash back down, or enter complete road rage over another vehicle and blare the horn.

The next morning when you stopped at a gas station, the first thing you went for was earplugs.

It’s hard to say if the road conditions have gotten better the further on the tour you got, or if your body has gotten immune to disruptions. But, over time, it got easier to get a proper night’s rest.

Still, you dealt with the occasional jolt.

In all honesty, you hadn’t even realised you had fallen asleep. One minute you’re resting your head on Eddie’s lap, his fingers lazily stroking across your head, and the next you have the adrenaline of a caveman being hunted, shooting up into a sitting position and looking around for the source of your distress.

Your panic settles when you feel his warm hands on you. “Hey, hey.” He whispers, gently running his hands up and down your arms. “That was a big one, eh? It’s okay, come back to me, sweetheart.”

You angle your head to look at him. Judging by the deep croakiness of his voice and the light redness of his eyes, he must’ve fallen asleep as well. The constant shows taking a toll on him. He wears a bashful smile as he looks at you through his eyelashes.

Stretching your back, you let out a groan and look out the window, seeing the busy streets of the town where Eddie’s next gig was.

“Are we here already?You ask, looking back to see the other band members staring out the windows like you.

Jeff stifles a laugh. “Already? You slept for four hours.” He says, gingerly pointing to the clock above his head.

He was right. It was almost 4 o’clock, four hours was being charitable.

“Huh,” you say, turning to your boyfriend, who was rubbing his eyes in earnest. He scrunches his nose as rolls his shoulders back slightly. He has less freckles now that he’s not in the sun as often, his under eyes darkened to the point of needing to buy concealer for shows. Yet you still think he’s the most beautiful man in the world.

When he notices you staring at him, Eddie flashes you a smile before wrapping his arms around your waist to turn your back to him and pull you closer. “Guess you’re getting better at this sleeping thing than you thought, huh?” He says, tucking your head under his chin.

You look around at your friends, the energy and excitement of the upcoming show beaming from them and filling the bus, feeling the warmth of Eddie and even the rumble of the old, cheap bus, and you feel at home.

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

❛ ━━━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫･━━━━━━━━━ ❜

eddie munson masterlist

comments + reblogs are always appreciated <3

[cozycryptidcorner]

When I was twelve and our house was infested with mice, my mom would mix poison with peanut butter and put it in those traps meant to snap the mice’s necks. And it worked only sometimes. My mom had me clean out the traps, which usually ended with (1) overly emotional preteen who had to carry them back to the forest. This was a bit of a hike, I had to carry a dead/dying mouse rubber kitchen gloves a block down the road until I hit the paved bike trail. And I absolutely would, because I didn’t want to throw a gasping creature into the trash can, I wanted to give them a proper mouse funeral because, at that young age, I imagined being so tiny and small, gasping and wheezing for breath, sentenced for living in a space where gods considered me a pest. I would pet them and whisper-sing lullabies until they died, then return home to fulfill more chores.

Anyways it only took a couple of days before my mom realized it was easier if she deposed the traps herself.

I don’t have a moral for this goodnight and good morrow babes.

[edutainer2022]

An unassuming coincidence on a Friday night leads to an unforeseen chain of events. Jeff Tracy is badass. Teen Scott doesn't always follow Dad's orders to the letter. A kidnapping goes wrong. And I'm always intrigued by TAG Jeff up and packing his young sons into increasingly remote locations.

Many thanks to @janetm74 , as ever, for kind support!

ERGO PROPTER HOC

In hindsight, so many things aligned that day that normally wouldn't. His late evening conference call with the GDF Headquarters in a different time zone got rescheduled because of, ironically enough, a storm raging through Central Europe, that demanded consolidation of rescue and dispatch efforts. So that would mean he'd be home before his sons' bedtime (not that the elder three still pretended having one), for once. On a Friday. His mind drew a rather shameful blank, trying to remember the respective school and club schedules. Scott had been juggling the pick-ups and so much more since... well, for far too long.

Anyway, a call from his eldest's basketball coach settled the score - the boy sprained a wrist early into practice. The coach was following protocol and was more comfortable with sending Scott out to the hospital for a proper X-ray. Jeff's eldest son would never have called him at work if he could help it - unlike the father, he actually did remember the agenda for the week, and A LOT was riding on that GDF call. But the coach likely wanted to avoid liability for delay. It was too soon to break the practice up or to let Scott sit it out with an ice-pack and then bum a ride from one of his friends (or bargain with them to skip hospital altogether and give him a ride home, more like). The coach also wouldn't hand Jeff's underage son over to a stranger, a status in the Tracy wider social circle Kyrano was vehement to maintain. Anyhow, the stars aligned so that Jeff was available (and quite a bit worried by the time he got there). Which might have bumped the stars some more into giving him a flat tire.

They ended up taking Scott's car to save time, Jeff driving. The trip proved a breezy affair as there was no damage beyond a sprain. Nothing a brace, some cold, Ibuprofen and rest couldn't fix. Jeff saw how the latter might prove a problem, though, with the three year old Allie practically living in Scott's arms. But that was to be a problem for Dad Jeff to deal with later that evening. In the meantime, they had some much overdue quality time one on one, complete with some take-away burgers and a backseat full of stacked pizzas and other delicious goodies for the all-boys movie night at home.

Jeff's enjoyment of the afternoon was slightly marred by Scott apologizing up, down and backwards for interrupting Dad's workday. That, and the boy being obviously in more pain than he let on. But that too was an issue for Dad Jeff to tackle later. For the time being he let himself enjoy his eldest son's company.

***

The drive back to the farm was to be swift and uneventful. He could see Scott, paler than Jeff was strictly happy about, fighting off fatigue, and wondered if the movie night would quickly turn into a puppy pile sleepover. That thought might have twitched annoyance in his gut as he saw a two-car crash ahead, blocking an otherwise empty road. He didn't want any delays on the way to spend a Friday night with his kids.

Jeff was used to trusting his gut. It got him through tight fixes in a war, out in space, all the way on friggin' Mars. It helped him navigate the World Council and GDF convoluted politicking, and the cut-throat business scene. So now, when one of the drivers, engrossed in dispute, looked up at their approaching car - Scott's car - Jeff's gut was blaring a red alert.

An imperceptible shift in stance to reach for the weapons, the cold glimmer in the eyes, the vaguely familiar faces of Gaat's "assistants" launched Jeff's mind into a breakneck tumble. He assessed the situation and weighed the options. From the passenger seat big blue eyes were glancing up at him in worry as Dad's hands tightened at the wheel, his face momentarily hardened. Jeff made a move for the glove compartment, then remembered they were in Scott's car. No gun! The curse that followed had the blue eyes dilate wider, startled. He was scaring his son, which entirely defeated the purpose. Okay, new plan! The seatbelt clicked off.

"Bluejay! I need you to take the wheel now! Don't stop, drive off! Tell Kyrano to get you and the boys away at once! He'll know what to do!"

"Dad!!!"

The face of his young self was sheet white now, bright blue almost black with disbelief.

"Dad! What are you gonna do?! I CAN'T LEAVE YOU HERE! Dad, what's wrong!?!!"

They were approaching fast, he didn't take the foot off the pedal, hoping to give Scott momentum. And a chance to flee. The goons on the road were openly smirking now. He could see the sunset bounce off one of the gun barrels.

"I need you to do exactly as I say, son! It's an order! Don't stop, don't look back! GO!"

He didn't have time to placate a frightened child, even if the last thing he would see in life would be the horrified features of his son. He could think of worse ways to go. Smaller shaking hands, one in a brace, clasped the wheel. He knew Lord Hugh's "multitalanted valet" had taught Scott extreme driving, so he ought not to doubt the boy's ability to speed through. With one parting glance he opened the door and jumped, aiming to tackle one of the henchmen to the ground.

***

Whoever his erstwhile friend sent out, were certainly not expecting a combat hardened veteran with rigorous astronaut training under his belt. Nor a father determined to protect the most precious with his life. It nearly came down to that too, as they were no amateurs either. But they definitely didn't expect Belah Gaat's brother, skidding into the fray in Jeff's farm truck. Jeff didn't anticipate Kyrano as well, but couldn't turn down the much needed help. On second thought, it didn't surprise him Scott obviously disobeyed his order. The realization didn't add to his piece of mind one bit.

Leaving Kyrano to deal with the henchmen and with the police (in whichever order he saw fit), Jeff, though visibly worse for the wear, vehemently shot down the suggestion to wait to pop into a hospital and floored it home in the truck. He needed to hold his kids!

***

The house was dark and quiet to the point it seemed empty. Jeff could feel this heart pounding as he checked the sitting room, kitchen, the boys' bedrooms up on the second floor, and even the attic. Scott's car was haphazardly parked on the driveway, so they didn't leave. Logically, Jeff knew the kids could be hiding somewhere on the farm property, while Kyrano was dispatched to help him in a fix. There were no signs of struggle anywhere in the house. But logic eschewed his rational thinking till he hadn't spotted his sons - safe and sound. Jeff was about ready to expand the search perimeter to the barn, when he noticed the basement door locked. After the TV-21 sabotage and Belah's thinly veiled threats, the hurricane shelter was transformed into a fully stocked panic room, complete with a touch pad lock. Jeff promptly ran the scanner and made his way down an equally dark stairway. On his last steps down he was momentarily blinded by a flash of light. His eyes adjusted to a siluette of Scott, clutching the gun, usually stashed in a coded safe. The boy was visibly trembling, but held the weapon steady, level with Jeff's torso - the wrist in a brace supported by the uninjured hand. The flash of light couldn't hide the pallor and the thin line of Scott's lips, pursed tight against the pain. The other boys were huddled behind him - John and Virgil hugging the Tinies between them. John was brandishing a torch.

"Put the gun down, son! It's Dad!"

It took a moment for the scared minds to process his words and for the eyes to adjust and identify the intruder.

He let the breath out only having removed the gun from Scott's grasp and tucked it securely out of reach, once the safety clicked back on. The next instant the eldest boy nearly collapsed into him and he had his arms full all five sons. The ribs that took a significant battering protested, but Jeff didn't care. He took his time liberally distributing soothing hugs and kisses over each and every mop of hair. His face was a mess of cuts and bruises as well, but that would have to wait. He needed to feel his boys breathing, warm and alive, and close to him.

That day indeed ended in a puppy pile, albeit not the way anybody expected. He left the in the basement for the night - for his own peace of mind. He kept the gun tucked into his belt - for the same reason.

Once the boys settled down into uneasy sleep, including little Allie bursting into tears and Scott persuaded to take another painkiller, Jeff did another round of kisses on assorted brows, noses and temples, and made his way back up to the kitchen, trying not to wake them up with his own grunts. He needed to see about those injuries, finally. Gaat's crooks did a number on him.

He probably should have known better than to sneak away from his eldest. Sure enough, light steps soon followed him into the kitchen. Scott slipped from the basement and made a beeline to the medical cabinet. The movements of a slender teen's figure were sure even by the moonlight. Nible hands produced gauze, antiseptic cream, and cold packs with practiced precision. The boy's face was serious and wrought with concern. At some point the shadows shifted and Jeff nearly swayed on his perch by the kitchen isle - he had to blink hard, twice, to let the gossamer vision pass.

"How did you get the gun, Bluejay?"

Scott froze midstep to soak a clean washcloth for Dad's gushes. Jeff mentally kicked himself. That was relatively far removed on his priority list at the moment!

Angular shoulders, still in the team jersey, shrugged.

"John hacked the safe code way back - we needed Allie's birth certificate for daycare."

Jeff had to brace himself on the edge of the counter not to keel over and keen, like a kicked dog. Ashamed.

The boy shifted from foot to foot and visibly braced himself, ready for a reprimand. When he turned back to Jeff, blue eyes were silver with tears.

"Are you mad at me, Dad? I couldn't just leave you there!"

How could he be? The boy's disobedience and quick thinking, ultimately, saved his life. He beaconed Scott closer and draped an arm around the still bony frame.

"I know, Bluejay! I'm not mad. I just need to be sure you'll follow my lead when it's about you and your brothers' safety, deal?"

"Yes, sir."

The answer was barely above whisper - the teen was still notably trembling, exhausted and anxious. Jeff sealed the deal with a kiss to the side of the boy's head and gave them both a moment, cheek resting on the disheveled curls. The kid was chasing him in height so fast.

Scott shifted away, startled by a sudden thought.

"Dad! How did they know you'd be driving!?"

They didn't. The roadblock trap was set up to kidnap a teenager, driving alone late. Terrified eyes searched his face for an answer his son had already figured out. He shifted to adjust the embrace tighter with both arms and guided the boy's head into the crook of his neck. The soft half-sob, half-gasp nearly tore Jeff apart. Come dawn, he'd need to make arrangements to relocate the boys far away. Kyrano and Hiram would help him turn Gran Roca into an impenetrable fortress. To begin with. He'd spare no effort to keep his sons safe.

[mcondance]

southern fantasy

— this is indulgently a self-ship. | reader is explicitly and beautifully Black southern (specifically from louisiana). this is literally the definition of “i wrote this for myself, but you can read it too.” | no smut 😱 | hotch got me writing fluff yall do you know how out of character this is for me? | inspired by @murdrdocs’s persisting southern enthusiasm with her characters | story is non-linear mostly, just snapshots if you wanna call it that

1.2k words of fluff and southern fantasy, ft hotch. a love letter to my state, and to hotch.

in the car, hotch’s finger taps in time against the steering wheel, sliding gracefully into the rhythm of the song rumbling out of the stereo. the sun is setting, casting a glow over his face, outlining his prominent nose and cheeks, lighting up the smile on his face.

southern skies are beautiful when you’ve got hotch to see them with.

the south is your home, your territory, your space. hotch, on the other hand, is new. he was fresh, but he’s fit in so well. the difference in birthplaces was stark, at the start, hotch’s eyes gaining a youthful glow every time you showed him a green bayou or took him to a gas station in the middle of nowhere with chicken and meat pies so hot he laughed through the burn.

he still sees everything like it’s new, eyes surveying the small towns you take him through, telling him you have family from here or there, about how your dad knows someone from here and your mom’s childhood friend lives here now. but he’s experienced, has a thing for the nights when it’s quiet out, when even in your bed he can hear the crickets chirping just outside the window.

he likes the drives, the rolling roads and graveled streets and towns that pop up here and there. the breaks in trees that reveal a church, the yellow, faded Dollar General signs and the pastures with cows and horses grazing away.

the towns are his favorite, though. small and cozy, one store for everyone, a mom & pop shop, a church.

lousiana summers are hot, bright and burning and, with the proper precautions, he can enjoy you in the sunshine. under the shade of pecan trees, a distance away from the playground, you sit across him on a checkered blanket, and it looks the image of a picnic date, your dress loose and flowing.

the nights are his favorite, too. you’d both picked a house on the edge of town, half an hour away from the nearest big store, where it’s more practical to hit a market or a gas station than drive to Walmart.

so at night, when it gets dark, it gets dark. he’s never seen the stars so clear until he met you. you and your southern wit entranced him and are still entrancing him now. he likes the subtle differences, the different ways you go about things.

and if he’s being honest, your drawl makes his head spin. he hangs on your words, on the elongated syllables and sour twang and how your accent grows deeper when you’re angry about something, or when you’re so excited your words twist and curl around themselves.

he can’t help but poke fun at you for it sometimes, when you’re speaking normally and a word comes out a little more flavored than the others.

he repeats it to you in his own voice, laughing as you scold him, saying he knew you were country when he met you.

“i did,” he concedes, and it’s like a gut-punch every time he speaks with such fondness about anything related to the relationship you two have shared.

you showed him a different kind of southern, one that isn’t horses and cowboy boots, but parties with familiar songs and a city where everyone knows everyone, nights with fireflies, and foxes you just barely catch glimpses of, rap groups proclaiming their pride in their southern heritage and experiences you only know if you’ve been here.

he’s learned some party songs, and you’ve taught him the dances. he’s so comfortable with them now that he can do them with his arms draped over your shoulders, leaning into the groove as the family you welcomed him into enjoys themselves around him.

he’s a dream at the backyard parties. he lets the kids bounce him on the trampoline, and hang off his shoulders, and pretends like he doesn't see your little cousins sneaking up on him with water guns that look more like water bazookas.

“you know, if that thing isn’t registered, i could confiscate it,” he jokes, dripping with water and too entertained to even fein professionalism.

your cousins shriek with delight, running off to no doubt refill their guns and attack him again.

he’s got rhythm, for a white guy, still awkward but endearing and he’s got enough to make the line dances fun. he claims his favorite is a toss up between “cupid shuffle” and “candy,” but it’s obvious what he leans toward more. he hears the bassline of “candy” and he’s rising out of his chair with a beer in his hand and turning to pull you up too, dancing you backwards into the mass of your family.

your love for him grows with every party you attend, with every dramatic slap he delivers to the ground.

he watches you run and play with your siblings, grown but morphing into the children in the pictures hanging on the walls of the house, your dress soft and purple and flowing and he falls further in love when he hears you scream “stop, i’m not playin’ with you,” all country and playful and beautiful.

inside, squeezed up beside you on a chair, the darkness of night falling over the party and moving everyone inside, his heart is light. he goes back for more plates than he’s proud of, pretending like he doesn’t hear a cousin or aunt giggling at you as he walks away with the promise of bringing you more lemonade.

he’s grown accustomed to the hour long goodbyes, where he’s still talking to your dad or brother about something or the other with his keys dangling in his hand and you talking to your aunt as she plates and wraps up another bowl of her banana pudding.

and the drives. god, the drives. he traded his big truck in for a lowrider at your request, an old car from the 70s that’ll fall apart before it needs to hit the shop. he’s navigated this road more times than he can count, knows what gas station is where and when to look out for the nasty bends and twists that are so prevalent back here.

there’s a CD labeled with yours and hotch’s name in the player, fashioned with hearts all around and a plus between the two names. the sunset flows in through the window, eclipsing hotch’s face and molding him so perfectly with the sky you swear he belongs there.

high and happy, the gas station stop is silly, you fill the small space up with your laughs and chopped up words and hotch laughs with you, finding humor in the smallest things with you.

there’s soft conversation and snacking and feeding him food, him trying and holding his own on a particularly difficult song. he slows the car down, at times, cruises way under the limit cause he just wants to look at you, wants to indulge in the sight of you while he listens to you speak in that tone he can’t get enough of.

he really can’t get over your accent. he gets wrapped up in the push and pull of it, the lows and the highs and the way you sometimes sound like a southern belle, sweet-talking him into staying in bed another hour or hitting the store nearest your house for a drink.

his ears perk up when he hears the subtle (and sometimes, not so subtle) inflection, the way you say “baby,” how his name sounds different from your mouth. he’s wrapped up in a southern girl, in the life he’s grateful to have been given.

southern nights with hotch, through the window of a car or in a closed-in porch on a house in the middle of nowhere, are a dream. a fantasy.

[whenjustdancehitsdifferent]

Just Dance gave lore that there's a cool flow event that happens sometimes and didn't elaborate on it, so I will

(Image comes from a JDU promo for the map!)

So here's my own two cents about the "Flow Moon":

The Flow Moon doesn't just happen in Dancity. Although that's where the Bad Habits map takes place, it can happen in any of the Danceverses since there's Flow everywhere.

No one's sure what causes it. Studiest have been done, and there's a few theories, but it's not exactly easy to study the Flow levels of a moon.

That said, the moon will appear to brighten, visible mainly in space, when a Flow Moon is imminent - because of this, alien coaches who live in space are able to take notice and alert the proper authorities when one will be coming within 24-48 hours. It gets brighter and brighter until bam! Flow Moon.

Despite how cool it looks in the map, a Flow Moon can be very dangerous. The excess Flow can overload wires in robots & cyborgs, causing them to break down. Other magical creatures, such as vampires, can experience symptoms like confusion, emotional disturbances, and personality changes. Thankfully, this can be easily avoided by staying indoors and avoiding the moonlight...or by heading out of town beforehand, which is what most do to play it safe.

Because the Flow Moon causes a distortion of senses, it's dangerous to drive, so all roads are routinely closed - particularly ambitious people take this opportunity to go party in the streets, dancing and singing and enjoying the colors that are going crazy around them. The cleanup before opening up the roads the next day is...not fun for the poor underpaid city workers.

[creedslove]

Oh, Mari, help! I need a living heater in the form of Joel. It's been damn cold in my country, it's 11 degrees (it was 27 a week ago). And my furnace broke down (so my radiators are cold) and the repair guy won't come until Saturday 😭

Also, this song gave me "Heartless" vibes today: Stephen Sanchez - Until I Found You

Post outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

A/N: aww baby, I know this ask is a few months old now but I hope things are alright for you! We are also dealing with drastic temperature change, I mean a week ago it was more than 30° but today the max temperature is like 17° so I could definitely use Joel to keep me warm too 😭🫦

• Winters during the outbreak are possibly one of the worst and most depressing things mankind had ever faced, lacking sources of heat, electricity and basic things such as warm clothes, decent blankets and hot water, surviving that weather became one of the many other things someone would need to survive in that world

• no matter if you lived in a QZ, or if you were on the run over the long abandoned roads, winter was hard and that was the time people usually drank the most in order to keep themselves warm and numb to how bad things were

• and even if everything was terrible, you were still so lucky you had Joel, because that man would do anything he could in order to protect you from any danger and of course, from the cold weather as well

• if we are talking about the time you live in the QZ, he would use his smuggling skills in order to offer you the best he can find: jackets, coats, sweaters, blankets, booze, anything really

• and of course you will both snuggle so close in bed, it's funny how Joel is the little spoon even if he's bigger, but he can switch positions whenever you need his body sheltering you

• fucking to keep warm is also a possibility you both really enjoy

• when you guys escape the QZ, he knows nights out in the open are also cold, even if it isn't the winter, and you can't take space in your backpack to carry big, thick blankets, so you will both have to handle sleeping bags

• Joel would always make sure to find shelter and start a fire, so you can spend some time as warm and cozy as possible and of course you would both cuddle so you wouldn't lose heat

• when you get to Jackson, you can barely believe there is such a place, where you can actually have lights on, warm baths and decent, comfortable beds

• while you are both in awe, after eating a proper meal for the first time in months, you decide to share a hot shower together; you could've done it separately, but you are doing it together, because you want to have feeling of running your hands through Joel's skin, the warm water pouring over the two of you, as you both soap and shampoo each other

• then, after changing into new, clean and warm clothes, you go to bed; now there's a heating system in the house that actually works, you won't have to feel that excruciating, painful cold wind that seems to reach your bones, but you will still both hold each other at night, as if your lives depended on it, because deep inside, you know it's not just to keep warm you slept like that

• Joel buries his face into the crook of your neck and pulls you closer, his hand holding your hips and stroking your skin up and down, he's able to sleep peacefully, knowing he can finally offer you the protection you need and that you'll be safe in his arms

____

[3liza]

Fired on Mars is alright, I especially appreciate any that it's (so far) non-space opera sci fi on a major network, an extreme rarity, especially since the Expanse turned into another ghost alien fuckaround because American audiences are too stupid to deal with realistic science fiction and think "Star Wars" qualifies. but it's really struggling as an "adult animation" production. I'm not sure if this was pitched as a live action or not but it doesn't have any reason to be animated except budget. not sure what else Max network has going on these days but you can't help but see a real show with proper production sort of superimposed on top of the simplistic and frankly boring animated backdrop. that's a real shame. they tried to split the difference by styling the drawings very buttoned-down, but it has none of the design sense of even Rick and Morty and it isn't funny enough for the writing to stand on its own, so theres just not a lot to hold onto.

the serious plot that kicks in at episode 5 reminds me a hell of a lot of the recent walking simulator, The Invincible, an adaptation of Stanislav Lem's story by the same name, with a really good surface of Mars sequence and excellent soundtrack, so I hope that's the direction the show is taking now.

it makes me think about the actual logistics and expense of filming something like this with practicals and some CGI. one of the benefits of doing something like realistic space station or mars colony stories is that you can build an incredibly cramped set and film everything on it, Cube-style, because these colonies would be modular and extremely cramped, just like NASA infrastructure is now. you could really go crazy styling a very beautiful set or soundstage that was only a few connected rooms and corridors and then just recycle them intelligently. outdoor shots in the local desert, composite out any plant life, roads, or gas stations, grey out the sky. Fired on Mars has blue sky and big cumulus clouds and initially I wasnt sure if that's referencing some sort of atmospheric control by the colony or if they screwed up or if it was focus group/producer meddling, but I looked it up and the actual Martian sky is more complicated than I assumed:

Since Mars is roughly 1.5 astronomical units from the Sun, the amount of light on the surface is about half that on our planet. Under low illumination conditions, our eyes shift sensitivity towards blue because we change from using color-sensitive “cone” cells to color-blind “rod” cells. This is known as the Purkinje effect. Hence, the first astronaut to land on Mars would probably describe its sky as even bluer than one might expect.

so anyway I think the show is ok. I stopped after watching episode 5 to write this, since this episode has taken the show in a much more interesting direction than I saw in the previous four. maybe it'll pleasantly surprise me

[gotham-ruaidh]

Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be

Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Chapter 3 (Dancing On Glass)|| Chapter 4 (Merry-Go-Round)|| Backstage (1) || Backstage (2) || Chapter 5 (Danger)|| Backstage (3) || Chapter 6A (Love Walked In) || Chapter 6B (Without You) || Backstage (4) || Chapter 7 (Stick To Your Guns) || Chapter 8 (Time For Change) || Backstage (5) || Chapter 9 (Take Me To The Top) || Backstage (6) || Chapter 10 (Home Sweet Home) || Backstage (7) || Chapter 11a (Nightrain) || Chapter 11b (Nothing Else Matters) || Chapter 12a (Handle With Care) || Chapter 12b (I’m So Tired of Being Lonely) || Chapter 13a (Angel) || Chapter 13b (She’s My Addiction) || Chapter 13c (Patience) || Chapter 14a (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14b (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14c (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 15a (Dreams) || Chapter 15b (I Sing A Song of Love) || Chapter 15c (You Can Do This If You Try) || Chapter 16 (Let That Feeling Grab You Deep Inside || Chapter 17A: Never Tear Us Apart || Chapter 17B: It’s Tough To Be Somebody, And It’s Hard Not To Fall Apart  || Chapter 17C: I’m Wishing, Lord, That I Was Stoned || Chapter 18: Turn The Page || Chapter 19A: When You’re Alone, Do You Let Go? || Chapter 19B: Heading For A Spin || Chapter 20A: I Don’t Need Nothing When I’m By Your Side || Chapter 20B: I’m Walkin’ Down This Rocky Road || Chapter 20C: You're The Only One Who Gets Through To Me ||| Also posted at AO3

Chapter 20D: Together We Can Make It A Dream

What you need is what I want So don't be afraid, let it show Don't be afraid, just let it explode We have got the power to build the highest tower Standing with our feet on the ground We've got what it takes, together we can make it Together we can blow the house down…

 -- “Blow The House Down,” Living In A Box (1989) [click here to listen]

North Carolina || February 1989

Dinner was delicious. They all consciously kept the conversation light and fun.

Claire was particularly interested to hear Raymond’s impressions from walking around the property – about twenty acres in all, including woods and a pond. Jamie eagerly discussed the barn, now home to their vehicles (Jamie’s black 1965 Corvette, Jamie’s cherry red Dodge Charger, Jamie’s Harley-Davidson, and Claire’s powder blue Datsun that proved to be the perfect, practical go-to-town car) for the winter.

“I’m thinking of making it a proper home studio,” he said, scraping the remnants of chili from his bowl. “With a sound board and everything. Will give us more space in the house.”

“And it won’t be so loud,” Claire smiled, sipping her ice water, left hand entwined with Jamie’s under the table.

“It’s beneficial to have a little separation,” Raymond reflected. “When I started my private practice, I was given very good advice to rent an office space. There was a higher up-front cost, but patients certainly didn’t want to see me in my living room.”

“Speaking of which…”

Raymond immediately turned to face Claire. Encouraging.

Claire smiled softly, before continuing. “I want to get back to medicine – after we get back from Europe.” She paused. “My license transfer finally came through from Massachusetts a few weeks ago. I don’t want to open a private practice – it wouldn’t be fair to patients, if I’ll be on the road with Jamie, or here at home with children. But there’s a clinic in town where I can start picking up hours. I’ve already talked with them about it.”

“That would be wonderful, Claire.” Raymond’s smile was genuine. “And good to have that day-to-day interaction with patients again. You must not have had that too frequently in your last job.”

She shook her head. “By the end, my only direct interaction with patients was to consult their surgeries, before I would cut into them. I was very far removed from the daily grind. So incredibly different than at the very beginning right out of medical school.” She darted a smile at Jamie. “Though all those hours in the ER did come in handy on tour. I stitched and bandaged up quite a few wounds, splinted a few broken fingers. Jamie doesn’t understand when I say it, but I truly enjoyed doing that.”

“I just don’t get why she’d ever get excited at the sight of blood,” he smiled. “But it makes her happy.” He paused, and turned to look at her straight on. “It would make me happy, Claire, for you to spend more time at the clinic. Even now, in time we have left before it all gets crazy again. I…” He swallowed. “I want you to make something of your own, here in North Carolina. To get back to your roots.”

She beamed at him. He darted in for a quick kiss, feeling no hesitation in front of Raymond.

“Remind me when you’ll be in Los Angeles?”

“Two and a half weeks until we leave.” Jamie helped himself to another ladle of chili. “I’ve got three weeks of rehearsals – the band hasn’t played together since October. While we’re there, we’ll be meeting with the label, and maybe book a day or two in the studio. Probably a show or two, something small.”

“And then a week home here in April,” Claire added, “before flying to England to kick off the tour.”

“120 dates and counting.” Jamie sighed. “We’re booked two, three dates in most cities, though fortunately we’ve got at least a day in between cities to travel. We’re headlining all kinds of festivals. And then in August we have two weeks off – ”

“Three,” Claire chimed in.

“…and Claire and I are torn between coming back home, or going for a European vacation somewhere.”

“We don’t need to decide now,” she said softly. “Plus, if I’m pregnant by then…”

Jamie kissed her temple.

“I’ve been thinking about how we’ll work together on this tour.” Raymond pushed aside his empty bowl and pulled a small spiral notepad from the inside pocket of his blazer. He pushed back the cover, made a quick note with the pen tucked behind his ear, and looked across the table at Jamie and Claire.

“We’re open to whatever you suggest,” Claire said softly. “I hope you know that about us by now.”

“I do. I’ve been going back and forth between whether to do something in a structured way, especially given the logistical challenges and the travel. But I think that in order for both of you to get the support you need from me, we’ll need to aim for as much structure as possible.”

“I agree,” Jamie nodded, wrapping an arm around Claire’s shoulders. “Consistency will be key. Claire and I – this last tour, we tried to stick to the same schedule every day.”

“For show days, anyway,” she added.

Raymond flipped to a new page, pen poised. “And I assume that would be roughly the same, this tour?”

Claire nodded. “Wake up call at 830 or 9 AM. Wake up, love each other, order breakfast to the room, shower. Limo to the venue at 1130. Get to the venue, have lunch, band does soundcheck. That’s done by 2 PM. Then free time at the venue. Sometimes Colum meets with the band. Sometimes the band hangs out together, plays music – that’s where a lot of new songs come from. Sometimes I’ll spend time with Angus’ girlfriends, or reading in Jamie’s dressing room, or just being alone with Jamie and enjoying the quiet. All of us use that time to catch up on phone calls. I try to call Uncle Lamb and my friends Joe and Gail Abernathy a few times a week.”

“And to think that a year ago, she’d never been on the road like this,” Jamie smiled.

Claire blushed prettily. “Dinner usually at 6 or 630. Then the band gets dressed, sometimes does fan meet-and-greets or press interviews. The opening act starts at 8. About 45 minutes of the opener, and then it’s showtime.”

Jamie pushed back his empty bowl. “And after the gig, we do a quick band huddle to talk about the show. Sometimes with Colum and also our road manager. Claire and I are usually in the limo back to the hotel by midnight, if we’re not traveling. If we are, then sometimes we fly after the gig and sometimes it’s first thing in the morning.”

Raymond scribbled on the pad. “It’s good to have so much structure. Did you feel the same way?”

Jamie nodded. “Definitely. Claire?”

“Yes,” she agreed. “Especially when we’re in a new place every few days.”

“And when during the day would you have the panic attacks, Jamie?”

Jamie frowned. “After dinner. Sometimes during the free time in the afternoon.”

“One time in the hotel room, after we got back from the show,” Claire added gently. “And a few times in the morning, when we were waiting for the limo. Once, in the limo.”

“Do you see that with your other patients, Raymond?”

Raymond looked up from his notebook. “That panic attacks come at any time, without a particular pattern? Yes. Though especially with the combat vets, something in their environment acts as a trigger. Do you ever feel anxious to perform, Jamie?”

Jamie shook his head. “I fucking love it, Raymond. To play my music, with my band…to hear thousands of people singing the words I wrote, and so into the music and the whole experience we give them…there’s really nothing else like it. It’s a high, for sure. Better than any drug.”

Jamie squeezed Claire’s hand. “And the only feeling that’s better than when I’m on stage, is when I’m loving Claire.”

Raymond set down his pen, and flipped back a few pages in his notebook. “So it’s not triggered by the performance itself. And I assume you don’t get anxious or claustrophobic on buses or airplanes?”

“Nope. I’ve never had a problem with that.”

“And were your days so consistent before? When you were using?”

“Yes and no. The broad strokes of it, yes – though add ‘whiskey’ and ‘coke’ and ‘girls’ to any of the time I had to myself.” He paused, thinking. “After the show most nights, I wouldn’t go back to the hotel right away. I’d celebrate with the roadies and some girls, usually hit up a strip club, not make it back to my hotel until dawn. Obviously I don’t do that anymore.”

“You’re just an old man who likes being tucked up in bed with his lawfully wedded wife,” Claire teased.

“You know it,” Jamie smiled.

Raymond scribbled on a fresh sheet in his notebook. Absently running his hand through his hair. Clearly thinking.

“All right,” he said, after a while. “Before I walk you through my plan – I need to ask you something. Both of you.”

To be continued…