#you don’t understand I was so determined

[ink-n-shadow]

Thinkin’ about Price, who’s on med leave and under strict orders not to engage in any strenuous activity, begging his controversially young wife to take pity on an old man and fuck him.

Your daughter is born nine months later. You like to joke she exists bc your husband was actually home long enough to put a baby in you.

NOW YOU GOT ME THINKIN ANON—

[ MEDICAL LEAVE ] 𝜗𝜚 the one where john's finally home long enough to get you pregnant

𝜗𝜚 pairing: john price x younger wife!reader (reader is afab) 𝜗𝜚 cw: smut (minors—DNI), age gap (price is in his late 30s, reader is late 20s), mentions of surgery/recovery, john having a pain kink (need i say more?), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it/get tapped), unedited as usual, bad ending

"john, the doctor had strict orders for you to—"

you're cut off mid-rant by john slotting his lips over yours, the mitts of his hands covering your cheeks and tugging your face closer to his. his tongue juts out to lick needily at the seam of your lips, the faint taste of the painkillers he had just taken still fresh on his tastebuds only to be replaced by the sweet mint of your toothpaste.

john would've kept kissing you, too, if he hadn't tried to twist his hips over to face you, making him pull away sharply and hiss out at the way the fresh sutures etched in his ribs twinged in pain.

"john—"

"m'fine," john grunts out hoarsely as he lays back down flat on his back, eyebrows pinched low in the middle of his forehead and tongue licking at the remnants of your spit on his lips. "just wanna—christ—wanna be inside ya."

and that’s how you got to your current position, sitting directly behind john’s thick and leaking cock as you lean back to rest your hands on his hairy muscled thighs—anywhere that wasn’t sutured closed or bruised from the surgery he’d undergone. from beneath furrowed brows, your soft eyes focused on the molten heat buoying in his pupils.

“i don’t wanna accidentally hurt you, john,” the end of your sentence comes out pinched in a whine as the calloused pad of his thumb begins circling your sopping clit, your hips jumping at the stimulation and instinctively rolling forward against his sensitive cock.

john uses the thumb petting at your clit to distract you from the way he manhandles you up, notching the head of his cock between your folds and holding you there for a moment. “i don’t fuckin’ care if it hurts, ‘lright? don’t wan’ you stoppin’ until i feel you cummin’ ‘round my cock four times, and i fill up this pretty fuckin’ pussy—understand me?”

and even though john’s cemented into your shared bed on his back, he keeps you all nice and obedient under his thumb, using the hand he keeps groping at your hip as a way to guide the way your movements. every so often, his sutures would twinge in just a way to send a jolt of pain up his spine—but then he would feel your gummy walls gripping his cock just a little tighter, and the pain would warp into delicious pleasure.

you, ever the good little wife you were, did exactly as john told you—only pulling off of him when your fluids were a messy mixture between my thighs and you could barely walk to the bathroom on wobbly legs.

it didn’t even cross your mind when a month and a half later, you’re a mess of hormones and continuous morning sickness that threatens to knock you out from work for a couple days. john tells you it’s fine, that he’ll work some more late nights to cover your income for a couple days, but you’re determined to keep working.

only after nearly fainting at your home one morning (after john fucked you through at least 2 orgasms) did you find yourself on the doctor’s examination table, fingers nearly snapping john’s hand bones in half when he read off the positive pregnancy result.

and when your daughter is born nine months later (december 14th, by the way—a sagittarius baby), you’re curled up in the hospital bed with john holding you closely, the baby sandwiched comfortably between you two and grappling at one of his thick fingers.

“y’know how long i’ve been waiting for this?” you giggle out softly as you nose against john’s beared jaw, eyes fluttering closed and system overflowing with painkillers and endorphins. “guess you were finally home long enough to actually put a baby in me this time.”

[fromgoy2joy]

So I’m in a health care major in college, and I’m having my first season of high holy days as a Jew-ish person. So, being a busy student along with having many days I need to take off in October, I’ve gotten very used to talking to professors.

I’m in a class for cultural advocacy and bias in the medical setting. We’ve spent hours reviewing case studies, talking about social determinants and education, and general cross cultural acceptance. We talked at length about different and equitable approaches for religious minorities- in terms of dietary needs, holidays, and lifestyle.

I didn’t expect any trouble with taking this class off. So I approached my professor and told her that because of Rosh Hashanah next week, I wouldn’t be able to attend class next Thursday.

She turned to me, very sweetly and said “okay! Just make sure to use your golden pass!”

The one time golden pass is provided to every student in the course- specifically for menial situations. You could use this just because you’re hung over, a little sick or just don’t feel like it.

Religious holidays are not- and as noted in my university’s policy on this very matter - “an optional day off.” I should not have to use my one “fun pass” for a genuine cultural obligation. And this isn’t me just saying that. This is the college’s policy.

If this happened in an anatomy class with a STEM driven professor, I’d be a little annoyed but ultimately understanding. But this is a class where we’ve discussed social policy at length and the importance of diversity. The least I could expect was for the fine bullet points on our own school standards to be read.

So as I write an email to her, gently explaining this and having my request in writing, I have to channel my frustration somewhere.

What can I say? I’m very much getting the Jewish experience.

[ch6sos]

a/n: this is mainly for black gender neutral readers or those with coily/curly hair but anyone can read :)

Whenever Kento wants to learn something new, he devotes his entire time to it. No, seriously. People around him often ask how he manages to master so many skills, or they gape in awe when they see him in action, because it always looks like he’s a natural. But the truth is, Kento practices—endlessly.

Take cooking, for example. He wasn’t always good at it. His parents were the first to teach him about the importance of basic household skills—especially cooking. They told him, "If you want to survive in the real world, you need to know how to take care of yourself, and cooking is essential."

But his first attempts weren’t smooth at all. He didn’t master stegt flæsk on the first try, nor could he bake the perfect rye bread, or make udon from scratch. In fact, when he first attempted cooking, even the boxed mac and cheese stuck to the pan.

Frustrated but determined, Kento began watching his family closely. He'd observe his mother in the kitchen, occasionally passing her ingredients or awkwardly chopping vegetables. He read cookbooks, borrowed recipes from his grandmother—learning both Japanese and Danish dishes, and followed each step carefully—getting the right ingredients, measurements, and temperatures just right.

That’s how Kento approached every skill he became interested in—whether it was fencing, archery, learning to play the violin, or pottery. He would buy all the necessary equipment, immerse himself in content about it, and fixate on it until he was satisfied with his skill level—like a Sim locked into a single task.

So, when Kento started dating someone with coily hair, he applied the same method.

He noticed how much time they spent on their hair—the hours dedicated to braiding, curling, and washing. He wasn’t the type of partner to just sit back and watch, especially when they were feeling tired.

He went into research mode: watching videos, reading articles, and practicing. Whenever he had time off from work, he’d be on his couch, blue light glasses perched on his nose, eyes glued to YouTube tutorials explaining how to care for coily hair—the products to use, the best protective hairstyles, and the time required for proper maintenance.

He’d search on his Samsung, scrolling through article after article written by people with coily hair, trying to understand how he could help make their routine a bit easier.

One day, his partner caught him with a mannequin head in his lap, his legs crossed on the couch, glasses slipping down his nose, fingers moving as he tried to braid from the scalp down. His brows were furrowed in concentration, teeth gnawing on his bottom lip.

“Kento, what are you doing?” they chuckled, glancing at the mannequin on his lap.

He let out a small huff, not annoyed but a little sheepish. “I’m trying to learn how to braid, or at least take care of hair.”

They laughed softly, seeing his frustration as he undid yet another braid that wasn’t quite right. “Why don’t you practice on me?”

“I don’t want to ruin your hair,” he replied, frowning as he started over again, still a bit clumsy but improving.

“I’ll teach you,” they offered, amusement in their voice, touched by how much he wanted to get it right.

Kento’s eyes lit up in excitement, as if he’d forgotten that watching them take care of their own hair was the best lesson he could get. "That’d be great," he said with a lazy grin, pushing his glasses up.

For the next few weeks, they taught him everything—how they followed their daily hair routine, how they carefully braided and styled their hair, and how long it took to recreate certain looks. Kento watched intently, always hesitating before touching their hair, afraid he might mess something up. But with gentle encouragement, he grew more confident.

Eventually, he learned enough to help out. On days when they were tired, Kento would sit them down, placing pillows beneath them, and take over. He’d part their hair with a comb, splitting it into neat sections, his hands gentle as he worked, always mindful not to tug too hard. They’d both watch a silly reality show on TV while he braided or styled their hair.

He even learned how to wash it delicately, stepping into the shower with them to help massage their scalp and rinse out the conditioner. He bought the right products, ensuring they always had what they needed. Sometimes, he’d try new hairstyles on them—ones even they hadn’t thought of—just to keep things interesting.

For Kento, it wasn’t just about learning a new skill. He loved spending that quality time together, knowing that every effort he made to help them made a difference. And in those quiet, intimate moments, he felt truly happy.

[bookwormjust]

Sleepy Nyx (established relationship, Azriel’s mate)

The lively chatter of the Inner Circle filled the room as everyone gathered for another one of their dinners at the River House. Feyre and Rhysand sat across from you, Feyre laughing at something Mor had said while Rhys smiled, clearly enjoying the rare night of relaxation. You were seated next to Azriel, his hand resting lightly on your back, a comforting and familiar touch. His shadows curled lazily around your feet, the ever-present extension of him, as he listened quietly to the conversation.

But as the evening wore on, you noticed Nyx growing tired. His little head was beginning to droop, his eyes half-closed as he leaned against Feyre’s shoulder. He had been trying to stay awake, determined to enjoy the excitement, but sleep was quickly catching up to him.

You caught Feyre’s eye and smiled softly. “Why don’t I take him and put him to bed?” you offered, already standing before she could protest. Rhysand gave you a grateful nod, and Feyre smiled, clearly appreciating the gesture.

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” Feyre said, brushing a gentle hand over her son’s dark hair. 

Nyx perked up just enough to recognize you, his favorite “auntie” in the Inner Circle. He reached his small arms toward you, and you lifted him effortlessly, his body warm and relaxed as he settled into your embrace.

“I’ll be right back,” you murmured to Azriel, brushing a hand over his shoulder as you passed him. He gave you a small, approving nod, his shadows curling slightly tighter around your feet before releasing you.

As you carried Nyx up the grand staircase to his room, the noise from the dining hall faded into a distant hum. Nyx rested his head against your shoulder, his tiny fingers clutching your sleeve. His soft breaths became steadier as sleep began to take him fully.

Once you reached his room, you gently laid him down in his bed, tucking the blankets around him with care. His violet eyes blinked up at you sleepily, and you smiled down at him, brushing a stray curl from his forehead.

“Goodnight, little star,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

Nyx gave a drowsy smile before his eyes closed fully, and within moments, he was fast asleep. You stood there for a moment longer, watching him with a fond smile. He looked so peaceful, so innocent, and you couldn’t help but feel a deep warmth in your chest. You loved this little boy as if he were your own, and moments like this made you feel closer to the family you had found in the Inner Circle.

As you made your way back downstairs, you were met with Azriel’s warm gaze the moment you entered the room. He hadn’t moved from his spot, but his shadows reached for you, curling gently around your legs as you approached. You slid back into your seat beside him, his hand finding yours under the table.

“Everything okay?” he asked quietly, his voice just for you.

You nodded with a soft smile. “He’s asleep. He didn’t take long.”

Azriel’s thumb traced a soft pattern on the back of your hand, his shadows curling around you both in a protective cocoon. The night carried on, filled with laughter and warmth, but all you could focus on was the quiet bond between you and Azriel—the love, the understanding, and the peace that came from knowing you were exactly where you were meant to be.

[jaylalolz]

EX!reader x JEALOUS!nicholas 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

SUMMARY, Nicholas, still grappling with the lingering emotions from his recent breakup, reluctantly agrees to a night out with his friends at a club. As the music pulses and the crowd sways, he spots his ex, across the room with another man. Jealousy ignites in his chest.

WARNINGS, smuttyyyyy

A/N, hey angels! my inbox is now open, feel free to request or ask any questions. have fun reading, muah.

The club was packed. Music thumped through the walls, vibrating through Nicholas as he stepped inside. His friends were already there, waving him over to the bar with grins that were a little too enthusiastic.

"About time!" one of them shouted over the music, clapping him on the back.

Nicholas forced a smile and ordered a drink, hoping the alcohol would loosen him up. After a couple of rounds, he was starting to relax, though his mind kept drifting back to her. It was impossible not to. Everywhere he looked, couples were dancing, bodies pressed close together, and it reminded him of how it used to be with her.

He shook off the thoughts and turned toward the dance floor, determined to distract himself. But just as he did, his heart stopped.

There she was.

She stood near the center of the dance floor, her body swaying effortlessly to the beat. Her hair was down, catching the neon lights as she moved, her hips rolling with the rhythm in a way that had always mesmerized him. But this time, it wasn’t for him. She wasn’t dancing for him.

Before Nicholas could process the flood of emotions, a guy appeared behind her. Tall, broad-shouldered, with an easy smile that Nicholas immediately hated. He stepped in close, his hands hovering near her waist as they moved together, bodies aligning in sync. She didn’t pull away. She leaned into it, her smile bright, her body molding to the stranger’s as they danced.

Jealousy hit Nicholas like a wave, sharp and suffocating. His grip tightened on his drink, knuckles white as he watched the scene unfold. That should’ve been him. It used to be him. How could she be so comfortable with someone else? So quickly?

His chest burned, every rational thought drowning in the flood of possessiveness and anger. Before he could stop himself, he set his drink down and pushed through the crowd, eyes locked on her.

When he reached her, he didn’t hesitate. His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist and pulling her away from the guy, who looked at Nicholas with a mix of confusion and annoyance. She stumbled back, surprised, her eyes widening as she realized who it was.

"Nicholas?" she gasped, but he didn’t give her time to say anything else. The music blared around them, but all he could hear was the pounding in his chest, the rush of anger that had built up over weeks of silence.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, his voice rough with emotion. "Why are you letting some random guy touch you like that?"

She pulls her arm back, her face hardening. "What are you talking about? Nicholas, you can’t just—"

"Yes, I can," he cut her off, his voice low, but the anger in it was clear. "Because you’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

Her eyes flashed with a mix of disbelief and anger. "We’re not together anymore, Nicholas. You don’t get to say that."

"I don’t care," he snapped, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a fierce whisper. "I don’t care if we broke up. You don’t let someone else touch you like that. Not when it hasn’t even been a month."

She stared at him, stunned into silence for a moment. The guy behind her stepped forward, sensing the tension, but Sarah held up a hand, stopping him.

"You don’t get to decide who I dance with," she said, her voice steady now, even though Nicholas could see the hurt in her eyes. "We ended things, remember? You ended it, Nicholas."

Her words hit him like a slap. He did end it, but now, standing there, watching her with someone else, he couldn’t understand why he had. All he knew was the pain of seeing her move on, the jealousy twisting inside him like a knife.

"You don't understand," Nicholas said, his voice demanding slightly, but full of raw emotion. "You belong with me. No one else"

He crashed his lips against hers, the kiss instantly consuming. It wasn't soft or tentative-there was nothing gentle about it. His mouth moved against hers with fiery desperation, as though he'd been starving for this, for her, ever since they parted. And she matched his intensity, her lips parting to let him in, her hands gripping his shirt, pulling him closer as if the contact wasn't close enough.

Their bodies collided, her chest pressing against his as the kiss deepened. Nicholas's hands roamed over her, sliding from her waist to her back, pulling her flush against him. His fingers tangled in her hair, tugging gently as his mouth moved down her neck, tasting the heat of her skin, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.

She let out a soft, breathless moan, her body arching into his touch, her hands gripping his shoulders as though she needed something to hold onto.

The sound only fueled him further. His mouth returned to hers, this time with a fierce, almost primal need. Their tongues danced together, the kiss growing hotter, deeper, their breaths mingling as they lost themselves in each other.

Nicholas felt like he was drowning in her, the taste of her, the feel of her. Every inch of his skin was on fire, his heartbeat racing as his hands traveled lower, gripping her hips, pressing her harder against him. The heat between them was undeniable, overwhelming, and neither of them seemed able to stop.

Her fingers slid through his hair, tugging him closer, her lips demanding more. She kissed him like she wanted to erase the time they'd spent apart, like she wanted to burn away every doubt, every regret. Her nails raked lightly down his neck, sending a shiver through him, igniting every nerve in his body.

Their kiss was wild, unrestrained, the kind that felt like it could burn the whole world down around them. And neither of them cared. Right then, in that moment, it was just them-wrapped up in each other, their bodies and minds consumed by the heat of their desire.

As Nicholas pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his breath ragged, he saw the same fire burning in her gaze. It was as if everything they'd tried to bury had resurfaced, and the pull between them was undeniable, irresistible.

“Go to the bathroom.” he says.

Her fingers loop his pants, tugging them down when they enter the bathroom. He helps her fold his dick out of his boxers by lifting his hips. He's painfully hard; it's was a sight to see. She realizes that it's been a while since she's gotten down on her knees in front of him.

She grabs his dick and strokes it. She dribbles spit down his tip, lubricating her moving hand as it glides along wonderfully. He struggles with the urge to speak; she hears it almost slip out of his mouth. She wraps her lips around his head and looks up into his, breaking him somewhat with a single swirl of her tongue.

"Just like that," he mutters. He hardly has time to register the sensation before his jaw drops.

She took him up with one hand and held him partly in her mouth. She doesn't want to push it because fixing her makeup afterwards will be difficult. Still, he'll cum if he touches the back of her throat, the way he's already going insane. "Jesus-" He moves his hips and clenches her hair, causing a sensation to run down her scalp.

Her left hand roams up his nude torso, feeling the heated skin covering his gravelly muscles as she bobs her head. He traps his hand over top so it stays there the instant her palm touches his chest. With a whine, he throws his head back as her lips slowly works on him.

"Baby-" He stifles. "I'll cum if you don't stop."

She pulls back to prevent him from finishing. He gazes down at her as though she were a creation of his fantasies. "That's for ending our relationship," she replies, disappearing from the bathroom.

[mya-valentine]

Headcannon: Tomura Shigaraki with an S/O Who Teases Him

Shigaraki absolutely hates how much his S/O teases him… at least, that’s what he tells himself. He’s not used to people pushing his buttons in such a playful way, and it throws him off balance. Every time they poke fun at him, he shoots them an annoyed glare, but deep down, he’s amused, even if he’d rather crumble into dust than admit it.

His S/O loves teasing him about everything—his posture, his video game obsession, the way he scratches his neck when he’s stressed. “You’re gonna wear a hole in your neck at this rate, Shiggy,” they’ll say with a smirk, earning an immediate growl in return. But despite his irritation, he can’t help the faint smirk that sometimes flickers on his face.

They’ll call him cute or handsome just to watch his reaction, knowing it makes him squirm. Shigaraki will scoff or dismiss it, but the faint blush creeping up his neck is impossible to miss. His S/O will push even further, saying, “Aww, Shiggy, don’t get all shy on me now,” which only makes him scowl harder and mumble something under his breath.

He’ll throw sarcastic insults back at them, but his heart’s not really in it. His S/O knows it’s all in good fun, and honestly, it becomes their favorite game—seeing how far they can push Shigaraki before he snaps. Of course, his version of snapping is dramatically throwing his hood up and sulking for a while.

Despite his annoyance, Shigaraki secretly loves the way his S/O can make him feel normal. When they tease him, it’s not because they’re afraid of him or walking on eggshells around him—it’s because they genuinely like him, and that’s something he’s not used to. It’s oddly comforting.

Sometimes, Shigaraki will try to get them back, mimicking their teasing tone or throwing a sarcastic jab. “You think you’re funny, huh? You’re the one hanging out with a villain, so what does that say about you?” He’s proud when his S/O just laughs it off, unfazed. He’s still learning the teasing game, but he’s getting better.

When they make fun of his appearance, like his messy hair or the way he dresses, Shigaraki will roll his eyes and mutter, “You think I care about stuff like that?” But secretly, he’ll glance in the mirror later, wondering if maybe he could style his hair a little better, not that he’d ever let his S/O know.

His S/O loves playfully daring him to do things he’d never normally do. “Bet you can’t go a whole day without scratching your neck,” they’ll challenge, and Shigaraki will immediately take it personally, determined to prove them wrong… for about an hour, before he gives in and grumbles about their stupid dare.

The more time they spend together, the more Shigaraki realizes that his S/O’s teasing actually makes him feel seen. It’s not about making fun of him—it’s their way of connecting, of showing they care without getting all sappy about it. And while he’ll never outright say he likes it, he does let them tease him more than anyone else.

His S/O is probably the only person who can get away with playfully touching his face or hair without him recoiling in disgust. He might slap their hand away, but it’s half-hearted, and sometimes he’ll even let them brush some stray hair out of his face—though he’ll grumble, “Don’t push your luck.”

When he’s in a particularly bad mood, his S/O knows how to balance their teasing. They’ll tone it down just enough to lift his spirits without going too far, understanding that even the King of Villains needs a break from time to time. And while Shigaraki won’t say it, their teasing is one of the few things that actually helps him feel a little better.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[accio-victuuri]

part 3 of paupau sharing behind the scenes tidbits from episode 7/8 of Exploring the Unknown

PAUPAU: The entire island has no water, no electricity, and no people living there, so only Yibo and I stay on the island. All other staff need to be evacuated at 8 o'clock every night. They leave at about 7 o'clock the next morning, and then they leave again. When we come to the outer island, we actually don’t have any other equipment or food to give us, nor do we have enough water. So our fresh water is actually two large drinking water buckets. We will leave two of them. There is a big bucket of water here and there on the island. Sometimes it is basically impossible for us to take a bath. So we might wet a towel with water and briefly wipe the body. Because when I train in the sea every day, my body is full of salty water. Well, it is more painful to have such hair, so Yibo and I will take turns holding the mineral water bucket for each other, and then pour a little water.

Then there are other safety issues, how do we ensure that there is no one in this place? What kind of risks and accidents will there be on such a deserted island? So besides the fact that our film crew has visited the location in advance to determine that there is no danger in such a natural environment, it is very important that there is no danger in such a natural environment. One is that the team left us two infrared cameras. This infrared camera can actually monitor our entire security team at any time throughout the night to understand whether we will have any risks on the island. So this is the real state of our life on the island. Every night we are surrounded by the sea, we make a bonfire, chat, drink whiskey from Yibo, and fall asleep with the waves on our pillows. The next day we will continue training. Well, I will share this with you today. The real state of island life.

[bloodstainsontengensfloor]

So my family used to go to Montauk every summer…

Throwback to the summer after I read The PJO/HOO universe, where I smuggled all of my percy jackson books in my duffel bag with my clothes and a BRICK I stole from my grandma’s front lawn with the intention of finding Camp Halfblood and throwing the brick at Jason Grace.

[lets-all-calm-down-a-bit]

Everytime you attack a trannie for lovingly calling his friend a dyke, or a dyke for lovingly calling her friend a faggot, a 19 year old gay on twitter loses 10 more productive thoughts about intersectionality and solidarity to the void.

[magdalune]

ur sims are darkskinned but their features are completely white 🤨 nothing wrong with that, just wanted to point out that they could've had a skintone suitable for their race

anon, to you, what makes a black person black?

[maevesdarling]

Sorry for the Little House spam, but with it being the 50th anniversary I am obligated to go through the entire tag and post everything I haven’t already

[daisychain-unchained]

Female hormones are the worst, literally had to look at a monthly chart yesterday like a fucking storm tracker just to see wtf is wrong with me

[uncertaininnit]

The turtles listen to ABBA. What are their favorite songs

[the-trans-dragon]

.

[book-tease]

just took a walk to get ice cream, (they were out of pumpkin which is literally the reason i challenged myself to do this) awful, hated it, it was only 30 minutes each ways and i got so sweaty, and there were people and i never know if i look at them or away or if that’s rude-

anyways can’t wait to try again next week lol

[6ebe]

whenever I see asoiaf fans pulling out “the feudal contract” as some kind of gotcha power move abt anything I can’t help but laugh. Social contract theory as we know it was first elucidated by freaking hobbes during the English civil war no one during the war of the roses period was sitting around ruminating abt social contract theory. It didn’t exist 🤣🤣