#you have been a great encouragement for me

[revelboo]

Great monarch Revelboo if I ask you nicely could you please assign me a mech to cuddle 🥰 I can’t decide who I would want to cuddle with the most! Which mechs would enjoy it the most and which would enjoy it but refuse to admit it? ty ty you are the best 👑

Ahh! Love this 💕

Cuddle Time Headcanons

ES Wheeljack

- tries his hardest to convince you that you don’t actually want to cuddle with him. Painfully awkward guy, but he just gives up and allows it if you insist. Secretly loves it even if he’s embarassed

• Optics wide, he freezes when you just climb up into his lap and sit down. Like you belong there. And then you’re leaning into him and he hears Elita and Optimus make noises that sound suspiciously like badly suppressed laughter. Surely you’d rather sit with someone else? No? Embarrassed enough even before you lean into him with a happy little sigh. Venting softly, he loosely drapes a hand against you, freezing when you latch onto a servo and snuggle against his palm. Apparently no one wants to help him and he has no idea why you’ve latched onto him. Chosen him as your protector and safe spot. And okay, maybe it makes warmth spread through him, makes him want to protect you. But they’re all still staring at him and not even hiding that they think it’s funny. They have to realize he’s not cut out for this.

Bluestreak

- aware that he can be clingy, but if you encourage or just don’t tell him to stop, he just wants to cuddle with you.

• Servos flexing because you’d gone to sleep curled in your nest of blankets while he’d been out too late. And knows he shouldn’t disturb you when you look so relaxed, but still slides his servos under you. Hears the soft, sleepy sound you make, head lifting before you realize it’s him and relax in his hands. Lying down curled on his side, he cuddles you up against his chassis and folds his door wings out behind him. Cups a hand against you, chin tucked against his chassis and legs drawn up until he’s curled around you as much as he can. Letting the warmth of you keep the nightmares at bay.

Swerve

- if you give him permission to cuddle or just seek out his body heat, he’s all for it. But the narrative in his head is probably that you’re deeply, madly in love with him, not just cold

• Startling when you drape yourself against him, eyes closed and making a pitiful little noise of misery, he mass shifts for you, arms open wide. “Cold again?” He asks, feeling almost guilty that he’d been cutting down the temperature in his habsuite on purpose just so you’d curl up against him. And you just sprawl in his arms, letting him wrap himself around you. “I’ll file a complaint with Mags, let him know there’s something wrong with the heat again,” he lies, resting his chin on top of your head. And it’s just a little, bitty lie. You understand, right? Getting used to the pulse of his spark just like he’s used to the beat of your heart. And pretending you’re his, that you want to be in his arms. That you know you belong right here.

Jazz

- wants you to read one of your smutty books to him, promising he’ll behave while you sprawl on top of him

• “Hand,” you mutter as he drapes a hand over you, one servo on your butt. “Jazz.” And his crooked grin is completely unapologetic. Even if he’d promised to behave. Huffing, you flip open the book to the page you’d folded the corner of the night before. You swear he likes these cheesy romance novels more than you do as you begin to read to him, relaxing with the feel of his warmth against you, sprawled on him.

Hound

- wants to share with you the vast, green world outside the Ark. To curl up with you by a lake and relax

• “Oh.” The area’s heavily wooded, sun lancing through the leaves to dapple the mass shifted mech in gold as you look from him to the calm lake. Realizing that he’s sharing this with you, something that matters to him and his arms come around you, tugging you back into his frame. And you relax, feeling the heat of the sun and warmth of the mech at your back. “It’s beautiful.” Playing with his servos as his chin rests on top of your head.

TFA Bulkhead

- big, awkward guy. Lets you sprawl on top of him, a big hand draped over you as you both watch TV and whisper (and Sari and Bee both complain)

• Laughing as he slowly goes over backwards and you end up sprawled on top of him, he drapes a big hand over you, head back to watch the TV upside down. Laying your chin on him as a big servo runs between your shoulder blades, you can hear Sari and Bee’s loud ‘ewww’ at you both. It’s not like you’re making out, but they’re carrying on like you are and you reach to touch Bulkhead’s chin. Relaxed and comfortable where you are.

Armada Starscream

- wouldn’t admit that he needs the feel of you, your scent and warmth against him to be able to recharge. If you want to cuddle up against him, he allows it. Won’t ask for it even though a part of him loves it

• Venting he doesn’t resist when you and the mini-cons all sprawl on him. There’s no fighting it at this point, acting as your bed. Suspects you’re only after his warmth, but he doesn’t really mind having you there. Recharges better knowing where you are, feeling your heart beating against him. Because this as close to home and family as he’s had in forever. Wants to protect this feeling, to hold onto it.

[hjvi]

𝙉𝙤𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙜𝙞𝙖 PART 2 part one (optional)

Pairing: Bf!Chris x Fem!Reader

Summary: After the breakup, Chris reaches out to Y/N's therapist, desperate to understand what she's been sharing post-split, hoping to find a way to fix things before it’s too late.

Warnings: Smut. MDNI. Heartbreak. Angst.

Word Count: 8k

CHRIS POV

The sunlight streams through the blinds, forcing its way into the room and pulling me from a restless sleep. For a split second, I feel the warmth of it on my face and instinctively reach my arm across the bed.

“Good morning,” I mutter softly, my voice thick with sleep.

But the bed is cold. My hand grazes nothing but empty sheets, and reality hits me all over again. She’s not here. She hasn’t been here for weeks.

The hollow ache in my chest flares up again, as it does every morning, but I push it down, swallowing the lump in my throat. I throw the covers off and sit on the edge of the bed, my hands in my lap as I stare at the floor. For a moment, I just sit there, unmoving, as the weight of it all presses down on me.

I eventually force myself to stand, dragging my feet as I make my way to the bathroom. The mirror above the sink catches my eye, and I hesitate for a second before looking into it.

The reflection staring back at me doesn’t even look like me anymore. My eyes are sunken, dark circles heavy beneath them from the countless nights I’ve spent tossing and turning. My hair sticks out in every direction, unkempt and messy, like I haven’t cared enough to fix it. My skin is pale, almost lifeless. I look like a ghost of the person I used to be.

I grab my toothbrush and start brushing my teeth, the minty taste sharp on my tongue. I stare into the mirror as I do it, unable to look away from the version of myself staring back at me. The movements are automatic, robotic, like I’m just going through the motions because I have to.

Rinsing my mouth, I splash some cold water on my face, hoping it’ll wake me up or at least make me feel something. The water is icy, shocking against my skin, but it doesn’t help. I dry my face with a towel, toss it onto the counter, and take a deep breath.

I head back to my room, pulling on the first clothes I can find—a hoodie and some sweats. I don’t even care if they match. What’s the point? No one’s going to see me anyway.

The stairs creak as I make my way down to the kitchen. The house is quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge. I grab a glass from the cupboard, fill it with water, and lean against the counter as I drink. The cool liquid soothes my dry throat, but it doesn’t do anything for the heaviness in my chest.

The sound of footsteps pulls me out of my thoughts. I glance up to see Nick and Matt walking into the kitchen. Great.

They exchange a quick look before Nick speaks up. “Chris, you can’t keep going on like this.”

I don’t respond, staring down at the glass in my hands.

“You need to figure something out. This can’t keep going forever,” Nick continues, his voice firmer this time.

“If you love her, why did it end?”

That question cuts through me like a knife, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. My grip tightens on the glass, and I feel the lump in my throat growing, making it harder to hold everything in.

The pause that follows is deafening.

“Chris, I’ve never seen you like this,” Nick says, his voice softer now, like he’s trying to reach me. “Please talk to us. We’re only here to help you.”

I shake my head, barely processing his words. It’s too much. Talking about it means reliving it, and I don’t think I can do that.

Matt steps forward, his tone more encouraging. “Well, you need to talk to someone—anyone. Maybe a therapist.”

The word therapist hits me like a punch to the gut. I’ve only been to therapy once, back when our parents practically dragged me there after I was first diagnosed with ADHD. I hated it. Sitting in that office, spilling my guts to a stranger who pretended to care—it felt fake, forced. Like I was just paying someone to nod and tell me I’d be okay.

I glance at Matt, shaking my head again, but his words stick with me.

Therapy.

I set the glass down on the counter, my mind drifting to her—Y/N. She used to go to therapy all the time for her anxiety. I remember the night she opened up to me about it. We were sitting on her bed, the room dimly lit by the string lights she had hanging along the walls. Her voice was shaky, and she kept fidgeting with the hem of her hoodie as she told me about the things she struggled with—the intrusive thoughts, the overwhelming panic that came out of nowhere.

I remember holding her, my arms wrapped tightly around her as I whispered that I’d always be there for her. That I’d help her through it.

And she believed me.

She started going to therapy less and less after that. She told me that being with me made her feel safe, like she didn’t need it anymore. Like I was enough.

But now…now I’ve become the source of her pain.

I close my eyes, trying to block out the memory, but it’s no use. Her face is burned into my mind, the sound of her laughter echoing in my ears like a ghost.

An idea suddenly hits me, sparking something in the back of my mind.

She must’ve gone back to therapy after that night. After the things I said, after I ruined everything, there’s no way she didn’t go back.

A small smile tugs at the corners of my lips—something I haven’t felt in weeks. If I can figure out who her therapist is, maybe I can get some answers. Maybe I can convince them to give me something—anything—to help me figure out what’s going on inside her head.

I know it’s a long shot. I know it’s probably not even allowed. But at this point, I don’t care.

This might be my only chance to fix things. To make things right. To get her back.

And I’m willing to do whatever it takes.

I slam the car door shut and storm into the house, my mind racing a hundred miles an hour. My heart pounds against my ribs, and I don’t even know if it’s from the frustration, the anxiety, or the sheer desperation clawing at my insides. My hands are shaking—I don’t know if it’s from the cold air outside or from the weight of what I just found out.

I need to find something. Anything.

I rush up the stairs, skipping two at a time, barely able to breathe as I push my bedroom door open. The room is dark, only the dim glow of my lamp spilling light over the mess I’ve been living in. Clothes are piled up in the corner, my bed is still unmade from this morning, and the air is heavy—like it hasn’t been touched by fresh air in days.

I don’t even hesitate before I start tearing through everything. I yank open my drawers, throwing out crumpled-up receipts, random guitar picks, and old Polaroids I don’t have the heart to look at right now. My hands move frantically, shoving aside hoodies and sneakers as I dig through the mess, my breathing uneven.

Then, I stop.

A hoodie—her hoodie.

Ralph Lauren, navy blue, the one I used to steal from her even though it was already oversized on her tiny frame. My fingers graze over the soft fabric, and I swear I can still smell her on it. Vanilla, mixed with the faintest hint of lavender shampoo.

My throat tightens.

I set it aside gently, like it’s something fragile, before continuing my search. I check under my bed, my closet, the nightstand. My hands skim over the remnants of us—the lip gloss she left behind, the hair ties, the tiny silver ring she used to wear on her thumb before she started playing with it too much and lost it between my sheets.

She never asked for them back.

A sharp pain twists in my stomach, and I have to sit down on the edge of my bed. My hands press against my knees as I stare at the floor, my thoughts spiraling.

She never asked for any of it back because she doesn’t want to see me.

She doesn’t even want to be reminded of me.

I imagine her in her room, sitting on her bed, maybe curled up with her knees to her chest like she always did when she was anxious. I can see her phone on her nightstand, face down, waiting for a notification that never came. Waiting for an apology that never left my lips.

I clench my jaw, squeezing my eyes shut. Why didn’t I call?

I should’ve said something. Anything. Even if it was just to tell her I was sorry.

My fingers dig into the fabric of my sweatpants as I try to breathe through the guilt.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see it.

A small orange bottle, half-hidden underneath a pile of clothes.

I reach for it, my hands trembling as I pick it up. The label is worn, slightly smudged, but the name is still visible—Y/N L/N. My eyes scan the rest of the text, and my stomach drops when I see the words printed in bold letters:

Prescribed by Dr. Callahan.

My heart pounds in my chest.

I turn the bottle in my hands, my thumb tracing over the edges of the label. She hasn’t been here in weeks. If this is still in my room, that means she hasn’t been taking her medication.

Has she been okay without it?

The thought makes my chest tighten uncomfortably.

I exhale sharply, standing up so fast the room spins for a second. I grab my phone from my nightstand, my fingers typing the number on the bottle into my phone.

I hit call.

It rings.

My leg bounces as I wait, my free hand gripping the bottle like it’s the only thing tethering me to reality.

Voicemail.

I grit my teeth, but then I notice something—Dr. Callahan’s website.

I pull it up, my eyes scanning the screen so fast that the words blur together. The address is listed at the bottom. My heart stutters in my chest as I read it over and over.

I don’t think. I just move.

I grab my keys and rush out the door.

The waiting room is too bright, too clean, too quiet. The sound of the receptionist typing on her keyboard is the only noise filling the space, and it’s driving me insane.

I shift uncomfortably in the chair, my foot tapping against the floor. My hands are clenched into fists in my lap, and I’m pretty sure my knuckles are turning white.

The door to the office finally opens, and Dr. Callahan steps out. She’s a woman in her late forties, dressed in a blazer, with a calm but unreadable expression. She looks at me, then at the receptionist, and back at me.

“Christopher?” she says, her voice even.

I stand up so fast the chair scrapes against the floor. “Yeah.”

She glances at the receptionist before nodding for me to follow her. I do, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The office is small but warm, the walls lined with bookshelves and framed diplomas. There’s a couch, a chair, a desk—everything you’d expect in a therapist’s office.

She sits behind her desk and gestures for me to sit. I do, leaning forward, elbows on my knees.

“I don’t usually take walk-ins,” she says, folding her hands together.

“I know,” I blurt out. “I just—I needed to talk to you.”

She raises an eyebrow. “About?”

“Y/N.”

Her face doesn’t change, but I swear I see a flicker of something behind her eyes.

“I can’t discuss—”

“I know. I know, you can’t tell me anything confidential,” I interrupt, my voice shaking. “But I just—I need to know. Is she okay?”

She exhales, tilting her head slightly. “Chris, I understand that you’re worried, but I can’t disclose any details about my patients.”

I swallow hard, gripping my knees. “Please. I don’t—I don’t know what to do.” My voice breaks slightly, and I hate myself for it.

Dr. Callahan studies me for a long moment before sighing, leaning back in her chair.

“What I can tell you,” she says carefully, “is that you should return her medication.”

I stare at her, my stomach twisting. “So… she’s okay to see me?”

Dr. Callahan’s expression doesn’t change. “No. Do not go yourself. Maybe leave it at her door.”

I clench my jaw. “Why?”

She exhales again, standing up and grabbing her coat. “Because she’s not ready to see you right now. You really hurt her, Chris. That’s all I’m going to say.”

The words hit me harder than I expect them to. My throat feels tight, my chest aching like someone’s squeezing it.

I nod slowly, standing up.

“Thank you,” I mutter.

She doesn’t respond, just watches me as I turn and leave the office.

When I get home, I’m exhausted.

I drop my keys on the counter and run a hand down my face, exhaling slowly. The conversation replays in my head, over and over, until I can’t take it anymore.

I grab my phone.

I dial her number.

It rings.

And rings.

And rings.

Voicemail.

I call again.

And again.

And again.

Thirty times.

Nothing.

I grip the phone tightly before finally pressing the voicemail button.

“Hey… it’s me,” I say, my voice hoarse. “I—uh, I have your medication. I just wanted to—” I pause, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I just wanted to see you. Just for a second. Please call me back.”

I hang up, staring at the screen.

The silence is unbearable.

I can’t stop thinking about her, about what Dr. Callahan said.

I’ve hurt her. Badly.

The thought of her sitting alone, trying to get through each day without her medication, without me, makes my stomach churn. She’s struggling, and it’s because of me.

I hear voices upstairs.

Nick’s laugh echoes faintly down the hallway, followed by the sound of Matt’s voice, a little louder, more animated. I know exactly where they are—Matt’s room. They’re probably streaming or recording, trying to keep the channel alive while I’ve been... well, absent.

I climb the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last. When I reach the top, I pause for a second outside Matt’s door. I can hear them laughing, joking with each other like they always do, but there’s something in their tone that feels... forced.

I push the door open without knocking.

The room is lit by a neon blue light strip that lines the walls, casting an eerie glow over everything. Matt is sitting in his gaming chair, his headset on, while Nick is sprawled out on the bed, scrolling through his phone.

They both look up the second I step inside.

“Chris?” Matt says, pulling off his headset. His eyes widen when he gets a good look at me.

I probably look like shit. My hair’s a mess from running my hands through it so many times, my hoodie is wrinkled, and my eyes feel swollen from the lack of sleep.

Nick sits up straighter, his brow furrowing. “Dude, you good?”

“I’m fine,” I mutter, stepping further into the room. I can hear the faint chatter of the Twitch stream coming from Matt’s computer. A quick glance at the screen shows the chat scrolling rapidly, the viewers probably wondering what’s going on.

Matt looks from me to Nick and back again before turning to his setup. “Uh, guys, hang on a second,” he says into the mic. “We’ve got a little... interruption here.”

“Don’t stop,” I say quickly, my voice hoarse. “I don’t care if the camera sees me.”

Nick and Matt exchange a look, their worry written all over their faces.

“You sure?” Matt asks carefully.

I nod, collapsing into the chair next to him. My legs feel like jelly, and the moment I sit down, it’s like all the exhaustion hits me at once.

Matt adjusts the camera angle slightly, so I’m in the frame now. The chat immediately explodes with messages.

“Yo, it’s Chris!” “Where have you been???” “Are you okay???” ���Chris, we miss you!”

Matt clears his throat awkwardly. “So, uh, I know you’re all wondering what happened to Chris and why we haven’t been uploading with him...”

Nick’s elbow jabs into Matt’s side so fast it makes me flinch. “Shut up, dude,” Nick hisses, his voice low enough that the mic probably didn’t pick it up.

I glance at the screen, trying to focus on the chat, but the words start to blur together. My chest tightens, and I feel the familiar sting of tears welling up in my eyes.

I swallow hard, leaning closer to the mic. “Hey, guys,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

The chat goes wild again.

“Chris!!!” “Where have you been???” “Are you crying???”

I force a shaky smile, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from falling. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here lately,” I say. My voice cracks, and I quickly clear my throat. “I miss you guys more than ever, and I hope to see you all normally again very soon. I just haven’t been feeling my best.”

The words come out heavier than I expect. They’re for the fans, sure, but deep down, I know who I’m really talking to.

Her.

I glance at the screen again, trying to focus, but the tears keep blurring my vision. My hands grip the edge of the desk, my knuckles turning white.

“Guys, if you can hear me,” I say, forcing a small laugh to mask the emotion in my voice, “let me know.”

Matt glances at me, his concern obvious, but he doesn’t say anything.

Nick shifts uncomfortably on the bed, his eyes darting between me and the screen.

I lean back in the chair, running a hand through my hair. My heart is pounding in my chest, and my mind is racing. What if she’s watching? What if she sees this?

The thought is almost too much to handle.

Suddenly, my phone buzzes in my hoodie pocket.

I freeze.

For a second, I think I’m imagining it. But then it buzzes again.

I pull it out slowly, my hands trembling as I unlock the screen.

My breath catches in my throat.

It’s her.

Come over.

Nothing else.

My heart skips a beat, and for a moment, I can’t move. My eyes stay glued to the screen, rereading the message over and over again.

Nick and Matt are both staring at me now, their faces a mix of confusion and concern.

“I... I gotta go,” I say abruptly, standing up so fast the chair nearly tips over.

“Chris, wait—” Matt starts, but I’m already out the door.

I fly down the stairs two steps at a time, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst out of my chest. The phone is still clutched in my hand, the words "Come over" seared into my brain like a lifeline.

I don’t stop moving. My thoughts are a chaotic mess, but one thing is crystal clear—I need to see her. I need to see her now.

In the corner of the living room, there’s a small duffel bag stuffed with her things—things I couldn’t bring myself to give back. A hoodie she left the last time she slept over. A scrunchie she pulled from her wrist and tossed on my nightstand. A few bracelets, tangled together in a messy knot. I grab the bag and toss it over my shoulder,my hands shaking so much I almost couldn’t manage the zipper.

Her scent lingers faintly on the hoodie, and it hits me like a gut punch. My chest tightens as I pause for a second, staring down at the bag. What if this is the last time? What if she’s only calling me over to finally cut all ties?

I shake the thought away and slip on my sneakers, not even bothering to tie them properly. The laces drag across the floor as I grab my keys and practically sprint out the door.

The night air is cold and biting as I get into my car, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turn white. The drive to her house is a blur. The streets, the headlights, the soft hum of the engine—all of it fades into the background.

The only thing I can focus on is her.

Her voice, soft but firm, echoing in my head: "Come over."

I don’t know what to expect when I get there. Is she angry? Sad? Does she want closure, or does she want to talk? The possibilities swirl around in my head, each one more nerve-wracking than the last.

My hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles turned white, and I couldn’t stop glancing at my phone on the passenger seat, just to make sure I hadn’t imagined the text. The world outside blurred together—the glow of streetlights, the faint hum of other cars, the dark silhouettes of houses passing by. It was all background noise to the storm of emotions inside me.

As I turn onto her street, my palms grow clammy, and I swipe them against my hoodie. Her house comes into view, and my stomach twists into knots. The porch light is on, casting a soft glow over the front steps, but the windows are dark.

I sat there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel and staring at her front door. My breath came in shallow gasps, and I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears. My phone buzzed faintly in the passenger seat, but I didn’t look at it. The only thing I could focus on was the faint light spilling from her living room window.

What do I say? What if she slams the door in my face? What if she doesn’t even open it?

She’s inside. The thought sent a jolt through me, equal parts thrilling and terrifying. I glanced at the bag sitting in the passenger seat, its weight feeling impossibly heavy. Her things. Pieces of her that I’d clung to for far too long, desperate to hold onto anything that reminded me of her.

I grabbed the bag and stepped out of the car, the cool night air biting at my skin. My breath formed small clouds in the crisp winter air as I made my way to her front door, each step feeling heavier than the last. The strap of the bag dug into my shoulder, but I barely noticed it. My entire focus was on the door in front of me—the barrier between us that I was so desperate to cross.

I stopped in front of the door, my hand hovering over the doorbell. My fingers trembled as I hesitated, the fear of what might happen next threatening to overwhelm me. What if she slams the door in my face? What if she doesn’t even open it? What if this is the last time I’ll ever be this close to her?

Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to press the button. The faint chime of the doorbell echoed through the quiet night, and I stepped back, my heart racing as I waited. The seconds stretched on, each one feeling like an eternity.

The walk to her front door feels like it takes hours. Every step is heavier than the last, my heart pounding harder with each one. I can feel the chill of the night air seeping through my hoodie, but my palms are still sweaty, my fingers gripping the strap of the bag like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded.

When I reach the door, I pause, staring at it like it’s some kind of unbreakable barrier. My hand hovers over the doorbell, my breath shaky.

This is it.

I press the doorbell, the sound echoing faintly inside.

For a few agonizing seconds, nothing happens. The silence is deafening, and I feel my heart sink. Maybe she’s changed her mind. Maybe she’s upstairs, ignoring me, deciding I’m not worth the trouble.

But then, I hear it—the soft sound of footsteps approaching the door.

The knot in my stomach tightens as the lock clicks, and the door creaks open just a sliver.

And there she is.

She looks... different. Tired, maybe. Her eyes are slightly puffy, like she’s been crying, and her hair is pulled back in a messy bun. She’s wearing an oversized sweatshirt that swallows her frame, and her bare feet peek out from beneath the hem of her sweatpants.

Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, neither of us says anything.

God, I missed her.

“Hey,” I finally manage, my voice barely above a whisper.

She doesn’t say anything. Her gaze flickers to the bag slung over my shoulder, and her lips press into a thin line.

“I, uh...” I clear my throat, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. “I brought your stuff. I figured you might want it back.”

Her eyes soften just a little, but her expression is guarded.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, her voice so quiet I almost don’t hear it.

I set the bag down gently on the porch, my hands lingering on the strap for a second before I straighten up.

The knot in my stomach tightens as the lock clicks, and the door creaks open just a sliver.

And there she is.

She looks... different. Tired, maybe. Her eyes are slightly puffy, like she’s been crying, and her hair is pulled back in a messy bun. Loose strands frame her face, wild and untamed, as if she’s been running her fingers through them all night. She’s wearing an oversized sweatshirt that swallows her frame, the sleeves falling past her wrists, and her bare feet peek out from beneath the hem of her sweatpants, toes curling slightly against the hardwood floor.

Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, neither of us says anything.

God, I missed her.

My throat goes dry. It’s like my brain short-circuits at the sight of her, my body forgetting how to function for a beat too long.

“Hey,” I finally manage, my voice barely above a whisper.

She doesn’t say anything. Her gaze flickers to the bag slung over my shoulder, and her lips press into a thin line. There’s hesitation there, a wall built between us, but I see the cracks in it—the way her fingers tighten on the edge of the doorframe, the way her chest rises and falls just a little too fast.

“I, uh...” I clear my throat, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, suddenly unsure of myself. “I brought your stuff. I figured you might want it back.”

Her eyes soften just a little, but her expression is guarded, like she doesn’t know whether to let me in or push me away.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, her voice so quiet I almost don’t hear it.

I set the bag down gently on the porch, my hands lingering on the strap for a second longer than necessary before I straighten up. There’s so much I want to say, so much I need to explain, but the words knot in my throat, tangled with all the emotions I haven’t been able to process. I swallow roughly and turn to leave, but then—

A tap on my shoulder. Gentle, hesitant.

“Chris,” she says, barely above a whisper. “You can come in... if you want.”

Her voice wavers slightly, but the invitation is there. A lifeline I never expected.

I nod, stepping inside carefully, like the floor beneath me might give out at any second. The second I cross the threshold, nostalgia slams into me so hard it almost knocks the breath from my lungs. The familiar scent of her home—vanilla candles mixed with the faintest trace of her perfume—wraps around me like a ghost, pulling me under. My chest tightens as my eyes flicker around the space, absorbing every detail.

She leads me to her room, her fingers gripping the bag tightly as if it’s the only thing keeping her steady. When we step inside, I notice everything at once—the unmade bed, the pile of clothes on the chair, the half-empty water bottles on the nightstand. It looks... wrecked. Torn apart. A reflection of how she’s been feeling, how she’s been surviving without me.

My stomach twists at the realization.

I sit beside her on the bed, the mattress dipping under my weight. She places the bag in front of her, hands trembling slightly as she unzips it. She doesn’t say anything at first, just starts pulling out her things one by one, setting them on the bed between us. Her face is unreadable, emotionless, but I see the way her fingers hesitate over certain items, how her breath catches when she picks up something tied to a memory.

Then she freezes.

A small, plastic box sits in her palm. Plan B. Her fingers tremble as she lifts it, her other hand brushing over the familiar silver foil of a condom wrapper.

Her expression shifts. Confusion. Realization. A flicker of something deeper, something more painful.

I feel my throat close up.

Shit. I hadn’t meant to put those in there. I wasn’t thinking—I had just shoved everything into the bag, desperate to get out of my house, desperate to see her. But now, sitting here, watching the way she looks at me, I realize what I’ve done. What this means.

The weight of it crashes down on both of us at the same time.

Me returning these things wasn’t just about giving her stuff back. It was a silent message. A quiet, unspoken truth that neither of us wanted to face.

This was me saying we’d never be that close again. That I’d never hold her against me like she was my entire world. That I’d never press my lips to her skin, whispering promises into the crook of her neck. That I’d never watch her breath hitch, her stomach hollowing out as she lost herself in me.

The morning she was hungover and wanted me to make love to her—it was the moment I broke. The moment I left. And now, this moment? It was the silent echo of that pain.

She inhales sharply, her eyes darting to mine.

“Chris...” she starts, voice unsure, awkward. “I—I’m sorry for... you know... that night. I didn’t mean what I said.”

Her voice is small, fragile, and it shatters something inside me.

I shake my head, cutting her off before she can keep talking. Before she can say something that might break me even more.

“No,” I say, my voice thick, heavy with emotion. “Don’t. Don’t apologize for that. That’s not... that’s not what this is about.”

She blinks at me, confused, but I don’t stop. The words pour out of me, messy and desperate and raw.

“I’m so sorry,” I breathe, my chest tightening. “For everything. For the way I handled things. For walking away when all I wanted to do was stay. I love you so much, and I don’t know why I did that. I was just—I was upset. I thought you didn’t want me the way I wanted you. That you thought I was too much, too clingy, because I know I can’t stop. I don’t know how to stop when it comes to you.”

Her lips part, her breath shaky, but I don’t let her interrupt. I can’t. If I stop now, I’ll never say it.

“It took everything out of me to not make love to you that morning,” I whisper, voice cracking. “Everything. Because it wasn’t just about that—it was about us. About how much I love you, about how much I need you. And now, I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know where we stand, I just—I can’t do this, I can’t live with the thought of never being able to touch you again—”

My voice catches, and I choke back a sob, my hands gripping the edge of the bed so tightly my knuckles turn white. The emotions are too much, overwhelming, consuming.

But before I can finish—

She moves.

Her hands cup my face, fingers threading into my hair, and then—

Her lips crash into mine.

It’s not soft or hesitant. It’s desperate, full of every unsaid word, every sleepless night, every moment of longing that has torn through us like an open wound. She kisses me like she needs me to breathe, like I’m the only thing keeping her alive, and God, do I feel the same way.

Her lips are warm, soft yet demanding, moving against mine in a rhythm we lost but are now rediscovering. I groan into her mouth, my hands finding her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. There’s no air, no space, nothing between us except months of aching desire and the overwhelming need to feel her against me again.

Her tongue flicks against mine, and the taste of her—sweet and intoxicating, like vanilla and something uniquely hers—makes my head spin. My hands roam over the familiar curve of her hips, the dip of her waist, relearning her body like a map I had once memorized but was forced to forget.

I need her. Now.

Without breaking the kiss, I grip the back of her thighs and lift her effortlessly, pressing her against the wall. She gasps into my mouth, her fingers tugging at my hair as her legs wrap around my waist. My body presses against hers, every inch of me molding into her as if we were never meant to be apart.

I barely register the feeling of air brushing between us as I pull back just long enough to look at her. Her eyes—those big, beautiful doe eyes—stare into mine, wide and filled with so much emotion it nearly knocks the breath out of me.

I devour her.

My lips trail from her mouth to her jaw, down to the sensitive spot on her neck I know makes her shudder. I hear her breath hitch, feel her heartbeat hammering against my chest, and I smirk against her skin, pressing another lingering kiss right there, just to hear that soft whimper again.

I can't get enough of her.

With one swift motion, I pull us away from the wall and toss her onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath her weight. She looks up at me with wide, hazy eyes, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

God, she’s beautiful.

I strip my shirt off in one quick motion, and her gaze follows the movement, her lips parting slightly as she watches. Her fingers reach out, featherlight, and trail down my chest, hesitating over the bruises from the fights I’ve been in, before tracing straight down to my v-line. The soft touch sends a shiver down my spine, my stomach tensing under her fingertips.

I cage her beneath me, hands on either side of her head, our faces so close I can feel her breath on my lips.

“I missed you,” I murmur against her lips, punctuating my words with soft kisses along her jaw, down her neck, across her collarbone. My voice raw, filled with every ounce of longing I’ve held inside. “I love you so much. You have no idea.”

She shudders at my touch, her fingers threading deeper into my hair as she whispers, “Me too.”

Her hands slide up my arms, over my shoulders, threading into my hair as she pulls me down, our lips brushing once more. “I do,” she whispers against my mouth. “Because I missed you just as much.”

Her eyes flicker up to mine, full of longing, and I can’t hold back anymore. I cage her beneath me, my arms bracing on either side of her head as I hover just above her lips.

“I love you,” I whisper, brushing my nose against hers. “I love you so much.”

Her breath hitches, her fingers sliding up my arms, tracing the curves of my biceps. “I love you too.”

I trail kisses down her throat, moving lower, pressing my lips to the soft fabric of her sweatshirt. My hands slip under it, fingers grazing the bare skin of her waist, feeling the way she trembles beneath me. I slowly lift the material, kissing each new inch of exposed skin as I go—her sternum, her ribs, the delicate dip of her stomach. I can see her breathing unevenly, her stomach hollowing in and out as I press a lingering kiss right above her navel.

Her sweatpants are loose around her hips, and I hook my fingers into the waistband, pausing just long enough to look up at her. “Is this okay?”

She nods, but it’s the way she looks at me—her eyes locked onto mine, so vulnerable yet so trusting—that makes my heart nearly stop.

I tug them down slowly, letting my fingers brush against her thighs, and as I do, I catch sight of a small birthmark on her inner thigh. My lips curve into a soft smile, and I lean down, pressing the gentlest kiss right against it. Her breath catches, her fingers clenching into the sheets.

“You’re beautiful,” I whisper, my voice low, reverent. “So, so beautiful.”

Her lips part slightly, her chest rising and falling with deep, shaky breaths. I play with the delicate bow on the waistband of her panties, twirling it between my fingers, the gesture light and teasing. A memory flashes in my mind—her doing the same with the drawstrings of my hoodie the night everything fell apart. My throat tightens.

She watches me closely, her gaze never wavering, her eyes holding an intensity that makes my whole body burn.

I let my thoughts spill out, my voice raw, unfiltered. “I’m gonna give you exactly what you wanted that night.”

Her breath stutters, her fingers reaching up to thread through my hair as I tease my lips over the sensitive skin of her waist. I let my hands explore her gently, my fingertips tracing over the curves of her hips, lingering at the edge of her panties as I drag my mouth across her skin. She whimpers softly, her legs shifting beneath me, and I smirk against her stomach.

“Patience,” I murmur, pressing another soft kiss to her ribs. “I missed you, let me take my time.”

She lets out a soft, frustrated sigh, her fingers tugging slightly at my hair, but I don’t give in just yet. I kiss lower, my lips teasing along the waistband, my breath warm against her skin. Her breathing grows more erratic, her hands clenching at the sheets as she bites down on her lip.

Then I see it—a dark patch on the fabric of her panties. My smirk deepens as I drag my fingers over the damp spot, watching the way her thighs tense at the teasing touch. My lips ghost over her hipbone, pressing soft, lingering kisses before moving inward, tracing along the delicate lace trim.

I press a kiss right against the soaked fabric, feeling her entire body tremble beneath me. Her back arches slightly, a small whimper slipping past her lips. I hum against her, the vibrations making her shudder even more. My fingers toy with the waistband, pulling at it ever so slightly before letting it snap back teasingly.

“You’re so sensitive,” I murmur, my lips trailing back up to her ribs. “So needy.”

She lets out a strangled whine, her fingers gripping my hair tighter. I chuckle softly, running my nose along the crease of her thigh, pressing another open-mouthed kiss to the birthmark I adored. I flick my tongue out, just barely grazing the skin before pulling away again.

She gasps, her head tilting back, frustration written all over her face as her chest rises and falls with every heavy breath.

I lift my head, locking eyes with her, watching the way her pupils are blown wide with need. “Tell me what you want,” I whisper, teasing the bow on her waistband once more.

"I want you Chris, nothing but you."

I tuck my head into the crook of her neck, nuzzling her gently.

I feel her smile against my skin, and my heart swells.

Y/NS POV

His fingers were buried to the knuckle inside your cunt, brushing against a spot he knew better than you did yourself. You rode down against his palm, looping your arms around his neck, allowing yourself to whine against his throat as he pumped his fingers inside of you.

“Cum on my fingers, baby.” He murmured against your hair, hand tightening its hold on your hip as he moved his fingers within you. “Let me take care of you.”

Your brows furrowed together, hips stuttering in their movement against his palm. You could hear the soft rumble of laughter in his chest as he helped you regain your pace, muttering something incoherent as your whines turned into keens, your lips parted against his throat as you clutched onto the back of his shirt for purchase.

“Good girl.”

That was all it took for you to come undone, crying out his name against his neck as your cunt spasmed around his fingers. He pressed kisses to your forehead as you rode his fingers through your orgasm, his thumb never stopping its circling of your clit until you whined through breathless words for a moment to breathe.

You could audibly hear the sound of your arousal as he removed his fingers from your cunt, both digits coated in a thin veneer of your cum. He looked at you, smiling wickedly as he pressed the fingers to your lips. You quickly opened your mouth, tasting yourself as he pushed his fingers into your mouth, nearly touching the back of your throat in the process. You noticed his breath deepening, pupils blown as he watched you suck his fingers clean.

“Missed that mouth.” He hushed out, words breathless as he withdrew his fingers from your mouth. You leaned up then, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pressed your lips to his. His tongue sought yours, the kiss full of hunger and need, teeth clashing, and moans swallowed. You could feel his hard cock straining against his sweatpants, each shift of your hips on his lap causing him to all but whine into the kiss.

His hands moved to the waistband of your panties, trying his damnedest to tug them off you as you straddled him, only for him to pull away with a frustrated, “Help me take these off of you before I rip them off.”

You laughed, lifting yourself as your hands moved over his, removing your underwear, items of clothing falling to the floor with a soft thud. Your hand curled gently around his cock, lazily pumping it as you returned to kissing him.

He moaned into your mouth, brows furrowing together as your thumb swiped over his tip. It wasn’t long until his touch on your hips grew needy, thumbs pushing into your hip bones in a silent plea for you to get on with it already. You’d half a mind to make him wait, but you needed him just as badly as he needed you. With a short lift of your hips, you guided him to your entrance, sinking onto his thick cock seconds later.

The stretch had you whining against his lips, slick sounds pooling from between your thighs as you slowly rocked down against him, each movement of your hips bumping your clit against his lower stomach. You could feel his thighs tensing beneath you, muscles flexing in tandem with each canter upward of his hips, pushing him deeper within you.

His hands guided your hips, breaths coming out as short grunts whenever you’d squeeze around him. You could feel his cock dragging inside of you, brushing against that spot that had your thighs twitching under his hold. He trailed his lips from yours to your jaw, breath hitching against your skin in between open-mouthed kisses to your throat.

It was slow, passionate - everything you’d missed in the months he’d been absent. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers threading through the back of his hair as you rode him. He kissed down your throat and onto your chest, free hand moving up to cup your breast. You tightened your hold on him, head falling back as he bent his legs, planting his feet against the mattress as he fucked himself up into you.

The new angle and urgency had your cunt squeezing around him, legs giving out beneath you as he continued fucking you. He let out a breathless laugh, hands moving to your hips, essentially pushing you forward to rest against his chest as he rutted up into you, each thrust of his cock brushing against your g-spot in an almost blinding sense of pleasure.

Your hands blindly grasped at his shoulders for purchase, uttering pleas for him, words soon turning into incomprehensible sobs as the pleasure left you unable to do anything other than whine out his name against his chest. You could feel your cunt fluttering around him with each thrust of his hips, the movement causing you to rock forward, clit brushing against his lower stomach.

“You hear that?” He grunted out lowly, grasp on your hips tightening to an almost painful degree. “Hear how desperate you sound for me?”

With a strangled cry of his name, you came undone, cunt spasming around his cock as he pumped into you. You went limp against him, eyes squeezed shut as he fucked you through your orgasm, whispering words of praise against the shell of your ear as he chased his release inside of you.

“So fucking good.“ He grunted, words followed by a sharp thrust upward, tip pushing against your cervix as he flooded you full of his cum. You whined against his chest, feeling his cock twitch inside of you. As he caught his breath he lifted his hand, gently cupping your jaw to tilt your head back, eyes searching yours to ensure you were alright.

“‘M okay.” You whispered, voice barely audible. He nodded, sighing out a lungful of air as he leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead. You rested back against him then, shifting your hips slightly to make yourself comfortable - or as comfortable as you could be with him still nestled inside of your cunt.

“Just-“ He started, wrapping his arms around you to ensure you stayed put. “Just stay there, I’ll carry you to the shower later.”

A faint laugh left you as you allowed him to hold you close, knowing neither of you had the strength to move from the bed anytime soon. You’d have to call the front desk and get clean sheets once you did, but for now, you were content resting against him, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat echoing within his chest.

“I love you.” You whispered, moving your head to press a kiss over his heart, earning you an affectionate hum as he ran his fingers through your hair.

“I love you too, doll.”

A/N: Hey everyone! I just wanted to apologize for the delay with Part 2—I've been dealing with some heavy writer's block lately. On top of that, I'm working on multiple fics and writing requests, so it’s been a bit overwhelming. Thank you so much for your patience and for sticking with me! I’ve never written from Chris’s pov before, so any constructive criticism is more than welcome! I really appreciate you all taking the time to read my work! 💖

tags - @swagalicious260 @watercolorskyy @coquettechris @lovesturni0l0s @christmastreecake @ellbowmacaroni @blog-luvdance @sophand4n4 @meg4-matt44 @mommymomm @chriss-slutt @humpster35 @courta13 @idkwhatthisis2009 @yourfavoritefangirl @slutformatt17 @watercolorskyy @mylifeisevenstranger @suyqa @junnniiieee07 @thecrawlys

╰┈➤𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒍𝒚, 𝒉𝒊𝒗𝒊

[butterflywingswrites]

reposting all my anon fics in one place. enjoy 🤗

catwoman caitlin

“so really no luck at all tonight?” you inquired

“no. maybe i just don’t look sexy in this outfit” caitlin walked over to the mirror and ran her hands over her body, examining any “flaws” she saw. you walked over behind her and grabbed her hands

“you look incredibly sexy in this outfit. the sexiest catwoman i’ve ever seen. you’re probably out of practice flirting because you were taken for so long. rebounds are tough” she let out a deep sigh

“yeah maybe. or maybe i’m just not sexy in this outfit”

“shut up caitlin, you look so sexy”

“what about me is so sexy?” maybe it’s because you’re both a little tipsy or maybe it’s because you’ve been attracted to caitlin since the first time you saw her but you decided to be a little bold

“you have such a gorgeous face” she smiled shyly

“what else?”

“i think this outfit makes your tits look great” caitlin giggled and nodded, urging you to continue your compliments “your abs look amazing. they always look amazing in tight clothes”

“keep going” she looked in your eyes through the mirror, encouraging you

“and your ass. your ass and thighs always look amazing but this bodysuit really shows them off” caitlin turned from the mirror to face you. her eyes flitted between your eyes and your lips

“always look amazing? so you’ve been looking at my ass and my thighs”

“i-i-i” you stammered and stuttered, but no words came out. you couldn’t defend yourself against her claims, they were true

“if you wanted me, you could’ve just said so. you know i like girls, right?” caitlin’s tone dropped. even her voice was sexy

“i didn’t want to make anything weird. we’re friends” you admitted, you’ve never been so attracted to a friend before

“what’s good about friends” caitlin pushed your hair behind your ear “is that they do nice things for each other. can you do something nice for me?” you nodded, not trusting your voice

caitlin pulled you into a searing kiss. she laced her fingers through your hair and tugged. you put your hands on her ass and she groaned. she pulled away from the kiss to speak to you

“let me fuck you”

“yes caitlin please. whatever you want”

“i like the sound of that” she pushed you down onto her bed so you could continue to make out. she put her knee between your legs so you could get a little relief while you made out. eventually the kissing became too much for her and she needed to touch you. she grabbed your tits, her large hands feeling amazing on your body. her hands trailed down your body before replacing her knee with two fingers. you gasped as her fingers made contact with your pussy through your underwear

“i can feel how wet you are through your underwear” she kissed down your neck to the top of your cleavage “you look so fucking hot in this costume. i’m glad we decided to match”

caitlin moved her head down under your skirt to kiss you through your panties. you flipped up your batman skirt so you could look at her. you’ve thought about caitlin’s head between your thighs a million times but you never dreamed it would actually happen. now that it’s happening you’re going to make sure the image stays in your head. she pulled your underwear down your legs with her teeth and you moaned. you didn’t understand how she could ever think she wasn’t sexy, especially in that catwoman costume

caitlin moved your thighs over her shoulders. she put her hands on your hips to pin you down. you let out a loud groan the second her tongue made contact with your pussy. you watched as she ate you out, not daring to close your eyes for a second. watching caitlin eat your pussy in her catwoman costume was by far the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen and you doubted anything else could be sexier. she moved her face back just a bit to speak to you

“you taste so fucking good” her face was completely wet from your pussy. you were wrong. that might be the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. she moved back to finish you off. one of her hands moved from your hip to rub circles on your clit

you tried to hold your orgasm off but it was too much. between her eating you out, rubbing your clit, and wearing that damn catwoman costume, you were getting very close

“caitlin i’m close”

“cum for me. cum on my tongue” she moaned against your pussy. the vibrations from her moan sent you over the edge as you came on caitlin’s tongue. she cleaned you up with her tongue, making sure you tell you how good you tasted several times, her compliments making you wet all over again

“now do you believe that your costume is sexy?”

[dollsahoy]

In the notes on the encouragement post are people talking about making doll clothes, which, if you know me, you know I have some experience with

and the biggest thing I want to emphasize about making doll clothes is: no matter what size the doll, their clothes really don't use up much fabric.

And the second biggest thing is that dolls don't care if the clothing is comfortable.

If you want to make something for a doll, and you want to get it just right, but can't find the exact pattern, it really won't take much fabric to test your own variations, whether they're combining multiple patterns or making your own freehand changes on a tracing of the pattern or sizing a pattern for a completely different doll up or down for your needs.

Now, it will take time to get things worked out just right, and you may end up with a small pile of oddly-fitting doll clothes in weird fabrics as you go through the mock ups to test the changes

but there probably won't be anything even close to a visible dent in your fabric supply once it's done.

And, again, that's if you want to do it just right. If you make the changes to the pattern as you're cutting it out and something ends up fitting a bit weird but overall looks fine, the doll won't notice.

But! If you've been following my recent hobby rambles, you know that I advocate for getting control of the craft materials hoard on the acquisition end of things

so this is also a gentle reminder that you don't need to buy much fabric for doll use

I have quarter yard cuts that I've been working through for over a decade--yes, I tend to sew for sixth scale fashion dolls, so I don't need as much fabric at once for any project as a larger doll would, but I have had 60cm BJDs in the past, and do have other larger dolls now. They still don't, overall, use a lot of fabric.

It's OK to buy less. Even if it's a great bargain. Even if it's your dream fabric.

There will always be more fantastic deals and new dreams

and dolls will always be small

[namistrella]

Hi @talk-t0-plants, someone posted a form letter that looks good to me! Plus links to where to find your representatives names and contact info.

Link for credit, but I'll copy the text below too. Also, "call your reps" just means "contact them", so if you're like me and you hate making phone calls, email works just fine! As does snail mail or even fax if you wanted.

Quoted text:

"Non-feds, I wrote you a sample letter for Congress. Feds, please comment!

Hi all, as I was going to write my reps I saw that this sub has no form letter. So I turned mine into one.

Non feds, feel free to copy/paste/adapt for your needs. Here is where to find your rep https://www.house.gov/representatives/find-your-representative and here's where to find your senator https://www.senate.gov/senators/senators-contact.htm. Also recommend calling (and not being a dick to the intern who answers).

Feds, please add your corrections or recommended edits and I can update. The length is just about a page. I'd also like to contact 5calls.org and ask if they can add a line item for y'all. Any suggestions on what to call it would be great.

In closing, thank you for holding the line against this coup of total weenies. We appreciate you!

\--------------------------

SAMPLE LETTER

The Honorable *<Full Name>*

*<U.S. House of Representatives or U.S. Senate>*

*<Full Street Address>*

*<City, State and ZIP Code>*

Dear *<Representative or Senator> <Lastname>*,

My name is *<Full Name>*, and I’m writing to you today as a constituent from *<District, Town, State>*. I would like to express my significant alarm at the current administration's attempts to dismantle our federal agencies.

Since this administration took office, all federal departments have been subjected to a barrage of scare tactics, including but not limited to: internal “sweeps” for DEIA materials; threats to encourage reporting on colleagues; directives to return to office in regions that have no offices; bans on discussing publicly available, unclassified information; and attempts to circumvent managers when communicating with their direct reports. 

Now, the Office of Personnel Management has sent a resignation offer to all civil servants, implying that they will be given paid leave through September 30th if they resign by February 6th. OPM lacks the authority to make this offer, as there is no budget allocated for it, and such allocations must be made by Congress. This email usurps the authority of Congress, and attempts to trick federal employees into accepting an offer on which OPM can’t legally deliver. 

We, your constituents, rely on federal agencies every day for key elements of our safety, from workplace regulations to air travel to clean water. *<Highlight impacts to you/your state. Example: Further, they are integral to our health, as Covered California and MediCal cannot operate without federal funding/subsidies. Our coastal defenses can fail without proper staff levels of civilian DOD employees. Our forest services are already understaffed, adding to our extreme fire danger. Most importantly, we will not recover from the Palisades and Eaton fires without help from the EPA and FEMA. Our district is sometimes downwind from both of these fires, and we do not want to be breathing asbestos for the next several years.>*

As a *<representative/senator>* of the people of *<State>*, you cannot allow this to stand. Dismantling the civil service would lead to the breakdown of society as we know it. I encourage you to take back the “Power of the Purse” granted to you by the Constitution, and push back against this illegal and deceitful attempt to decimate the federal government. A public statement on the *<House/Senate>* floor, like the one made by [Senator Kaine](https://www.c-span.org/clip/us-senate/senator-tim-kaine-d-va-from-senate-floor-opposing-president-trumps-federal-government-employee-buyout-plan/5151385), would be a great start. 

These nefarious efforts are attracting global press coverage. Only you can ensure the will of the people receives the same. Please protect our federal workforce, and thank you for your service. 

Sincerely,

*<Full Name>*

*<Full Address>*

I'm gonna say it until I'm blue in the face

Right now, it doesn't matter that our federal programs and institutions need reform. YOU CAN'T REFORM SOMETHING ONCE IT'S GONE. It will take WAY more work (and harm way more people in the meantime) to rebuild from scratch than to work to save these programs now.

Did the grant freeze scare anyone?? It should have!! Yes, it's been temporarily blocked, BUT EVEN IF IT STAYS BLOCKED, IF THERE'S NO ONE TO ADMINISTER THE GRANTS, WE STILL DON'T GET FUNCTIONING PROGRAMS

Snyder's On Tyranny, #2: DEFEND INSTITUTIONS. All Americans should be throwing their backs behind civil service right now and calling their reps until the reps actually DO something to keep our workers in their jobs. We NEED good people in the agencies and offices that are being targeted!! Or we are going to lose programs, resources, and data we worked for generations to build!

Don't think for one second it's going to be fucking ICE that shuts down because of this... ICE won't be touched. It'll be research, welfare, disaster assistance, land protections, environmental protections, even access to core data that we take for granted, is what we're going to lose. With the grant freeze, and the DEI purge, we've already seen just how FAST resources can be ripped away

FEDERAL WORKERS ARE NOT YOUR ENEMY. We need to stand together on this, as they are building a resistance to defend the constitution against ALL ENEMIES, FOREIGN AND DOMESTIC, because if anyone's the enemy here it's the fucking fascists. And, like it or not, bureaucracy (filled with stubborn, dedicated people) is our first line of defense.

[firstprince-history-huh]

Favourite Lone Star Fandom Memories

Oh boy where to begin! I have so many good memories of this show! Watching it, being in the fandom, reading fics & so much more!

Thanks to @thisbuildinghasfeelings for starting this & for tagging me! ❤️💕

And thank you for also tagging me @everlastingday @welcometololaland @rmd-writes @tellmegoodbye @heartstringsduet ❤️💕

1. How Tarlos & Lone Star was the first time I think I truly started to be so involved in fandom

So there are a lot of books & TV shows/movies that I had read/watched before Lone Star. And a few months before I knew about Lone Star, I read Red, White & Royal Blue. RWRB is what brought me back to Tumblr after like 5 years & also what got me reading fics again after almost 10 years. I started engaging in fandom because of that. And it is through some of the mutuals from RWRB fandom that I got introduced to Tarlos (more on that below). Now back to my point- although I had started engaging in fandom through RWRB, it was after starting Lone Star that I truly deeply started engaging in fandom as a whole. Interacting with other fellow fans, reading & commenting on fics, being a part of post-episode analysis & discussion about what happened, encouraging (more like pestering lol 😂) my bestie (I was also the one who introduced her & some of my other friends to RWRB around the same time) to watch it is something that I hadn't done to a great extent in any of the previous fandoms.

2. TARLOS

So after Push aired, I started seeing gifs of the "breath baby breath" scene & that is how I got introduced to this fandom. I was like who are these guys? What is going on? And then I saw a few YouTube clips of that scene & I was like ok I'm watching this show. And truly the story of Tarlos is so beautiful! I love that there is no cheating/love triangle drama. Because I've seen that in some of my older fandoms & I just love how they didn't show that with these two you know?

3. The cast

The cast is so incredibly talented! I love the way they portray the characters! Prior to watching Lone Star, the only cast member I had seen in the stuff I had watched was Rob Lowe in Holiday in the Wild & in Parks & Rec. But now there's this whole group of people that I would love to watch anything else that they star in!

4. Live watching

Season 5 was the first season that I truly watched live. Before that, season 3 & 4 I would watch on Disney+ an hour after it aired as that is when the new episodes would become available on Disney+ in the country where I was at that time. So truly live watching has been so much fun! Getting to see what happens & reacting to it in real time, reading other people's reactions has been amazing!

5. Fics

The fics! Need I say more? The fics I've read in his fandom have been so amazing, incredible & brilliant! And the number of times I've re-read some of the fics!

6. My favorite episodes & specific moments from them

Watching & rewatching some of the episodes because I just love the things that happened in them! The soulmate scene has to be one of my top favs because the way it altered my brain chemistry! The Tarlos wedding vows, the proposal, bad call, saving grace, the police station scene from 1x03, the hospital scene from 1x08, PUSH, riddle of the sphynx, Lou 1 & Lou 2, Marjan & Joe's wedding and so many more!

I absolutely loved doing this so much!

I know I'm a bit late to doing this, but OPEN TAG to anyone who wants to do this & also tagging:

@actual-sleeping-beauty @ladytessa74 @ladyknight1512 @carlos-in-glasses @carlos-tk

@ironheartwriter @annoyingcloudearthquake @henrygrass @goodways @detective-giggles

@beautifulhigh @dear-viv @sapphic--kiwi @emsprovisions @sarnagati @paperstorm

@chicgeekgirl89 @nancys-braids @herefortarlos @liminalmemories21 @meditating-honey-badger

@lemonlyman-dotcom @queen-saltyfries

[911coded]

Chapter 6: Don’t Dream It’s Over

The silence stretched uncomfortably and Tommy couldn’t think with enough clarity to even know what to say, what to do. What was even happening here? He could feel himself spiraling into panic again as his eyes watered.

John crouched and leaned over, “Hey, Tommy?” he whispered.

Tommy blinked, sighed, and turned his head to look at John from where he was now fully extended in the recliner from hell, “Yeah, John?”

“We can fly spaceships. With our minds,” he whispered with an encouraging grin.

Wide-eyed, Tommy turned his head back to the rocky ceiling, blinked, and suddenly it’s as if his body and mind clicked back together. “Cool,” he breathed.

“Would you like to see the ships that you will be able to pilot, Thomas?” The voice was gentle, hesitant, and seemed to be coming from the chair but also through Tommy’s mind, the same voice that he had struggled to understand while flying earlier.

Tommy glanced at John out of the corner of his eye for directions, but he seemed to be just as flummoxed as Tommy was at the conversation, so he decided to play along again, “Um, sure?” 

“Our sister ship, Atlantis, lost her fighters to the great war, but she has several small gateships that Primus Filius seems to enjoy.” An image of the base of a great steel city floating on an endless ocean was projected in the air above his reclined body and he and John watched as a tube shaped ship with wings darted into frame and seemed to skim along the water before rising to fly to the city glittering on the dark sea.

*******************

The check-in process was fairly painless with Lorne at his side, though the guards gave him quite the look when they asked if he had any weapons. 

”Swords, Buck?” Lorne chuckled, “I feel like every time I see you, you have a new surprise for me.”

“Eh, I got the impression that I would have to come up with things to do in my down time and I’m hoping to find someone to practice with, it’s been a while,” Buck said with a shrug. *

Once they made it past the security checkpoint, they went through a massive blast door and entered the mountain proper. Around a corner and through one more blast door, they passed the last checkpoint at the elevators, then Buck and Lorne began their descent deep underground to one of the most secure places in the world.

“Did you know that this facility was built in 1967 in response to the Cold War, in order to have a secure place to track long range Soviet bombers? It was designed to withstand a 30-megaton nuclear blast from as close as 1.24 miles away. Those blast doors take 45 seconds to open or close and though they are tested every day, they have only really been closed once, on 9/11.”

“No, somehow, I missed that in the transfer onboarding information,” Lorne snorted.

“Mmhmm, and it originally housed the NORAD Combat Operations Center. When NORAD moved to Peterson Air Force Base in 2008, Cheyenne Mountain was considered to be on “warm standby” and is supposed to be manned by a skeleton crew of military scientists that study “deep space radar telemetry,” Buck continued.

“I think I can actually hear the finger quotes you are using there, Buck, what are you getting at?” Lorne asked.

Buck snuck a look at Lorne out of the corner of his eye, “Wikipedia says there is a broom closet labeled “Starportal Command” from the tv show “Wormhole X-Treme!”. I may have made a bet with my friend Karen when we were wine drunk that it was the only true part of the article. You gotta help me out, here, I need to be right, Lorne, she’s too smart, it’s impossible to argue effectively with that woman. Honestly!” Buck exclaimed.

Lorne stared at Buck blankly for a full ten seconds before he lost it, leaned a hand against the elevator wall and laughed until he cried.

The elevator doors open to a tall blond woman with a smile on her face. The smile turned to a frown as she caught sight of Lorne trying and failing to get himself back together. Buck flashed her an innocent smile and leaned out of the elevator car, holding the door open, his hand out for a handshake. 

“Hey, I’m Evan Buckley, most people call me Buck,” Buck declared. The woman slowly reached out a hand, but paused while she stared at Lorne with her eyebrows practically in her hairline. 

“Is he going to be ok?” she asked, starting to look concerned, “Lorne?” 

Buck bobbed his head in a nod, “Oh, he’s fine, no idea what that’s about. Maybe he has a condition?”

Lorne manages to stand up long enough to punch Buck in the shoulder, “A condition?! You asshole! I’ve missed you, emails really aren’t enough to get the full effect.” Lorne groans, shoving him out of the elevator and directly into the intended handshake. “This is General Samantha Carter, head of Homeworld Security. She oversees this facility and our remote base from D.C., while making sure we continue to get the funds and people we need to run the program. She’s going to take you to sign the biggest NDA you will ever see, then to a conference room where you can meet everyone else.”

The General shook her head with a roll of her eyes like their nonsense was just the latest of her day. “Come with me, Buck, and we’ll get you sorted. You can call me Sam when I’m not giving you orders,” she said with a wink. Buck followed with a pout and Lorne stepped back into the elevator with Buck’s bags and a wave of his fingers.

Lorne wasn’t kidding about the NDA, Buck was rubbing his aching wrists as they traveled again lower and lower in the elevator. With a ding on sublevel 27, he followed Sam down a hallway that looked no different than the one several levels above them. 

“How do you keep from getting lost in here? I feel like I’ve been down the same hallway three times now,” Buck questioned.

“You get used to it, but the first few weeks are definitely a struggle,” Sam replied. “Ah, here we are!” With a perfunctory knock, she opened the door to what looked like a conference room. He could see Dave and Lorne whispering, heads together on one side of the impressive table, but had to guess at who the other man across from them could be. 

“Buck, you know Parrish and Lorne, of course, the other gentleman sitting there is General Cameron Mitchell,” Sam explains. “I don’t know where the others wandered off to, I guess I’ll do the explaining this time,” Sam gestured for Buck to take a seat and sat down at the head of the table. “The main reason you were asked to come here today is because of an incident during your time in Peru with Parrish and Lorne. Lorne was carrying a piece of technology that has a mental component and he believed that the technology was trying to make a connection to you. Lorne?” Sam gestured at Lorne. He stood up and reached into a pocket.

“Oh hey, that’s what it was! Is that one yours?” Buck interrupted with a giant grin, pointing to the LSD (Life Signs Detector) that Lorne had just removed from his pocket and made to hand to him.

“What?”

“What?!”

“The fuck?”

Buck startled and looked around the room, eyes wide, as multiple people shouted at once. He rolled his shoulders forward, ducked his head, and shrugged. “It sounds the same. Are there more?” Buck quickly forgot that he was uncomfortable and the questions continued almost faster than they could keep up, practically vibrating in his seat.  “Do they all feel the same? What is it? Is it an alien intelligence of some kind? How can I hear it? How does it work? This been bugging me for like 10 years now,” Buck wheezed out the last of his oxygen and before he could take in another breath to ask another question, Sam interrupted.

“How did you recognise what Lorne was going to hand to you?” 

Buck’s face blushed scarlet and he shifted about in his chair, “Uh, well, as you know, I met Dave and Lorne in Peru about ten years ago and every time Lorne got within three feet of me, I could sort of hear someone that wanted to be picked up, but there was nothing there. I didn’t want to look like a crazy person, so I tried to look around without making it obvious. Then I realized if I stayed in the same place, but Lorne moved, I stopped hearing it. Then, when I didn’t respond, it kept trying to give me instructions on pickpocketing. For all I knew, it was some weird rock you picked up on your trip or was some new technology that was heavily classified and I didn’t have any idea how to ‘talk’ back to it without doing it out loud, so I figured it would be one of those mysteries you never solve, the ones you ponder at 3AM when you can’t sleep, you know?”

“What do you mean by sounds the same?” she prodded, leaning forward across the table, the scientist in her now coming out to play. Buck leaned back in his chair and visually paused, trying to figure out how to answer.

“It has the same ‘voice’ for lack of a better word. Um, I, uh, don’t ‘hear’ it as words. More like…” he faltered a bit and Lorne cut in, “Emotions? Kind of projected at you?” Buck’s head tilted like a dog or bird mentally looking at something from another direction. He opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again. “Emotion is probably the closest way to describe it, but also pictures?” 

“Wait. Wait, wait, it was sending you instructions visually on how to pickpocket?!” Carter exclaimed. “Neither you nor Sheppard ever mentioned visual feedback!” Carter accused, pointing at Lorne on the other side of the conference room. Lorne stood back up from leaning against the wall with his hands held up in surrender. “Other than the visuals on the screen, I never got anything from it other than a vague yes, no, excitement, or disappointment. Sheppard’s gene has always been stronger than mine but you know how cagy he gets when emotions come into play,” he said, with a smirk.

All eyes in the room are now on Buck and he struggled to explain the unexplainable. “You know when you are speaking to someone and you can hear what they are saying, but you are also picking up facial expressions, body language, and tone of voice to get the whole picture? Now imagine it is someone you know really well and you are talking to them on the phone. Even though you can’t see them with your eyes, your brain picks up what they would be doing anyway from the words and tone because your brain is filling in the gaps intuitively. That’s what I’m getting from the device. My brain is getting information that I can’t SEE, but is filling in the gaps so that I have the whole picture as if I were seeing it,” Buck said, looking around the room to see slack jaws and blank expressions.

Mitchell broke the silence. “Holy shit. Great job, kid, I almost understood that,” he said, chuckling quietly. 

Sam looked like she was trying to stare a hole through Lorne’s head. He shrugged. “That’s more than I get. They respond to my thoughts, but I don’t get much feedback at all,” he explained.

******************************

Tommy took a deep calming breath, “You said your sister ship, are you sisters with Atlantis? And what does Primus Filius mean?” Tommy asked, prodding the genderless voice along.

“At one time, we were many sisters, but though I can no longer fly, Atlantis and I are the only city ships left. Though we may not be sisters the way the first ones and you humans consider sisters, we have always thought of ourselves as such. Primus Filius is from the first ones’ language, it means first son. He woke us up and gave us life again, such as it is.” 

“Who did?”

“Why John, of course. John will not live for all time, unfortunately. And he does not enjoy talking to anyone who is not his Condictor(fixer). We need more sons and daughters, Thomas, but John has not given us any and your Stargate people are too secretive. They impede the process. I am afraid that we have been influenced by our hospites(guests). We grew impatient at the delay, and decided we would have to look for new sons and daughters ourselves.” There was an electronic humming sound before they continued to explain, “The endeavor has been difficult. Most that could hear us are too far away and those that are close often refuse to listen. Thank you for answering, Thomas. Will you and your amantis(lover) finally come home?” 

An image of Evan as he remembers him, smiling brightly in delight hovered over Tommy’s head and he finally accepted that Evan may be right about the universe speaking. In that moment, staring at Evan’s beautiful face projected above him, he realized that he was done running. He sat up and mentally asked the chair to let go. He felt a caress of pride from the voice and shakily stood up, John’s hand coming to his elbow to steady him. With his eyes closed, he took a deep breath, and on a count of five, he opened his eyes and turned to John.

“Tell me everything.” **

************************

“So, what does it do when it’s not trying to arrange its own kidnapping?” Buck asked. Lorne strolled over and placed the device on the table in front of him. He looked it over. The screen was blank and it was about the size of the old school Game Boy color he had as a kid. As soon as he picked it up, though, the screen flashed madly and changed functions faster than he could blink. “Whoa! Hey, slow down!” Buck whisper-shouted at the little device. He was getting an impression of giddy, but the device did what he asked and then started to show him each screen and “explain” what it did. While he was absorbing information as fast as he could, the rest of the room was completely silent, and after a couple of minutes the feel of multiple eyes on him started to sneak through the hyperfocus. Buck blinked a couple of times and looked up while his little friend pouted but stopped sending a signal until he could concentrate again. 

Parrish waved a bit in Buck’s direction, “You back with us?” he asked.

“Yeah, sorry. It’s very excited to see me again,” Buck replied sheepishly.

Buck took a long look around the conference table at each of the faces watching him, “So, ok. Hit me with it. It’s aliens, right? Makes more sense than sentient rocks, anyway.” Dave let out a snort of laughter and held a hand out to Cam, who rolled his eyes and passed over some cash.

“Carter?”

“Right! Yes, well, the little device you are holding, Buck, is a bit of what is essentially advanced, alien technology. What allows you to connect and “talk” with it, is a gene that was passed down through the generations by one of your ancestors. The aliens, that we used to refer to as ‘The Ancients’ and now know to be Alteran, left behind bits and bobs of their creations all over the galaxy. We believe they engineered the gene to put a sort of “lock” on their tech so it couldn’t be used against them. They added the gene lock into just about everything. Any personal or professional device, even their ships and cities were built around using the gene to interact with technology. There are only two ways to tell if a person has the genetic history to operate this technology. We can run a blood test, or we can…,” her voice trails off while gesturing at Buck.

“Hand some unsuspecting person a random piece of technology that wants to talk to them?” Buck asked.

“Yeah, basically. I’m afraid that’s what Jack did to your friend Tommy,” she replied, sheepishly.

Buck winced, “Ah, yeah. I’m sure that went over like a lead balloon.” 

Sam cleared her throat, “Mr. Buckley, we brought you here today because we would like to tell you about the Stargate Program and convince you to join us.”

Notes:

*If my ex-boyfriend and I could find a Japanese trained kenjutsu master in St. Louis to learn from, so can Buck. This was more than 20 years ago, so I only remember enough to look up what I am picturing in my head. My participation wasn’t serious on my part, it was just for fun. The ex-boyfriend and his friends got good enough to compete after we broke up so my handful of lessons with a bokken is all I have to show for it. (Honestly, my favorite part was the flick to the side to shake off blood before sheathing your sword. Dramatic movie stuff, very fun!) The swords may come back in another chapter or may pop up in a one-shot, but the swords are NECESSARY.

**I used google translate and Latin to stand in for the names the outpost uses to refer to their chosen people. According to Stargate lore, latin, as we know it, comes from the Alteran language.

The gifs that I had in my brain that are projected in the air above Tommy:

Tags for those who asked: @eliotwaughdeservesbetter @anangrylittlehobbit @grimmsdead

[davidstirlings]

Paddy & Eoin please?

Again, I'm guessing this is for the "give me a character breakdown", and, of course, I love both Paddy and Eoin

How I feel about this character

I love them both. Like, I actively adore Eoin (as much as David, I'd say), and Paddy has my heart too. Paddy is, as he says about himself, a wild dog, except he's also a deeply complex man, who has a soft side, and a dark side, and we see that Eoin keeps him on that even keel, even when he's maybe encouraging Paddy's more reckless side (I saw you grinning at your man while jumping out of that truck, Eoin McGonigal). They're a perfectly matched pair. They deserved more time together. They deserved each other. Paddy has his flaws, but he's also kind, considerate, a man with a well of emotions that he doesn't always let show, but he has these moments of tenderness, of caring (especially that scene in S2 E5 with Reg and Paddy). And now Eoin is just haunting the narrative, and haunting Paddy, and the only thing more beautiful would be if Eoin was still alive and they could be together.

All the people I ship romantically with this character

I mean, as I said about David, in the SAS:RH fandom, we pretty much ship everyone with everyone else. I am personally a fan of Paddy/Eoin/David, but also Bill/Eoin is cool to see. I know a lot of people ship Paddy/Augustin, and I can see it. Also, after s2, Paddy/Bill, because oh boy, is Bill pissed with Paddy. Paddy/Reg is always a good one too. Eoin/Johnny is always an interesting one too.

My non-romantic OTP for this character

For Paddy, probably Paddy & David. Also, Paddy & Reg, because there's some kinda bond there, and I love it. For Eoin, Eoin & Bill. Would've loved to have seen them interact more.

My unpopular opinion about this character

Gotta say that in some ways I agree with what some people have said about how Paddy is portrayed, and in other ways, I disagree. Paddy was a complicated man, IRL. We know that from all of the anecdotes about it. Do I think it's overdone at times? Yes. Do I think they could've shown more of his softer, calmer side? Yes. Do I think they needed to show this darker side of him? Still yes. I think Jack is a phenomenal actor, and I can't actually imagine anyone else playing Paddy with that depth to him, with that level of complexity. Also, fuck it, I think his accent is fine, and that's probably a very unpopular opinion. Also, pretty sure I don't have an unpopular opinion about Eoin except for the fact that that man was dirty. Like, wiping his mouth on that gross undershirt. Eoin. Really. Do better. (Jk Eoin, I love you really, but also, your undershirt looked very gross).

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

Eoin not dying would've been great. Yeah, that would fix everything, honestly. Paddy and Eoin kissing. Also, them riding horseback starkers would've been funny to see. And Paddy parking a Jeep in a house and no one being able to figure out how the fuck he did it. And Eoin pointing a gun at Paddy's head and threatening to shoot him, as he did IRL, because can you imagine the tension. Oh, and nice little flashbacks of Eoin and Paddy meeting. Pretty sure all of that would fix me.

[keepingupwithzaynmalik]

"It's been a while, but we're back! Fuck me, you guys are loud tonight! Alright, let's have a fucking great time,let's party hard. You know the words to the song, sing along, I don't think you need any encouragement, you guys are loud as fuck!

Feels good to be back here. I'm not sure if you know, but the first place that I moved to when I moved out here to the States was actually L.A."

— Zayn at last night's show in Los Angeles - 28/01 (credit)

[intimaecys]

she'd  specifically  chosen  something  comfortable  ,   a  length  and  girth  that  would  challenge  her  partner  but  not  hurt  her.   once  again  she  had  been  given  a  certain  level  of  responsibility  ,   one  that  required  great  care  ,   and  one  she  took  very  seriously.   it  began  when  she  slowly  pushed  herself  all  the  way  inside  ,   just  to  gauge  how  wet  her  lover  was  ,   how  much  her  body  would  resist:   it  turns  out  the  answer  was  quite  ,   and  not  much.   each  early  stroke  was  exploratory  ,   slow  and  gentle  as  they  both  found  their  rhythm  ,   her  hand  helping  keep  tumbling  strands  of  hair  out  of  roshanna's  eyes.   it  might  have  been  easier  had  the  woman  just  laid  still  and  let  herself  take  it  ,   but  when  she  sees  hips  start  to  bounce  back  against  her  strap  ,   joan  gave  a  little  grin  down  and  ,   with  her  off  hand  ,   loudly  spanked  roshanna's  ass.   she  did  it  again  once  she  started  thrusting  harder  ,   reveling  in  the  fact  that  they  could  be  as  loud  as  they  wanted  now.   "   good  girl  ,   you  can  push  yourself  on  me.   "   maintaining  her  position  behind  ,   the  hand  that  had  slapped  her  lovers'  skin  rolled  down  to  their  lower  back  ,   encouraging  them  to  arch  even  more  as  she  picked  up  some  pace.   she  had  to  know  what  angle  to  stay  at  ,   which  precise  movement  of  her  strap  inside  of  roshanna's  pussy  would  get  her  closest  to  the  spot  her  lover  desperately  needed  her  to  hit.   one  fateful  stroke  ,   and  when  she  found  it  ,   she  roughly  pulled  back  at  the  woman's  hair  before  truly  starting  to  pound  into  her  ,   down  into  the  pillow  ,   almost  through  the  mattress.   "   come  on  ,   you  can  be  louder  than  that  ,   "   she  barked  ,   her  own  words  interrupted  by  a  series  of  low  ,   primal  grunts  as  she  truly  started  to  fuck  her  the  way  she'd  promised  she  would  all  the  way  back  at  the  clinic.   properly  ,   deeply.   occasionally  her  off  hand  would  adjust  the  woman's  legs  to  spread  them  further,  their  hips  to  keep  them  angled  up  just  so  she  could  take  it  as  deeply  as  possible  ,   and  in  the  meanwhile  she  would  pull  roshanna's  hair  back  ,   forcing  her  mouth  away  from  the  mattress  just  where  she  could  hear  how  satisfied  she  was.   "   tell  me  you  fucking  love  it  ,   "   she  commanded  ,   angling  her  hips  to  press  her  lover  even  further  down  ,   right  against  her  spot  ,   again  and  again.   "   tell  me  how  bad  you  fucking  need  me  to  make  you  cum.   "

breathy kiss; joan bites lightly on rosh's neck; rosh nibbles on joan's lower lip as soon as their mouths touch again. four hands roam, bodies pressed together, chests rising against one another. the whole scene is equally as animalistic in desire as it is seemingly intimate. after all, the act of sex itself often is. hair brushed to the sides, a soft forehead kiss has rosh's eyes flickering up again to meet joan's like a promise before she begins complying with the silent directions. positioned comfortably on the bed, rosh turns her head to the right, left cheek pressed against the mattress, and arches her back in a way that provides joan the most access. from this angle, she can somewhat watch, adding sight to touch, and so the feeling of the strap slowly entering her gains new dimension. her jaw drops slightly with a soft gasp, and almost as if it's naturally become instinct, roshana stops herself from being any louder, unconsciously unaware that the particular limitation has ceased to exist.

past the first thrust, roshana can't help but rock her own body back and forth. it had been clear from the start that joan wouldn't mind if she stayed still and just took it; it just isn't in her nature. she craves the friction, the motion, every inch of contact she can get between them. she muffles her own moans, only allowing shallow huffs of air out, until the pull on her hair forces a loud whimper through her lips.

[imtrashraccoon]

More Dragon Donovan! He's actually really fun to write and I just know that I'm going to have to work on the Dragon AU of The Dark Fortress after this month is up.

@owl-bones

First, Previous, & Next Day

Bad Sansuary II: Nightmare - Injury

Word Count: 984

The obsidian dragon let out a terrible roar, shaking the very cavern all around you and sending a chill down your spine. His mouth was lined with deadly teeth and each of his toes tipped with razor sharp claws. His very scales seemed to ooze with corruption as if it were a deadly acid. In fact, you had a feeling he was capable of spitting acid or exhaling poison gas in this form as well. He had essentially transformed himself into the perfect weapon of destruction in a last ditch effort to protect you.

You couldn't help but wonder if Donovan was still inside there somewhere. Despite knowing your soulmate would never purposely hurt you, there was a lingering fear that he may not be fully aware of himself or his surroundings. He just looked so deadly and this form was so much larger than you were.

Balor visibly blanched when he finally recovered from being blinded and saw the dragon. He recovered a split second later and immediately began to try floating away.

"What are you scrubs standing around for?! Attack it!" the beholder snarled at the cultists.

It took a moment for the remaining cultists to act, but they soon began hurling spells at the dragon. A series of fireballs, ice spikes, and even lightning bolts connected with his obsidian hide. At the same time, Balor began shooting several different coloured eye rays, eliciting a snarl of pain from the beast as they struck him.

With a furious roar, the dragon that was Donovan turned, whipping his tails into the cultists and scattering them like fallen leaves. Most didn't get back up, but the handful that did were flung across the cavern again before they could cast another spell.

Then Donovan turned his attention to the beholder. There wasn't enough room for him to take off and chase after Balor, but he didn't need to. He blasted the beholder with a large ball of green flames, that collided with the main body of the monster and stopped it from fleeing further.

With a swipe of a wing, Donovan sent Balor down, immediately pouncing on him and attacking with his claws and teeth. You couldn't see much of what was happening, but you could hear the rending of flesh, pained cries, and furious snarls.

"Wait! Don't...don't kill me!"

Donovan paused, lifting his head and staring down at the beholder with pure contempt on his face. While you couldn't see much, you could see Balor was missing several of his tentacles and had several deep scratches.

Dirk let out a quiet chuckle, clearly enjoying the sight. "pathetic," he spat. "look at him beg like the little parasite he is."

You nodded, "I need to see this up close."

The rogue snickered and helped you to your feet, allowing you to lean against his uninjured shoulder. Your right arm hung uselessly at your side, and you were doing your best not to look at how badly you had been wounded for fear of what you might see. Dirk's left arm wrapped around your torso like a band of iron, keeping you from falling as he walked you over to where Donovan had the beholder pinned down.

Dirk let out a low whistle as you drew closer and took in the full extent of Balor's wounds. Somehow, he hadn't fallen down, despite only having four tentacles left, missing most of his teeth, and his central eye already beginning to swell shut. Donovan certainly hadn't held back and you were a little surprised he had stopped at all.

Slowly, the obsidian dragon leaned closer until he was barely a few inches away from the beholder. "Why should I spare your pathetic waste of a life?" he growled. "You nearly killed my soulmate, as well as my most trusted minions. You better think very carefully about what you say next..."

Balor shuddered, letting out a sound that was a mix of a whimper and a sob. "Please! You can have the city, my bling, everything! Just don't kill me..."

Dragon Donovan got a disgusted look on his face. His good eye socket narrowed and he huffed out a small puff of flame. He seemed to be actively considering the offer, but it was nearly impossible to tell what he was thinking thanks to his lack of facial expressions.

"Pledge your loyalty to me, parasite."

"Yes, my allegiance is yours! Anything you wish is my command!"

Donovan let out a low rumble, finally drawing back. A soft yellow glow appeared in front of his snout and he let out a huff, scattering it into a flurry of twinkling lights that soon dissipated around them. Slowly, he stepped back, getting off the beholder and laying down.

"I accept your offer and have sealed our agreement with a Seal of Promise. Now neither of us can betray the other, but more importantly, I have elected to spare your life. You will continue to rule the City of Newridge and will grant me free access to the resources in the region, as well as travel to the kingdoms beyond the escarpment as I require."

"Of course, my Liege!" Balor exclaimed. Despite not being pinned down anymore, he stayed put, still shivering from sheer terror.

You nudged Dirk to let go and staggered forward. Sensing movement, Donovan turned his head, his eye socket widening as you approached. He dropped his head, allowing you to lean against him so you wouldn't lose your balance.

Silently, you placed your paw on his muzzle just below his eye sockets and looked at him. His cyan eyelight seemed to expand the longer you held eye contact with him, the center dilating almost like a pupil. You couldn't help but find the sight adorable, giving him a small pat. He exhaled a small puff of steam in response, causing you to giggle as it mussed up your fur.

[brainrotcharacters]

i really hold professional adult conversation and eye contact with clients and then turn around waxing poetic about how I want to have a threesome with Deadpool and Wolverine

[third-king-of-salmonids]

ITS THAT TIME AGAIN

[kanerallels]

I know if no one else got me, the Sabezra fandom got me

[sysig]

Challenge level: Impossible (Patreon)

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

"i mess up things and then i don't have the energy to fix them up" yes brain true sentence but no brain the appropriate response is NOT "therefore i should kill myself (and here's how)"