#Y'all gonna be sick of me all weekend

[uriigamii]

#It has BEGUNNNNN #Y'all gonna be sick of me all weekend #I'll be droppin my Spotify Wrapped bit by bit 💝🎶💝 #Mo' Liquor #Kari Faux #Smino #spotify #vibe w me #uriigamii #music #alternative rnb #rnb #hip hop #Spotify Wrapped #Spotify Wrapped 2023 #2023

[strang3lov3]

For Science

Soft!Joel Miller x Fem Reader

Summary: Joel’s heart breaks at your misery when you’re on your period, so he does what he can to alleviate your pain. 

Warnings: Fluff, smut, blowjobs, fingering, awkward Joel and Reader, period cramps, period sex, unprotected PIV. sweet sweet joel. Mutual pining

W/C: 4k

A/N: For all the menstruating Joel girlies, this one’s for you. And me too, because this shit fucking sucks. Admittedly this is very self indulgent. This isn't my favorite fic, but I hope you guys like it anyway. I feel like it's devoid of a lot of typical period fic tropes so I am unsure if y'all will enjoy. Have a great weekend!

btw, send me an ask or comment if you aren't tagged and would like to be! mwah kisses love you all <3

masterlist

as always, please leave me a comment or reblog if you liked the story! i am desperately in need of validation

Knock knock knock. “You okay in there? Haven’t seen you at all today, honey,” Joel asks as your door swings open slightly. His brows are knit together and his soft eyes are big and worrisome.

Joel hates seeing you like this. You’re huddled with your knees curled into your chest on your bed, trying to will away the pain. Your hands are clutching your stomach, you’re quietly moaning in agony. 

“I think I’m getting sick,” you rasp out, your voice weak. It started with a dull ache in the pit of your stomach that didn’t seem to leave. Then came the nausea. 

“Sick, hm? Can I come in?” Joel asks you. You nod yes, and the door opens wider. His footsteps are soft towards the bed as he sits next to you. “Let me check you for a fever?”

You nod again, not having much energy to use your voice. Joel places a palm first on your forehead, then your cheek. Not satisfied with the results, he repeats the action with the back of his hand. It’s such an unexpectedly sweet and caring gesture, your eyes prick with tears. 

“Not terribly warm,” he mumbles. And then it catches his eye: that rusty bloodstain on your bed, heavy and concentrated to a few square inches. He leans over to check your backside, where he finds the stain mirrored on your pants. “Think you started your period, honey.” he whispers. 

The cramps and nausea feel all too familiar now. 

You hadn’t had a period since the beginning of your trek across the country with Joel and Ellie. Not that it was a super regular occurrence before that, but you often gave your food to the younger girl. Being so malnourished, your period disappeared. It was a welcome exit, your period was always exceptionally painful and miserable for you. 

“Oh,” you move your hand to your ass and press your fingers into where you think the bloodstain should be. And yup, there it is. “Shit.” you grumble, looking at the matching bloodstain on your blanket. The last thing you wanted to do today was laundry. 

Your cheeks heat up slightly. Hiking halfway across the country with someone, modesty is usually thrown out the window. You and Joel have seen each other in all sorts of intimate states, too intimate for the type of relationship you share. But still, you can’t help but be slightly embarrassed.

He must see your blush. “Hey, it’s alright,” Joel assures you softly. “I was gonna go over to Tommy and Maria’s anyway to do some laundry. Why don’t you let me wash your blanket and those clothes, hmm?”

“You really don’t have to, Joel,”

He ignores your gentle protesting. “Nonsense. I’m gonna give ya some privacy for a second, leave what you want washed outside your door. I’ll be back in a few hours,” 

You smile gently, scolding him in your mind. He doesn’t need to be doing all of this for you. He smiles back, warm and shy, before exiting your room and shutting the door behind him. 

You strip, changing into some sweats and fresh panties. In the bathroom are some reusable pads made from old towels that Maria gifted you when you first arrived in Jackson with Joel and Ellie. She gave the last menstrual cup to Ellie, who’s at school today. You put on a pad, toss your soiled clothing outside the door, and curl up with a book on your bed.

Joel lets himself inside Tommy and Maria’s home. Yes, there’s a community laundromat. But those often require socializing, which Joel is not much a fan of. Tommy and Maria generously offered you and Joel their to use washer and dryer instead.

He places the basket of laundry on top of the dryer and begins filling the washer with your clothes and blankets, none of his own, and sprinkles in some detergent. 

Joel lied. He did his laundry yesterday. But he knew how ill you were feeling, and Joel, ever the gentleman, decided to take it upon himself to take care of this for you. The grumpy asshole did have a heart after all. 

“Back so soon?” A voice interrupts. Joel turns to look, it’s Maria standing in the kitchen with her baby on her hip. “Didn’t you do laundry yesterday?”

“I did, yeah,” Joel responds. 

Maria notices your soiled panties sitting on top of the blanket she recognizes as yours in the washer. “She got her period, I’m guessing?”

Joel nods. “Yeah, figured I’d take care of the laundry for her,” “Well aren’t you kind,” Maria says, impressed. Not many guys would take care of washing a woman’s period-bloodied clothing. “I thought she might be starting soon. Noticed yesterday at the dining hall she was complaining of cramps and such. She also seemed a little moodier than usual.”

Joel shuts the lid and turns on the washer. “I thought so too,” he agrees. “She was a little irritable.”

Maria puts on a pot of coffee and offers Joel a cup, to which he accepts. For a while they talk about Tommy, then their new baby. When the washer finishes, Joel moves the clothes and blanket to the dryer. 

“I can drop those off for you if you’d like,” Maria offers. “You may wanna get back and make sure your girl’s doing okay.”

“That’d be great, I was actually thinkin’ the same thing,” Joel thanks Maria. “You don’t have any pain meds, do you? Poor thing looks terrible. She’s all curled up into herself, barely speakin’ to me.”

“No, I don’t, unfortunately,” 

Joel sighs. “How do you deal with it, then? Cramps and all that,”

“Well, a warm bath always helps. So does a heating pad if she has that,” Maria says. 

Joel nods his head. “Is there anything else? Tea? Somethin’, anything. I mean, this girl is absolutely miserable,”

“Well,” Maria starts, unsure if she’s ready to reach this level of personal with her brother-in-law. “Orgasms.”

Joel sputters into his mug as he chokes on the coffee in his mouth. “Pardon?”

“Yeah, orgasms. Have sex with her. It’s what I recommend to all the women here. It does help the cramps subside, at least for a bit,” Maria says. Joel’s face drops, his eyes go wide. “What, are you afraid of blood or something? You’re washing her bloody clothes…”

“No, no. It’s uh, it’s not that. We aren’t…we’ve not…”

Maria stops Joel, understanding. “My apologies. I thought you guys were together like that. Well, God gave women fingers for a reason,” she says, very matter of factly.

Joel blushes, images of you and your wandering fingers flooding his imagination. “Got it,” is all he says. No fucking way in hell he’s going to tell you to masturbate to alleviate your cramps. That can most definitely be a conversation between you and Maria another time, when Joel is far away from you both.

He awkwardly says goodbye then, making his way back to your shared home. Maria sends him home with some potato soup, instructing him to heat it up for you. It’s good comfort food, she says. 

In your bedroom, you look to be in about the same position as you were before. Whimpering in pain, rocking your body back and forth in the fetal position. Anything to shake the hurt away. 

“Hey darlin’, Maria gave me some potato soup to heat up for you. Can I make you some?” Joel’s back in your doorway, his tall frame leaning across the rickety old wood. 

“No, thank you,” you whisper. “Not really hungry.” “Figures. That’s alright. Anything else I can do?”

No, you tell him. Not unless he’s willing to be your human body pillow. This entire time you’ve been bleeding, you’ve been aching for comforting touches. Strong arms wrapped around your torso, warm hands pressing on your lower tummy. The other hand holding your own, thumb tracing back and forth on your skin. Soft kisses on your forehead, your hair. You just want to be loved, gently. The way you so deserve. 

Joel turns to leave then, just about shutting the door behind him. 

Maybe…

“Joel?” you call out. 

“What’s up, honey?” 

“I was just wondering if you’d maybe hold my hand. Just for a second,”

Joel smiles sadly through the crack of the door. “Of course,” he says tenderly, like it shouldn’t have even been a question on your mind. Of course he’ll hold your hand.  He meets you at the bed, sitting awkwardly next to you. He offers you his hand, which you take in both of yours. It’s dry and calloused, but so warm and comforting. “Squeeze me as hard as you need, alright? I can handle it.” Joel adjusts slightly so he’s laying next to you, his other hand stroking your hair. He smiles to himself, small and genuine. 

A wave of ache overtakes your body, beginning in your abdomen and spreading up your chest and down your thighs. Your breasts are heavy and swollen and aching angrily. You groan in agony. “Fuck,” you whimper. 

“What hurts? Where?”

“Everywhere,” you cry. Your hands leave his, and they find their way to his torso. You grasp his sides in your fists and squeeze, but he doesn’t complain. It doesn’t hurt, and even if it did, you’re hurting worse. In truth, he’s savoring the warmth your bodies create together. He loves being able to comfort you like this. 

Joel wraps his arms around your back, dragging his fingertips up and down your spine. “You’re breakin’ my heart, honey,” he whispers. “Let me help you. What can I do?” he asks, hot breath tickling your ear.

“I don’t think you want to,” you murmur.

“Try me,”

You sigh, sitting up on his chest slightly. “Can you…massage me? My chest?” 

Joel’s breath hitches and he shuffles awkwardly. “I suppose,” he starts. 

“I’m sorry. I just need your strong hands, I tried doing it myself but–”

“No, yeah. Of course,” Joel interrupts. He’s at a loss for words, more filthy images of you flooding his mind. Just like before, at Maria’s. “It’s what friends are for, right?” He cringes inwardly at the word he uses. Friends. 

“You’re too good to me,” you mumble. 

“Nonsense, honey,” he hushes you. “Sit up, turn around. I’ve got you.” 

You trust Joel completely. He can be rough around the edges, but you know how soft and nurturing he is on the inside. Joel is meant for this, taking care of the people he loves. 

He spreads his legs and you lean back into the soft warmth of his torso, holding onto his denim clad thighs. He’s awkward to start, still unsure of how to do this, exactly. You take his hands and drag them up, up your tummy, stopping for a second to savor the heat from his palms radiating through to your abdomen, then continue pushing them up your body. You stop just before your breasts, his thumbs lightly tracing the soft flesh of your tits.

“You ready?” he asks, his voice steady and calm but slightly nervous. He wonders if you can hear the way his voice is wavering slightly. 

“Mhm,” you mumble. 

And then he gets to work. Gently, timidly, he runs his hands over the soft flesh of your breasts, then your nipples. You groan at the contact on your sensitive buds. He squeezes gently, then increases pressure experimentally. He can feel how swollen you are as he explores every inch of your chest. 

“Doin’ alright?” he asks, fingers and thumbs digging deep into your breasts. He massages you intently and with such tenderness, his gentle caretaking instincts taking over. 

It hurts so fucking good. The ache is amplified yet dissipates with each motion of his palms. “Yeah, harder. Don’t stop,” you plead desperately. 

Joel swallows thickly and increases pressure again. “Like this?”

“Just like that, Joel. So good,”

God, how sinful you sound. Whimpering and moaning for him, begging for more. Shit, not now. Not fucking now, he thinks as his cock begins to harden under you. “Fucking moron,” he whispers. 

“What?” 

Joel freezes. “Shit. I uh, wasn’t callin’ you a moron. Sorry,” he apologizes gruffly. “It’s me. I’m the moron.”

“Why are you a moron?”

“I’m gettin’ a bit hard. I’m sorry,” he mumbles. He feels heat rise up his neck and to his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to.”

“My tits are in your hands, Joel, I get it. I don’t mind,” you assure him. You feel his cock half hard, pressing into your lower back and you shift a little. You both notice how he grows harder at your adjustment.

Joel chuckles awkwardly, trying to break the tension. “I’m only a man, hon. Can’t help it,” 

“You’re okay, Joel. I promise,” You chuckle with him, sighing and resting your head back on his chest again as he starts massaging you once more. The stubble on his jaw tickles your face, his chest rises and falls with every second. You share a moment in the silence, made slightly awkward by Joel’s arousal. You wince as another strong cramp overtakes your body, and you curl up into Joel.

“Cramps?”

“Cramps,” you mumble. “I don’t think you can massage those away, though.”

“No, probably not,” he mumbles. “Not with my hands, at least.”

“With what, then?”

Did he really just say that? You really are a fucking moron, Miller. 

“At Maria’s today, she told me a way to alleviate cramps,” he starts, speaking slowly, like he’s whispering a secret that’s not his to tell. 

“How?”

“Orgasms,” he whispers stiffly. He presses his lips together in a thin line and looks up towards the ceiling. 

“Oh,”

“I could give you some privacy if you wanted to try that out,” he mumbles. 

“Why would you do that?” you turn to look at Joel, who is bashful and looking down. He looks at you with an eyebrow raised, and you continue, “Didn’t you just say you could make the cramps go away, just not with your hands?”

“W-well, yeah, but,” he stutters. 

“I have been so fucking horny. And you’re hard too, so,”

Joel’s eyebrow is still raised, he’s eyeing you suspiciously. “Are you askin’ what I think you’re askin’?”

“You already washed my bloody panties. I’m guessing blood isn’t an issue for you,”

“No, no. ‘Course not. You want me to fuck you?”

“Yeah, you know. For science. For the sake of experimentation,”

Joel smirks mischievously. “Nothin’ wrong with a little experimentin’,” he agrees. You smile at the twang of his Texas accent. 

You share another awkward moment, both unsure of how to continue this scientific endeavor. Joel makes the first move this time. “Come here,” he breathes, lifting you into his lap. “Kiss me.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, intertwining your fingers in the grey-brown curls at the base of his neck. His hands are on your waist, holding you steady with your thighs straddling his. He leans forward to capture your lips in a kiss, his lips are slightly chapped but so deliciously soft and warm against yours. He tastes like himself and nothing more, but his taste is addictive nonetheless. 

You grind your pelvis into his bulge, whimpering at the contact on your sensitive heat. You’re craving more than his kisses, needing to feel all of him. His weight on your body, his skin on yours. His member deep inside you, massaging that spot that makes your head spin. “More,” you whine. 

He hums in amusement against your lips, thrusting his hips into yours. Cheeky motherfucker. 

You swat his arm lightly. “Don’t tease, Joel. I need you,”

“I know ya do. Let’s get you warmed up then, hm?” you nod hurriedly, leaning back. Joel pulls you back in for a kiss, his hand snaking under both your sweatpants and panties. “This alright?”

“Yes, fuck,” you whine, bucking your hips into his hand. His fingers dip further, gathering your wetness and circling back up to your clit. He traces slow, steady circles into your bud, taking his time with you. He pushes his middle two fingers deep inside you, fingers curling up and hitting that sweet spot. You gasp and whimper into his mouth. 

Joel loves taking his time with you. Playing with your body like a musical instrument, eliciting moans and whimpers from deep inside. Watching you dance for him, falling to pieces under his touch. 

“So pretty like this,” he praises you. 

You kiss him again and hop off his lap, he pulls his hand away from your core, quickly hiding it from your sight. He doesn’t need you feeling any shame or embarrassment of your body doing what it was meant to do. “Get a towel?” you ask him. 

“‘Course, honey,” Joel sits up and grabs a towel from the linen closet, then walks back to your room. He shuts and locks the door behind him before laying the towel down on the bed. You stand up to meet him, unbuttoning his jeans and pulling off his shirt. He does the same to you, helping you out of your sweats and shirt. You quickly sit down on the towel and he stands before you, cock rock hard, admiring all of the curves of your figure. “Jesus, you’re beautiful.”

You blush and reach forward to pull him to you. “So are you,” you tell him earnestly. He steps toward you and pushes you back, getting ready to enter you. You put a hand on his chest to stop him. 

“Is everything okay?” his dark brown eyes are big and full of worry. 

“Of course,” you say. “I’m not ready yet. I wanted to taste you,” you admit.

Joel smirks.  “You’re the one bleedin’ and cryin’ in pain, and you wanna taste me?”

You smile back. “For science, right?”

“Sure, sweetheart. For science,” Joel sits next to the towel, you lean over his lap and get ready to take him into your mouth. “Ah ah ah,” he tuts, “Like this.” Sitting next to him on the towel, he instructs you to face him and spread your legs. This way, he says, he can take care of you too. 

You lean over, making sure your heat is still accessible to him. Joel leans back onto the pillows and lets you get to work, his fingers tracing up your thigh before meeting your center once more. Your lips part around his member, tracing the soft and warm skin with your tongue. You moan when his fingers enter you again, voice sending vibrations through his cock. “Fuck, honey,” he groans. 

You play with each other like that for a while, Joel working you open with his fingers and you taking him further and further down your throat. His cock twitches, engulfed in the wet heat of your mouth. 

“Stop, stop,” he begs. “Not gonna last.”

You pull off of him with a pop, and his hands leave your body. You whine at the loss. 

“I know,” he soothes. “C’mere.” Once again, you’re in his lap, hovering over his cock. It’s held loosely between his fingers, tip prodding at your entrance. “Ready?” he asks you, his sparkly brown eyes are looking up at you, his eyebrows raised in anticipation.

“I need you,” you whisper desperately. And with that, Joel notches the tip at your entrance, carefully studying your features to make sure it’s not too much, not too fast, not painful. You steady yourself on his shoulders, fingernails indenting his skin. He pulls your hips down slowly, letting you savor every inch of him. He bottoms out with a deep sigh, and you lean forward to rest your forehead on his. 

“Wait,” he interrupts. You frown with concern, and he bucks his hips up. You let out a yelp, partially in pleasure, partially in surprise. Joel pulls the towel under you both. “There.”

You giggle. “Good idea,” you whisper. You stare down at him, a slight smile on his lips. You start to roll your hips, letting your clit brush the thick tuft of dark hair at the base of his cock. You whimper at the feeling. 

“Feel good, baby?” Joel asks expectedly. 

“So good, Joel” you assure him. “You feel so good,”

Joel pulls your body down to his, letting you rest on your knees. He thrusts into you rhythmically, letting you relax against him. “Fuck, you feel nice, honey. Knew you would,”

You moan and cry, kissing and whimpering into his neck. Using your sounds and the way your body reacts to his touch, he fucks you hard, intently, but gently at the same time. It’s delicious. 

You rock your hips, bouncing on his cock to match each of his thrusts. He hits that sweet spot in you repeatedly, he can feel your walls squeezing him, hear your moans becoming quicker, more frantic. “God, you’re sensitive,” he says. “Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“Fuck, yes,” you whimper. “M’close, need t-to come,” 

“You can let go,” he speaks softly, voice low and gravelly. “Come for me, baby,”

You lean back, lifting your hips slightly to give his fingers access to your clit. He takes the hint and begins circling your sensitive bud once more. It doesn’t take long before you’re falling apart on his cock, your cries and moans muffled as you bite into his shoulder. 

“That’s it,” he coos, fucking you through it. 

You try to take a second to catch your breath, steady yourself, only Joel has something different in mind. He doesn’t stop fucking your pussy, overworked and overstimulated. Within minutes, you’re coming again, your pussy making a beautiful crimson mess on his pelvis and fingertips. Still fucking you, he watches you come like you’re a work of art in a museum. Taking in every detail, every twitch of your face, the way your mouth drops in pleasure, how your tits bounce with each thrust. 

“Too much, Joel,” you cry. “S’too much, please.”

“You give me one more, baby. C’mon now, want you to come with me,”

“I can’t,” you pant. “I can-” 

“Yes, you can,” he encourages firmly. His voice is sweet but stern, and it is clear your pleasure is not to be negotiated. You will come again. “One more, one more. S’all you gotta do.”

“Fuck, Joel,” 

“I know, you’re doin’ so good f’me,” 

It’s almost painful, but you focus on the pleasure building once again deep inside you. You rock your hips, grinding your clit on the pads of Joel’s calloused fingertips. Right there, right there…

“You’re makin’ such a pretty mess of this cock, darlin’. Wanna fill you up, baby,”

His sweet talking sends you reeling, you love the way he praises you. “M’close again,” 

“Right there with ya, baby,” he soothes. His thrusts are frenzied, cock throbbing inside you. “Now, baby,” he commands. “Fuck, need you to come now.”

Moans and cries spill out of your mouth like liquid sugar, thick and sweet and slow. You come on Joel’s cock for a third time, your body melting into his own. He comes with you, his own grunts and moans mixing with yours to create the most beautiful sounds to fill the room. His voice is deep and desperate, sounding like pure sex as he paints your insides with rope after rope of his seed. 

You slink on top of him, focusing on catching your breath. His skin is sticky and sweaty as he holds you in a tight embrace, his heaving chest lifting you up and down. He pulls out of you, a mess of your fluids dripping onto the towel. You curl up next to him, your head on his chest.

“Cramps?” he asks. 

You shake your head. “All better,” you pause, then speak. “But hold me some more? Please?”

“‘Course, honey. For science, right?”

You smirk. “For science,”

You lay like that for what feels like hours, Joel stroking your back tenderly. One of his strong arms wrapped around your body, his warm hand pressing into your back. His other hand is holding your own, fingers squeezing you comfortingly, thumb tracing back and forth. He presses soft kisses to your forehead, your lips. He’s loving you gently, sweetly, the way you so deserve.

tags: @swiftispunk @rosaliedepp @pedrotonin @kittenlittle24 @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @brittmb115 @bigboiseason123 @laysmt @guiltgoreglory @aubreysylvain @leeeesahhh @oliveg95 @ifall4dilfs @alloftheboysivelovedbefore @harriedandharassed @vickie5546 @louisxosblog @southernbe @ravenouswild @luvrking @r02eg0ld @amythenortherner @walkintheprk @zpandaqueen @silkiers @angel-with-a-heart @kdogreads @boofy1998 @theoremrobin @ihatespoilers @2valentines @happy--birthday--kiddo @elissaaa @paleidiot @brie-annwyl @str84pedro @sesigsss @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @palomaluvsdilfs @kyloispunk @tiredbuthappy @yuk-for-president @jazzy-music-cat @anoverhwhelmingdin @dontatmethebeasts @venus122idkpleaze @nopealoupe @blackvelveteen1339 @monboudoir @darleneslane @bbyanarchist @spideysimpossiblegirl

#strang3lov3 #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #the last of us #joel miller #the last of us hbo #tlou #tlou hbo #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller one shot #soft!joel miller #soft!joel miller x reader

[superhaught]

To Be Another Notch... (Chapter Two)

Pairing: Leighton Murray x Reader

Warnings: sick reader, reference to the chapter 1 smut

Word Count: 1100, Part 2/?

Part 1

Just a little follow up to "To Be Another Notch in Your Bedpost." Might keep it going, might not. I don't really have any specific ideas for where this one could go, though!

Also, Anonymous Asked: All I can think about now is like what if Leighton x reader are snowed in at Essex and the reader is deliriously ill and Leighton goes into protector mode and her roommates don’t know how to react since they’ve never seen this side of her with anyone before

I don't know if I did a super excellent job addressing this ask but I hope y'all like it! I'm in a bit of a writer's block rn so I'm doing me best. <3

Reader wakes up very sick and Leighton takes care of her. (Reader is explicitly she/her in this one).

You had slept over with Leighton after your night together. You awoke, bundled warmly in her deluxe comforter.

Well, technically, you didn’t wake up of your own accord. Leighton jostled you in an attempt to wake you and it wasn’t until she had to begin shouting your name that you actually came to. And furthermore, you weren’t exactly comfortably warm. You felt freezing cold but your skin was covered in sweat and you were approaching a fever of 102 degrees Fahrenheit. 

To make matters even worse, Essex had been the victim of a massive snowstorm overnight. Leighton had only been trying to gently wake you to let you know that classes had been canceled and you were welcome to stay, but then she felt how your skin was burning.

You opened your eyes blearily and were met with Leighton’s panicked expression and the back of her hand pressed against your forehead. 

“Oh my god, you’re burning up.”

“What? Like the Jonas Brothers?” 

“Jesus Christ, no! Not like the Jonas Brothers! You have a fever.” 

“Ohhh… that makes more sense.” You coughed painfully and Leighton quickly handed you a bottle of water from her mini fridge. 

“I will be right back, Stay. Here.” Leighton ordered before rushing out of the room.

You let your head collapse into the pillow and you were asleep again before you even knew it. An unknown amount of time later, Leighton came back into the room wearing a N95 mask, which she removed once the door was closed. Her arms were full of cold and flu supplies that she certainly could not have gone out and purchased due to the storm. 

Leighton sat everything down next to the bed and started going through the pile, setting a fresh box of tissues with lotion next to you along with a bottle of electrolyte drink. Then, she sifted through the variety of medications and ultimately decided that just some straight up tylenol and cough medicine would be best. 

Leighton was waking you up again and she helped you sit up while you took the medicines and drank a bunch of the electrolyte solution.

“Kimberly’s mom sent her all of this medicine and first aid stuff, it was honestly really impressive. My mom just sent me a Louis Vuitton weekender bag.”

You chuckled lightly, even though it hurt a little to do so, then spoke in a scratchy voice, “both things have their uses.”

Leighton felt your forehead again and then made you lie back down, “I’m quarantining you in here for now, at least until the storm clears. I’ll take care of you here.”

“You’re gonna get sick…” you pointed out.

“Then, you’ll take care of me.”

You furrowed your brows, “well, of course I will, but are you sure? I can just go home,” you made an attempt to sit up but Leighton pushed you right back down.

“Absolutely not. You’re in no state to walk across campus even if it wasn’t a blizzard outside. You’re staying here. End of discussion.”

“But I don’t-”

“Shut up, would you? You’re making me tired just looking at you,” she teased. 

Leighton surprised you, then. She was no longer feeling the fever on your forehead for sheer monitoring purposes, but just softly caressing her thumb over your skin and wiping your sweaty hair aside as she did so. It was comforting. 

You smiled, “you’re really sweet, thank you.”

Leighton leaned down and kissed your forehead gently and stayed by your side until you were too tired to keep your eyes open any longer and you fell asleep again. 

Leighton put her mask back on to protect her roommates from your germs as best as she could then went out into the main area of the suite to let you sleep in peace. 

Leighton sat down on the plaid couch in their common room and exhaled a deep breath. She had never really seen herself as a caretaker type, but for some reason, it had come naturally to her when she saw how sick you were.

Bela decided to go hang out in Jocelyn’s room to gossip the snow day away (with the help of cinnamon whiskey and apple cider… but mostly cinnamon whiskey), while Kimberly and Whitney hunkered down in their room. 

Leighton scrolled mindlessly through her phone when Whitney came out to grab some food from the shared fridge.

“How’s your guest doing?” Whitney asked. 

“Okay, I think.” Leighton answered simply. 

“Is this someone we’ve met before?”

“No,” Leighton said, “she’s new as of last night…”

“Wow. You must be really into her, then.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, you let her sleep over and now you’re taking care of her while she’s sick? The Leighton Murray of a few weeks ago would never, storm or no storm…” Whitney smiled at the blonde and sat down on the couch opposite her. 

Leighton’s cheeks flushed, “I don’t know… she’s cute. Really cute. And being around her has been really easy so far. Plus…”

Whitney raised an eyebrow, “plus…?”

Leighton rolled her eyes and then lowered her voice to a near-whisper, “Plus… she made me come like four times last night… maybe more. I honestly lost count.”

“Oh. My. God.” 

“I know.”

“That’s just not fair.”

Leighton smirked and shrugged. 

“So you’re taking care of her because the sex was amazing?” Whitney clarified. 

“No, not just that. Maybe I do really like her. But like…” Leighton groaned, “I’m so fucking stressed about Tatum and Alicia still… Do I really want to jump right into another relationship?” 

Now, Whitney shrugged, “do what makes your heart happy, Leight. If you like her, I say go for it. You never know when someone might be your person.”

Leighton looked over her shoulder at her bedroom door, “huh… yeah, maybe you’re right. I’m gonna go check on her.”

Leighton stood up and Whitney smiled, “I also think you should do whatever you can to bring this nurturing side of you out more often. It’s nice.”

Leighton flashed a glare in Whitney’s direction, “yeah yeah, whatever.”

The blonde slipped back into her room and took a moment to watch you before she climbed into the bed beside you and draped her arm over you. 

You were fast asleep and didn’t feel her join you in the bed, but you unconsciously shifted and hugged her arms close to you. 

Snow continued to drench the campus and it seemed to muffle all sound.

Leighton fell asleep holding you, lulled only by the steady rise and fall of your breathing.

#leighton murray #leighton x reader #leighton murray x reader #tslocg #the sex lives of college girls #fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing #original writing #anonymous request #renee rapp

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆.

DAY ONE OF HAUNTED HOEDOWN

prompt: taboo au + "i'll be your dirty little secret, if that's what you're into."

pairing: stepbrother!frankie x santi's gf!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni

summary: you were seventeen when Frankie became your stepbrother, but no matter the title, he never felt like a brother to you, going off to college right after your father remarried. But no matter the circumstances, he was still off limits. Years pass and when he returns from the army your relationship with him is even more strained. You end up settling for the second best thing instead, his best friend. Everything seems to be going fine until Frankie stays over and Santi needs to leave for work.

word count: 5k

warnings: infidelity (reader cheats on santi), stepcest, possesive!frankie, y'all this fic isn't morally okay at all but it's not exactly "dark" it's just really messed up so read with caution, breeding kink, dirty talking, fingering, mild degradation kink, male masturbation, piv, oral sex, spitting, pillow humping, size kink, poor santi didn't deserve this, size kink, cuckolding kink???? (santi isn't there but frankie gets really turned on talking about it)

a/n: i don't know who's or what's gonna do it but I need someone to forgive me for this. also hopefully this turned out okay, it's very loosely edited and feel a bit all over the place but hopefully I'm just overthinking it. enjoy babes

Your father remarried when you were seventeen. 

You felt cheated at the time. And not because your father had found love again—no, that made you quite happy actually. You just wished he’d done it sooner, you could’ve benefited from having a big brother early on. Your relationship with your birth mother wasn’t easy, especially when you were young, and having someone there to vent to would’ve been like a dream. Your dad listened, but you know he felt someone guilty for it even though it wasn’t his fault. 

Frankie was only three years older than you. Sadly, he didn’t stick around for long, going off to college a year later. But his visits were frequent enough that you two developed a somewhat friendly relationship.

Emphasis on the somewhat. 

Being young and dumb, you developed a crush on him instead. It was an innocent thing. Just some hearts around his name and following him around like a duckling whenever he was around. Your dad and stepmom found it cute, endearing. Frankie seemed indifferent most of the time. He listened when you needed to vent, brought you soup when you were sick and your parents were working—and that was pretty much it. 

Then he went and joined the army. 

You remember the chaos that decision brought over the household. You were applying for colleges all on your own, your dad busy trying to console your stepmom, the latter being distraught over the potential of losing her son. You were just. . . sorta around, floating and looking over them, listening without really being there, just. . . there. 

A month later you were surprised to find a letter addressed to you. There was one for his mom and one for you, you just stared at it, confused when your dad handed it to you. 

You opened it in your room. You swore the damn paper smelled like him, the beat of your heart too loud to your own ears. 

You read it. There was only one sentence scribbled down, his handwriting even more crooked than usual. 

I’m sorry. 

You didn’t write back to him. You had no idea why he was apologizing and you were too afraid to ask at the time. During your first day of college you just assumed it was because he left you to deal with the mess his absence caused. 

Then he returned. 

The house was bustling when you came for your weekend visit. Your stepmom grinning from ear to ear when you arrived, hugging you tight with tears shining in her eyes. Frankie had brought a friend with him, a friend almost as handsome as him. 

Said friend had smiled at you, squeezing your hand tight, “Santiago,” he introduced himself. He stayed over for about a week and so did you, charmed by this sudden stranger that was your brother’s best friend. 

Frankie didn’t address the letter. Or what he’s written inside of it. He was the same as he’d ever been and for a second you doubted if you ever did receive a letter. But you knew you did. You still had it. 

At the end of the week, Santi officially asked you out, telling you that he’d already spoken to Frankie about it. You almost laughed at the absurdity of the whole ordeal. It wasn’t like Frankie ever was protective towards you, you were pretty sure Frankie couldn’t care less about who you dated. But nonetheless, you said yes, hoping that Santi would bring you the normalcy you so desperately craved. 

And he did. You were happy, enjoying every moment you spent with him. Santi didn’t push you aside, he didn’t make you feel like you had to fight for his attention. You didn’t have to play tricks or games, you weren’t second place to no one. Finally, you felt like the lead in your own goddamn life and you would always feel grateful to him for that. 

You couldn’t say the same thing with your relationship with Frankie thought. He completely iced you out, only talking to you normally when people were around, especially Santi. No one seemed to notice. You wanted to ask him about it but too much of a coward to do so. And honestly, you didn’t have it in you to care anymore. Neither you nor Frankie were young anymore; if he had a problem, he could just ask.

Three months into your relationship, you moved in with Santi. 

The setting sun's warm, orange glow pours through the open windows. A gentle breeze brushes against your skin, as you place a cup of hot black coffee on the table in front of him.

Santi sits on the couch, absorbed in the files from work. His fingers flip through the pages as he studies them intently. The soft rustling of paper mingles with the soft summer air. 

You sit next to him, your legs brushing together. Unlike him, you didn’t hate yourself so you were cooling your insides down with an iced coffee. You take a sip, your eyes eating at the way the sun kisses his skin, sharpening his jawline further. 

“Thanks,” he mutters, lifting his mug to your lips. His eyes find yours midst of drinking. “What are you looking at, querida?” he asks, lips twitching into a smile. 

“Oh nothing,” you hum. “Just looking at my very hot boyfriend.” 

“Very hot hmm,” Santi places the mug on the coffee table and gives you all his attention. “Seems like someone’s gonna miss me when I’m away.” 

Before you can quip back, he pulls you to his lap, your thighs framing his hips. You instinctively grind down and let out a shuddering breath, Santi drops his head back against the couch. “Fuck, you really are going to miss me, aren’t you? Sweet thing.” 

You cradle his jaw with both hands, leaning in, you press your lips together. Santi eagerly licks the seam of your lips, a silent order for you to let him in, you do, moaning at the feel of his tongue dancing alongside yours. He sucks the air from your lungs, tracing every inch of you with his tongue, a shiver runs up your spine, your body rubbing against his despite yourself. 

When he parts away you take in the sight of his swollen lips, his lustful gaze. Your heart skips a beat and your insides flush. 

“Oh, by the way, Frankie called,” he says out of the blue and out of breath. 

Well, that certainly kills the mood. 

“He needs a place to crash a couple of days, is that alright?” his eyebrows raise. “I’m actually surprised you don’t know. What kind of sibling relationship do you two have?” 

“You know we never actually lived together right?” you shrug. “But of course, he’s my brother and I love him. He can stay as long as he wants to.” 

He nods. “Good,” then nods again before giving you a quick peck on the lips. “It’s a bummer I won’t be here when he arrives.” 

“You could’ve rescheduled.” 

“This isn’t that kind of job sweetheart, you know it.” he nuzzles your cheek, feeling your discomfort. “But anyway, I’ll see him plenty when I get back.” 

You draw him into another kiss, and you take your time with it, feeling the fat strokes of his tongue delving into your mouth as you part your lips further. You wish he’d be here when Frankie comes. He still doesn’t talk much unless there are others around and after all these years you don’t know what you did to anger him enough so that he’d hold a grudge. 

Santi moans into your mouth and cups your breasts, toying with your hardened nipples with his thumbs. You wonder how okay he’d be with it if he knew about your past crush on Frankie. He’d probably laugh it off, it was a long time ago anyway. 

Your mind drifts to Frankie. To his messy curls the ballcap he refused to take off. Deep down you wonder what his reaction would be in learning about your past crush. A gush of heat rolls down your spine, slick gathering at the seams of your underwear. Santi's fingers glide downward, tracing the path between your legs. You shudder, a moan breaking through your lips. 

You’re not sure who you’re thinking about right now, two faces merging as one. 

You’re sitting on the couch, rigid, when you hear the knock that you hoped never came. 

All day you’ve been pacing around thinking about it, thinking about Frankie. He hadn’t called you not even once. All of his travel info was forwarded to you by Santi. It hurt to a degree. Him ignoring your presence so forcefully. You haven’t visited home in ages just because you knew he was staying there, helping your dad with the business. Sometimes you teased your father that Frankie was the son he’d always wanted, and despite your awkward laughter, you knew there was some truth to that statement. 

Another forceful knock. 

You finally push yourself off the couch and head to the door. Blood pumps vigorously through your veins, your heart beating too fast—too loud. You don’t have time to calm yourself as you yank the door open. 

His eyes immediately meet your own. Dark like chocolate chips but bitter like coffee. Sweat clings to his skin, hair curling at the ends, his shirt darkened in color sticking to his sternum, highlighting the contours of his chest and the swell of his stomach. You swallow. 

“Hey, Frankie,” you make a move to help with his luggage but he pulls it away before you can touch the handle. Filled with unease, you take a step back and leave enough room for him and his luggage to pass through. “How was the flight?” 

“Good.” 

Jesus, why does he always make everything so difficult? 

You close the door when he fully steps in, he does a brief once-over across the living room. His eyes linger on the picture of you and Santi on the coffee table, then quickly turn back to you, ignoring his own picture entirely. “Which room am I in, hermanita?” 

Your eyes widen at the endearment, your pulse picking up again. It had been years since he last called you that. “Uh. . . last room down the hall,” you murmur, mind absent. When he’s about to leave, you grip his arm, stopping him. His muscles tense underneath your touch, his eyes burning holes into the hand that’s holding him. “I cooked,” you say, choked. “You must be hungry, let’s eat first then I’ll show you around.” 

Frankie rolls his shoulders and moves his jaw from side to side. You’re about to take back your offer when he sighs, his shoulders dropping. “Fine. Okay.” 

You’re heating up the food when Frankie walks through the kitchen door. He’s wearing a clean shirt, cheeks damp from where he splashed water over himself. 

“Smells nice,” he mutters, standing next to you and peering from above your shoulder. “Is that mom’s recipe?” 

“It is,” a soft smile touches your lips. His eyes follow the curve of it, a slight surprise etching between his brows. “But I don’t make any promises about the taste. It’s my first time making it.” 

“You shouldn’t have.” 

There’s something in his tone that prompts you to stop your stirring and look at him. You’re surprised to find him already staring. His eyes clouded, lips tight as his gaze searching yours. “I shouldn’t have. . . what?” you ask very slowly, every word chosen very carefully. 

“Cooked,” he’s so unbelievably close. So close that you can hear the rasps in his voice, feel the heat of his breath across your cheeks. Your breath catches in your throat, heat pooling in your stomach. 

“O–Oh, well it’s nothing,” you force a chuckle. “Didn’t want to feed you something you didn’t like when you’re already probably uncomfortable.” 

He laughs, a sound you hadn’t heard in such a long time. Your body vibrates with the sound. “What am I? A dog?” However, the moment is fleeting like the sand dancing under the wind. His brows furrow. “What do you mean uncomfortable?” 

Ah, so much for picking your words carefully. 

You shrug and turn off the stove. Your eyes move up to the cupboard, you so desperately want to break away from the hold the close proximity has on you but it just feels good to be physically close to him again. He’s taller than Santi, that combined with broad shoulders and chest, Frankie’s presence can be quite demanding when he wants it to be. You guess that right now is one of those moments. He cups your chin, his fingers brushing against your neck. Your throat bobs heavily under his palm, sweat gathering at the small of your back. 

“Don’t play dumb,” you answer him sharply. “You barely talk to me when we’re alone. You didn’t even tell me you were staying over or your itinerary, I had to learn it all from Santi,” you break away from his grip, your anger starting to boil over. Frankie’s unphased by your sudden movement. “So what? All of that changes just because I cooked for you? Just because you only now noticed that I actually care about you? Do you have any idea how—” 

You clamp your lips shut. It was too much— too much threatening to bubble out. The inside of your mouth feels like sandpaper, your throat convulsing painfully as regret coats your tongue. You dare a glance at Frankie. He doesn’t seem taken aback by your outburst. In fact, he’s giving you a look as if he’s been waiting for this. 

“I know that you care,” he murmurs and you look away, the softness in your tone more than enough to convince you that he knows. And he had known, all this time. “I had to ice you out. I didn’t have much of a choice.” 

You need to hear him say it. You need him to tell you that he knows—you need him to blatantly tell you that every time you averted your gaze at the last second years before. . . he noticed. 

“Choice in what? Just tell me,” you wrap your arms around yourself, feeling like your entire body might shatter into a billion pieces at any second. 

He gives you a knowing look, eyes moving up and down your figure. “You know why.” 

“So as always it’s my fault.” 

“What?” he blinks rapidly and comes closer, hands finding your waist in an odd sense of familiarity. “No no, it’s not your fault. I. . . I was protecting you,” he licks his lips, eyes dropping to your mouth. “I was. . . protecting you from myself.”

You shake your head, fighting every urge to nuzzle his neck like a wounded animal. To smell his scent to soothe you. God, you’re unbelievable. And here you thought all your feelings had disappeared, apparently, they were just laying dormant under the flesh and bone. 

His nails bite into your skin despite your clothes. 

“Do you know how hard it was seeing you with him?” he spat the last word as if it was poison. A shiver crawls up your spine, needles digging into your skin. “You started to look at him the same way you used to look at me. I had to pull away.” 

“You were jealous?” you ask, confusion crossing your face. “Why didn’t you just tell me?” 

“Because it’s wrong, hermanita.” 

The Spanish hit his tongue more violently this time. A reminder of what this relationship was supposed to be. However, the word doesn’t stop him from coming closer and closer, until his lips are only a breath away. 

“We’ve never been brother and sister, Frankie,” you say voice surprisingly hoarse. “Everyone knows that.” 

He scoffs, “You’re dating my best friend.” 

For that, you don’t have an excuse. All you can do is swallow and nod, his chest now flush against his, the only thing separating you to is your own arms that were still squeezing you tight. 

Frankie observes you a second longer, eyes flitting across your face; taking in the sight of your parted lips and dilated pupils. “But,” he continues, voice dangerously low. "I'll be your dirty little secret, if that's what you're into."

You enter the bedroom and as soon as you do guilt rapidly builds in your chest, Frankie is right behind you, closing the door while your gaze remains glued to the picture that’s on your nightstand. A picture of you and Santi; there’s frosting on his nose from your birthday cake, your face split in a huge smile. You also remember being mildly bummed that Frankie hadn’t called. 

He follows your gaze, frowning when he notices what it was that you were staring at. With large steps, he walks over to the frame and slams it down. 

“Do you want this?” he breathes out, voice nothing but gravel. He doesn’t turn to look at you, his face lowered to the nightstand. “Because if you don’t, you have to tell me.” 

He’s asking the wrong question. 

You walk up to him, sliding your arms to his front as you press your forehead between his shoulder blades. 

Of course, you want this. 

The question he should be asking is if it’s worth throwing everything away just for one night. Because this is what that was. You don’t think you can hide it, and you’re not even sure if you want to hide it. 

Being with Frankie tonight means that you’re saying goodbye to Santiago, whether you tell him or he figures it out. 

You clutch the front of his shirt. It’s damp with sweat. You press a kiss, enjoying the moisture gathering at your lips. “Do you?” 

He turns around and grabs your face, pulling you to him immediately. Your mouths crash together, tongue and teeth eager to explore more of the other. He’s already pulling you away before your brain can’t even comprehend the taste of him, “More than anything,” he growls, hands still cradling your face. “Get on your knees.” 

Your drop instantly, not even bothering to take off your shirt. Warmth blossoms all over your skin as he drops his pants along with his boxers, cock already hard and ready. He starts stroking himself and tilts your head back. “Open your mouth,” he orders. 

Slotting the head of his cock between your lips, fist moving up and down his length. You close your lips around him, dipping your tongue into the slit. He groans with a rock of his hips, the first drops of precome stain your tongue, a loud moan ripping from your throat. You desperately want to bury your hand between your legs, your clit throbbing angrily. 

Frankie moves his hand away from his cock and brackets your head with both hands, pushing you forward down his cock. Only halfway down and you begin gagging, struggling for breath. You knew he’d be big, you just weren’t aware of how big. 

A cruel laughter rings above you, “That’s it?” he asks. “That’s all you can take?” you look up, eyes teary as he thrust a little bit more. Your throat squeezes helplessly around the width of him, your nostrils flaring. Frankie clicks his tongue, “My poor baby sister,” he tuts. “You’re not used to taking something this big huh?” 

You attempt to convey an answer but end up choking around him instead, your lids flutter, wet lashes kissing the skin under your eyes. “I guess I’ll have you train you myself,” your nipples harden at the promise, slick gathering at the seams of your underwear. “But later,” he says and much to your disappointment, pulls out. 

You breathe heavily, chest heaving as oxygen floods your lungs. 

“Strip,” he says, pulling off his shirt and kicking his pants away. “And get on the bed.” 

“So bossy,” you mutter, and as soon as you do, Frankie tugs you roughly against him, his tongue slipping between your lips hastily. He doesn’t allow you to breathe, mouth moving before you get the chance. He licks deeper into your mouth, and sucks your tongue as he parts away. Your insides flush. Your head spinning and legs trembling. Lightheaded, you grip his shoulders. 

“I’m not bossy,” he grunts, wet lips touching your forehead. “I’m just eager.” 

That makes both of you. Quickly stripping, you climb the bed waiting for him to show you just how eager he was. 

Instead, he walks around the bed, examing the pillows, “Which one is his?” 

“Santi’s pillow?” you raise an eyebrow. “It’s the one on the left.” 

He takes it with a hum, “Spread your legs,” he says and when you do, he places the pillow between them. Your heart races, a surge of arousal coursing through your veins. You don’t lower yourself down on the pillow, too embarrassed to do so. Frankie sits on the footstool at the end of the bed and takes his cock into his fist. He stares at you expectantly. 

“Uh—What am I supposed to do?” 

His cat-like grin makes you realize he wanted you to ask that, he leans forward, touching himself slowly, “I want you to make a mess of his pillow,” he groans. You clench at the order, your cheeks heating at how slick you’ve gotten just from the thought of it. “I want you to drench it so when he lays his head, he knows you don’t belong to him.” 

Frankie’s gaze flash with hunger, it frightens you to a degree, how angry he truly is. 

The fact that you actually do it, frightens you more. 

You lower yourself onto the pillow, feeling its softness beneath you and a strange thrill whispering through your body as your arousal surges higher. With a moan, you begin to ride the pillow, sinking your hips deeper with every thrust. You feel it grazing your clit, a whimper dropping from your lips. Mouth agape, you lift your gaze to Frankie. 

He’s stroking himself with a smile, wet noises coming from his fist fill the room, he swipes a thumb over the head. Your mouth flooding with saliva, you press against the pillow harder, the muscles of your legs clenching. Frankie notices and spreads his legs further, giving you a show of cupping his balls before moving his hand up again. 

“You look like you’ve never seen cock before,” he purrs. “You can’t wait can you? For me to fill that hungry pussy up. Don’t worry, big brother is going to take care of you.” 

“Fuck—” you can feel your body becoming increasingly slick, your breathing heavy and labored as pleasure ripples across your skin. Your body tenses and trembles as you rock against the pillow relentlessly, the coil tightening as you circle your hips. 

Dampness gross underneath you, Frankie’s eyes fixed on where you and Santi’s pillow connect. You’re embarrassingly wet, strings of slick stretching between. Your movements start to slow as your orgasm nears, it’s too much and you have the need to just bend over and let Frankie fuck you hard without any of the games. 

The legs of the footstool drag against the hardwood floors, the sound making you jump. Climbing the bed, he sits on his knees, “Let me feel how wet you are,” he groans. He pushes his hand between your legs without waiting for an answer. He slips a finger in, your eyes rolling back at the pressure. “He can’t get you this wet can he?” he asks rhetorically. “Bet he’d loved to see you getting yourself off like this, coming for another man.” he curses, thrusting into his other hand. 

You hover above the pillow, your thighs starting to shake for exertion. 

“Don’t stop, baby. Come on, soak it—soak it and I’ll fuck you.” 

Your nipples tighten and your skin begins to tingle with arousal. Your head tilts backward and your mouth opens slightly as your body arches and grinds against the pillow. Something devastating builds inside, it builds and builds and builds—builds until you can’t take it anymore. Liquid heat sprays out of you, your walls convulsing as you drip down his hand and soak the pillow, just like he said. 

“That’s it, that’s it,” he murmurs, pulling out his finger and dragging the wet digit over your cheek. He kisses you deeply. “Good fucking girl,” he growls into your mouth, nipping your chin. 

You gasp for breath, your hips slowing but still shaking with pleasure even when you stop. Your mind is in a state of ecstasy. Frankie forces your jaw apart and purses his lips, spitting into your mouth. You jolt when it hits your tongue. “Swallow,” he murmurs. 

“Gonna fuck you now, sweet girl,” he coos. “Gonna claim you on the bed you sleep with him every night,” he chuckles into your mouth. “I’m going to fuck you so good that Pope’s gonna keep wondering why it always smells like sex in here.” 

God, you wish it didn’t but the words and the depravity he said them in makes your skin prickle, an involuntary moan slipping from your lips. 

Frankie turns you over, pulling the pillow under your hips as you remain on all fours. Your arms feel weak, legs still trembling from your orgasm. “F–Frankie,” you slur your words. 

“Don’t worry baby,” he murmurs, pressing his mouth over the small of your back. “I got you, and I’m never gonna let go.” 

He positions Santi’s pillow under your hips, the fabric dark in color from your slick. Your arms finally gave way and you drop face-first into the sheets, you can smell him now, Santi’s pine scent fills your lungs. 

Shit, what the hell is wrong with you? 

“Stop thinking about him,” Frankie hisses from behind you, parting your folds by dragging his length. He lets out a deep sigh before you can answer. “It doesn’t matter, you won’t be able to think of anything else soon anyway.” 

You shudder at the promise of his words. He leans in, the heft of his body covering yours as his lips touch your ear, “I’m gonna come inside this pretty cunt. Then you’re going to squeeze every bit of it out and taste it—Got it?” 

“Y-Yes,” your voice is trembling, your body burning from the inside out. 

Suddenly he grips your nape, squeezing until pain ebbs under the skin. You swallow, tears stinging the corner of your eyes; he doesn’t say a word, pushing his cock between your wet thighs. It’s filthy how he makes you feel, how badly you want to surrender to him. You drool all over him, your walls spasming until the head catches against your clit and a whimper leaves your lips. 

Frankie comes to a halt and his grip around your nape lightens, caressing the skin. 

You let out a little groan as he eases himself inside you. He moves further and further until he’s fully sheathed. A thrill surges through your body. Your eyes roll back at finally faving him inside, a wanton moan falling from your lips. 

Frankie flexes his cock and you groan at the stretch, “Who’s bigger?” he huffs, pushing deeper. Your body becomes limp underneath him. “Me or him.” 

“You,” you manage to garble a response. “You’re so much bigger than him, Frankie.” 

“Yeah?” he pants, chest heaving. “He can’t fuck you like this can he?” 

He presses your hips flush against the pillow, the dampness that touch you scorching your skin. You nod helplessly and claw against the sheets. “He can’t—” you choke out. “Frankie please.” 

He gives you what you want, grinding against you, cock filling you up with every forceful thrust. His ragged moans echo around the room, and you grasp onto the sheets tighter. Every thought is knocked out of your head every time he buries himself into you. Hips bruising where it hits your skin. You reach the peak quickly, that familiar tingle blossoming between your legs. 

“Fuck—” beads of sweat line Frankie’s body, and you can feel the heat radiating from him. “You feel so good, so fucking good.” 

He wraps an arm around you and pulls you out, holding one breast tight. His thumb goes in circles, lust lapping at your tired body as he presses deeper. “I want to feel you coming just on my cock,” he moans into your cheek.

Frankie angles himself in a way that he brushes against something devastating inside of you. It’s like a jolt of electricity, the force of it enough to empty the air in your lungs. He drags his cock over the same spot again and again, his thrust quick paced. You cry out his name when static fills your ears and dots dance over yoru vision. Your head falls back, chest heaving as your body quakes. 

Your cunt continues to squeeze and throb around him, and soon enough, you feel the hot spill of come filling you to the brim. You swear another orgasm washes over you, the flavor of it thick on your tongue as you meet his thrusts. Frankie huffs a tired laugh and grips your asscheeks, spreading them. 

“I can feel you dripping,” he murmurs, you hear the smile in his voice. “Makes me want to stay buried in your forever,” in contrast to his words, Frankie pulls out. “I hope you didn’t forget what I said,” he kisses your neck, long and slow. “Drag that full pussy all over his pillow.” 

You spread your legs wider, rolling your hips over the soft material, you hiss when it brushes over your clit. “S-Shit, Frankie—” 

“Bet he never fucked you like that before,” he remarks. Satisfied with the mess, he gestures you to move away. You practically collaps, head thudding against the headboard. Frankie’s gaze is fixed on the poor pillow, drenched in your slick and his come. 

No matter what Frankie says, you’re not letting Santi sleep on that pillow. You’re fucked up, but you’re not that fucked up. 

Staring at the pillow, reality finally settles in. A sharp inhale parts your lips and Frankie’s eyes snap toward the sound, his gaze searching yours. “There’s no going back from this,” he says. “When’s he coming back?” 

“The day after tomorrow.” 

“Good,” he crawl over to you, taking place between your still trembling legs. He slides his palm up your tigh and presses his mouth against your neck. “That’ll give us more time.” 

You’re too much of a coward to ask time for what. 

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x fem!reader #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #francisco morales x fem!reader #triple frontier fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #hauntedhoedown

[munson-blurbs]

Eddie, diary, detention ^^

Oh, y'all are getting sick of Eddie fluff fics? Too bad, sorry xoxoxo 💚

Warnings: none, all fluff!

WC: 1.2k

--

“Goddamn Carver,” Eddie mutters to himself, slinging his backpack onto the desk and plopping into the attached chair. “Always running his goddamn mouth and then pulling the ‘But I have basketball practice’ excuse to get outta trouble.” He brings his voice up to a grating falsetto, mocking the jock’s whiny tone. “But does Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson get the same courtesy for his Hellfire campaigns? No, sir, he does not.”

“Wonderful monologue, Mr. Munson,” Mrs. O’Donnell says dryly, heels clacking as she walks through the open doorway. “Perhaps you’ll be a playwright in your next life.”

“Like one lifetime isn’t enough,” Eddie grumbles, low enough so his least favorite teacher can’t hear him. 

O’Donnell peers at him over her horn-rimmed glasses. “You know the drill better than I do, Mr. Munson,” she scoffs with a wry smile. “One hour. No talking, no music, no funny business. You may do homework if you’d like, though I don’t anticipate you choosing now to act like a star student.” 

Eddie slumps down into his seat. He’d already counted all the ceiling tiles last week when he ended up here after shoving Patrick for picking on Dustin Henderson. Guess I’ll start on the floor tiles now, he thinks grimly. 

He makes it to 28 before something catches his eye. In one of the baskets underneath a desk is a purple leather-bound notebook. The way it’s resting halfway out of the basket looks like it had fallen out of a backpack or accidentally left behind. It’s too fancy to only be used for school, and it piques his curiosity. 

“Uh, Mrs. Oh-Dee?” Eddie blurts out, shooting his hand up in the air. “Can I grab a textbook? I think I’m gonna take you up on that homework offer.”

The teacher rolls her eyes. “Fine,” she quips. “And for the last time, stop calling me that.”

But Eddie’s already scrambling to the seat, plucking the journal from its spot and shielding it with a history book. As soon as he opens the cover, his eyes widen. 

This diary belongs to is printed on the first page, with a name handwritten in neat cursive underneath. 

“Shit,” Eddie breathes, earning a scowl from O’Donnell. This is your diary. 

Eddie doesn’t have too many classes with you; you’re in mostly honors courses, while he’s in his third senior year. But you do take health together, and he constantly finds himself stealing glances at you whenever he can. 

He knows he shouldn’t read any further; he can close the diary and turn it into the Lost and Found box. But Eddie Munson’s never been known for his impulse control, and before he knows it, he’s skimming the pages. 

Most of the entries don’t draw too much of his attention. There’s one from a few weeks ago about an argument you had with your best friend, but Eddie’s seen you two laughing together since then, so he assumes all’s well. A few days ago, you’d just written, “that history test was a bitch” accompanied by a frowning face. Eddie laughs quietly, knowing you’d probably aced it. 

It’s the entry after that where he finds what he’s looking for. 

Mr. Ellison paired me up with Eddie today! We had to work on an anti-smoking poster together, which was ironic, because he reeked of cigarettes. He asked me what I was doing this weekend, and I thought he was going to ask me out, but he didn’t. Guess he’s not into shy nerdy girls. Then again, who would be?

Eddie’s heart sinks into his stomach. If you only knew how much he wants to take you to dinner, hold hands across the table, maybe kiss you after splitting an ice cream sundae. He had planned on asking you out that day, only to wimp out at the last second. 

He hastily tears out the page and pulls out a number two pencil that’s sharpened down to a nub. In the margins next to your entry, he draws and arrow and writes:

He’s definitely into shy nerdy girls, but he didn’t think you’d be into loud metalheads. Meet me at my locker tomorrow before health?

He slips the diary into his bag, vowing to put the note in your locker after his prison sentence—erm, detention, is over. 

~

The next day, Eddie waits by his locker in between second and third periods. His heart pounds in his chest, and his stomach is doing that flip-flop thing it does before a gig. He relaxes a bit when he sees you walking towards him, note in hand. 

“Hey,” you say softly, holding up the sheet of paper. “Did you…”

Eddie laughs nervously. “Y-Yeah, that was me,” he admits. 

Your ears heat up, suddenly bashful. When you found the note, you’d assumed it was some prank by one of the jocks. The fact that it actually was Eddie gives you heart palpitations. “I didn’t know you felt that way about me,” you manage. 

“I didn’t know you felt that way about me till, y’know, I read it,” Eddie mumbles, hoping you’re not too angry about that. 

You cross your arms over your chest. “So, we’re just snooping through diaries now? A bit juvenile, dontcha think?” But your tone is light, despite the truthfulness of your statement. 

“It, um, wasn’t my finest moment,” Eddie’s cheeks turn pink as he reaches into his bag, “which is why I wanted to show you this.” He pulls out a tattered composition book and hands it to you. “It’s not as cute as yours—oh, which I also have, heh.” He offers you your beloved purple journal. 

“Thanks,” you mutter, ensuring that it’s now safely stored in your own backpack before bringing your attention back to his notebook. “What’s this?”

Eddie bites his lower lip anxiously. “It’s my lyric book,” he explains sheepishly. “But not the one I show the guys. This has all my lovey-dovey songs in it. Y’know, shit they’d kick my ass for.” Another nervous chuckle. “They’re, um, they’re about you.”

“Me?!” you ask incredulously. 

“Yeah,” he smiles, letting his fingertips graze your hand. “Figured it was only fair, since I totally read your stuff.”

You flip through the pages, heart warming at the words etched on them. Lyrics like, her smile melts me like snow on my tongue/grow old together but we’ll always feel young make you giggle. “These are really good,” you muse. 

Eddie wrinkles his nose. “Not too corny?”

“Oh, no,” you tease him, “they are extremely corny. But I’m a sucker for a good rhyme scheme, so…” You trail off as Eddie grins. 

“Maybe I could play them for you sometime? Like after school today?” He winces, hoping he doesn’t sound as desperate as he thinks he does. 

You nod. “I’d like that.”

“Cool.” Eddie closes his locker and turns to you slowly, a mischievous twinkle in his chocolate brown eyes. “Actually, what do you say we ditch health and hang out at mine? I promise I’m a lot more interesting than whatever Ellison is going to lecture us about today.”

You peer around the hallway, making sure it’s clear of teachers before slipping your hand into Eddie’s larger, calloused one. “Let’s blow this joint.”

“That’s my girl.”

--

#bug's 2k celebration #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things

[aceofwhump]

Hi everyone!

Sorry I've been a little absent for a bit. First I got sick which took me a while to get last and this past week I spent time travelling! Aka I was participating in a WWII reenactment which means no internet. It was such a blast as usual but man I'm tired lol. Here have some pics:

Back home now and exhausted but super eager to see what I've missed here for whumptober! I'm finally over my illness and my schedule is now gonna open up a bit which missed I have more time and energy for gifmaking and finally answering all of your lovely messages that have been waiting in my inbox (sorry for making y'all wait!) Also today was the last post I had prepped for whumptober so I'm gonna be behind now but I am not giving up!

Hope everyone had a good weekend!

#mod post #that's me in the first pic btw #wwii reenactment #not whump #reenacting

[bellysoupset]

For the mini-fic, could I ask for tight loud belly gurgles with sick Jon and Leo? (If Luke and Bell were there too would be super fun, but whatever works for the scenario, I love me some sick Jon).✨️💙 @writing-whump

Making the most out of my little weekend at the cabin scenery!

---------------------

"C'mere," Leo chuckled, grabbing the back of Jonah's sweater and tugging on it with all his force, causing the other man to let out an strangled, offended noise as he fell down on the big cushion Leo was sitting on as well.

They were all outside the cabin, sitting around the fire pit. It was a chilly night, after a full Saturday of activities and Leo was more than a little tipsy, happily pressing his lips to Jon's cheek when the other man let out a scoff and grumbled about him stretching his sweater.

"So you're going to specialize in entertainment?" Luke asked, eyebrows raised and Leo was reminded he was actually holding a conversation to begin with.

"Not entertainment," Leo yawned, downing the rest of the wine in his mug — yes, mug, much to Jonah's horror —, "intellectual property law. Everything surrounding things people have created and must be protected-"

"That's really cool," Vince praised, looking genuinely impressed, "so authors and stuff?"

"As well as brands, artists..." Leo shrugged, then let out a surprised chuckle when he felt Jonah all but collapse against his side, completely giving up on the conversation.

He looked away from their friends — Bella was sprawled on the grass, only her head resting on Luke's lap. Leo was pretty sure Wendy had fallen asleep against Vince's bicep, the poor girl was worn after having just recovered from strep and driving 4 hours on top of a hospital shift — to Jon.

Jonah looked almost as tired as Wendy, but unlike her slack, peaceful face, Jon had pained lines around his mouth.

"You alright?" Leo whispered, trailing a hand up his boyfriend's back and frowning, tuning out the others.

Jonah started to nod, but then he shook his head, sitting up straight, "I'm going to bed," he announced.

"Already?" Bella pouted, wide awake, "it's only 9, old man."

"I overdid on the wine, I'm sleepy," Jonah cleared up, then waved Leo off when he went to stand up as well, "no, stay, I'm just gonna sleep it off-" he yawned again and then walked back inside.

Leo sighed, not happy to be dismissed, but also not wanting to go in just yet either. It was a really nice night, just chilly enough for the bonfire and so there were no mosquitos, with the stars dotting the sky.

They talked for another hour or so, Leo sliding down the daybed cushion until he was practically fully lying down, talking about work — Luke was particularly interested —, about Bella's new RPG campaign-

"I really cannot wrap my head around you playing table top RPG. Like those kids from Stranger Things?" Leo frowned.

"I'm not a loser boy and it's not the 80s, so no," Bella scoffed, "I'll have you know I'm a super hot barbarian."

"Of course you are," Vince teased her lightly, "I need you to help me run a campaign with my thirteen year olds."

"Are you on some contest for coolest teacher?" Bella poked fun at him, "damn, buy the kids ice cream while you're at that-"

Leo laughed at them, turning his head towards the large cabin up the hill and frowning as he realized the room he guessed was his and Jon's still had the lights on.

"Y'all, I think I'm going inside," Leo decided and heard a chorus of Goodnight Leo as he walked away.

True to what he expected, Jonah was still awake. The lights were on and he was lying on top of the blankets, in his pajamas, an arm thrown over his face in order to block the light out.

"Sleepy, uh?" Leo asked, stumbling inside and grabbing on the doorway to steady himself. He hadn't felt just how sloshed he was while sitting down, but standing it was painfully obvious.

"I am sleepy," Jonah groaned, "but my stomach won't let me sleep."

"Aww angel, what's wrong with your tummy?" Leo cooed, closing the door and crawling on the bed, immediately grabbing the silk shirt of Jon's pjs and pushing it up to his chin.

Drunk, he didn't bother biting down a dreamy sigh at Jon's exposed midriff. Despite Leo's teasing about him abandoning gym, that wasn't exactly true. He no longer exercised every day like Leo still did and he no longer weight lifted, but he did still go in once a week, for the aerobics. On top of that, Jon had joined Bell's boxing class.

His stomach, that once had a hard six pack that was akin to Leo's, now was soft, a little squishy, and tonight it was bloated and round.

"What are yoOU DOING?!" Jonah squealed, as Leo didn't think twice before leaning in as if to kiss his belly, but instead opted for biting it, "Leo!"

"Your tummy is cute," he smiled, pressing a kiss to where he had just bit and slumping across the bed, half his body resting on Jonah's thighs and trapping him in place, "you're cute."

"You're drunk," Jonah groaned, blowing out a little queasy burp, "and it's not cute, I feel really gross."

Leo trailed his fingers up the middle of his boyfriend's belly, as if they were walking. Even bloated by the wine and soft by the lack of exercise, there was still a concave line there, marking the quadrants of his abs.

Once he almost reached Jonah's chest, Leo opened his hand flat against the other man's skin, rubbing a soft circle there, "help- Oh ow," the blonde raised his eyebrows when his touch caused a gurgle to ripple through Jon's tummy, emitting a whine.

Jon brought a fist to his mouth and burped into it, making a face at the taste, "ew."

"Let me know if I'm making it worse," Leo mumbled, looking away from his face and focusing his whole attention on his boyfriend's belly. He continued the gentle, strong circular rubs on his upper stomach, until the gurgles died down and then moved his hands down, searching for another tight spot. As soon as he touched Jon's belly button, the other man darted a hand up and cupped his mouth, letting out a wet, sickly belch.

His tummy gurgled and whined, vibrating under Leo's touch, "sounds so upset..." Leo whispered, mesmerized, then digging his thumb on Jon's side and rubbing little circles from the side towards the navel.

"Gentle, you're gonna make me puke," Jon groaned, as his belly whined again, "Leo..."

"Sorry, sorry," Leo eased up the pressure, before slightly lowered on the bed and planting an elbow on the mattress, supporting his head with his free hand. He leaned in and kissed Jon's softer under tummy, right where his pajama' pants met it. This close he could feel and hear the constant gurgling and whining coming from the sickly organ, "you poor thing-"

"Yeah, you sound very sorry about it," Jonah scoffed, but didn't push him back, "you don't think it's disgusting?"

"Your tummy?" Leo blinked owlishly at him, bewildered, "no?!"

"But it's making all sorts of gross noises..." Jonah's cheeks turned dark with a blush and Leo let out a scoff, moving again and then resting his cheek against the other man's belly, now hearing very clearly every upset gurgle.

"I think it's super cute," he clarified, "hell, I never think any part of you is gross, Jon."

"Aren't you a romantic," Jonah scoffed, but even without looking up Leo could hear the relief in his voice. He reached in without thinking, starting to pet Leo's hair, not telling him to move, "the pressure is helping, don't move."

"Okay," Leo whispered, closing his eyes and allowing the little symphony of gurgles to lull him to sleep.

#mywriting #sickfic #queasy #upset stomach #upset tummy #intox #jonah banks #i am living on 2 hrs of sleep so this is probably riddled with typos #if you see one no you didnt (i'll fix it later)

[canonicallysoulmates]

J2 Gold Panel DC Con 2023

To start off the panel Jared notices that a fan's shirt says the only thing they're putting jeans and boots on for this weekend is food, whiskey, and Jensen Ackles, and he says he takes his jeans off for Jensen...sir in front of everyone 👀

First question comes from a fan who got them candy but Jensen throws Jared's so Jared has to go get them 😆 For anyone confused this is because the fan got Jared Twizzlers since he said he liked them at the last con but Jensen doesn't like them and prefers red vines.

What snacks do they eat when watching the football game?

Jensen answers chips and salsa.

Jared says he has a funny story, when they worked together they did an ep about a lucky penny, and one Sunday Tom Welling who was still doing Smallville went over and they did a BBQ, and Tom brought some family salad recipe that had Doritos in it and some maui ribs and some other stuff, so they eat then a couple days later Jared comes home late from work or something and he's a little hungry so he goes to the fridge and sees the Maui ribs that Tom had brought over. He snacked on them, went to bed, and didn't realize until the next morning that the ribs had been raw. I literally screamed when he said this, as y'all can guess he was dog sick.

And Jensen says the problem is that Jared didn't realize they were uncooked until he asked him about them! They lived together at the time so Jensen got home looking for the ribs cause he wanted to cook them and when he asked Jared about them Jared replied he ate them well he knows Jared and he knows he isn't going to fire up the grill when he's hungry he just eats but he still asks how he cooked them, and that's when Jared tells him he didn't cook them he just ate them.

How do you make a mistake like this??? 😭

So, poor Jared is sick as a dog, and the next day they're filming in Squamish, the whole ride there he's trying not to throw up. He gets there, they look at him, and send him to his trailer. Then they call a nurse to give him a shot of vitamin B and some other stuff so most of the coverage of them when they're in the booth talking to each other when Jensen is talking it's not to him he was in his trailer for like 8hrs throwing up and with diarrhea.

Jensen says he was like "I don't want him projectile vomiting unto me, get him out off here and get a stand in and put a wig on the guy."

Then he jokes that he realized how much better the experience is so for the next 8 seasons he didn't work with the guy and Jared quips but they still lived together. x

Something interesting is that Jensen says they were roommates for all of s4, but Jared says 5 as well and Jensen's like no, it was only one season but that if Jared wants to stretch it into 2 that's fine and Jared goes 4 to 12. Like seasons 4 to 12. And I just find it a very interesting exchange especially Jared's reaction when Jensen tries to deny that they lived together for more than one season he throws his hands up and goes 'fine, fine' like how one does when you know someone is lying about something or remembering incorrectly but you're not gonna argue with them about it.

If they could give each other stripper or porn names what would they be?

Jensen and I had the same confusion cause we both thought this person was saying board games 🤣

Jensen first understood board games, then it was porn games and he was like who ordered an extra sausage on their pizza to which Jared raises his hand and Jensen goes "it's a spicy meatball" and Jared replies "two of them". 😂

Jared says Moosetacular has a certain je ne sais quoi and Jensen says Mooseknuckle. Jensen asks if there isn't a certain formula to figure out your porn name and the fans give different answers but Jared says they're doing the name of their first pet and the name of the street they grew up on so he is Booty Montclair. That's actually fantastic. And Jensen is Pudgy Midway. x

Did Jared ever get his knee fixed?

Jared says no but he's there and loving it. He's treating it with physical therapy and rehabbing it. Jensen says Jared is learning to live with it much like he did with him. And can I just say he does not look happy he even kind of cuts Jared off when he's finishing answering the question and picks out the next fan to ask something. I think he wishes Jared would take care of it which is understandable, he's probably worried about him, but I gotta say I understand where Jared is coming from for not having the surgery sometimes the remedy is worse than the sickness. x

Is cereal a soup?

Jared says no. Jensen says technically yeah, it's just grain soup, or multigrain soup.

Jared says that you cook soup but the crowd points out gazpacho which is an uncooked, cold soup.

Jensen says he doesn't know if there are milk-based soups, there is cream sometimes in soup but it's traditionally in a broth base, there has to be some sort of broth but someone mentions clam chowder and that has a cream base so Jensen says the fan is right.

Jared asks the fan what they think and they say it is a soup like a hot dog is a sandwich and that's when he loses the crowd and also Jensen who says no. And Jared pats Jensen's chest to calm him down. x

How often do they think about the Roman Empire?

They both know they're being asked this for a reason but Jared doesn't know what the reason is, Jensen does because he had been asked this the previous night for the first time. He answers several times a week. But he hadn't thought about that until he was asked.

Jared says he doesn't think about it unless maybe if he's in Rome but Jeensen tells him to think about all the things that he does think about that are related to the Roman empire so he might not even realize that he's thinking about it.

For context, the reason they were asked about this is because it's a TikTok trend right now to ask men how often they think about the Roman Empire because apparently, men think about the Roman Empire a lot. x

Have they ever been star-struck meeting another celeb?

Jensen says Jared is a big fan of Pearl Jam, and they went to a charity concert where the lead singer of the band, Eddie Vedder was performing and they got the chance to meet him, after he played, in a very intimate setting probably no more than the people in the room at that moment. So they walk up and someone introduces them, and Jared just stiffens up and Jensen's trying to play it cool, and Eddie in true rock and roll fashion is smoking a cigarette. Jared, who does not smoke, asks if he can get a drag of the cigarette, Jensen just turns to look at him, and Eddie slowly hands him the cigarette so Jared grabs it out of his hand, takes a puff of the cigarette, coughs, and goes to hand it back and Eddie goes "you keep it" so Jensen told him it was nice to meet him, walked Jared to the parking lot and they left.

Jared says he left, went home and flew back to Van at like 6am and was like "I always wish I wouldn't act like that" x

If there were a movie made about their lives who would they want playing them?

Jensen jokes Barry Watson would play Jared. Jared shares the story about how one time Sandy was flying from LA to go visit him in Van and the guy she was sitting next to asked what she was traveling for, she said she was going to visit her boyfriend, guy asked what the boyfriend does she tells him he's filming a show called Supernatural that just started, and the guy says he has seen it and asks if her boyfriend is the short one or the one from 7th Heaven. He thought Jared was Barry Watson.

Jensen goes Meryl Streep cause she can do anything.

Jared says Meryl Streep and Daniel Day-Lewis could play Jensen better than Jensen. x

Next fan challenges Jensen to rock, paper, scissors.

Jensen wins with scissors. x

What is a sports moment they wish they could go back and change or are still mad about?

Jensen says he has two. First, when he was in the 9th-grade basketball team there was a very important game and they needed a win. He stole the ball and had a breakaway layup on the other end, he thought he was gonna be king of the school but he airballed it which means he missed the shot. He wishes he could take that back. The second moment was in his senior year he was on the baseball team and he was batting against a guy who went on to have a very long career in the major leagues. The guy was Kerry Wood, he's a pitcher and he was throwing 90 mph as an 18-year-old.

So they have a runner on first and he looks down the third base coach to get his signal cause they give him a signal on what to do and basically through signals they told him he was gonna send the runner to steal second but they needed him to swing away to rob the catcher from throwing him out on second base so he was supposed to swing the ball but Wood's threw a 90+ mph fastball that he never saw. The runner got thrown out on second base, Jensen struck out, and the coach was not happy.

Jared says he thinks it says something about them that they don't remember game-winning goals cause what he remembers is when he was like 11 or 12yrs old- if you get fouled in basketball while shooting you get two shots but sometimes the foul count is at like 8 and you get a foul dribbling which means you get a one-one so you get the first shot and you can get a second shot so he got a one-one and shot the free throw and missed which meant the ball was still in play. But everybody is standing around waiting for him to make the second shot which he wasn't entitled to but he realizes nobody was aware the ball was still in play so he tells his team mate who the ball had bounced over to to pass it to him and he drives straight down the lane and he missed the layup so the other team got the score.

As somebody who knows nothing about sports this was very confusing.

Also, Jensen was trying to ask Jared a question about this and Jared wasn't understanding so Jensen just slaps his arm to get his attention. x

And that was the Gold panel! Real quickly I want to mention that according to the fan who recorded this panel Jensen was checking up on Jared prior to going on the stage to make sure he was okay because this is a very emotional con.

For those who may still not know Krista, also known as Kreespa, who has provided the fandom with wonderful panel recordings over the years was sadly diagnosed with terminal cancer and this was the last convention she was attending so it was dedicated to her. That's why you'll see them wearing a green shirt that says Kristacon on it.

J2 Gold Panel DC Con

#after 100yrs here it finally is the j2 gold panel post for dc! #main panel post should be up in a couple of hours #j2 tinhat #mine #noniwtv

[giftedpoison]

Y'all.

So like I'm absolutely unhinged and can never like something a normal amount.

Like ever.

But I got a job stage managering for a Renaissance faire near me in the summer. And also they asked me to help with a weekend event where I will be stage managering for a bunch of bands.

Sick right?

And like I've never done anything like this before. (And therefore no idea if I'm gonna enjoy it but I'm convinced that stage managering is actually my divine calling of sorts- specially for musicians but not limited to there. Which is mostly because it feels like something clicked into place. Like it feels right this feels like something I should be pursuing.)

But because I'm an academic with a hatred for the confines of real schooling at heart, I started doing research about what a stage manager should know (not to prepare for the jobs which are expecting me to be completely green) and the thing about a stage manager is they should have an understanding of all aspects of things that go into live performances.

So a music stage manager will understand the needs of a vocalist or an instrumentalist or the tech people as equally as possible and so forth.

And a theatre stage manager should comprehend actors needs, lighting needs, director needs, etc etc.

And as someone who has been in music and theatre most of my younger years less so since high school (couldn't keep up with my peers major L) I'm not completely alien to the world. (In fact I always say my first two loves were the written word and the performing arts) (plus I once went the trajectory of trying to become fight director back in 2020 which led to lots of research of that field shocker.)

ANYWAY

Now I'm like actively absorbing all the books I can find that has anything to do with film, theatre, and music.

And am currently reading Drama High by Michael Sokolove and The Music Never Stops by Peter Shapiro.

And I have a running list of documentaries to watch about different histories of music (specifically ones I'm less familiar with like blues and hip hop and opera but not limited)

And I'm trying to get back into practicing martial arts on my own.

And I have shows I want to see and events I want to go to.

BUT THESE BOOKS IM READING MAN. They get it.

Reading Drama High is so wild because I'm learning about these kids who would otherwise be mostly unknown other than this book and I just feel so deeply connected to them.

Courtney Meyers has my whole heart from that book. Like this quote about her "Taking the job at Georgine's felt like a death sentence. But theater is not an escape. In some ways, it is the opposite of that- it brings her closer to the true self she thinks she might be, or could become."

Georgine's is a diner that her mother and grandmother works at so she felt destined to repeat that. And as someone who also came from a small town and felt like I had nothing going for me and that I was doomed to job hop retail jobs like my parents and never quite get by enough? It resonated with me. It also resonated with me about her feelings on theater. Like music, writing, and theatre sure was a form of escapism but it was also always a form of self expression a way to pull out pieces of myself from the written word and look at my own reflection.

Even growing up id always want to play angry or villainous characters (to this day I think about how my theatre teacher passed me over for Morgana in sleeping beauty to give it to my twin who hated it, in 5th grade) because I wanted a safe space to express all this anger I had at a world that refused to listen. But not only that the confusion I had. The world was so achingly confusing and social cues confused me and the written word helped me try to unravel this confusion.

And don't even get me started on music. When I am in a venue listening to a band suddenly nothing else matters. When I am surrounded by people actively pursuing music I have both feelings of inadequacies but also at home.

When I see a concert I don't want them to perform to me like it's their job- I want to see you having fun and enjoying it even if you've been doing it for 20 years (I really see Ice Nine Kills as a shining example of this, but they are one of thousands however they are my only core experience as they are like one of few bands I've seen multiple times. And even tho it's clearly a performance as we get (fake!)killings on stage it's also for the love of horror and for the love of song. It has to be or they wouldn't be rocking the horror world with their very own convention that could very well be the next Spookyworld. If you're curious what I mean here's my review of their last convention where I explain that very concept.)

Theatre and Music are two loves I have that feel equal parts untouchable while also constantly being all around me.

And I don't know where I was going with this but I guess consider this the ramblings of someone in love with the arts who fears the arts will never love her back but she keeps trying to find her place anyway.

#im also specifically only checking books out from the library or reading books i have already that relate to music or theatre #as a starting point #art #theatre #martial arts #music #horror #ice nine kills #love letter to arts #dont mind me just rambling #writing #drama

[kaseyskat]

happy amphibia finale day everyone 🥳 glad I got to finish this in time to celebrate 🥳🥳🥳 amphibia to me has been one of the best celebrations of friendships and found families, and while I wanted to write about so much more, I hope this resonates with y'all nonetheless!

~~

everyone else is long asleep when anne drags herself out of her sleeping bag. next to her, she can see sprig and polly curled up together, she can hear grime's snoring and the sound of hop pop's sleep croaking, giving their camping spot some peaceful ambience. she gives them a fond smile, and then climbs out of the sleeping area altogether, moving forwards on her mission. 

at the edge of their camping spot, underneath a tree, yunan and olivia keep watch. well, olivia keeps watch- yunan is fast asleep, her arms around olivia's waist all the while. 

"by the lake," olivia says when she sees anne, before anne can even say a word. "maybe you can convince them to sleep." 

anne just smiles wryly. "when have I ever convinced them of doing anything?" 

"don't sell yourself short, I think you may be surprised." olivia smiles, and anne smiles back at her before she keeps going. 

this camping spot had been chosen meticulously by hop pop, yunan, and sprig, working together to pick out the absolute best place to spend one last trip. it had been well worth it, because as anne rounds the bend, the lake unravels before her eyes, dark with the reflection of the night sky, glittering with stars. 

two figures sit at the lakeshore, hand in hand. anne shakes her head fondly and she stumbles down the bank to join them. 

if sasha or marcy notice her joining them, they don't openly say anything about it. marcy's already leaning heavily against sasha's side, their hands intertwined, and her gaze doesn't stray from the lake even when anne sits next to her, wraps one arm around her shoulder and takes marcy's free hand with the other. 

"took you long enough," sasha says, her head tilted so that anne can't see her expression. "we've been waiting for hours." 

"how was I supposed to know that?" anne snorts, but she squeezes marcy's hand- marcy squeezes back automatically, an acknowledgement of anne's presence. "you should've said something." 

"sorry," marcy whispers. she sounds absolutely exhausted- and anne understands why, after the weekend they've all spent in the amphibian wilds. still, anne squeezes her hand again; a silent you don't need to apologize to me. not ever again. 

she's sick of apologies. she'd rather move forward. 

"isn't it beautiful here?" sasha sounds wistful, and she's still gazing out towards the lake, the stars reflected off the water and into her eyes. "I think I might actually miss this when we go back." 

"even the food?" anne teases, laughing when sasha's nose wrinkles. 

"you know what I mean, asshole," sasha retorts, and she reaches across marcy to playfully swat at anne's arm. anne swats at her back, and they both laugh. 

"I wish I could've done more to help," marcy laments, "olivia insisted I stay out of the rebuilding, but..." there's an unspoken guilt in her words, one that has lingered since she was awoken from her possession and everything that has followed. 

anne doesn't know if it'll ever go away, that guilt. all she can do is be there to reassure her. 

"come on, marce, you can't do everything," sasha chides, shaking her head. "I know what you mean though... grime is gonna go back and help rebuild the toad legacy, but I'm not allowed to join him. he's really committed to me going home." 

home. what a strange word. anne doesn't know what's home anymore, not when she's equally happy in LA and here. it's been a strange cocktail of emotions, the way she's felt about returning to earth after all this time. will she be just as out of place there now as she was here? 

"I still don't know where my parents are," marcy mumbles, mournful. "they might've already left the city; I'd have to go with them immediately. I... I know that, but..." 

"it's still scary," anne finishes. she thinks for once, she might understand. "it's okay, marbles. no matter what happens, we'll face it together." 

"after everything we went through, I wouldn't want it any other way," sasha says. she hesitates, nose wrinkling again. "is that... okay? I mean, what if we just fall back into old habits?" what if I fall back into old habits goes unsaid, but anne hears it nonetheless. 

"you won't," she says quickly,  offering sasha a smile. "you've changed for the better: we all have. I'm proud to be your friend." 

sasha sniffs, and the choked sound she makes sounds suspiciously like a sob. "that's our anne," she says wetly, "always knowing what to say." 

marcy doesn't say anything. when anne glances at her again, she's curled against sasha's side, her eyes fluttering dangerously. she looks peaceful, and something fond swells in anne at the sight, her stomach full of butterflies. 

home, she thinks, might just be where the people she loves are, and while she's going to be depressed leaving the plantars behind...

...at least she won't be alone. 

"come on, you two: olivia told me to make sure you get some sleep." anne stands, and she offers her arm to the sleepy marcy. marcy reaches up to grab it, but before she does, sasha stands as well, tugging marcy up and into her arms. 

"sasha!" marcy laughs as she's lifted into the air, giggling in delight. sasha twirls her around a little - undoubtedly just to show off - before glancing at anne, head tilted. 

"lead the way, boonchuy?" she asks, hesitant and soft, uncertain in a way she never was before this, before amphibia. 

anne smiles fondly at both of them, and she takes the lead back up the bank, towards the campsite. 

yunan and olivia are just where anne left them. olivia gives anne a knowing, smug look, one that anne shrugs at. behind them, grime is still snoring, hop pop is still croaking, and sprig and polly both look so peaceful, enjoying one last night together before going back to wartwood. 

anne's going to miss them so bad, her eyes burn at the mere thought. at least, she thinks, as sasha casts a fond look towards grime and marcy stares at the newts they left behind, she's not the only one. 

she isn't going to think about that yet, though. instead, she sits in her sleeping bag, patting the one next to her for sasha to set marcy down in. sasha takes anne's other side, and though they have three separate bags, as soon as they're all on the ground, marcy rolls into anne's side, and sasha drapes an arm across them both, and it's warm and snug and everything anne has ever wanted. 

with them at her side, she thinks she could face anything the world decides to throw at her- one day at a time.

#kasey writes stuff #amphibiasupernova #amphibia #anne boonchuy #marcy wu #sasha waybright

[league-of-sam]

As Grim as the Reaper | Simon 'GHOST' Riley PREQUEL

Ghost x Reader, Graves x Reader

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Phillip Graves x AFAB!Reader!OC 18+ MINORS DNI! t.w // angst, mental health, language, violence, death, sexual themes/SMUT, military inaccuracies, language inaccuracies (google translate).

As Grim as the Reaper: Masterlist

Pushing the door open as quietly as you could, you found the house in darkness.

You had to take a deep breath before stepping inside, because this place...it didn't feel like home anymore. You didn't belong here anymore.

All of that just solidified the decision you'd come to over the last week.

The door shut behind you with a soft thud, and you lowered your bag to the floor. With silent steps, you made your way upstairs.

There was a thin layer of dust along the surfaces, evidence that Graves hadn't bothered with any of the housework in the week you'd been away. The bed was unmade, his clothes dropped around the room here and there, but he was nowhere to be found.

Somehow, that didn't make it easier.

It didn't take you long to pack the small amount of your belongings. It was only a small house, after all. Couldn't really justify owning much when the two of you were constantly moving. At least you had that.

You'd insisted on coming alone.

Laswell didn't want that, but she agreed after your stubbornness prevailed, opting to drop you off and pick you up in an hour. That was surely enough time to pack everything away and leave.

Leave the house.

Leave him.

In all honestly, it had barely taken you thirty minutes to pack your things, and so after bringing your bags to the door, you decided to make one more round of your little home...house.

You smiled, tasting the salt of a lone tear as you glanced at the pictures hung on the wall. Pictures from your first date, the weekends spent in his hometown in Texas, multiple snapshots of your time together, right down to the night you got engaged.

Everything in the last three years, just gone.

Trudging downstairs, you moved to turn off the last lamp, wiping a tear from your face until a voice stopped you.

"Goin' somewhere?"

You jumped, squinting into the darkness, where you could make out the shape of Graves, sitting on the armchair, looking at your bags.

Fuck.

"I- uh, I-"

"You were just gonna up and leave, huh? After everything?"

"Phillip, please just-"

He stood up, cutting you off, "Where the fuck have you been for the last week?! I've been worried sick!"

What?

That's what he called worried?

You scoffed as he approached you, "Worried? Where was that a month ago? Two months ago? Where the fuck was that when you all but told your fucking team you'd cheat on me?"

Your voice raised with every word, finger poking into his chest.

"I didn't mean it like that, you didn't even give me chance to explain myself!"

"You think you deserved that? I reckon 'never say never, y'all!' is pretty fucking self-explanatory, you fuckin' prick."

Your words were venomous, and they stung him with surprise. Never did he think you'd speak to him like this, where was his sweet girl? His little Reaper?

"The fuck is goin' on with you, huh? We're getting married and here you are sneakin' round the house packin' bags."

You were silent.

Yeah, you'd ignored his every attempt to reach out to you.

But he'd abandoned you in your most vulnerable moments, mocked you to comrades, pulled away when you needed him most.

"Why are you acting like this is out of the blue?" You asked quietly, "Don't you remember that night? I asked you if we'd be okay, and you couldn't give me a real answer."

He pushed a frustrated hand through his hair, because you were right.

"Baby, look, I know I've not been the best boyfriend but we can work this out, right? You can be my perfect girl again, my little Reaper."

He reached for your hand, but you yanked it away.

"That's the thing, you're not listening! I'm not gonna be that person anymore! Not after what happened. I don't want to be! And you can't seem to get that. I can't be with someone who refuses to even try to understand where I'm coming from."

"But you can get back there, right? Therapy is helping, and the sooner we're married and you can leave the force the better."

"Uh, what? Leave the force?"

Graves looked at you, mirroring your confused expression, "Well, yeah. How else are we supposed to build a home and raise a family?"

"Oh my god." You laughed, bitterness dripping from your lips. "You cannot be serious."

He continued to give you that look, the corner of his lips twitching as he took in your body language.

"Jesus fucking Christ...God, you're no fucking different than any other man that's doubted me my whole career. How did I not see it before..."

"What?"

"That's what you thought, really? We'd get married and I'd become a stay-at-home mum, have your dinner waiting for when you got home? Like a good little wife?"

He blinked, stepping to you once more, "W-well, yeah, my ma did it for my old man, that's how I was raised. And you can't fuckin' blame me for wantin' you out after what happened!"

You rolled your eyes, stepping further away, "I don't want to be that person! I don't want to be some perfect little trophy wife."

"I can promise you that life with me would not be like that, baby. We're perfect-"

"You're still not listening to me!" You yelled, pushing hair from your face, "Fuck me, you're insufferable!"

"And you're a fuckin' liability! You got people killed, (Y/N), you can't still think that Special Ops is where you belong."

Tears sprung to your eyes, falling down your cheeks quickly, "How could you say that to me?"

"C'mon, (Y/N)." He sighed, "You know as well as me, Laswell, Shepherd, the rest of the team...you know it was your fault. S'why you're actin' the way you are."

Ouch.

"You...y-you think my grief is an admission of guilt? You think me grieving losing my fucking family is me knowing it was my fault? Don't you think I've blamed myself enough?"

"You can't let go!" He yelled, "It's been almost two months, (Y/N), and you still won't let me close, we've not even had sex-"

"Oh...my god. Oh my god. No. Fucking no. I'm not listening to this." You spat, tears streaming, dripping from your chin to the hardwood floor.

"You fuckin' need me. You're gonna stay and we're gonna work on this shit and we're gonna get back on track and we're gonna get married, baby. It's gonna be fine."

He stepped forward once more, his hands coming to land on your waist, pulling you to him as his head moved to the crook of your neck, placing soft kisses.

"Okay, princess?" He hummed, "It's gonna be alright."

He smirked against your skin as he felt your body involuntarily lean into him, and heard the sigh that left your lips. 

You wanted to give in...fuck, you wanted more than anything to believe him, to believe the words he was spewing to you, believe everything was going to be alright. But it wasn't, there's no way it could be. Not after everything that had happened.

And he couldn't fix that.

No one could.

"N-no."

It came out as an almost-silent whisper as you tried to push him from you.

"Shhh, it's alright. I'll make things better, okay? We're gonna be just fine."

You grimaced as he continued to touch you, and you shoved him away violently, enough to make him stumble backwards.

"No!" You breathed heavily, "No. No! Not doing this, I can't do this anymore."

"You think you can leave me? Absolutely fucking not." He laughed, moving away from you as he ran a hand through his hair.

"You gonna stop me, Commander?" You challenged, taking a step back.

"I don't have to! 'Cause you see that ring on your finger? Means you're fuckin' mine, (Y/N). My fiancée, my wife...you're my girl."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, "I'm not property, Phillip! That was always your fucking issue, thinking you own me, I don't belong to you."

"Yet you're still wearing it! Left me high and fuckin' dry for a week and yet you still wear the ring I gave you."

You looked at your hand, the diamond blurring through your tears.

Why were you wearing it?

"Then I guess it'll just have to come off."

He turned to meet your gaze, face paling as your hands moved, "Don't you fucking dare-"

You pulled the ring off your finger, so harshly that it burned, leaving a red ring as it caught your knuckle.

Graves stepped forward from across the room, in an effort to stop you, but he wasn't quick enough, and as he moved toward you, you flung the ring with the same power as you'd throw your knives into an enemy.

The hiss he let out told you that you'd hit your mark.

The ring bounced, clattering into the coffee table behind him, and he looked to the ring, then back at you, a small bead of red liquid coming from the small gash along his cheek.

So, diamonds are sharp enough to cut.

"You...you, fuck! You fuckin' psycho!" he yelled, dropping to his knees to find the ring, holding a tissue to his face, "Why the fuck would you do that?!"

Any ounce of guilt you felt immediately dissipated, and with an angry furrow of your brows, wiping your nose on your sleeve, you picked up your bags, flinging the door open.

"Go fuck yourself, Phillip Graves. I'm done." You spoke lowly, whimpering as the words came from your mouth.

"Baby, no-"

He tried to speak, shooting up from the floor, but you were already gone. Already tossing your bags into Laswell's car by the time he swung open the door, yelling for you.

You ignored him, angrily wiping your face as you opened the car door.

Laswell looked to Graves, eyes widening when she saw the trickle of blood on his cheek, her gaze flicking to you.

"What happened?" She asked you, worry on her face.

"Just get in the car." You mumbled.

Graves started to move down the driveway, prompting her to hastily get into the car and start the engine. His yells were muffled through the glass, and you put a hand over your mouth to stifle your sobs.

Rubber burned as Laswell tore onto the road, leaving Graves standing and watching you leave him in a puff of smoke.

And that was that.

Done.

Over.

Alone.

And the loss of home hung over you like a blanket made from lead.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #task force 141 #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost fanart #call of duty #cod mw oc #cod mw2 #cod mwf2 #callofduty #gaming #cod mw19 #captain price #john mactavish #phillip graves #graves x reader #ghost x reader

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

Just read the Inevitable update and I’m obsessed all over again!! Each chapter just keeps getting better 🥹 I’m glad the reader character grabbed you by the collar and said bitch nah coz I am COMPELLED and I love the character and everything 😂❤️ could I be added to that tag list as well? Lol and really any mandalorian fic you write I would love to be tagged in 😬 thanks! Love you byeee

STOP YOU'RE MAKING ME BLUSH.

Thank you so so much! I'm so glad you're enjoying it. (And absolutely I'll put you on the taglist).

I'm also going to use this time to publicly announce my to-do list so I can fucking get my shit together lolol. I've been so lazy the last few days and it's mostly b/c work has been so crazy that by time I get home I just crash. But good news/bad news, I'm ✨sick✨. I think I caught one of the viral bugs floating around here. Which means that I'm gonna be stuck at home with my laptop getting shit done (good news) but there is a solid chance anything I write is mildly nonsensical from cold meds (bad news). Guess we'll find out!!

Next chapter of Inevitable. This gets priority since I need to update it on Monday lol.

Work on the next chapter for AFS. This won't be as hard, and will probably be the last thing I do this weekend if I get to it b/c it's already half done. #19 was supposed to be longer but I split it in half so.

I have a comfort drabble I'm working on that I want to finish today (and ideally post today at some point). I've been slacking on my drabbles for y'all so I'm gonna try to get some out.

Maybe work on my original manuscript that I haven't touched in like a week ??????

I wanna work on the next chapter of Seven Days, just b/c I'm seriously craving cowboy!Din again. (and b/c i accidentally over complicated my plot so now I'm super excited to write it all out)

Maybe write another AFS deleted scene? I guess that counts as a drabble.

And, if time willing, I think I wanna branch out into the world of Joel Miller. I have been craving that man like an addict looking for a hit (also side note to the anon who asked for the TLOU inspired drabble surrounding Din, it absolutely will be done b/c I'm obsessed with the scene you brought up I'm just slow).

ANYHOO, I'll be on and off tumblr all day long while writing so message me things. Any of the things. ALL of the things. Let's chat!

#the mandalorian #din djarin #a fresh start #inevitable #seven days #joel miller #asks #feel free to ask me about anything!!

[mojoflower]

I feel like I've got a lot of half-finished conversations going on, and I want to apologize to those of you who might be waiting for a response. But damn, y'all, it's been a WEEK and I'm really tired.

My son has Covid (I'm still trying to find a dr. who will prescribe Paxlovid. They all agree that he's high risk and should definitely have it, but they don't prescribe it, for one reason or another.) My husband is sick, too, but I need to go get more tests to see if it's Covid or just work-drain and exhaustion.

My niece had a seizure at my house on Saturday. The numbness/pain and shaking lasted for exactly 1 hour. After many phone calls to the neurologist, we now think this has more to do with an advanced eating disorder than a neuropathy, but the days of numbness leading up to the seizure don't rule that out, so. It's gonna be a busy doctor week once we're out of quarantine.

There were 9 kids at my house ALL WEEKEND. All of them were exposed to Covid, so I've been talking to a whole lot of parents lately. (So far, it's only my son, which is good.)

Maybe that's all that's going on. I'm just tired. I think menopause is really kicking my ass, and the fatigue is, like, not just mental.

(Lol, I had to have a talk with the nieces about having sex in PRIVATE places instead of under blankets in the living room. They seemed to think sex wasn't allowed, but I pointed out that there's a bowl of condoms in their bedroom, I thought that was clear enough. Bless their hearts. Please never again let me come in to gather up dirty dishes and catch you giving your boyfriend a handjob while three other people are on the floor watching a movie.)

*AND the dishwasher is broken. And we can't have a repair person in the house during quarantine. *sob*

#mojo's life #mojo complains #sometimes it all comes at once #my nieces are a hot mess #severe and debilitating panic attacks are also happening #along with the chronic migraines and the undiagnosed anorexia #god my sister really fucked her daughters over #she exacerbated all these things and never addressed them at all

[sketch-mer-6195]

Hey y'all,

Just letting you know that if you message me I'm not going to be on. I'm sick thanks to my brother lol

So I'm gonna be resting mostly this weekend. Love you all. Might try and drop something for Mara and Mikey. I dunno just yet.

Bai Bai 💚💙💜❤️🧡💚

Mer~

[not-close-to-straight]

Omg! The chapter was so fucking good! I'm so excited for Monday! Excited to see if Steve is really gonna kiss Billy and call him Alpha!!

The stand off between them, Steve holding his ground and then begging Billy to leave and promising him he can have him if he just leaves, like fuck, he clearly needs his Alpha to be safe, doesn't want Billy there cuz it's dangerous

Also Steve scenting like a Mama and being all mama bear protective of the kids is the best!

And Max being protective of Billy and then him helping her?? Like so fucking sweet and I'm so excited to see their relationship improving!

It was all just so fucking good! 😍😍

Okay so I got a bunch of comments that were like "can't wait for Monday!" and at first I was SO CONFUSED like, holy shit did I promise to update on Monday because that's definitely not happening.

And then I realized y'all were excited for Monday IN THE STORY, like hyped up waiting for the weekend to be over for Billy so he could see Steve again on Monday and for some reason that made me so so happy??? Like y'all really are here hyped up for the start of the school week for our characters and... idk. It just made me super happy to have people that invested in a story's calendar??

Anyway. I rewrote that scene so many times. SO MANY TIMES. Maybe five times before I finally rewatched the episode (again) and then rewrote the scene (again!).

At first Steve was gonna be alot meaner about it, get those Mama Bear instincts activated and get rough with Billy to force him BACK as a way to like, establish to Billy that this Omega was NOT to be messed with and then to sort of switch Billy's POV from "let me take care of you" to "You can take care of yourself, I just want to love you" which is a valid emotion, right? I thought it would elevate Steve's character past the traumatized Omega we've seen so far and re-establish him as a BAMF for the remainder of the fic.

And then I switched it up so BILLY was the angrier one and it was all from Billy's POV to keep his confusion and aggression and heartache all at the forefront while Steve was being so closed off and lying to him etc.

I went back and forth with a mix of those sort of styles before finally landing on the final draft and I'm.... 98% happy with how it turned out. I was happy with the switching POV's and the whiplash of Billy being so hurt about Steve's rejection and ready to FIGHT him about it, to Billy wanting to be sick cos he thought Steve was just playing him plus the way we got to see inside Steve's mind as the situation devolved and how he was so so relieved to finally call Billy Alpha even if he hadn't really realized he was ready for that sort of thing.

And the way he tells Billy "you're my favorite scent, I dream about you" AHHHHHH

I super love Max in this story. Me and Alyssa @xkissmeimirishx agreed almost immediately that Max is absolutely going to present Alpha in pretty much any Omegaverse AU and she is so FUN in this one with her little fangs and her Alpha side surging every time she's upset. And we see her through season 2-3 sort of grow into herself on the show, her original "meanness" turning to affectionate sarcasm and her just finding her place within the group so even though I usually don't have secondary genders present until closer to 17/18 in my fics, it felt like a good parallel to have her presenting at closer to 13.

The end scene with her and Billy I actually added at the end of my final rewrite. Originally it was more about Billy witnessing Steve holding onto his promise about taking care of Max but it turned into such a great moment between brother and sister and I actually went through my outline and added ADDITIONAL scenes for them because I adore them so much!

[ashingfireuniverse]

Hi I'm alive and well as I'm sure all of you are aware. What you might not be aware of however is my next steps in life. I'm taking a break from school. The reason for this decision is due to my health. As most of you in my life are aware, I've always been a picky eater. My sort of form of picky eating has a name though, it's called Avoidant/restrictive food intake disorder or ARFID for short. It's pretty serious believe it or not. I've been going to therapy for years now and I've just now found someone who did the research and actually listened to what I had to say about my eating habits. I am being admitted to an eating disorder hospital in a week or two actually. I'm being admitted under the highest level of care they offer. Now with covid being a thing I won't be there 24/7 like I should be. I get to come home everyday but I am having to take a medical leave from work. I get to the place at 7 AM and leave at around dinner time. This program is still no joke though. I'll be doing as much as possible within the time I'm there and making sure that I'm well taken care of. I'll be off on weekends completely so I can still sort of visit and live a somewhat normal life. It's gonna be a big culture shock but it's what I need to do. I've had an eating disorder since I was two years old. I am now 21 and am sick of having a bad relationship with food. I want to get better and I want to take my health seriously. I felt like you guys should know what's going on with me. I'm gonna be ok don't worry. I don't know how long I'll be doing this program but I'm hopeful for this change. Change is scary but I can't keep living like this. If you took the time to read this, I appreciate it. Sorry to sorta throw this your way but I figured y'all should know. I'll be happy to answer questions and document my journey!

#ashingfireuniverse #me #my face #arfid #arfid tag #arfid problems #tw arfid #tw eating issues #tw ed #ed content #recovery