#fold ‘em like a lawn chair

[cherrykamado]

*foaming at the mouth*

I need Genya and Sanemi to turn me into a Twinkie

EM HI BBY HOW ARE YOU MDSJKGNKSAJGNDSJNASKH OMG PLEASE. i miss them SO much i want the SAME and they would. THEY WOULDDDDDDD

#manifestin that they fold us like a lawn chair<33 #🍒— cherry's mail #🍒— cherry's moots #em<3

[odysseys-blood]

I am ambivalent about tall men... I am actually quite uncaring about physique when it comes to my taste in men? At least on the whole build, I am quite a face person...

Anyway, I am not against tall men but since I am six feet tall men that are taller than me tend to be the whole: "My personality is saying I am more than six feet tall on the first conversation."

thats fair i was just surprised but also i forgot you were tall u give average height vibes.

anyways this is a tall person hate blog unless specifically i see somebody id like to climb like a tree as though i am a little squirrel

#cliff finally answers #theunstablejester #i never understood ppl into like. six pack midel built men also but thats just me #i like em with sone stomach i actively hate super skinny guys also like we can be friends but im not abt to cuddle w/ somebody #that feels like im laying on a remote #this is my preference both ways actually but i do prefer taller women #also i only ever knew one guy who hated for ppl to comment on his height his name was ethan and he was 6'4 #honestly hope he didnt grow more bc thats when we were in hs #it was funny to see us walking to the bus together also theres a full like. foot + of difference between us. #id hit him in the back of his knees and fold him like a lawn chair if he ever tried to be cheeky abt it tho

[starrystevie]

everything is hazy and maybe it's from the sticky sweet smoke of the joint they're sharing, but the thick tennessee humidity isn't helping matters. the night air feels heavy, clinging to their bare arms and foreheads like laying in quicksand, and it makes it hard for things to feel light. it all feels important, from the blades of grass in the field tickling the backs of eddie's knees as he lays propped up on his elbows to the stars shimmering above them to the sounds of nature chirping them a love song in time with his heartbeat.

"y'know," eddie starts, turning to look at steve by dropping his head to the side. the rusted arm of the lawn chair steve's sitting in creaks as the side of his head rests against the metal. the sudden motion makes the earth tilt on it's axis but sometimes that's what looking at steve just does to him. "the mountains here are old."

steve snorts out a laugh and drops a hand onto the top of eddie's head. his hand pushes through the curls for the briefest of seconds and eddie waits, wanting steve to keep his hand there, but then he's moving eddie's head to lean against his knee instead. it feels more like a win than he expects it to. "yeah, all mountains are old, man. how high are you?"

"no, steve, these-" eddie opens his arms wide to the appalachias in front of him and ignores the sharp pang of homesickness in his chest at the view. "-are older than fucking bones. they're older than saturn's rings. they-"

steve's hand returns to his curls and it stalls him. the homesick feeling that made a place in his chest warms up to nostalgia and hope and his head is filled of images of he and steve doing this again for years to come. images of them as older men, and maybe they're together and maybe they aren't, but they come back to the old plot of land he grew up on and smoke better weed and have a few beers and feel young and maybe in love again.

"it's kinda magical to think about. that these mountains that aren't nearly as impressive as the fucking rockies or somethin' have the coolest history. like, there are caves up there with zero fuckin' fossils because they were formed before invertebrates. and no one gives 'em the time of day just cause they aren't like peak skiing conditions or whatever. it's bullshit."

they fall into silence and before eddie can let himself over think about oversharing, steve's fingers linger on the side of his temple, tap a little beat before stilling. "you're accent comes out when you're excited."

eddie's face flushes and he hopes steve can't feel the heat under his fingertips. he can feel himself freeze, ready to laugh off this whole thing as being too high off his shitty weed or too tipsy from the beers or the general intoxication that comes from seeing steve fucking harrington sitting in his mom's shitty old folding chair with his mountains as the backdrop. but then steve's fingers start petting over his head again and all the noise between his ears fades away.

"i like your accent," steve whisper. eddie can barely hear it over the crickets. "it's cute."

eddie lifts his head up, risks a glance at steve and sees a matching blush to his own. it's right that the mountains are there to witness it, he thinks, as steve's hand cups his cheek and pulls him up so his knees dig into the dewy grass. they have as much of a home in his chest as steve does, it's about time they get properly acquainted.

#don't be surprised if this sort of scene comes up in another fic im writing cause it's kind of the basis of one of my longer ones #have i written it yet? not really #but this will absolutely be the vibe of it #appalachian eddie #steddie headcanon #my writing #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet #honestly don't get me started on the appalachian mountains because i WILL cry

[wheels-of-despair]

A Slightly Late Munson Christmas Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Eddie spent Christmas '85 with Evil Woman, but it's time to go home and celebrate with Wayne… what if he brings her along? Contains: Hangin' with the Munsons, Christmas gifts, a sleepover, Eddie finally accepting that this is not a temporary arrangement. Words: 1.4k

"Wayne's coming home tonight."

You open your eyes and try not to show Eddie how sad you are about him going home. He's been with you most of Christmas break, since his uncle started working overtime, and you'd loved every second of it. But he has to go home sometime.

"I know," you mumble, nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck. You're nestled into his side, as close as you can be, on the loveseat in your garage. Is it warmer inside? Yes. Do you prefer being out here so Eddie can smoke and you're forced to huddle for warmth? Absolutely.

"Wanna come do Christmas with us?"

"What?" You lift your head to look at him.

"Do you want to come over and have A Slightly Late Munson Christmas with us?" He glances at you, then focuses on the smoke rising from the cigarette in his hand.

You can't fight the grin spreading across your face. "Really?"

"Don't get all excited about it or anything, it's just frozen dinners and whatever's on TV."

He stubs out his cigarette and tries to play it off as no big deal, but you're more excited about this than your own Christmas. Eddie coming to you has become standard, because his uncle works through every holiday. You knew they did a little something together afterward, but he's never invited you to be a part of it before.

"I'd love to."

You shared the plan with your mom, packed a bag, hopped in the van, and went straight to Bradley's Big Buy for the essentials. (TV dinners, beer and soda, some holiday-themed snack cakes that were half-off.)

The trailer was cold when you got there. Eddie turned up the heat, and you both scurried around to straighten up a bit before Wayne came home. Blankets were folded, mugs were washed, ash trays were emptied. You placed your presents for Wayne on the table, as well as a plate of cookies your mom had saved for him.

The tin trays of something slightly resembling food were in the oven and Eddie was in the bathroom when you heard Wayne's truck door slam outside.

He ambles in with half-lidded eyes, and smiles when he sees you leaning against the kitchen counter. "Hey, darlin'."

"Hi, Wayne."

"Hey, old man," Eddie grins, emerging from the hallway.

"Watch it, boy," Wayne warns half-heartedly, causing Eddie's grin to approach Grinch-like intensity.

Wayne sits down in the chair beside the door to unlace his boots. "Y'all have fun?"

"Oh yeah," Eddie says, dropping into the chair across from him. "Stole some lawn ornaments, set fire to some Christmas trees, sacrificed some virgins. The usual."

Wayne sighs and looks to you. "Did he behave?"

"For the most part," you grin. "Chief Hopper let him off with a warning, since it's Christmastime and all."

"You weren't supposed to tell him that!" Eddie stage-whispers angrily.

You chuckle, and Wayne shakes his head. Eddie's watch beeps - which is standing in for the unreliable oven timer - and he reaches for a potholder. He transfers the flimsy foil trays from the oven to the counter to cool, like a pro, then stands next to you.

"Well, while those are coolin', how about presents?"

"Talked to Santa," Wayne says somberly, leaning back to lace his fingers behind his head. "Said he'd have to pass you by this year."

"Well, my girl's mom must've changed his mind, 'cause I had a packed stocking on Christmas morning just like everybody else," Eddie says proudly, hooking his arm around your neck and pulling you close. You wrap an arm around his back and smile up at him, remembering how excited he was every time he pulled out another little gift.

"Really?" Wayne's eyes flick from Eddie to you. You nod subtly, and Wayne smiles. "Well, in that case, I guess it's alright. In the corner, go get 'em." Wayne gestures to his favorite chair. Eddie lets you go with a kiss to the forehead, and goes to investigate. While Eddie's ass is in the air, leaning over the chair and trying to reach the gifts behind it, Wayne looks to you.

"When he was little, I had to lock his presents in the toolbox on my truck. Such a sneak. Gettin' lazy in his old age."

"Not lazy," Eddie grumbles, bringing a few packages wrapped in newspaper to the table. "Just knew I'd never get anything cooler than the Stretch Armstrong that Santa brought me when I was 9." He puts the items on the table and heads for the door. You raise an eyebrow and stay put. He comes back with a bucket, which he flips over and sits on. "C'mon," he says, patting the chair he'd recently vacated.

You sat around the table and exchanged presents while Eddie filled Wayne in on your first real Christmas together, and what "Santa" had filled his stocking with. When your tinfoil dinners were cool enough to handle without burning off your fingertips, you moved to the living room. Wayne propped himself up in his favorite chair, and you and Eddie took the couch. Eddie found an old western on TV, and you ate in a comfortable silence.

When you finished eating, you and Eddie stacked your trays on the coffee table, but made no move to get up. He put an arm around you, you cuddled into his side, and he covered you both with a blanket.

The Slightly Late Munson Christmas was very different from Christmas at your house, but you loved it just as much.

You were rubbing absent-minded patterns on Eddie's leg when a snore rumbled through the room. You jumped in surprise, and Eddie let out a quiet chuckle.

"C'mon," he whispers. "Let's let the old man crash."

You stand and quietly gather your trays and cans - and Wayne's - and take them to the trash can. You place the forks in the sink one by one to avoid clattering while Eddie pulls out Wayne's creaky fold-up bed. The lights are turned off, except for the one above the stove, and you retreat to Eddie's room and close the door.

"Is the chair bad for his back? Should you wake him up?" you ask with concern, sitting on the edge of Eddie's bed.

Eddie shakes his head with a smile and unbuttons his jeans. "He drank two beers, he'll be up to wiz in an hour anyway. Then he can crawl into bed and let the sugar-plum fairies… dance or strip or whatever."

You snort, and he dives into bed in boxers and the t-shirt he'd been wearing all day. You, a more civilized kind of person, slip into the bathroom to change into pajamas. When you return to Eddie's room, he's ditched his shirt and is lying there in bed in what you assume is an attempt at a seductive position.

You roll your eyes and crawl over him, unaffected. He pouts and flips over, so you're lying there facing each other.

"Thanks for inviting me to A Slightly Late Munson Christmas," you whisper.

"Thanks for putting up with me all week," he smiles.

"I want to put up with you all the time."

"Your window to get rid of me is like," he squints and pushes his thumb and index fingers together to leave just a sliver of space, "this close to closing forever."

You reach out and use your own fingers to push his together.

"You're mine, Munson."

Eddie's mouth slips into a lopsided smile, and he leans forward for a kiss. When he pulls away, he looks at his watch and laughs.

"You know it's like 9:30, right? And we're in bed like old people."

"I'm sure we can think of something to keep ourselves awake…" you smirk.

"Yeah?" He waggles his eyebrows. "Wanna make out a little?"

"Eh… I guess," you shrug, like that wasn't your intention all along.

Eddie scoffs and flips over to lie on his other side, facing away from you. He crosses his arms with a dramatic "hmph!"

"Aww," you tease, moving in close and spooning him from behind. You wrap your arm around his middle and nuzzle your cheek to his back. Eventually, his hand closes over yours.

"This was the best Christmas ever," you mumble into his back.

"Hell yeah, it was," he yawns, giving your hand a squeeze.

#writings of despair #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x evil woman

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Congrats, Star!!! Will you write Rooster with smut prompt 10?? 💕

Hi Em! I think you're going to really love this one! 😜😜😜For @roosterforme You want me to ruin you, don’t you?💕💕💕

Surfer Boy

God bless San Diego, and god bless the US Navy. It’s a thought you’ve had probably a hundred times a day since you moved into your parent’s vacation home on the beach permanently. It’s become something of a morning routine for you. Every morning you brew a carafe of coffee and sit on the wicker furniture on the veranda as you watch this cluster of ridiculously sexy Navy guys gambol in the waves. There are always a few different guys in the group each morning, but one guy is always there. He’s about six feet tall, muscular, with a mop of shiny chestnut curls on his head. On his lip is a mustache that looks straight out of a porno from the 80s. It shouldn’t look as good as it does, but he makes you swoon. So yeah, you’re crushing on the Navy boy with a mustache. You have no idea who he is, what he does, nothing. But each morning, like clockwork, you perch yourself on your veranda furniture, coffee mug in hand, and watch him play in the sand. 

On Tuesday afternoon, when you’ve just gotten home from work, you meet him in person. There’s a persistent knocking on your back door. You open it warily, not sure what to expect. You still remember hiding with your mom in the corner between the sofa and the loveseat when a couple of drunks had been knocking on the back door. You have a high level of surety that it’s not a drunk, though, seeing as how it is about 4 o’clock in the afternoon. It’s not a drunk.

 On the contrary, it’s all the Navy boys you’ve ever seen on the beach in the early morning on the sand in front of your deck steps. In the center stand two, your mustached man and a blonde with the biggest shit-eating grin you’ve ever seen. They both wear wetsuits and look like they’ve swum in the waves. It’s the blond who pushes Mr.Mustache towards you.

“Hey, Darlin’. This here’s Rooster. He’s been ogling you for months. We’re sick of it. He’s your problem now. Fuck him, Kiss him, Feed him, Water him, I don’t care. I’m done being his keeper. Bye, now!”

Your mouth is half open, mid-word when they all turn around and walk away in unison. They don’t stop where they usually play on the beach, either. They just keep walking. That leaves you staring down at one flustered-looking man. His big eyes are glancing pleadingly up at you, and you can feel yourself folding like a cheap lawn chair at that look in his eyes.

“C’mon in, I guess. Shoes off on the mat. Do you want anything to drink?”

He’s oddly silent as he follows behind you. You can feel his presence behind your shoulder as you putter about in your small kitchen reaching for glasses and fetching a pitcher of iced tea from the fridge. You press the glass into his hand and lean against your counter, sipping the cool liquid.

He drains the glass with one smooth movement before finally speaking to you.

“I’m really sorry about this, doll. I should’ve stopped them.”

He’s dragging his hands through his curls, pulling one to rest over his eyes.

“What do you have to apologize for? It sounds like you were as taken aback as I was.” 

You set your glass down and step into his space, carefully pulling the glass out of his hands. 

“And, if what they said was true, baby, I’ve been thinking about doing bad things with you for a very long time.”

He blinks at you for several moments as you hoist yourself onto the kitchen counter next to him. From your new spot, you’re near enough to see the flecks of gold in his whiskey eyes. You tug on his hand until he’s standing between your parted thighs, and that’s when you know he wants you as much as you want him. You wrap an arm around the back of his neck and pull him in until you can feel the puffs of his breath on your lips. 

“D’you want this, honey?” Your voice is deeper and a little rougher.

“Please.”

You crash your mouth to his, gasping at the feeling of his mustache brushing against your sensitive skin. He lets you drive the kiss and move his head and hands until your skin hums with arousal. When you finally pull away, his eyes are blown wide, and his wetsuit has a considerable bulge. 

“Oh, you’re such a pretty boy.” You coo, clambering off the counter and softly pushing him back before tugging your shirt and pants off. You kneel in front of him, nuzzling at his bulge before pressing kisses against it and his thighs. His hands flex against his sides as you stand before him again.

“You want me to ruin you, don’t you?” Your voice is a sinful purr as you trail your fingers across his chest and stomach.

“Y-yes.”

“Yes, what, honey?” You cup his cock with firm fingers as he whimpers and jerks his hips into your grasp.

“Y-yes, ma’am.”

You drag him into another kiss for being such a good boy before letting him go. He whines at the loss of your touch as you walk to his back and drag the wetsuit's zipper down. It falls open at his waist, and it’s only moments before you have the most beautiful man naked in your kitchen. You drop to your knees and finally relieve your sweet boy's misery. The first gentle, wet drag of your tongue over his cock has the most beautiful punched-out moan spilling from his lips. At that, all your resolve fades away. You want this man’s cum in your mouth. It’s filthy and wet as you gag on his cock. 

“Baby, it’s okay, fuck my mouth.”

He takes that as the permission it is, fucking your throat as hard as he can. You look up at him with pleasure-hazed eyes as he chases his pleasure, every muscle in his body working in unison to bring him pleasure. He cums with a bit-off groan when you roll his balls between your fingers. That’s when you end up with a naked six-foot-tall man curled into your lap on your kitchen floor.

“Bradley, darling. How do you feel?” Your voice is soft as you run your fingers through his salty, sweaty curls.

“I feel so good, baby. I love you, Mrs. Bradshaw.”

“I love you, Mr. Bradshaw. Tell me what your squadron says when they realize you were ogling your wife.”

His laugh has your own spring forth, and that’s how the two of you spend the rest of your night. Laughing and still as hopelessly in love with each other as you were the day you got married.

Want to request something for my 100 Follower Celebration? The guidelines are here! Please leave me a request in my inbox with your ask!

- XOXO Star

#star writes #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #100 follower celebration #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #top gun imagine

[powderblueblood]

Gimme a classic Ronnie and Eddie mess around! Like, what is their greatest conquest to date, what pranks/hijinks have they pulled over on the beleaguered people of Hawkins?

it's the eve of, y'know, that.

the big departure.

the long goodbye.

ronnie and eddie have started referring to it as phillip marlowe-ing in order to, y'know, skirt around the issue of her leaving for new york because it's not as if either of them are wont to express their feelings here, jesus christ. well, except in the case of--

"alright, RJ, i got one for ya. top five hawkins fuck yous, let 'er rip."

ronnie prrrfftts out a breath and nearly keels over in her rusted, rickety, fold-up lawn chair that they've perched in front of the ecker trailer. it's a balmy summer night and ronnie's full of beer and eddie's merging onto nostalgia boulevard.

"where could i possibly begin, dude?"

a hawkins fuck you is another colloquialism shared between 'em. because when ronnie and eddie pull off a prank, it's not just a prank. okay? it's a statement. this is something that ronnie insists upon, something eddie blames on her 'punk rat leanings', but the personal is political, okay! and you know what else is political?

"number five, naturally, we gotta go small and loving-- shakin' up a can of soda before we give it to gareth. it's fresh, it's funky, it's harmless."

cigarette ember gesticulating in the dwindling light, eddie adds, "and it helps him remember his place."

"bingo. do not forget to keep that shit up when i'm in new york," ronnie says, pointedly pointing, "i don't wanna fuckin heaaar about you gettin' all soft on him and lettin' him run around without a face full of sody pop."

"it's what the munchkin deserves," her similarly be-banged brother agrees. "why does he keep falling for it, ya think?"

"because he loves us, you dumb-dumb," ronnie closes her eyes and sticks her hands behind her head, scratching under the band of her ball cap. "alright, number four... shit, kaminsky and the glue seat. it's gotta be, right? what a totally perfect maelstrom of humiliation."

"christ, and when he couldn't get up without tearing his fucking pants and then kelley comes in--"

"she had to think he was rodded up, dude! signed, sealed, delivered, pervert on school grounds!"

eddie guffaws, big and hearty in a way that makes ronnie join him. "i couldn't believe you dreamed that shit up on your own, you little do-gooder."

ronnie reaches for her beer and takes a pull, sobriety edging to the point where she's seeing twice as many fireflies as usual congregating around her porch light. her voice turns gravelly and serious.

"a c minus will do crazy things to a man."

"jesus, you sound like--"

"don't even say it."

slumping down in his squeaking seat, eddie scoffs. "number three, make with it."

ronnie's mouth twists, absently plucking at the label on her bottle. this is real now, this is crunch time. whenever they usually play top five (top five transformers, top five cheerleaders you'd mow down with a dirt bike, top five cheerleaders you'd save from getting mown down with a dirt bike if you knew they'd make out with you after), ronnie'd get a little overwhelmed once they broke the top three. that's a lot of pressure, y'know! three, magic number, all that shit!

but it's nostalgia boulevard. it's sentimental city. certain things stick out.

ronnie tosses a balled up piece of label at eddie. "foam party at the hawk."

her best friend's mouth perks up and he bats a big ol' bastard of a hand at her. "you're just sayin' that."

"i'm not! that was... i mean, that revolutionized the hawkins fuck you genre!"

"yeah, well, that's what they get for showing it's a wonderful life in july."

"you and your girlfriend dawn dishsoap gettin' freaky in the air vents."

"i could've gone to juvie for that one. if they caught me."

"this is what i'm sayin'!"

click, click. eddie lights another cigarette and ronnie nearly asks him for one, but knows she'll regret the taste of gross tobacco breath in the morning. "but it's still not number one, or number two," he points out.

"well, no, because number two is steve harrington's bald patch!"

a resounding SMACK! as both ronnie and eddie clap their hands together on cue, breaking into peals of soundless laughter, so much so that i'm gonna have to explain this fucking bit to ya, aren't i?

steve harrington's bald patch was a glorious era of time where ronnie was once caught attempting to see something through the arc de triomphe of steve harrington's hair. this prompted steve harrington to be like, what are you staring at, weirdo, or something to that effect which ronnie didn't appreciate. so she was all, dude, you might wanna... get that looked at... that... patch on the back of your head...

and somehow, by some grace of some satanic deity, it caught on.

every time ronnie or eddie were within staring distance of harrington, they zeroed in on the back of his head, exchanging looks of disgust, mild concern, but never amusement so he'd think it was real. and furthermore, they were worried for him. because who wouldn't be worried about steve 'the hair' harrington's hair? it was basically the hawkins high mascot.

and who had more school spirit than ecker and munson?

"ohhhh, shit!" ronnie yelps, wiping at her streaming eyes. "think he ever went and got that rogaine?"

"uuuggghhuhuh, who gives a shit!" eddie drums on the armrests excitedly, the both of them belly-sore from laughing. "number one, ecker! the big catch, c'mon! better be as good as what i'm thinkin' of because if not..."

ronnie lets the last dregs of their laughter peter off into the night air before she answers. the night air, the last night's air, the last night she'll sit out here with eddie talking shit, being teenagers, being go-nowhere do-nothing kids from the trailer park. her stomach twists, but she doesn't let that stop her.

"well, duh," she swallows, after a the last pull of beer suds from her bottle, "graduating."

it takes eddie a second. "you're an asshole."

ronnie's cheeks straight up ache.

"i know."

how the hell is she gonna survive new york without this?

"and i'm very proud of you, asshole."

ah, shit.

"i know."

#powder room talk #whatis-much #ronnie ecker vs the world #r. ecker by powder #e. munson by powder #oh of CUOuUurse i had to go and get a little angsty there at the end i'm a glutton i cant help myself #the disgusting brothers...... #published by powder

[spidergutz-writes]

What are some fluff hcs that you have for any and all of your handsome boys?? How would you spend a day with them? What are dates each of them would take you on?

meadow! Your spoiling me with all these delicious and amazing ideas!!

I’ll actually probably make this in 2 or 3 parts just so I can fit all mah bois :) (if requested, I will also add in some of my favorite gals!)

RED GUY:

Hand holding to the max!!

could be watching the most horrific thing unfold infront of him, and his hand would still be slotted in with yours

making dinner? He’s holding your hand.

watching tv? He’s holding your hand.

sleeping? Yup, he’s holding your hand!

he's a very shameless person when it comes to the softer things in your relationship

will not hesitate to pull you into his lap for cuddles.

also won’t hesitate to cling to you on every part of the day.

your cooking? Well so is he, now.

he loves cooking with you. It’s just so…normal.

normality is not something he experiences a lot, so even when you two are doing simple and mundane things, he enjoys it to the fullest :)

bro's sense of humor is so bad, but it gets to the point where it’s so ungodly terrible, that it becomes funny.

“Hey...what do you call a prisoner walking downstairs?”

“i dunno..What do ya call 'em?”

“..a CONDESCENDING… :D”

he thinks he’s funny, so please laugh :((

dates include him and you cooking a dessert of some sort.

his favorite is making apple cobbler pie with you :3

often you’ll end up with flour hand prints on your ass and some whipped cream on your nose.

he's just a silly guy doing silly things with his ooohh sooo silly partner!!

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

JIN BUBAIGAWARA: (what? He dies? No. No he doesn’t. Not here. He lives. That’s the reality we have here. Deal with it. Go argue with the wall idc.)

my sweet sweet baby boy. Where should I start?

okay, before he overcomes his trauma:

Took his mask off infront of you once, and now he can’t stop.

hes addicted to how you kiss his scar

how you coo at him and tell him he’s so handsome 🥺

Will fight for you if it’s serious. He’s still scared he’s a clone :((

will stand up for you tho

anyone says anything bad about you? He’s cursing them out while his alter ego is making weirdly terrifying threats.

”YOU GOT SOMETHING TO SAY, HUH?” “I hope you sleepwalk into oncoming traffic...” “DONT YOU FUCKIN SAY ANYTHING ABOUT MY PARTNER” “I hope everyone you love leaves you.…”

Dates consist of you two sitting on top of rooftops while having a picnic. Talking shit, cuddling, and eating.

you two end up falling asleep in each others arm a lot, admiring the sunset or the moon.

he is a human heating pad. Like seriously. You don’t need a blanket when he’s around

Loves lying on his back with you laying on his chest :)

is a little shy :(

Thinks you don’t want others to know you two are a thing :(((

but when you hold his hand in public or in front of the league? He melts.

When you first kissed his lips over the mask in public? He cried a little

tears of joy :)

can’t cook for shit. That man burns water.

don’t ask me how, but you tasked him to make breakfast one morning, and a fire broke out.

there was also mayonnaise on your ceiling. Again, don’t ask, not even he knows.

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

Simon Riley "Ghost" (this motherfucker doesn't die either. if anyone tells me otherwise, meet me at the Arby's parking lot at 6, BECAUSE I WILL FIGHT YOU)

oh my lawdy lawd. he is just SO FINE, WHERE DO I EVEN START??

this man has issues. he's really touch starved, but doesn't know how to accept any light touches.

he might shy away from your light advancements, because he's so used to any physical bringing harm or ill intent towards him.

but when you kiss his cheek, and hug his (slutty) little waist, he folds like a lawn chair on a hot summer day.

will scream, cry, throw up, roll on the ground, and promptly die if you ever serve him tea in a bowl (the French do this.)

likes to go to the gym with you. he loves to see you work out iykwim.

Ghost has never been a man for soft things, but he Isn't Ghost with you. With you, he's Simon Riley, a man who longs to have a sense of normalcy, a man who wants to take you out to nice restaurants, and a man who wants to bend down on one knee for you, and ask that burning question that lays in the back of his mind 24/7

he wants to do all of those things, but its going to take time. his insecurities tell him you deserve a man who can do more for you, but as always, you wash those thoughts away for him.

for now, his dates consist of concealed places, like the safety of either his, or your home, where he can take off his mask, safely. sitting, watching movies, drinking wine or scotch, and cuddling.

He's a big advocate on "actions speak louder than words" so he doesn't say "I love you" too often, but when he does say it? you better get the tissues. because he only says it during a really vulnerable moment of his, like when he's calming down from a PTSD induced flashback, or a panic attack, or when its late, in the middle of the night, when he knows its just him and his demons awake, with you sleeping soundly in his arms.

believe it or not, THIS MAN CAN COOK-

listen, i know he's British, and i know he's in the military, but that man just radiates "I'll make you a five star meal before i snap your neck"

he is a god when it comes to making steak. give him a basic ass steak, some spices, and a few other side ingredients and he'll give you a true taste of heaven. A taste of heaven from a man from hell.

we love him all the same though <3

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

holy fucking hell this took WAY too long, and I took some extra time on Ghosts.

as always, any type of constructive criticism is appreciated, no matter how harsh or small it is <3

#simon riley ghost #ghost x reader #simon riley #cod mw2 #cod ghost #ghost #cod mw2 x reader #cod x reader #red guy x reader #red guy #dont hug me im scared #dhmis red guy #jin bubaigawara #jin bubaigawara x reader #twice x reader #twice x you #twice x y/n

[r-edacted]

skateboarding isn't that hard guys I promise (ZeexEmma)

a/n: this is literally the first time I've EVER written a fanfic so I apologize if this is crummy. There were no cooks in the kitchen so I had to make my own food. I don't have an ao3 account so imma have to slap it here until I can get one! enjoy! Emma has never touched a skateboard in her life despite her athleticism. She always gravitated more toward things like tennis or volleyball. But finding out that one of her good friends did skateboard she decided she wanted to try. So they agreed to meet at the skatepark after school. It can't be as hard as riding a bike right?

Oh how wrong she was. 

"Hey ems you don't have to get on the board if you're not ready," Zee assures, noticing Emma's nervous expression. She's seen people skateboarding on TV before. Chase even used them in his stupid pranks but has never actually tried to ride one before. She was now remembering all those epic skateboarding fail compilations she's seen go viral online. But she was ready! Emma made sure to get the proper protective gear before asking Zee to teach her. 

"Don't worry Zee I'm ready! Besides, I always get a bit nervous before doing stuff like this." Emma replied. She didn't want Zee to think she feared a board with wheels.

"Alright, well first you get on the board. Remember balance is important and so is staying chill." Zee demonstrates by standing on his board with the greatest of ease. They take a swig of their soda while balancing on the board. "Easy as one, two…uhhhh.." zee trails off. "Three?" Emma finished. "Yea! Three! There are so many numbers to keep track of, it's crazy!" Zee laughed and Emma giggled. Zee got off their board and gestured to Emma to give it a go. "Your turn ems!" Emma took a deep breath and slowly placed her right foot on the board feeling it shift slightly. Then her left foot, keeping her feet on the two couples of screws that are screwed into the board. "That's it ems!" Zee cheered. "Bend your knees a bit to give yourself more balance." Zee bent their knees as an example. Emma mimicked Zee and felt the board roll a bit to the right causing her to yelp in surprise. She instinctively started holding her arms up to keep her balance, making her wobble a bit. "Woah! Easy skateboard!." She nervously shouted. Zee rushed behind Emma just in case she fell. "Don't worry ems if you happen to slip I got you. You won't fall." Zee assures. "Thanks, Zee." Emma calmed down and was back to being balanced on the board. “Do you want me to push you a bit so you can get used to the board moving?” zee asked. “ Totally! If I can't skateboard I at least wanna feel like I can” Zee smiled. “Cool! Alright here we go, keep your arms out ems." Zee gingerly held Emma's waist and began to push Emma across the skate park. Starting slow but gradually gaining speed until Zee was lightly jogging across the pavement. “WOHOOO! THIS IS SO MUCH FUN ZEE!” Emma laughed. Zee grinned looking at Emma's excited face. However, Zee probably should've focused on the ground because they tripped on a rock causing Zee to let go of Emma. Emma shrieked waving her arms in the air as her skateboard speeds to a chain link fence. “Emma look out!” Zee bolted off the ground and sprinted to the board and pulled Emma off, but being a string bean meant that he wasn't able to hold her. Zee folded like a lawn chair but was able to shield Emma from the impact of falling on the pavement and landed on Zee’s lap. “OMG zee are you ok?” Emma looked down at Zee. “Yup..im ok!” Zee gives a weak thumbs up as they open their eyes to see Emma above them. Emma’s face softened when seeing her friend had no series injuries. “I'm just glad you didn't get hurt bro” They smile at each other before Emma realized how close their faces were. Emma's face gains a light pink hue and bolts up. “Haha yea, that was so much fun! We should totally do this again sometime or not I don't know whatever you like haha!” Zee gets up and walks to the fence to grab their board. “Yea, I think we should pause the skateboarding lessons until tomorrow. Wanna go get some ice cream?” Emma's face brightened with excitement while putting her skateboarding gear in her backpack. “Heck yea! You buying?” “Who said I was?” “Says me Hezekias” Emma taunts. “Well considering I did save your life today id say you owe me one” Zee gives a triumphant look at Emma and she caves. “Alright alright fine.” She grins and gives Zee a soft punch on the arm while the two walk to the ice cream parlor nearby.

#zemma #td zee #td emma #tdi2023 #total drama emma #Total drama zee #total drama 2023

[selphplusplus]

Asymmetrical Poker Hand

♣️ ♥️ ♠️ ♦️

Hard to hit like a gut shot straight draw

But left you crossed up,

Jesus faded when the pen tip

Slaps like fake Xanax:

the bars hard.

and leave you blacked out

if you try to pull up,

It’s meteors vs short tyrannosaurus arms,

I’m just tyrannical, with long reach

Unpalatable, tasteless,

emperor Palpatine force choke holding the leash.

Kinda like that time you were dog walking,

froze and about faced

when I parked,

Got dog walked

ran inside and pulled the dead bolt,

little did you know

Feeling safe,

Looking out the window

Soon you’d need a life preserver,

moonshine in a mason jar.

So unethical

I’m a lawyer that’s been debarred

Billy GOAT 🐐 gruff when I called your bluff from my bluff.

Atop it all.

Always Take it too far,

Fourth trimester

a moon shot, scorched earth, soothsayer blindfolded

Gambled life away, storms raging

With stakes so high above your pay grade,

Not even your wasted life could pay up

Oh well,

take it anyway,

pay a portion

Leave you looking like afterbirth

post abortion.

Jokers 🃏 death 💀

Shove All in more than the pen tip

Wholly fucked when I rolled up

you and your hand both fold up.

Like lawn chairs during a cold front

Smiling ear to ear, from cold steel

Caressing carotids now hold still.

Formally introduced to formaldehyde

Preservation, (told you you’d need a life preserver 🛟)

Can it bitch, karma sent

you got what you deserve.

Quad queens, with the ace of spades ♠️

Double take, one of ‘em was your bitch I picked up along the way.

いいガムだった。

片道切符ではあなたの地獄　🔥

(Katamichikippu dewa anatanojigoku )

#poem #poetry #poets on tumblr #writing #slam poem #slammed #roasted #buffets and sideboards #poker #sidepot #battle rap #bars

[carlos-in-glasses]

First Line Game Tag

Thank you so much for the tag @good-ways and @paperstorm You're such beautiful writers 🥰

Rules: Post the first lines of your last 10 fics posted to ao3. if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics.

Afterglow of a Supernova

Carlos speeds into the cul-de-sac and pulls up in his unit before the ambulance arrives at the scene.

To him, the McMansion appears more characterful than the staid identikit houses that flank it, beautified with hanging baskets and a climbing rose. Borders of vibrant summer blooms surround a tranquil water feature in the center of the lawn. Ceramic flowerpots either side of the porch step are lively with rotating pastel pinwheels and miniature Lone Star flags that flutter in the warm breeze. A basketball hoop fixed above the garage door sparks a memory that Carlos tries to ignore, shrugging off the past like an invisible hand on his shoulder.

Man to Man

Carlos doesn’t know where he’s going. When he reaches the end of the long drive, he has three options: turn left towards the city of Austin, turn right onto a potholed dirt track and enter the deeper darkness, or turn around and go back home. He turns right.

On an overcast night like tonight, the dark is a serious, sucking thing, like a black hole on earth. He looks up at a fractal of moonlight – a small dusty shimmer far above. Meaningless. It’s no company. But he doesn’t want company. That’s the whole point. He wants to be alone in a way that he can control, and to achieve this he had to get out, run, self-create the distance that caused his parents’ calling voices to fade to nothing behind him. Does it feel good? No. But it doesn’t feel bad, either. And that’s new. Most days he feels bad about something – and this is the worst thing he’s done for a long time.

Chasers

“Hey.” TK reaches out, brushes his fingers against the earthy red cotton of Carlos’ jacket as he turns towards the door. Carlos stops, meeting TK’s look of adoration with his warm brown eyes. They stand as if suspended in each other’s gravity, glowing for each other like stars.

“Thank you.” TK whispers, meaning his gratitude soul-deep, slightly frustrated that the words don’t convey it enough. So, he follows with, “I love you,” – really wanting to press how he feels into Carlos, so Carlos may never forget and never doubt it – although these words seem insufficient also.

The Ruins of Wonderland

The storm lands north-east of Travis County, sparing Austin the predicted chaos that for several days the emergency services have been primed to contain, with the increasing adrenaline that rises from high alerts. Instead, the city experiences the mere edge of the blizzard – a soft snowfall that settles prettily on roofs and verges. There’s a few instances of vehicles sliding out of control on icy roads, but largely the salt spreading trucks have prevented disaster. That aside, people in inappropriate footwear, totally unused to freezing conditions, slip up and bang knees and wrists, which means an uptick in X-rays at St. David’s – but TK’s Paragon EMS crew hasn’t seen much action.

In Your Adorable Glasses

Before sunrise on Christmas Eve morning, Carlos jolts awake. His eyes adjust to the dark as he stretches beneath the warm white quilt and pats around for TK, finding him low down in the bed and curled up against him like a cat. He strokes through TK's hair delicately, and when TK doesn't move Carlos slips out from under the sheets.

Folded on the chair there’s a pair of green tartan pajama pants his mom bought him last Christmas. He pulls them on quickly for warmth, and from his dresser he chooses the fleecy brown sweater that TK loves because it makes him look like a grizzly bear.

Wrestling Angels

It happens less often these days, which is some mercy, but there are times – out of nowhere – when Gwyn's death floors TK. Invisible arms lift him high off the ground, turn him upside down and slam him onto his back. He is shocked, winded, his nerves crackle with pain. Still, the abruptness of this grief playing out in front of people is rare. It usually topples him at night, at home, when he can’t occupy his mind with work. He'll slink away like a wounded cat, re-emerging only when Carlos reminds him to have dinner.

Because of the intensity of the wedding build-up, Gwyn’s loss feels greater, more recent, and lately it spikes without warning.

A Naked House

“You know we can’t roll up naked to this thing,” Carlos says, pulling on a snug pair of smoky purple boxers and turning to the bedroom mirror to smooth his hair.

TK basks stark nude on the end of the bed and grins ruefully, like he’s been presented with a challenge he knows he’ll breeze.

Carlos stays expressionless, pretending to ignore him as he heads for the closet, but TK pounces and wraps his arms around him from behind. Carlos hums, settling into TK’s warm breath against his neck.

TK sticks his tongue out and licks his ear.

Carlos chuckles from the tickle but jerks his head. “Babe, stop – we have to focus.”

Teardrop on the Fire

Thursday February 24, 2022

The 5:30 a.m. alarm doesn’t stir TK. He remains deeply asleep and curled up in the fetal position when Carlos is ready to leave for his shift.

Another twenty seconds, Carlos grants himself, to look at TK in the cool blue dawn. He leans down and softly kisses TK’s cheek, his neck, his exposed shoulder. He leaves a handwritten note next to TK on his own pillow, and reluctantly backs away.

Bathtime and Black Magic

TK had been lying awake for an hour – maybe more at this point – wondering what was wrong and why the silent-treatment. It must have been a particularly traumatic shift. All he knew for certain was that this had never happened before, and tonight broke the stable pattern of all his nights with Carlos prior.

A Rainy Day in Austin

Carlos finished his coffee and cleared up their breakfast things while TK said his wistful goodbyes to Lou, the wild alligator lizard he’d bonded with (in the way only TK could) during a medical call where he helped extract him from a gaping leg wound.

Although setting Lou free had been TK's suggestion, Carlos was tight-chested with guilt, tense in his shoulders. Not to the extent of deciding Lou could stay, but still.

Tagging @reyesstrand @bonheur-cafe @ladytessa74 and @heartstringsduet and @tailoredshirt if you haven't been tagged yet and want to share!

#First line game tag #Tagged

[writing-for-the-gays]

STUNNIN'

RAMSEY MUROCH X TRANS MALE! POC! READER

SMUT! GAY SEX AND ALSO WEED, SMOKIN AND TOKIN!!! YALL SUCK AND FUCK AND SMOKE!!! DON'T LIKE DONT READ

Word count: 2670

Also posted onto A03

Music blasted through [names] headphones, his body moving to the sound of the music. A growl left him every time he landed a blow on the punching bag. His arms powerful and strong, the muscles underneath flexing with each thud that echoed out through the small building.

The only place he would be void of interruptions; the sheriffs' office, the set up reflected that, papers strewn about with workout equipment localized into a corner across the cells. A punching bag faded and torn from use sat In front of him now in that very corner.

Ice on my neck, that's incomin

Sweat rolled down his body. He didn’t notice the man ogling him, eye tracing every bit of his body through the cell bars. Lingering on [names] chest which was toned and built with two scars framing right below them.

Ramsey gulped softly, his Adam's apple bobbing. When he ‘turned himself in’ he didn’t expect some hot buff man to come in and start wailin’ on the punching bag in the corner; but he wasn’t complainin’, the man was more than just attractive.

[Name] was wearing a pair of simple sweatpants and nothing else.

Just scanning the man's body made Ramsey's pants feel tight and uncomfortable.

I'm a pretty boy I'm stunnin

Ramsey had only heard rumors about [name]

Apparently, he had an epithet that was so stupid that he refused to use it, and he learned how to fight hand to hand instead.

That worked just fine for Ramsey, if he was gonna get to see this every time he was in here, he’d enjoy it.

“Stop staring at my ass.” [name]'s voice interrupted the silence in the jail, a thud echoing again as [name] hit it, sending it flying against the wall.

Ramsey, not even aware [name] had taken off his headphones, let out a startled, nervous, laugh, “HAH- pfft- I uh-” he shook his head “I wasn’t starin’ at your ass i was uh-” he quickly tried to think of something to blame his starring on, the scars “I was looking at the scars on your chest, where'd ya get em?” Ramsey asked, leaning against the bars of the cell, smiling at [name] glared over at Ramsey for a second before looking over for his small hand towel.

“Top surgery.” he said simply, wiping off the sweat from his chest, as he did this Ramsey’s cock twitched. He couldn't help but think about [name], a handsome man for sure, strong powerful muscles. Certainly strong enough to put Ramsey in his place, pushing Ramsey right on the lounge chair, putting a strong calloused hand in the middle of his chest and holding him down-

Ramsey choked, what in the holy fuck was he thinking, he was a generally horny person, normally for the but, but this was border lining on eye fucking this person.

[Reader] growled lowly “What got a fucking problem with that?” They growled out. Ramsey shook his head “NO! No sorry, got distracted…. Was thinkin’ bout something.” he said, trying to shrug off his day dreaming.

“Yea… yea whatever.” [name] scoffed.

He locked eyes with Ramsey and something changed in the air, the feeling of tension was replaced quickly with lust so thick you could swim through it.

Super speed sonic I'm runnin

The next thing Ramsey knew [name] was fumbling in his desk for lube, something Ramsey couldn't see, and the keys to the cell.

The only thing Ramsey could think about is how his cock stained against the fabric of his cargo shorts, and how sexy [name] was with a primal look in his eyes.

A low whine escaped the slightly older man, deep from somewhere deep in his throat. It was needy, begging almost. [Name] threw the cell door open, his heart thudding in his ears as he looked at the rat-like man sitting in the fold out lawn chair.

Ramsey began to undress before [reader] even got to the cell, shaky hands making quick work of his Hawaiian shirt which ended up on the floor by the time [reader] got to him.

He immediately kissed Ramsey, it was hot, rough, needy. [Name] knew this would bruise both of their lips and they'd have to do the walk of shame after this to get ibuprofen from the store, but he didn't really mind.

The rat-like man pulled away and wasted no time diving into [name] neck and littering bite marks and hickeys up and down their neck causing [name] to gasp.

S-super speed sonic im runnin

"FUCK- it took you so long before you initiated, I thought I was going to fucking explode." Ramsey muttered against [name] skin "I wanted to just fucking walk out and beg for you."

[Name] shivers, his eyes rolling back a bit as Ramsey hit a sensitive spot on their neck, their control on their epithet slipping slightly as a fruity-floral skunk smelling smoke began to rise off of their skin and fill the small area.

Ramsey inhales deeply, his cock twitching in his shorts "now…" he leans in to whisper into [name] ear "what is this sheriff gonna do to me?"

Call me big papa I'm sonnin'

[Name] pushed Ramsey back against the lounge chair and growled slowly "Now… what do I do with inmates who have a staring problem…?"

Ramsey shook his head and smirked "No… why don't you show me?" He asked cheekily. It causes [name] to lunge forward and start placing bite marks against Ramsey's pale skin. They bruise quickly, a beautiful piece of art consisting of dark purple.

A whimper crawls it's way out of Ramsey's chest when [name] grinds down against his hard, twitching cock, [name] can imagine what it looks like below the tan fabric of his shorts; red and angry at the tip with a thick vein going down the underside, 7' inches long and girthy to match, nice trimmed pink hair around the base.

[Name] has memorized it at this point. Hes gone down on Ramsey more times than he can count in their 3 years of being married. [Name] can't seem to find the idea of feeling it in him any less exciting than the first time they got together. [Name] rubs his thighs together lightly to alleviate some of the need he feels.

I supply dick when he want it

Ramseys shorts and underwear come off when [name] tired gets of just grinding. His cock springing free, just as [name] imagined it would look like.

With his mouth watering [name] takes Ramsey's cock into his mouth, teasing the tip with his tongue he lightly hollows out his cheeks, sucking just on the tip. Ramsey bucks his hips, head thrown back in ecstacy. He's so sensitive, [name] chuckles lightly around the tip causing a needy keen to leave through Ramseys slightly parted lips.

While Ramsey's eyes were closed [name] pulls out the lube and applies it to their fingers, before gently pressing against Ramsey's hole.

I'm a bad boy mclovin.

Ramsey opens his eyes and lets out a gasp, looking down at [name] with curiosity and excitement. They press a finger into him causing his back to arch and a loud moan to leave him.

[Name] smirks "Did you prepare for this?" He asks softly, which only gets a nod from the gold eyed man. His legs spread a bit and [name] releases a guttural groan.

The unknown item from the desk makes a reappearance. A butt plug. One connected to a little remote. [Name] gently teased Ramsey's entrance the the tip of the toy.

Ramsey squirms as the toy is slipped into him, opening his good eye he smiles dorkily "So-!" Before he can let out a comment you turn the vibration on the toy all the way up causing him to curl up slightly, his muscles tensing before he falls back against the lounge chair.

He's letting out little whimpers and moans in a constant stream now, his cock twitching. There's no way he'll cum from just that. He's tried before.

I'ma, I'ma, bad boy Mclovin

[Name] returns to Ramsey's cock, paying special attention to the vein at the bottom, which causes his body to spasm. "FUCK- fuck- ungh- it… feels so good!-" Ramsey is a mess at this point, his hair wild and sticking out all over the place. 'The messy look suits him' [name] thinks with a grin that turns quickly to a sinister grin.

[Name] strips his sweatpants and boxers. He trails his hand up and down his body "Look at me Ramsey." [Name] commands gently. Ramseys eyes peek open and he throws his head back squirming.

Ramsey knows better than to touch his cock without permission, but his hands twitch at the need to alleviate the ache forming in his lower stomach. An ache that can only be helped by [name].

They growl at Ramsey "I didn't say you could look away." His eye focuses on the sight before him and he wishes he could jump on [name] at any moment.

[Name] is gently playing with their bottom growth, the other hand gently tracing up and down his body. It drives Ramsey wild.

Good pussy sound like pasta

"Please please pleasepleasepleaseplease-" Ramsey begs his hips bucking wildly "I need to be inside of you please- please I need you so fuckin badly, I want to feel you, fuck I wanna have you around my cock, I want to fuck you please-!" [Name] shuts him up quickly, lining up their cunt and enveloping Ramsey's cock.

[Name] finally let's their epithet go uncontrolled. More smoke rising up from their skin. It makes them whine. A light buzz running over their body. They notice something in the corner. Handcuffs.

[Name] smirks, an idea coming to their head. They lift off of Ramsey slowly “I'm going to grab the cuffs from over there, and then I'm going to ride you until all you can only think about me .” he growls and Ramsey nods, his normal eye clouded in pleasure, his gold prosthetic turned fully around no longer showing the pupil.

[Name] lifts themself off ramseys lap and saunters over to the corner of the cell, bending over in a way that showed off his ass to pick them up. Ramsey looked at [names] ass and the handcuffs and bites his lip, his cock twitches hard.

He give good brain he a master

straddling Ramsey’s hips again, he smirks hovering just above Ramsey's cock “D’ya’wanna get stoned.” He asked simply, smoke leaving his lips as he spoke.

Ramsey nodded desperately and [name] swooped in for a kiss, breathing smoke into Ramsey’s mouth, who quickly inhaled it, a foggy feeling washed over Ramsey, his vision becoming unfocused on anything but [name], a stupid smile appeared on Ramsey’s face, not a grin, a stupid smile, his eyelid drooped, his body felt heavy, but light and airy.

He gripped the back of the beach chair, feeling the rubber of the chair under his fingertips. A soft grounding feeling in case it was overstimulating.

[Name] slowly lowered himself onto Ramsey, the feeling of [name] walls again enveloped Ramsey, causing him to let out a loud moan, the feeling was amplified as he let his eyes fully relax, not focusing on anything, except for his cock, the feeling was so good.

“feels… fuckin good-” [name] mutters deeply, rolling his hips, his bottom growth dragging against Ramsey’s lower stomach. [Name] began to move up and down on ramseys cocks. Shock waves traveled through [name] as Ramsey's cock hit all the right places inside of him.

Ramsey tried to pull his arms to grab at [names] hips but he’s not successful, the handcuffs holding him. whines and whimpers leaving [name]s throat in an almost song-like manner to Ramsey, every nerve in his body had been lit up, and he really couldn't tell where he ended and you began.

It was like a dance really, one leading the other, when [name] would thrust down Ramsey would thrust right back up, it made [name] long for more.

Little Einstein bitch imma blast off.

In the flash of a second [name] is dirty talking Ramsey, riling him up. "Your cock feels so good in me- fuck- it's driving me fucking crazy it's so good- fuck- I need more- I need more of you- I want you to cum inside of me-." The last part gets Ramsey and he bucks, hard, speeding up his thrusts into [name]. He grips ramseys shoulder and whines.

It's a constant hard thrust, one that makes [names] toes curl and their back to arch. Both of them are shaking in ecstacy desperately at the edge. And then it all stops.

I can go slow or go faster

Ramsey somehow got out of the hand cuffs and he moves [name] off of him and onto the floor, putting him in a mating press where he slows to a crawl. Pulling out slowly but thrusting back in hard. It pushes wanton whore like moans out of [names] mouth.

He's teasing [name] on purpose. Tired of waiting he took it in his own hands. "I've wanted your pussy all fucking day, God I want to fuck my cum deep inside of you and just FUCKING-." He thrusts into [name] "breed you." He begins to jackhammer thrust into [name].

It's feel like [name] is going insane while he's being fucked into. He's incoherent. Babbling and moaning about ramsey's cock. He can't control the noises he makes and he loves it.

The moans and skin slapping skin echoed through the cell. It was noisy, and it kept getting noisier as ramsey got closer and closer to his peak. Body shaking, breathless, he was close, it was so fucking good, he couldn't think about anything else just [name], about how [name] was so tight around him.

[name] looked at him like he was a Greek god right now, granted he looked at Ramsey like this all the time; how [name], the most stunning man he's ever seen with dark curly hair, dark skin, and beautiful deep eyes that remind him of the first cup of coffee in the morning and the night sky when the world's asleep, see's him as anything other than average is beyond him.

God he felt so good, [names] body shook and his eyes rolled back "Fuck- fuck fuck please I'm so close-! Please cum inside of me-!"

If I bust quick that's a bastard

"FUCK!" [Names] body clenched, his muscles stiffening with each after shock of pleasure. That's what sent Ramsey over. He thrusted deep shooting ropes of cum [names] cunt. Sitting like that for a second before pulling out and gently setting down [names] legs, cum dripping from his hole.

Ramsey smiles softly and pulls him onto the lounge chair and kisses [names] cheek as he wraps his arms around Ramsey.

They sat like that for minutes, or maybe hours, enjoying the warmth the other brought. [Name] shakily got up, cum dripping down his thighs, he giggled "Ok that was not worth the strain on my back." [Name] said stretching and straightening out.

"yeah well sweetheart, it was your idea, so by proxy your fault." Ramsey responded, making cove roll his eyes with a scoff "Don't throw facts and logic at my tiny brain, I'll get a headache." [Name] responded, kissing Ramsey's forehead.

[Name] out his underwear and sweatpants back on. Hs sits back down and lays his head into ramsey's chest

Ice on my neck that's incoming

"Aye don't go falling asleep on me, we have shit to do." Ramsey said rolling his eye, sitting up with [names] head still in his chest.

[Name] laughed "Would you rather deal with me with the munchies all day, or me sleeping in your lawn chair for the rest of the day?" Ramsey sighed and did a faux glare at [name], who put his hands up "Fine fine. I'll go do my job." He said standing up, putting his underwear and shorts back on.

[Name] smiled.

I'm a pretty boy I'm stunnin

#epithet erased #ramsey murdoch #epithet erased gay? #x male reader #gay #trans #x reader #homosexual #s father with children- #(i am shot down before i can finish the falsettos reference) #ramsey murdoch x male reader

[hazardtoons]

for your oc qna, who do they think they could take in a fight? i could probably fold admin like a lawn chair (and then immediately die to her firing squad)

MAGICIAN: Well, I have an attack style mainly related to distractions and slowing down the enemy… smoke bombs and stuff. This is really useful when it comes to fellas like Scout and Soldier and Pyro! Umm. I’ve killed a million of them in my time, HA! Probably not literally…? Without weapons, I could take most of ‘em. Minus Heavy and Medic and Soldier. And Spy.

GRAVEROBBER: …I… I’m good at going for the slow moving ones… I dunno… it depends what I’m holding… without weapons, I’m pretty much useless, though. The jackrabbit, the stick-thin jackrabbit. I could fight him.

THERAPIST: Hand-to-hand? Easy. I could hold my own against any of them.

#qna

[slickshoesareyoucrazy]

Seen Part II

Just before Mary Sue had thought herself to tears, Steven finally mercifully engaged her after a couple hours of sitting through the rumbling white noise that he and his gaggle counted as conversation. “We’re gonna head down the block to the Lower Loft.” Another wannabe edgy, ironic name for another bland place that catered to bland people, she thought. She shoved her phone into her jacket pocket as she slid her arms into the sleeves and exited one stuffy bar into a brief respite of fresh night air before, she assumed, walking right into another, virtually identical one except for the name. Her first breath outside the door was cool and awakening, not only from the open space and temperature drop, but because of the change in sound. She heard music. She turned her eyes to a trio of bearded buskers; a battery powered keyboard balanced on a lap, a slouching trumpet player, and a single snare drummer sitting in cheap latticed folding lawn chairs on the corner of the street Mary Sue was prepared to cross with this gang she didn’t belong to. She recognized the song and stepped away, drawn almost magnetically to the thick nostalgia in the tune. She decided to put money in the upturned hat sitting between the trumpet player’s heavy-booted feet. He reminded her so much of Joe, even beyond the conspicuous shoes, and the trumpet, not a common instrument to play at all, much less play for change on a public corner. It was the way he sat with his knees spread wide, and terrible, too relaxed, seemingly lazy posture. He’d never make it in an orchestra with all of its formality, or even a semi-serious jazz ensemble, although he clearly cared for his instrument and the music and played it beautifully. It was the way he involuntarily kept time with the heel of his left foot; the way he guarded the money without looking menacing. No one was going to steal that money from in front of him, but no one would be nervous about approaching him to drop more in, either.

Some wistful semblance of happiness must have crossed her face, obvious enough to be noticed by people who barely paid her any attention. “It’s probably a scam of some kind. Those people are one step up from begging for money, Ems. They’re panhandlers with instruments instead of sob story cardboard signs.” Steven clutched her elbow, holding her back from what she wanted. He could never just let her be happy and like anything.

“They’re talented. I love this song. Haven’t you ever heard La Vie En Rose?”

“No. Of course you know French instrumentals. It’s honestly cliché that you like every piece of highbrow art you come across. Oh classical music; oh art museums; oh ballet. Like...you’re trying too hard, Ems. But how do they know a French instrumental? It’s probably the only song they know so they can entrap bleeding heart wannabe connoisseurs like you and weasel them out of some money.” Now he implied her music taste was too haughty and high class for who she was, on top of impugning the musicians, whom he didn’t know at all. More evidence that he didn’t know her at all, nor did he care to; her music taste was all over the place. He didn’t see her. He looked right through her all the time. And the realization struck her then that she didn’t want him to see her anymore; she didn’t want to see him anymore.

“French instrumentals? It’s a Louis Armstrong classic. You’re such a nasty classist cynic sometimes. Who says a hard working guy in work boots can’t love music? Can’t know how to play an instrument well?” Joe could (and did) play jazz from Louis Armstrong and Miles Davis and Dizzy Gillespie and he could play symphonic pieces by Haydn and Tchaikovsky and he could play ska from Save Ferris and Reel Big Fish. By ear. He’d never had a music lesson beyond his grandfather giving him that trumpet and showing him which buttons to press to make which notes. That contented look must have spread over her again.

Steven increased the intensity of his hold on her elbow. “I mean it, Ems. Don’t give those people any money.”

Mary flashed back to meeting Steven’s family after their first couple months of dating. They’d suggested McDonald’s. At first, Mary was a bit affronted, thinking they’d chosen something so common and inexpensive as a comment on her and where she came from, but Steven had never divulged anything about her background to his parents. Perhaps he never considered her background as anything to consider beyond teasing and critiquing her himself, which, she supposed, was enlightened, for him, anyway. After her initial mild offense, she used McDonald’s as a point of commonality. She really wasn’t that different from Steven and his family and his crowd of peers, after all; they both chose McDonald’s as the place to go when they weren’t eating at home. But McDonald’s was a treat for Mary Sue growing up because that’s all her family and friends could afford as a splurge, while Steven’s family chose to eat there because they didn’t have to tip. Over the past year, more and more differences in values presented, and because of the make-shift band outside the bar, Mary at last reached her tipping point. She pulled away from Steven’s pinching grip on her arm with a rumpled five dollar bill in her hand and scampered to the hat, already brimming with small bills and coins when the song ended. As the trumpet player thanked her in his gruff but sincere mumble, she locked into eye contact with him and saw that it was Joe. Her Joe. She didn’t recognize him looking at him outside from inside that pretentious downtown bar with the beard he never used to wear and his hat pulled down low over his tender brown eyes, and she felt idiotic and ridiculous for not seeing him from a distance anyway. She did still see him. Something drew her back to him; something about how he sat and how he played and how he was called out to her despite the disguise that time and place and facial hair and strained connection tried to hang on him in her upward-mobility-blurred eyes. Even when she thought of the ugliness that split them apart; even when she thought of how mad at each other they were; how defeated they were; and how hopeless any eventual reconnection seemed after that catastrophic explosion (the one she felt was justified and understandable now in its entirety), and the drunken disappointment, she still saw him as Her Joe.

A slow, welcoming smirk of pleased recognition further warmed his face, already reddened from the exertion of breath control and a breezy night playing outside. “Hey, stranger,” he said.

“You look like a stranger.” He stroked his beard, still palming the trumpet in one hand, and shrugged in acknowledgment.

“You don’t.”

“I don’t wanna interrupt your...gig.”

He laughed. “My ‘gig.’ That’s...so you, Rice Chex.” He shook his head with lingering snickers before he continued. “Hat’s full now, and it’s getting a little windy, so we were gonna pack up. Louis Armstrong’s a strong closer. Gig’s...finished. Unless you got a request,” he hinted.

“You already played La Vie En Rose. I mean...” she impishly rolled her eyes to the sky and puckered her lips in a restrained grin.

“Right? Earned us five bucks and me a breakneck ride down memory lane. I made the guys learn that song for you.”

“You’re so fulla shit, Joey,” she giggled in spite of herself and turned away from the other young men and more toward Joe with some heady mix of modesty and elation. She was certain he was kidding her, but even in jest it was a firmer link and keener awareness of her and who she was at her core than anyone else she’d been anywhere near in the past several years.

“Nah, he’s dead serious,” the keyboard player said as he watched the drummer split the money from the hat in as close to even thirds as he could without losing any. There was no sarcasm in his statement, and Mary Sue was imminently even more flattered.

“Guys, this is Mary Sue Rice,” Joe said, not looking away from her.

“We figured, man. We’re not stupid,” the keyboardist scoffed.

“That’s Ethan on drums and Will on keys. When we play, we always play La Vie En Rose. ‘Cause that’s...you.”

“And the original. But we hardly ever play that one,” said the drummer, pocketing his share of the money. The keyboardist mirrored him.

“You wrote...a song?! I wanna hear the original,” Mary Sue spouted. The two musicians she’d just met looked uneasily to Joe. Joe still looked up at her from his seat as he cased up his nearly 70 year old trumpet. She figured that meant ‘no,’ and her eyes fell closed with miscalculation and discouragement.

“Mary Sue Rice wants to hear ‘See Me,’ guys. Think we can do just that one encore before we pack up?” Joe asked, knowing they’d agree, and still not moving his eyes from hers. Ethan tapped out a gentle rhythm and Will began the melancholy melody of a ballad with a few soulful notes before Joe began softly singing, intentionally quiet so other passers-by kept on passing them by.

See Me

Shoulda known when I met her. And looked it up in reference text. Though she'll always be better Than whoever's coming next. Mary Sue means perfect, you know. I finally got the definition. So I surrender, babe. I'll leave, I'll go. I'm finally out of ammunition.

I'm settling for memory. Gonna be the bigger man, and let her be free. But I wish she could see me.

Still no place I can travel, No book to read between the lines of, And every plan I watch unravel Makes me think of our almost love. Still feels like a crime, But I know I didn't hurt her. Still wish to turn back time Try again, just to be sure.

But I'm settling for memory. Gonna be a better man and let her be free. Still wanna scream, “See me, see me!”

I couldn't put enough light in those dark brown eyes. And I know this dull ache will never go away. But I'd grown weary, giving her old college tries, And I just didn't have it in me to stay. She was right, I guess. Without me she was best. I was kidding myself to think we'd last. I'm always gonna put her a little higher than the rest. But I know there's no future living in the past.

I'm settling for memory. I'm trying to be a man and let her be free. But I still wish she would see me.

Joe’s voice had gone hoarse and halting. “Ahem. We don’t usually do that song because...y’know...no trumpet. Trumpet’s weird and loud and draws a crowd. It sets us apart from all the other street musicians...couldn’t ask Will or Ethan to sing that one anyway...” He cleared his throat again and chewed the insides of his cheeks, stifling a cry.

“I see you, Joey,” she said, her voice breaking with emotion as she choked back tears herself. “I see you...everywhere. All the time. I...I only see you. Can we...go somewhere? I mean unless...unless you guys all came together and now I’m just...messing everything up. Again.”

Joe looked to the other guys and nodded, some code about future plans the three of them understood without speaking. “You’re not messing anything up. Where you parked?”

“I actually...kinda need a ride,” she admitted after looking around to see she’d been deserted. She smiled. Being left behind...trapped...stuck...without a way out would normally spin up panic and anger, but she felt happy and safe at the moment. Fortunate. Blessed.

“Okaaaay. Good thing you ran into me,” he laughed. “We never come to ‘gigs’ together...that word is still cracking me up. No room in the cab of the truck for a drum and a keyboard plus both Will and Ethan. But there’s room for just a trumpet case and you.” They approached a hidden spot tucked into an alley where Joe’s old truck sat, unbothered by parking meters or garage attendants.

“You’re still driving this?”

“Uh...yeah. Guess you got a new...something...”

“Nope. Still driving the Civic, but I don’t think I’ve driven my car anywhere but the occasional trip to meet Mom somewhere, to someone else’s house for them to drive, or back to the old apartment in four years. It’s usually...not what my accompaniment wants to travel in. Plus my apartment’s so close to school now, I usually walk anyway and...”

“You’re...local again now? Back home...I mean...here?”

“Been here a little more than two years now. Doctoral program is here. Civic still runs so why get rid of it, right? I’m a little surprised you’re still in the truck.”

“It’s my main motivation to earn enough money to get a house with off street parking as soon as possible. I am never letting it go, even when it dies.”

“Strange attachment to an old beat up pick up truck.”

“It’s still got an original Rice Chex ass print on the roof. Why would I ever get ridda that?” He opened her passenger door and she stood for a moment, resurrecting that first kiss one more time. “The passenger door’s pretty fucking great too,” he added. She raised her eyes to him, pleading and permissive and he licked his lips. “Not now, yeah? Fucking...almost impossible not to, but...fuck.” He exhaled hard, creating a cloud of condensation that dissipated around them, seemingly as reluctant to leave as they were. “Where we going?”

“You know Gaslight Cafe?”

“The name of the fucking place is seriously Gaslight Cafe? That’s a real place?”

“Yeah. Like Mary Sue’s a real name.”

“Mary Sue is...not like that. Some dipshit who knew what they were doing chose to name their place THAT. On purpose. Fucking hipsters,” he breathed, and ran an exasperated hand over his face before starting the engine. “Where’s the goddam Gaslight Cafe?”

“Pleasant Ridge.”

“Of course it is. At least there’ll be a parking lot and I won’t have to scope out another free spot on the street.”

“You’re never getting rid of this truck?”

“Don’t plan on it.”

“Not even if my actual ass is in your life instead of an old and likely inaccurate impression of it in the roof?”

“That’s a bold and generous deal on the table.” He made a curious facial expression she couldn’t quite decipher.

“I thought so.”

“I’d definitely negotiate a deal like that.”

“You wouldn’t just take it?”

“I’d have to be sure it wasn’t just gonna disappear. The ass print might not be perfect but it’s permanent. Not giving that up unless I’m sure it’s for something I can count on.”

“Gotcha. What can I do to get you in this car today?” she joked, doing her best impression of a used car salesperson, but couldn’t fully shroud the sincerity of intention.

“I mean, it’s not gonna be a hard sell. You’re in the truck. We’re going to some dipshit place in the snotty burbs...”

“Because it’s open until two in the morning.”

“Penciled in a late night, did ya? With no ride?”

“I ditched my ride.”

“You really walked away from a ride home to drop a small bill in a tip hat for somebody who kinda reminded you of me?”

“Yep. How’s the car sale going?”

“Sold.” Joe stopped the truck and looked to her triumphant face. “This joint is full of the same cars I’m sure you rode out in tonight. I’m pretty outta place with Ol’ Cherry here. That why you wanna get rid of her?”

“I don’t really wanna get rid of her. Just wanted to let you know getting rid of her doesn’t get rid of me anymore.”

“I’m sure you’ve been out with guys who took you out in nicer rides to nicer places since...”

“You know those guys are all trying to capture what you really have, but they can’t do it because the introspection and reality sort of shorts their circuits. They don’t have the guts; just the shell. Like...a car isn’t a car if it doesn’t have an engine in it. You can dress up a rock inside a car chassis but that doesn’t make it a car. They wear the boots and grow the beard and some of them even drive a truck, but it’s shiny and spotless and just to perform some weird part in some unscripted play we all seem to know the lines to anyway. Some of them act like they’re a tough guy, not afraid to get their hands dirty and shit, but it’s really conditional. Like...I’ll get sweaty...at the gym. I’ll get dirty...if it’s in a mud run or a rugby game...”

“Jesus. You went out with a rugby player, didn’t ya? Was he a Brit?”

“Nope. American as shit. But you know...football is for thugs. Baseball and basketball aren’t tough enough. Hockey’s too seasonal. So rugby. It’s European and niche, but still tough; the perfect thing to do to look down on almost everybody.” They squeezed into a corner table barely big enough for two people. Joe ordered a black coffee and crossed his fingers under the table, hoping the server wouldn’t ask him to elaborate on it. He wasn’t one of those cranks who ridiculed someone else’s flavored nonfat latte or whatever, but he didn’t want to have a discussion with someone who tried to make him feel inferior about his simple tastes. “Same, but leave room at the top for about four ounces of milk and seven or eight sugars.” Joe raised one amused eyebrow at her as the server walked away. “Light and sweet.”

“You never drank coffee...before.”

“I still kinda think it’s gross unless you really doctor it up. But grad school sort of necessitates it.”

“Was it the rugby player you left tonight?”

“No. He was the first guy after...”

Joe smirked, satisfied with himself that she’d tried to find the closest approximation to his outsides she could. “Didn’t work out with him either, huh?”

“He was a rock.”

“Ha! In a pickup chassis?”

“More like a Mercedes S Class one. Dude wore Tommy Hilfiger everything. Socks! Socks, Joey. Tommy Hilfiger SOCKS.”

“That’s some serious...I dunno what, but it’s definitely something.”

“Posturing? Overcompensating? Conspicuous consumption? Flat out stupidity?”

“Yeah.” He sipped the coffee laid before him and watched her load hers with extras and furiously stir. “Hey. I really am...sorry...that you seem unhappy. I mean...now.”

“Oh you misread that, cupcake. I’m ecstatic NOW. I was unhappy...” she paused to look at her watch before concluding, “...about eighty minutes ago. And for the four years before that. Now though? Pretty happy.”

“I meant that...you like school, right?”

“I love school. I bury myself in school, kinda. When I’m reading and writing, it all goes away. The rest of it. The world everyone else our age that I’m ever around seems to live in. It’s so disillusioning to see how phony all of it is. My parents got sold on this shit and now they’re poisoning my brother with it too. He’s gonna get out there just like me after busting his ass at fucking math academy and see that none of it’s real. They’re all just playing dress up to be us and paying more for it, and no meaning gets absorbed while they’re doing it. I find myself living in the fiction a lot. That fiction is better than this weird pseudo-reality.”

“You give up on finding something better?”

“I’m never gonna stop on ‘better.’ But that shit’s not ‘better.’ I’m sorry I ever thought it was.” She wanted to reach across the table to touch him, but all she could muster the courage for was shifting her legs beneath the table to rest her dangling right foot from her apprehensively crossed legs on the top of his left boot toe. No skin contact; he probably couldn’t feel her there at all, but he didn’t pull away, and that comforted her. “What are you doing playing trumpet on the street?”

“I’m not only playing trumpet on the street. Like...I don’t need the twenty-ish bucks I made tonight to pay rent and shit. Not gonna lie; I’m using it to pay for this coffee, but...I’m still working at Gilford’s. With like...about everyone else.”

“I didn’t think you were only playing trumpet on the street, and I wouldn’t even care if you were. I always kinda thought you might...do something musical. For a living.”

“What? Like I’m gonna be first chair trumpet at the Cincinnati Symphony, or something even bigger than that, when I can’t read music. Ska is kind of dying if not dead now. I couldn’t make a living off that flash in the pan even if some band would have me. There’s only room for a few of them and they all already got trumpet players. Multiple trumpet players. I could probably pick out what to play, but they definitely want somebody who reads music and they probably want someone who does ‘proper fingering’ and whatever. Even in a ska band. Main and 9th is just the only place I really get to play my trumpet at all anymore. Fucking neighbors will call the property manager, and once the fucking police, for playing it at home in the apartment. Even with the mute. TRYING to be quiet. I gave up. Bought a guitar. Which Mom still gives me shit about as a waste of money. Because if you can’t eat it or wear it and it doesn’t make you money, it’s a waste of money, right?” He paused to roll his eyes. “Neighbors never say shit about the guitar. So far. But I’m never gonna totally give up playing the trumpet, so...Main and 9th every other Friday until I can buy a house with no neighbors sharing walls to call some authority on me for living. Picks us all up an extra twenty. Gives us something to do. We can’t all be hanging out in Jen’s mom’s basement anymore.”

“How is Jen? And...everybody else? Mom never says anything...”

“Why would she? Your mom never liked any of us when you were actually livin’ there,” he snickered.

“Thought she’d tell me about big shit at least.”

“Jen’s got a girlfriend. Penny. She gets like fake pissed at Chris Hines for referring to them as Jenny and Penny.”

“How’s Chris?”

“Haley and Chris had a baby last year.”

“What?!”

“I know.”

“I can’t believe Mom didn’t mention a wedding or a baby.”

“No wedding. They can’t afford to get married unless one or both of them gets a better job where they don’t have to game the system a little bit and/or her family takes their heads out of their asses.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yeah. Her dad went after Chris and everything. All that shit about mixed race grandchildren ending racism in a person is super false.”

“That’s terrible. They’re ok, though, right?”

“Yeah, except Hayley never sees her folks. Which...that’s how you gotta be if your folks are gonna be like that, but...” He sighed heavily. “That guy you ditched tonight isn’t coming after me now, right?”

“He thinks you’re a homeless vagrant who somehow has an antique trumpet, so good luck to him if he tries, but no.”

“Did you think I was a homeless vagrant with an antique trumpet?”

“No. I was hoping you were you.”

“I’m not homeless. 400 square feet in not-the-best neighborhood and maybe three missed paychecks away, but not homeless.”

“Joey, I didn’t think you were homeless. You don’t look homeless. That was a comment on the shitheads I was out with, not one on you. I’m sure your apartment is...”

“I won’t ever take you to my apartment.”

“Never?”

“OK, maybe when I’m moving out. If you’re still around.”

“Permanent ass. I’m telling you. No way Steven comes after you. So many reasons. First, he’s a wimp and a prejudiced, entitled piece of shit, so he’s straight up afraid of you based on how you look and that you were playing music on the street. But also because he doesn’t care enough about me. Maybe not at all about me. You have to give at least a partial shit about a person to fight for them.”

“There’s no way I’d have been ok with you approaching three strange dudes without me on a night out, much less leave you alone with no ride home. Even if you had told me to fuck off. I could never leave you without a way home.”

“I know.” He raised the toes of his left foot to touch the bottom of her right foot. They both smiled, content in the solid knowledge that the other one was there.

“Tell me about your big deal...what do you call it?...at school.”

“You want to hear about the thesis?”

“Thesis! That’s the word. Yes, of course I want to hear about it. What’s it about? Doctor Rice Chex.”

“Not yet. Almost. It’s an analysis of Mark Twain’s A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court.”

“Somehow I didn’t expect that to be the book you’d focus on.”

“Have you read it?”

“No. Read Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn in school because we had to. But I’ve seen some movies...”

“The movies are...not like the book. The book is radical commentary on monarchy and oligarchy and an indictment of their exploitation and mistreatment of the working class.” He raised his eyebrows with evident surprise. “Did I lose you already?”

“No, I’m...kinda riveted. Keep talking about it. How are you...like what is the summary? Of your work. I’ll read the whole thing if you’ll let me, but for over late night coffee...what’s Cliff’s Notes?” Mary Sue took a deep inhale, stemming tears of emotion. Joe was the only person other than her academic adviser to ask about her doctoral thesis; the thing she spent nearly all of her time and passion on for the past two and a half years. Her parents didn’t know what book she was writing about. None of her acquaintances at school and definitely not Steven or his friends ever asked after it.

“The narrator’s dilemma in the book is that he’s ahead of the royalty and aristocracy he’s thrown into, intellectually and with social enlightenment, but unable to get them to make progress because they seem incapable of self-examination and so focused on and steeped in their own privilege. They are sometimes impressed with his skills and knowledge, but they’re all still fixated on how they outrank him. They’re nobility; royalty; and he’s Just a Guy, even if he’s the smartest, kindest, whatever-est guy around. He’s still Just a Guy. He so clearly doesn’t fit into that world, but after a time, he realized he would no longer fit inside the world he came from either. The world he came from romanticizes and lauds the past, nobility and royalty, all of that as some foregone time and people of high ideals, like they’re better; some goal to aim for in the common present. People he knew before would be envious and resentful and intrigued that he had been there and been a part of things there for a patch of time, but he knows from real experience that it wasn’t better at all. It was worse in a lot of ways. The new world changed him and he couldn’t put a noticeable dent in it. He couldn’t really get the king and knights and nobles to understand where he’d come from, and he could never convince the people he’d known before how wrong things were with that royal world. So he just doesn’t really have anyone to connect to at all. And I’m sort of comparing that to the struggle of a working class kid going to college. That kid has no frame of reference with his new peers, but when he returns home, he’s lost his frame of reference with his former peer group simply because he’d been around the new one.” She took a rickety, choppy deep breath and raked her teeth across her bottom lip, unable to hold eye contact with Joe anymore. She was back to staring at the center of the table, but it was a much smaller table, and it didn’t have the distance she needed to adequately isolate herself.

“That sounds really personal.” He clumsily stretched out under the restricting tiny table to cross his feet at the ankles around Mary Sue’s bouncing left leg; the only one still planted on the ground. She uncrossed her legs and slid her right foot down to nestle between his shins too. The grazing touch and warm closeness relaxed her.

“It is. I’ve felt stuck between two worlds where I don’t fit into either one of them too. I don’t belong here at this coffee bar. I feel just as out of place as you do. But I feel like I can’t go home again, either.”

“Home hasn’t felt right to me since you left. I’m still me and all that, and I still don’t think I’d cut it in college. But I figured out in like ninth grade that I can really only be happy with a smart girl who uses big words when she talks, and you are hard pressed to find someone like that driving a forklift at Gilford’s.”

“I was looking for a guy in university life who wasn’t afraid to get dirty or get into a little trouble, but I’ve found once you step so far outside the working class, that just means a guy’s mean.”

“Was the guy you left tonight mean?”

“Yeah. Dumped his ass because he didn’t want me to give you the money.”

“That’s my girl,” Joe claimed, wearing a wide, prideful smile.

“That is your girl, Joey,” Mary Sue affirmed.

“I dunno. He’s clearly been taking you out to some pretty nice places.”

“’Nice places.’ First of all, we go to these done up ‘gastro-pubs’ or whatever, and I don’t drink, and we end up paying for bland knock-off food...like fried mozzarella sticks I know came out of a bag in the freezer at the ‘Italian’ place tonight. Made me think of you as soon as we walked in the door.”

“Because I’m a bland, knock-off Italian?” he laughed.

“Because of what the word means. Dispetto is Italian for mischief.”

“My name’s Disibio, but you know I don’t speak Italian. Shit do you speak Italian now?”

“No, I can only limp through ‘where is the bathroom’ and shit in Spanish and French. Barely.”

“Hell, even I can do ‘donde esta el bano?’” he chuckled. “How do you know what the name of the bar means then? I thought it was a last name.”

“It might be a last name, but the meaning’s printed on the fucking napkins if you miss it on the door.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “And so we’re at these places paying too much for overplayed pedestrian crap and then he doesn’t tip. I’ve compensated for a three percent tip probably fifty times this past year. It’s why I always carry cash.”

“What a piece of shit!”

“Right? Leaves trash on the table and shit even when we’re at a ‘non-tip’ place and says, ‘That’s someone’s job,’ if I start picking up after us. These rich people are cheap as shit. I went out with his family once...to McDonald’s...and his dad seriously got into an argument with his mom that she didn’t need her own fries.”

“Christ, how did you stay with that guy?”

“I dunno. No one else in my vicinity could cut through the bullshit because they’re all basically full of the same bullshit. La Vie En Rose broke the spell. Why would you play that song every time you play? Surely you weren’t hoping for this freakishly unlikely and specific happenstance.”

“I wasn’t. At all. I thought that was beyond all hope. I thought you were still a couple hours or farther away. Maybe you’d totally forgotten me by now. But you kept a piece of me somewhere that’s attached to that song on the trumpet. And grad school’s here. Lucky me.” She blushed and looked down at her fingers squeezing the coffee cup, and he flooded with gratification. “It’s my favorite song to play on the horn. It’s you. Life in pink. Looking at the weary world with rose colored glasses on. I miss looking at the world like that. I only manage to do it with you.”

Servers began maneuvering through tables, casually informing customers how close it was to closing time. “Shit, are we getting kicked outta here?” she mourned.

“Looks that way. We still have the drive home.”

“We have more than that, I hope. Right? This wasn’t ‘bum a ride home; catch up a little’ to me. Is that...is that what you thought it was? W-what you wanted it to be?”

“No. I don’t know what I wanted it to be, but I know it wasn’t ‘check she’s ok; drop her off; end.’ Who’d read that story?” he kidded. “W-what did you want it to be?”

“I wanted...I want… Are…will you still be My Joe?”

“Yeah. I’ve never not been Your Joe, Rice Chex.” He pulled his solid block of a cell phone out of his pocket. “Just got this fuckin’ thing. I wasn’t gonna get one, but Mom and John got some plan where they had another phone and...”

“I get it. I’m on the ‘extra phone; just give us twenty bucks a month’ plan too.”

“I’ve only figured out how to make phone calls so far. Which I rarely do, because I’m afraid to cost my folks money and I don’t understand the fucking rate structure.”

“I don’t think anybody does.”

“Mostly it’s for Mom or Nanna D to feel better, calling to check on me when I’m out playing to make sure nothing bad happened to me. Nobody got me. You know. Too bad they didn’t call to check tonight. ‘Cause...you got me. I coulda told ‘em somebody got me,” he joked. She sighed, and took out her own phone to exchange new numbers. He saw she was becoming emotional, so he clarified himself without the humor, because it didn’t make her laugh the way he wanted it to. “I like that I can hold new phone numbers in this though. ‘Cause I’m gonna call you. Sober. I’m gonna call you sober. I...I haven’t had a drink at all in two years. That...that was the first and last time I got drunk.” They walked out to his truck in sticky, electric reticence. He once again stopped at the passenger door, and opened it, and she didn’t get in, again. “You’re not talking anymore. I kinda need ya to say something now. Things feel...I dunno. My head’s buzzing like I’ve been drinking and I haven’t been, and I just told you big scary truth about drinking, and it’s making me really nervous...”

“I’m...I’m so glad I found...so glad...this happened today,” she stammered out in restless, breathy exhales.

“Me too. So it’s not over. Even after saying...even after I drive you home. Right?”

“Not over. Will probably be really hard not to invite you in to stay.”

“We shouldn’t. Tonight.”

“I know. And we won’t. But I want to.”

“Wanna get to know your new world changes a little. I’m in the same old world, but I’ve changed a little too.”

“I’m nervous about that.”

“Why? Old us didn’t work. New us might. Maybe we made all the right changes.”

“’Everyday words seem to turn into love songs...’”

“What are we doing here?” he asked, echoing her words lost in time, and tentatively reached out to interlock their hands the same way he had the first time he’d kissed her.

“I really hope you’re gonna kiss me now.” He leaned in, completing the replay, and a rush of rightness flooded through her body. She’d kissed other guys before and since Joe, but none of those kisses ever made her feel like she was flying but also totally safe the way his did. “Now I need you to say something,” she whispered after a few moments of renewed soundless electricity.

“’Give your heart and soul to me, and life will always be ‘La Vie En Rose,’” he softly sang into her ear.

“Done,” she said. “Yours.”

“My Rice Chex.” He rubbed her chin with his thumb and brushed the tip of his nose against the tip of hers. “Take ya home now?” She nodded, her eyes still closed, seeing nothing but pink, and folded herself from muscle memory into the familiar passenger seat.

#see part I's tags please

[jeonzvi]

੭ the stars, they aligned; the boy is mine.

· pairings; college couple, jungkook x reader · genre; fluff

warnings; vulgar language, just them being overly cute and stuff, i’m a bit jealous...

note; another fluff drabble to keep you guys somewhat entertained.. side note; very tired, again, so there might be some grammar mistakes :,( sorry!

© jeonzvi. do not copy, translate or repost my work.

You sigh as you rest your head on Jungkook’s chest⎯who’s now, proudly, your boyfriend. Oh, how lucky you are to have such a man in your life. You’ve been dating for about a week, and you’re already so damn comfortable around him.

He’s comfortable around you, too. He loves you, for your personality⎯which he happily picked up on when he first talked to you this year⎯in college.

Okay, yes you said to yourself and all of your friends who asked you about dating “I don’t need a boyfriend⎯who even dates in college?” With a fake gag. But, now you’re dating a guy and you’re so in love...

Whatever, fuck off, you just like to say that “you didn’t know.”

Jungkook gently runs his inked fingers through your soft hair, looking down at you as you smile and look at him. “You’re so handsome, holy fuck,” you blurt out, causing Jungkook to go into a fit of laughter. “Your dimples, I’m so weak!” You add, raising a hand to gently poke the dimple on his cheek.

Oh, he’s so adorable.

Sexy, cute… strong. fucking. duality.

Very Jeon Jeongguk of him.

“I’m not allat, pretty girl,” he says, the pet name he’s been calling you still making you fold like a lawn chair. But, who can blame you?

“You are!” You retort, tilting your head up to press a fat kiss onto his soft, moisturized lips.

He giggles, the sweet, lovely sound sounding like a soothing tune in your ears. “You even laugh at the shit I say! No other guy ever even giggled whenever I said something light-heartedly,” you mumble.

Raising a brow, his pink lips purse a tad. “No one laughed at my baby’s jokes? Are they crazy?” He gasps.

“Mhm,” you pout, “i��s so sad.” To which Jungkook quickly nods. “Well, fuck ‘em. Got someone that’s able to treat you right, ain’t that right?”

You widely smile at him, “Yup!”

#𝑗eonzvi. #jeon jungkook #bts fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #jungkook fluff

[jjkeverlast]

Hibiscus & hot pink 💕

hi anon! thank you for sending these in. 💘

hibiscus— what’s your favorite pet name, if any? why?

i have never... and i mean never been called any pet name in my life. althoooough.... whenever i read the pet name 'love' or 'baby' in fics? i fold like a lawn chair :') i think i love em because they're so simple yet cause my stomach to burst into tiny flames of excitement!!!

hot pink— what’s your favorite relationship trope?

okay i'd more likely say it's a dynamic 'trope' rather than relationship but i'm a sucker for 'speak-before-they-think dumbass' paired with 'absolute beauty' (i saw a tiktok showing their fave pairings and that one made me scream YES at the scream cause that's where it hits!) -- might be having a fic in the drafts with a pairing like that... 🌚

send me a pink themed ask!

#anon #ask game #lati's mailbox📬

[canyourscienceexplainthis]

Omg y’all just imagine Izumi getting in trouble at school and the principal calling Zuko and Sokka like “your daughter has been in an altercation I need you to come down here as soon as possible”

Sokka and Zuko walking into the principal’s office 20 minutes later

Sokka: Izumi! What happened!?

Principal: sir, we had to pull her off another student. She was biting, punching, and kicking him

Zuko, turning to Izumi: oh my god, why would you do that!?

Izumi: it was Hide

Sokka, staring daggers at the principal: the boy that’s been bullying Bumi for a year and the principal hasn’t done anything about it? That Hide?

Izumi: yeah

Sokka, giving her a fistbump: that’s my girl

Zuko, patting her shoulder: good job for looking after your cousin when they wouldn’t do it honey. Now get your bag we’re going for lunch

Principal: excuse me that is not the appropriate response—

Sokka and Zuko, grabbing Izumi’s hands and already heading for the door

Sokka: did he cry? I bet he cried

Zuko: let that be a lesson to him

#I do t know in what kinda au Izumi and bumi would have gone to school together but just go with it lmao #y’all can’t tell me Sokka and Zuko wouldn’t raise a kid that will rock the absolute shit outta someone that’s mean to her family #also yeah I had to look up the name of the kid that was a dick to Aang in the headband #cause that was the douchey vibe of this bully #fold ‘em like a lawn chair #fold em like an omlette #atla #zukka #sokka #zuko #Izumi #LOK #nah