#it’ll probably grow on me...

[platypus-brained]

Ferb voice comparison

For context, Ferb was originally voiced by Thomas Brodie-Sangster (2007-2015) but is currently being voiced by David Errigo Jr. (2018-2025)

[gglinaa]

i know youre watching the star trek movies (and i love your art for the motion picture) but just a suggestion to stop after star trek 6

thats ominous

[wordpress-blaze-176197706]

The Ridge- REPUBLISHED

Into the Wilderness: Part 6

Our rented SUV was one of the last in the parent caravan. We drove along winding paved roads until we turned off onto dirt pathways, passing white clapboard houses nestled among the hills, weathered with moss, a lone horse, a few sheep hugging dilapidated barns. Then, we turned off those dirt roads onto pitted tracks created by other four wheelers. We navigated slowly up the mountain, wheels edging steep declines. We bumped over rocks, tree branches scraping our doors. We passed an overflowing stream.

Finally, the line slowed and stopped. In what seemed like practiced unison, SUVs turned slightly off the tracks. The forest was damp and thick, the soil emitting steam as the sun warmed it. The Blue Ridge Mountains in Georgia are actually a temperate rainforest and that becomes obvious the moment you crack open your car door. The moisture and heat- it was now late August- envelope you.

All around us was green. If our teens were camped in these woods, seeing them through the trees was nearly impossible. Chuck and I got out of our SUV and followed the other parents walking toward an incline about a half mile down the path. A sense of human presence started to emerge. An abandoned steel tent frame gleamed in a clearing- not from our campers; they have strict rules to leave the forest as they find it. In the distance, smoke from a campfire wafted through the green light. We walked toward it.

All around us, teens and parents had begun to re-unite. Rustling undergrowth, excited screams: the teens rushed to meet their parents.

Far down on the path, was a spot of red. As we walked, it formed into a shape, then a figure. It was unloading food supplies from the back of an SUV. The figured stopped and faced our direction.

Squinting, Chuck asked, "Is that Catina?" We couldn't tell. We walked closer. And as we did the figure began to sprint toward us. And then we knew. This was our girl.

We ran. She ran, clouds of dirt rising around her like Pigpen from Charlie Brown. We came together, grabbing hold and squeezing in an enormous hug.

The first thing I noticed was how bad she smelled. And how smelling so bad, she still smelled good. Every mother knows the scent of her child. It's there from the first moment your child is in your arms and you bury your nose in the soft spot where the neck meets the shoulder.

That was the smell I noticed, along with sweat and body odor. Deoderant attracts mosquitos and flies so the teens avoid it.

Next, I noticed her clear eyes. And her dimpled smile. She was happy, not just to see us, but happy. Her body showed it. She had a confidence she had never carried before.

She had firmed up from the hiking and healthy eating. The teens do not eat processed foods and can only have limited amounts of honey as a rare treat. She was covered in bug bites, red welts dotting her arms, ankles and calves. She wore a long-sleeved red windbreaker and splotched khakis, an orange vest with fluorescent tape and a mismatched pair of crocs, one blue, one orange (see our photo in the About page), without socks.

Chuck and I wore "I heart Catina Wipper" T-shirts. In her last letter home, Catina had asked Chuck to adopt her, and we wanted to surprise her with his answer. Just two days before, we had found a small printing shop in Clayton, Georgia that could make our T-shirts in a day. The T-shirt was hidden beneath our buttoned shirts and we opened them in a big "ta da."

We were together again. After eight long weeks of separation.

We walked to the clearing where they had set up camp. In the center was a big tarp with a campfire. The teens learn how to start a fire using self-made bow drills. Designated campers tend the fire to keep it continually burning. No fire means eating peanut butter in big spoonfuls from the jar or handfuls of GORP.

Each teen was assigned a pack of necessities weighing about 40 pounds: sleeping bag, school and therapy notebooks, water bottles, food supplies, bowl and spoon, a change of clothes, bags for collecting waste, a toothbrush. The packs were piled in a mound about 20 feet from the center tarp. A constructed bathing area and latrine were at opposite ends of the camp, both lined with tarps for privacy. Above the camp, on a ridge, the teens had set up their tents. Each day, they choose a favorite spot for sleeping. This one had a view of nearby mountains, blue and hazy in the distance like a smudged charcoal drawing.

The teens had settled down with their parents, excited to tell them about living in the wilderness. They were all so proud. They had lived outside for weeks tending to their own needs. While different issues had brought them together, the underlying issue was often the same: anxiety, depression, low self-esteem. But now they had discovered they could thrive- through storms, heat waves, bug bites, pesky critters, slips and falls.

Catina took our hands and led us up a hill above the camp to a rocky nook shaded by trees. Chuck and I unfolded our chairs, portable, legless contraptions that suspend a body in a reclining position. These "chairs" are provided only to teens who have reached a certain level in their progress- an incentive to work hard. Visiting parents are warned not to give our chairs away, or to let our kids sit in them.

We checked in. How were we each feeling? Excited, happy, complete. Catina told us about her days- what time they rise, packing up, unpacking, hiking off trails, setting up camp, cooking meals, cleaning up. She had never camped a single day in her life before wilderness, and now she loved being in the deep woods, sitting quietly with a book or journal, or staring endlessly at the beauty of it all.

We talked about a lot of things. Her letters. Her inventories. Her memories. Her new-found love of reading. Her regret. Our regret. An awful, violent incident she had hidden from us and blamed herself for because it had happened at a party she shouldn't have been at. What had led her here, to this place, this moment.

When we returned to the camp, dinner prep was underway, a counselor watching as they cubed raw chicken and cut up vegetables, sauteed in a big skillet over the open flame. They made pasta with chicken and vegetables, simple and good. Catina added sriracha, gobbled it down and wiped her bowl clean with leaves from the ground. When I couldn't finish my serving, she was happy to eat more.

Joy. I had never seen her so in her body, so present to herself. She was just Catina. The Catina that is Catina. Not the Catina that anyone else wanted her to be.

As the sun began to set, we hiked up the hill to the ridge where they had lined their tents. I captured a fallen branch as a walking stick to help heave myself up the mountain and across the uneven terrain.

Catina had chosen to place her tent last, at the far end of the ridge. She tied it between trees, a sharp inverted V high off the ground so she could see the sky and feel the night wind. We crawled underneath, removed our hiking boots and handed them to the counselors. We loosened our clothes and laid on top of our sleeping bags, arms and legs interlinked, staring at the moon through the branches. We repeatedly whispered, "I love you." There was not much more to say.

We lay on this ridge of mountain. The ridge seemed endless, stretching across the Appalachian shelf. It had risen millions of years ago, rock crashing together, thrusting upward, a massive tectonic shift continuing to reshape the landscape even today. And here we were now, on this ridge, together. We too had collided, fault lines rippling through our lives. We had forged new selves out of this, our own seismic event. Here on this ancient ridge, we knew we had come far.

Source: The Ridge- REPUBLISHED

[waifuoftomonori]

No daily paragraphs for you guys (sorry, will hopefully get to amending that by writing more today), but I was looking over my brainstorming notes for the crossover Truth or Dare fic (take 3), specifically the part where I wrote an unfiltered list of a bunch of female characters I like and think could be fun to write fanfic for (because the player list for ToD as it is contains a lot of guys and only two women), and now I think I may have tricked myself into another crossover ship from two fandoms I’ve never tried writing before in my life—

Hilda (Fire Emblem: Three Houses) (post-timeskip, obviously) / Forte (Rune Factory 4).

I may never get to writing them partly because I feel like it would require doing a shit-ton of armor research, but man, there’s some serious potential there and I will not be convinced otherwise.

[pedriscroquettes]

gavi cut his hair 😳

when i find the barber…

like ok yeah get a buzz cut but not an uneven one 😭

[seijurosempress]

Every so often I’ll rewatch Narnia and every time, without fail, I’m reminded of how much I love Edmund

Like— the amount plots and subplots I have written and rewritten in my mind since I was a teenager 😮‍💨 I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of them

[shoveitevil]

ok lock in time

[wordpress-blaze-176197706]

The Ridge- REPUBLISHED

Into the Wilderness: Part 6

Our rented SUV was one of the last in the parent caravan. We drove along winding paved roads until we turned off onto dirt pathways, passing white clapboard houses nestled among the hills, weathered with moss, a lone horse, a few sheep hugging dilapidated barns. Then, we turned off those dirt roads onto pitted tracks created by other four wheelers. We navigated slowly up the mountain, wheels edging steep declines. We bumped over rocks, tree branches scraping our doors. We passed an overflowing stream.

Finally, the line slowed and stopped. In what seemed like practiced unison, SUVs turned slightly off the tracks. The forest was damp and thick, the soil emitting steam as the sun warmed it. The Blue Ridge Mountains in Georgia are actually a temperate rainforest and that becomes obvious the moment you crack open your car door. The moisture and heat- it was now late August- envelope you.

All around us was green. If our teens were camped in these woods, seeing them through the trees was nearly impossible. Chuck and I got out of our SUV and followed the other parents walking toward an incline about a half mile down the path. A sense of human presence started to emerge. An abandoned steel tent frame gleamed in a clearing- not from our campers; they have strict rules to leave the forest as they find it. In the distance, smoke from a campfire wafted through the green light. We walked toward it.

All around us, teens and parents had begun to re-unite. Rustling undergrowth, excited screams: the teens rushed to meet their parents.

Far down on the path, was a spot of red. As we walked, it formed into a shape, then a figure. It was unloading food supplies from the back of an SUV. The figured stopped and faced our direction.

Squinting, Chuck asked, "Is that Catina?" We couldn't tell. We walked closer. And as we did the figure began to sprint toward us. And then we knew. This was our girl.

We ran. She ran, clouds of dirt rising around her like Pigpen from Charlie Brown. We came together, grabbing hold and squeezing in an enormous hug.

The first thing I noticed was how bad she smelled. And how smelling so bad, she still smelled good. Every mother knows the scent of her child. It's there from the first moment your child is in your arms and you bury your nose in the soft spot where the neck meets the shoulder.

That was the smell I noticed, along with sweat and body odor. Deoderant attracts mosquitos and flies so the teens avoid it.

Next, I noticed her clear eyes. And her dimpled smile. She was happy, not just to see us, but happy. Her body showed it. She had a confidence she had never carried before.

She had firmed up from the hiking and healthy eating. The teens do not eat processed foods and can only have limited amounts of honey as a rare treat. She was covered in bug bites, red welts dotting her arms, ankles and calves. She wore a long-sleeved red windbreaker and splotched khakis, an orange vest with fluorescent tape and a mismatched pair of crocs, one blue, one orange (see our photo in the About page), without socks.

Chuck and I wore "I heart Catina Wipper" T-shirts. In her last letter home, Catina had asked Chuck to adopt her, and we wanted to surprise her with his answer. Just two days before, we had found a small printing shop in Clayton, Georgia that could make our T-shirts in a day. The T-shirt was hidden beneath our buttoned shirts and we opened them in a big "ta da."

We were together again. After eight long weeks of separation.

We walked to the clearing where they had set up camp. In the center was a big tarp with a campfire. The teens learn how to start a fire using self-made bow drills. Designated campers tend the fire to keep it continually burning. No fire means eating peanut butter in big spoonfuls from the jar or handfuls of GORP.

Each teen was assigned a pack of necessities weighing about 40 pounds: sleeping bag, school and therapy notebooks, water bottles, food supplies, bowl and spoon, a change of clothes, bags for collecting waste, a toothbrush. The packs were piled in a mound about 20 feet from the center tarp. A constructed bathing area and latrine were at opposite ends of the camp, both lined with tarps for privacy. Above the camp, on a ridge, the teens had set up their tents. Each day, they choose a favorite spot for sleeping. This one had a view of nearby mountains, blue and hazy in the distance like a smudged charcoal drawing.

The teens had settled down with their parents, excited to tell them about living in the wilderness. They were all so proud. They had lived outside for weeks tending to their own needs. While different issues had brought them together, the underlying issue was often the same: anxiety, depression, low self-esteem. But now they had discovered they could thrive- through storms, heat waves, bug bites, pesky critters, slips and falls.

Catina took our hands and led us up a hill above the camp to a rocky nook shaded by trees. Chuck and I unfolded our chairs, portable, legless contraptions that suspend a body in a reclining position. These "chairs" are provided only to teens who have reached a certain level in their progress- an incentive to work hard. Visiting parents are warned not to give our chairs away, or to let our kids sit in them.

We checked in. How were we each feeling? Excited, happy, complete. Catina told us about her days- what time they rise, packing up, unpacking, hiking off trails, setting up camp, cooking meals, cleaning up. She had never camped a single day in her life before wilderness, and now she loved being in the deep woods, sitting quietly with a book or journal, or staring endlessly at the beauty of it all.

We talked about a lot of things. Her letters. Her inventories. Her memories. Her new-found love of reading. Her regret. Our regret. An awful, violent incident she had hidden from us and blamed herself for because it had happened at a party she shouldn't have been at. What had led her here, to this place, this moment.

When we returned to the camp, dinner prep was underway, a counselor watching as they cubed raw chicken and cut up vegetables, sauteed in a big skillet over the open flame. They made pasta with chicken and vegetables, simple and good. Catina added sriracha, gobbled it down and wiped her bowl clean with leaves from the ground. When I couldn't finish my serving, she was happy to eat more.

Joy. I had never seen her so in her body, so present to herself. She was just Catina. The Catina that is Catina. Not the Catina that anyone else wanted her to be.

As the sun began to set, we hiked up the hill to the ridge where they had lined their tents. I captured a fallen branch as a walking stick to help heave myself up the mountain and across the uneven terrain.

Catina had chosen to place her tent last, at the far end of the ridge. She tied it between trees, a sharp inverted V high off the ground so she could see the sky and feel the night wind. We crawled underneath, removed our hiking boots and handed them to the counselors. We loosened our clothes and laid on top of our sleeping bags, arms and legs interlinked, staring at the moon through the branches. We repeatedly whispered, "I love you." There was not much more to say.

We lay on this ridge of mountain. The ridge seemed endless, stretching across the Appalachian shelf. It had risen millions of years ago, rock crashing together, thrusting upward, a massive tectonic shift continuing to reshape the landscape even today. And here we were now, on this ridge, together. We too had collided, fault lines rippling through our lives. We had forged new selves out of this, our own seismic event. Here on this ancient ridge, we knew we had come far.

Source: The Ridge- REPUBLISHED

[neon-danger]

Dirty Work supremacy. Actually Tell Me I'm Alive supremacy, but Dirty Work is a close second and used to be my top. But honestly I like everything besides LYR, and even then on a good day I'll get Dirty laundry playing in my head at random.

I don’t have an album I don’t like 🤡

[thatfaerieprincess]

Feel free to skip on past this, I’ve just gotta ramble for a minute bc i cant stop thinking about this kid from work last week. They were so much like me at that age (5-6th grade) that I didn’t know how to interact with them? I didn’t know what to say to them bc I don’t know what I needed to hear back then, what I would’ve WANTED to hear? What would I have even listened to? They were almost entirely silent and looked out at the world with a hesitant curiosity, but would pull back so fast as soon as you tried to interact w them. Little to no eye contact, face hidden in hair, always looking down, following others until they could strike off on their own and just quietly explore. Intently focusing on drawing any chance they got. We did an art project and they hunched over their piece the entire time and wouldn’t let any of us see it in progress, refusing to look up or acknowledge us if we asked to see it or to know what it was. Idk. I barely interacted w them while they were with us for those few days bc I didn’t know how? It almost hurt to try? It was like looking back into a time machine and i didn’t know how to tell them that it does get better,,, I still don’t even know if where I am is better, some days feel so unsure that I don’t think I’ve made any progress at all. But seeing that kid, idk. I’ve come pretty far. And it DOES get better. Maybe it’s not the best now, or even that great at all, but it’s better. I wish I could’ve told them but I don’t think they’d have wanted to hear it anyway

[harleezysbby19]

the fact his hair is actually long enough to put in a little ponytail and have bangs…crazy

[heterodox-heterographer]

They flatironed my babygirl???

[brasscompasses]

why did spotify add comments to podcasts. i don’t want to see that!! shut up !

[lemonstars-cat-blog]

is this anything? has anyone done this yet? probably but here it is anyway LOL uhh Darktail SOMEHOW finds leafpool after she gave birth to the three and after hearing her story (pregnant molly with a windclan ex who can’t rely on him to help raise their kids) he’s kinda struck in a soft spot, remembering his mother Smoke. he takes in the three and tries to raise them to hate the clans but i’d imagine it’d be interesting if Hollyleaf (or whatever her name would be in this AU) still kept her obsession with the warrior code, growing up to idolize it until her father tore it all down IDK this is a really rough concept so i don’t think it makes all that much sense (ESPECIALLY since i haven’t read the arc darktail is in i don’t even remember what it’s called)

but uhh yeah if anyone else has any ideas shoot em at me it’ll be fun! :)

[sammigrll]

seventy-six percent

description: your boyfriend hasn’t fucked you in weeks and you’re tired of it, your best friend fred helps you get laid!

paring: theodore nott x fem! reader fred weasley x reader platonic!

contains: smut! 18+, minors dni, mentions of alcohol, sex, p in v

w.c: 1.1k

|an: came up w this idea last night and i luv luv luv it! hope u guys do too.

“cmon, fred, please? it’s been weeks. i’d do it for you, you know?" you’d said to your best friend, fred weasley, during lunch. it has been weeks since your boyfriend last fucked you. you don’t know why or what’s gone wrong. but you were convinced it was some sick game he was playing. he wouldn’t encourage your sexual behaviors, nor initiate anything, and you were fed up.

although, now that you really think about it, it might’ve been your fault, considering the last pillow talk session you and theo had, you told him jokingly that you’d probably last longer than him without sex.

you lied.

you’re growing desperate. you tried to ease the ache in your lower stomach by attempting to please yourself, but it’s not the same; it’s not him. you can’t put up.

“you’re absolutely nuts if you think i’m going to purposefully make theodore nott jealous. do you want me dead? is that what this is?!” fred exclaimed with a hand over his heart, feigning hurt. “you think you know a gal,” he tutted, shaking his head.

you’d pressed your lips into a thin line, reaching into your head to find something that would make fred fold. “i’ll do your homework for a week? two? brew the potions for yours and george’s pranks? "c'mon freddie, be reasonable here.” you’d said with a pout.

“how about covering the cost of my funeral?” he’d deadpanned with a slight smirk. ugh, you’d thought. i guess i’ll have to…

“fine! i’ll do yours and george’s homework for a month so you can work on products. and make sure theo doesn’t do anything rash.” you exclaimed, god, your social life is going to be over, but at least you’ll finally get some dick.

fred’s lips tugged into a wicked grin. "sounds absolutely perfect. see you tonight. pleasure doing business with you, by the way!” he yelled out to you, already walking away, to go grab george and tell him the great news.

you’d sighed, hands holding your head from faceplanting into the hardwood table. it’ll be worth it, you told yourself.

this might, hands down. be the best you’ve ever looked in your life. your low-rise jean mini skirt hugged your hips and thighs perfectly. black long sleeve fitted crop top outlining your breasts and showing just the right amount of stomach, and black knee-high boots covering your calves. you looked to die for.

you do have to admit that you are a little nervous, though. fred and theo are both very unpredictable people. you had just hoped that fred wouldn’t cross the line too much and that theo would do nothing more than drag you up to his dorm and fuck you. considering this is a slytherin party, your chances of this outcome were maybe seventy-six percent?, which is good enough for you!

after overthinking and shuffling through every possible outcome, you finally stepped out of your dorm to meet fred in the common room so you could make your way to the slytherin common room together.

fred took a bow, as if you were queen lizzie herself, and offered you a hand to lead you down the last two steps of the staircase.

“madam?” he’d said in a posh voice, causing you to let out a laugh and take his hand to walk down the last of the steps. as you reached the bottom, he dropped the act and let out a laugh.

“no, but really. you do look good. i’d say there’s a great probability you’re getting laid tonight, with my help especially.” he’d said playfully and nudged you as you both exited the common room together.

“a girl can hope!” you’d whispered, now sneaking around the hallways with him to reach the slytherin common room.

“this is ridiculous!” you whisper-yelled into fred’s ear over the loud music blaring over the common room. you both hadn’t seen theo once tonight, and you and fred have been all over each other all night. getting close, whispering in each other's ears, taking shots together, even dancing together—nothing. the party was now coming to a close, and you still haven’t seen theo.

“i know, you’d think he’d show his face by now, or kick my ass or something" fred responded with his hand placed on the small of your back to get you as close as possible to him, so he could hear you better, of course.

theo had seen everything. he leaned against the wall in front of you covered by dancing bodies. he was alone, smoking cigarette after cigarette, his hand practically crushing the cup full of alcohol he’d had since the party began. he had a sick feeling in his stomach; he couldn’t even try to take a sip of his alcohol; afraid it would give him the courage to stomp over there and beat fred weasley’s ass. he saw everything. the touches, whispers, and dancing. all of it, and now he stood over you, hand on your back, bodies pressed together, whispering into each other's ears over the loud music? that’s enough.

theo stomped his cigarette out, slammed his cup on a nearby table, and made his way over to you and fred.

“you’re coming with me,” he’d said under his breath, grabbing your arm and whisking you away from your friend. shocked, you’d said, and did nothing but let him take you upstairs. you hadn’t even gotten the chance to tell fred bye, but oh well. he’ll be just fine. he did his duty, and you’ll have to do yours too. at least it was a mission accomplished.

“fuck, theo.” you pleaded and moaned against his neck as he pounded into you at a rapid and unforgiving pace, the both of you slick with sweat as you'd been at it for hours.

“you like that? or would you rather have fred’s cock pounding into you like this? huh?” theo growled out as he pulled out, awaiting your response.

“no— no no theo baby please. just you, only you.” you’d babble, hating the feeling of emptiness he’d left you with.

theo plunged his cock back into your wet cunt, continuing his harsh pace and letting out a breathy laugh. “that’s what i thought.”

all you could manage to do was moan and tighten your grip on his shoulders as you both neared your climaxes.

you could feel your brain go absolutely numb as his pace never faltered. you’d managed to breathe out a "theo... im gonna—“

“cum, on my cock, baby.” theo said between thrusts, his own release about to reach a close as his hips began to stutter.

“theo!” you’d screamed out as the tightness in your stomach snapped. the yell of his name that escaped your lips, pushing him over the edge as well.

god, now i have double the homework for a month. was your first post-orgasm thought..worth it. was your last as you drifted off to sleep in theos arms.

[nolita-fairytale]

and for us, it won't be long | joaquin torress x fem!reader | chapter two

summary: you and joaquin can't even order thai food in philly without flirting. a conversation ensues.

warnings: smut (minors dni) tooth-rotting fluff, spoilers for captain america: brave new world, swearing, use of she/her pronouns, one bed trope-adjacent, mentions of food, limited spanish, top gun reference, inappropriate mention of isaiah (poor guy he did not ask for this he's just training the youths of captain america!!), friends to lovers

word count: 5.7k

a/n: omg it's finally here i finally did it! i haven't written a fic in so long so if you're still reading this... thank you for your patience. this one is spicy! these two are yappy overthinkers who are so damn sweet on each other. i don't know how to explain it but... this is who they told me they wanted to be.

read chapter one here

It’s a very serious decision that you have to make—your final dinner selections—one that should never be taken lightly, and the sole reason you’ve found yourself inside of a Thai restaurant bickering like an old married couple. 

“So… I say we do an order of egg rolls, a chicken pad thai, a curry, and maybe something else to share? Or is that too much?” you chuckle as you review your order, taking charge of the endless indecision that’s plagued the both of you. 

“I think you underestimate just how much I can eat,” Joaquin shoots back, stealing a playful look at the mom and pop restaurant owners that wait, patient smiles plastered to their faces as the two of you fail to make a decision.

“It’s not a competition,” you tease him, side eyeing his flex. 

“It won’t kill us if we get two pad thais. It’s kiiiinda my favorite,” he adds, while simultaneously, you interject with a, “Yeah, why not? We can have leftovers.” 

“Okay, well, what if we just get one pad thai and then something else, but you can have most of it. I only want a few bites, I promise,” you reason with him, though you can’t promise it’ll be true. 

“Bullshit.” 

You laugh. 

After all this time, he still knows you so well. 

“Okay fine. I guess we could double up on pad thais or do you want to get another noodle dish and we’ll still share,” you suggest, bringing up your former idea again, this time expecting some kind of acknowledgement from Joaquin. You send an apologetic look to the restaurant owners—a silent, I’m Sorry—who, you can only imagine, are growing more and more impatient by the minute. 

You both wait a beat, thinking it over before simultaneously coming to the conclusion that:

“No you’re right we should do that,” Joaquin agrees with a sigh, admitting defeat. 

“No, let's do what you want! You just said pad thai was your favorite,” you concede, in complete harmony with your twin concessions. 

You both laugh and the couple who own the restaurant share a knowing look. 

“Well, what do you want to do?” you ask with a giggle, your eyes wide as you look to Joaquin. “Nah, you’re right. We should mix it up instead,” Joaquin reiterates, holding his ground. 

“You sure?” you question, hesitantly. 

“How about we give you all three noodle dishes, plus the curry…” the woman finally interjects, putting you both (and probably her and her husband) out of your misery. “...and a discount for the Falcon.” 

“Your service to this country is much appreciated,” her husband adds with a curt, yet reverent nod. 

Joaquin grins in response, and you’re not sure whether he’s celebrating his two-chicken-pad-thai win or the fact that he’s been recognized as an Avenger. He thanks both of the restaurant owners with a charming smile, before pulling out his wallet. 

“Oh you are not paying!” you protest, panic in your eyes as you move to stop him. “Yes, I am!” he insists, shooting you a look. “At least let me go dutch with-,” you begin. 

“Absolutely not!” he scoffs, shrugging your suggestion off like he’s almost offended. “You’re letting me crash with you anyway.” 

“Joaquin!” “Oh honey, let the handsome boy pay,” the restaurant owner interjects once again, this time with a wink in Joaquin’s direction, putting yet another debate between you and Joaquin to an end. 

“Let him pay,” her husband repeats firmly, his face serious enough to shut you up. 

You’re speechless, so instead you let out an exasperated sigh, throwing up your hands in defeat. The couple shares yet another knowing look before tearing your order off of their notepad to give to their kitchen as they talk amongst themselves, switching quickly from English to Thai. You can only assume it means they’re talking about the two of you as they share a laugh, then a pointed look back to you and Joaquin, and you can hardly blame them. You’ve sure put them through it in the five minutes you and Joaquin have been here. 

“Did you put them up to this?” you ask in disbelief, launching your mostly-joking accusation at your friend. 

“Oh yeah. They’re paid actors,” he replies quickly, the wittiness and smugness evident on his face as he crosses his arms over his chest. 

You scoff with a playful eye roll, trying your best to ignore how a familiar warmth fills you. You’ve missed Joaquin’s flirty banter, something that had always been there between the two of you, but never acknowledged. All these years you’d kept your distance, certain that you’d be a terrible army wife. You knew you’d be no good, sitting at home waiting for your husband to return from his deployment, and Joaquin had been intent on enlisting when the two of you graduated high school. 

You wonder if it’s the only thing that held you back from ever taking your friendship with Joaquin any further. Not that anything has changed… he’s still active duty… and now he’s an Avenger. But after his accident, you’ve questioned your own stubbornness, unable to deny just how much his near-death experience scared the shit out of you. 

*

The Thai takeout has been demolished, what’s left of it stored away in the fridge hours ago. You’re half asleep when the credits music of Matrix Reloaded—Joaquin’s request—wakes you. You blink your eyes open to see Joaquin half asleep on the other end of the couch, his feet kicked up, legs stretched out across the length of your incredibly comfy couch. 

“Hey doofus. We fell asleep,” you whisper, nudging his leg with yours. 

Joaquin groans, slowly beginning to blink his eyes open. His heart skips a beat as he wakes to you, making note of the fact that he really likes it. 

“So much for our Matrix marathon,” he mumbles, sitting up a little taller from where he’s curled up on the couch. 

“You should take the bed,” you suggest softly, noticing the way he shifts uncomfortably. 

It hasn’t been that many weeks since getting out of the hospital. It makes the most sense and you don’t mind sleeping on the couch for a few nights. 

“No, I’m fine. Really,” he brushes off the notion. “I just-. Well, you’re still technically recovering and-.” you begin making a case for your suggestion. 

“But the couch is really comfy!” he grins, trying a little harder to convince you. “It is a comfy couch but I still think you should take the bed,” you reply, firmly. 

Joaquin searches your expression for any kind of retreat, realizing that you’ve clearly made up your mind. And he knows what that means. 

Once you’ve made up your mind, there’s no changing it. 

But he doesn’t love the idea of kicking you out of your own bed either.

“Why don’t we just go halfsies?” He suggests so casually, as if he’s suggesting the two of you split the bill he insisted on paying earlier. “Not like we haven’t shared a bed before. Doesn’t have to be a big deal or anything.” “You do have a point,” you drag out slowly, your breath catching your throat. But you know you’re going to have to sell it better. “Right, yeah. No big deal.” 

He’s technically right. You’d had plenty of sleepovers as kids, and had spent many a class overnight field trips in sleeping bags next to each other. 

“Just like last time,” Joaquin adds, caution in his voice this time. 

Last time. 

“Last time” had started the way they always do. After returning from the blip, you and Joaquin reconnected and had gone out to catch up, dancing into the early hours of the morning, fueled by a few too many tequila sodas in downtown Miami. It was a night to remember—except for the parts you’re not sure he does. 

You’re not even sure you remember correctly. 

You remember the next morning, waking up in the same bed as Joaquin, and having to explain to both sets of your parents that you’d both had a little too much to drink and crashed at Joaquin’s because it was safer than going home. 

It was harmless.

Just a night of fun and old friends after five years of being gone. 

Nothing happened, you both insisted, much to the unconvinced looks on both of your mothers. 

Except… if you remember correctly… there was a kiss. 

A few kisses, actually.

But you’d never talked about it and both you and Joaquin had been drunk, so you assumed it wasn’t worth talking about, an event of the night swept under the rug so seamlessly you figured it clearly hadn’t mattered to either of you. 

“Right yeah. We should… share the bed. Totally makes sense,” you finally agree, plastering a fake smile on your face like you haven’t just had a mini-existential crisis. 

“What?” Joaquin asks, searching your face for a reason you’re suddenly acting so weird.

“Nothing,” you’re too quick to defend. “That’s not a nothin’ face,” he points out, unconvinced. “I-, it’s nothing!” you shrug, your voice higher in pitch, telegraphing that it really is okay. “No, what’s up?”Joaquin asks, this time much more concerned as he begins to back off his suggestions. “I don’t have to share the bed if you-.” 

Had he pushed too far? Should he not have brought it up? 

“Joaquin, it’s fine, it’s just-.” you interrupt, wishing you had just done a better job lying in the first place. 

Joaquin chuckles, “You’re a terrible liar. You know that?” 

You roll your eyes, because you love and also hate how easily he recognizes the look on your face. 

“I-,” you start, giving yourself one last chance to back out of telling him the truth. But you know there’s no use. He already knows something’s up. 

“It’s just-. Well last time…. Listen, it wasn’t a big deal or anything, and we were really drunk and I had just gotten back after being gone for five years so there’s that but-,” you stammer out, tripping over how awkward and uncomfortable this conversation is about to be. 

He waits patiently, a softness in his eyes that lets you know that whatever’s on your mind is okay to share. 

“I take it you don’t remember…” you sigh with a nod. 

It’s not like you’d been holding out for him to bring it up, that you thought he’d been holding on to the memory ever since, just waiting for the right time to confess his love, but you’re surprised to find yourself disappointed as you accept that he really must’ve not remembered. 

“...Well, there was sort of… a kiss between us. That night. You know. Last time.” 

“Oh, uh,” Joaquin begins hesitantly, wanting to tread as carefully as possible. “I uh. Yeah I-, I know.” 

Oh. 

I know?!

Your heart skips a beat. 

It’s not exactly the reaction you were expecting. 

“Wh-?” you begin to ask, caught off guard by his admission. “I-, I didn’t think you remembered.” “I didn’t know if you wanted me to,” he admits, earnestly. 

You have to stop yourself from letting out a laugh. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you ask, a laugh following as you feel a warmth in your cheeks. 

“I-. You didn’t say anything the morning after and, like you said, we had both been drinking the night before so… I don’t know. I didn’t say anything because you didn’t,” Joaquin explains, almost shyly, catching you off guard even further. 

It’s your turn this time to say: 

“Oh,” 

“Yeah,” he lets out a sigh. His eyes nervously search yours, trying to get a read on you. 

“Listen, this doesn’t have to be a big deal. It’s-, it’s not a big deal!” you deny, trying your best to get things back on track. “I think I just… I don’t even know why I brought it up. Maybe just so it wasn’t awkward when we-. You know. Address the elephant in the room and get it out of the way, you know? 

You know you’re rambling, but it’s as if your mouth’s run away from you and taken on a mind of its own. “But…” Joaquin trails off, as he decides to tumble off this cliff with you, uncertain whether the risk will pay off. “... doesn’t it feel like it? I mean, this feels weird, right?” 

You take a breath.

A beat. 

“A little,” you admit quietly, as the two of you exchange nervous laughter. 

Yeah. A little, being an understatement. 

You try your best to gauge any kind of reaction from Joaquin, wondering why the tension between you feels so charged, especially considering how many times you’ve insisted that this was so not a big deal.  

An idea crosses your mind, and you think you might be going insane, but you’re not sure you can fall asleep feeling this weird about things. 

“Okay, well, before we jump into my bed together… I think we should… resolve this,” you begin, deciding to take charge. 

“What do you mean?” Joaquin asks, hesitantly. 

“I-. I don’t know. It doesn't seem like talking about it is getting us anywhere. And… well, shit. I brought it up in the first place so. Sorry for that,” you continue to ramble on nervously. You take a deep breath before suggesting what you think might be a terrible, terrible idea. 

“Maybe we should just… get this out of our systems? So we can prove to ourselves that it’s totally not weird at all and just… not even a big deal.” 

Joaquin processes, going over and over in his head what he thinks you’re trying to say. “You mean… kiss again?” he finally asks, a hope in his eyes he prays isn’t too goddamn obvious. “Maybe. Yeah. I don’t know. What do you think?” you ask, shakily. 

A beat. 

“Fuck it. This is a terrible idea and I-,” you begin to backtrack, shaking off how silly that way.

“No, it’s not!” Joaquin is quick to interject, inching a little closer. “But… I mean. You sure?” 

You nod slowly, contemplating what you’re agreeing to, before finally deciding on: 

“Yeah.” 

“Okay.” You both exchange nervous laughs, before shifting just a little closer to each other. “So should we just-, I mean are supposed to just-,” you giggle, awkwardly, gesturing towards the man. 

Why was this so weird? 

Joaquin grins, another small laugh falling out of his mouth as he leans in closer to you. 

“Oh my god! Joaquin, what’re you doing?” you gasp, your voice quiet as his lips are inches away from yours, as if this weren’t your idea. 

“Well, you said we should just go for it,” he teases gently, and you can feel his breath on your lips. 

“I know but. It’s weird. This is-, it’s weird, right?!,” you giggle again. It’s as if your mind wants to pull away, but your body betrays you, as your heart skips a beat, reminding you to learn forward this time too. 

“Mhmm,” he hums, with an aplomb you certainly do not have. He lowers his voice, and almost as if he’s warning you, he adds, “I’m gonna kiss you now.”  You nod, just a little, before replying with: 

“Okay.” 

He chuckles. 

“Okay.” 

Joaquin takes his time, almost teasingly, before brushing his lips against yours. You’re taken by surprise by the fact that it doesn’t feel like enough. He pulls back just enough, before pressing his lips to your with full force this time. You inhale him, this moment, and the feeling that everything is about to change as you kiss him back, meeting him just as deeply as he’s met you. 

It’s not like you’d never wondered what this would feel like, but thinking about kissing Joaquin had just a thing of your childhood fantasies—something you’d thought you’d long forgotten. The way his lips move against yours feels like the fucking Fourth of July, explosions going off in and outside of you. 

“Joaquin?” you murmur against his lips, hanging onto the last threads of self-control you have (which, you think should come with a gold medal, considering especially the way he’s kissing you right now). 

“Hmmmm?” he hums against you, his hand coming up to cup your face, with no intention of stopping any time soon. 

“Yeah, so this kinda feels like a big deal,” you reply, in between kisses. “Uh huh,” he sounds in response, before sucking on your top lip. You gasp, more than happy to keep going, but he wants to make sure you feel the same. 

Joaquin pulls away just momentarily, his hand still cradling your face. He’s inches away from you once again, his gaze matching the seriousness of his tone as he asks, “We don’t have to keep going. If you don’t want to. We can stop.” 

“No!” you practically cry out, eliciting a small chuckle from his lips. The ones you very much wish to be kissing again. 

“Dimelo. Tell me what you want,” he says softly, and you’ve never felt safer with anyone. You’re actually not sure how you’ve managed to keep it together, ready to melt off of the couch and into his arms. “You wanna keep going?” 

“Uh huh,” you nod, this time closing the distance between the two of you, crashing your lips against his. “I wanna keep going.” 

So much for this not being a big deal. 

He takes your ‘yes’ as a sign to keep kissing you, as you shift for your body to face his. You’re wrapping your arms around his neck, and he’s licking into your mouth so that his tongue can tangle with yours, the two of you surrender to whatever this thing is between the two of you. It’s as if you can’t get close enough to him. His hands are cautious, his fingertips grazing your arms, before hesitantly trailing his hands over your waist. You lean into him, wanting to be even closer, and on your cue, Joaquin pulls you onto his lap. With your knees on either side of his hips, you straddle him, pressing your body to his chest as his tongue teases yours. 

You pull away, only for a moment, your eyes telling him that you need to explore more of him. You begin to kiss along his jaw, then down to his neck, leaving kisses along the column of his throat. As you begin to travel outwards, you notice the scarring along the back of his neck and shoulders from the accident, surprised at how quickly the skin has healed. 

It’s gotta be some kind of super-medicine, you think to yourself. 

His eyes search yours as if to ask, Is it okay?

His scars, he means. 

You begin to kiss along the tops of his shoulders, his collarbone, and where his shoulder meets his neck, as if to reply: 

They’re beautiful.

You’re beautiful.

It’s more tender than you’re ready for, caught up by surprise by the moment, so you lift your head, meeting his lips once more. Joaquin’s hands are less cautious this time, pressing you against him as you wrap your arms around his neck, continuing the passionate makeout. 

Holy shit. 

You’re making out with your childhood sweetheart. 

The one you swore you’d never date. 

But right now, you could care less, because he feels too good, and he kisses you like you’re his favorite thing. It’s all soft sighs, gentle hums that turn into moans, and hands all over. You could really lose yourself in this as you feel Joaquin’s hips buck up into yours, causing you to let out a moan. 

“Joaquin, wait,” you pant, using all the willpower you have left in you at this moment, as you break the hot and heavy makeout session that’s gone on between you. 

Because it feels too good. 

And because you want this to go where you think it’s going. 

“If we keep going… this-, we- we can’t unring this bell,” you pause, your eyes searching his for confirmation that he wants this just as much as you do. 

“I don’t wanna,” he replies, with the utmost sincerity and admiration in the way he looks at you. “I don’t wanna unring the bell. No take backs.” 

You giggle with a nod, “Okay. No take backs.” 

It’s innocent and hot all at once. He pulls you back into him, his kiss tender as he smiles against your lips. 

“Hold on,” he rasps, his order direct and sure. 

Before you know it, he’s standing up, and you’re clinging to his strong form with your legs and your arms letting out a laugh as soon as you realize what’s happening. 

“So does this mean you wanna share the bed or-?” he teases you, knowing very well that that’s your only plan for tonight. 

You chuckle in response, shaking your head, “Take me to bed or lose me forever, Torres.” 

“I love that movie,” he smiles. “I know you do,” you smile back. 

“But I mean it. Take me to bed, baby.” 

Baby. 

He likes the way it sounds on your lips, and he likes the fact that it’s you calling ‘baby’ even more. 

“Yes ma’am,” he grins, as you hold onto his body, feeling every step towards your bedroom. 

You’re grateful for once, that your apartment isn’t that large, as Joaquin reaches your bed before you know. He lays you down gently, hovering over you as he removes his shirt. 

“Oh my god!” you gasp, as he approaches the bed, this time shirtless. You cannot get your hands on him fast enough, feeling each plane of his superhero body against your hot, hot hands. “Please remind me to thank your personal trainer.”

“Oh that’s Isaiah. He-,” Joaquin begins to explain, smirking as you chase his lips.

“I really don’t want to think about Isaiah right now,” you interrupt him, taking your shirt off for good measure. 

Joaquin is on you in seconds, kissing you like he’s kissed you a million times before. Were you really going to do this? Were you about to have sex with your best friend? 

Before you can overthink it, Joaquin begins to leave kisses down your neck, returning the favor from earlier. His hot, wet mouth feels incredible, and all you can do is feel every single nerve ending in your body ablaze. You moan as he nibbles on the sensitive skin just below your collarbone, and you can feel him smile against your skin. He takes his time, making his way to the very top of the bralette you wear, leaving delicate kisses as he looks up at you. 

“May I?” he asks. 

He’s met with an eager nod from you, his large hands coming up to pull the fabric down, just enough to expose your breast to him. 

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he sighs out. 

Before you can respond, he’s wrapped his mouth around the peak of your breast, and you’re crying out in response. 

“Oh my God, Joaquin,” you sigh, feeling the way his tongue begins to circle your nipple. 

This is so not how you expected this evening to go, but you let yourself enjoy it anyway. Joaquin makes his way over to your other breast, giving it the same attention and reverence as the former. 

As he pulls away, you’re practically tearing the bralette over your head and onto the floor, tossed somewhere you won’t worry about till tomorrow morning. Joaquin’s mouth is on yours for a brief, smacking kiss, then he’s making his way down your body again, allowing your mind to wonder what else he can do with his mouth. 

You don’t have to wait long to find out. 

Before you know it, he’s removing your PJ shorts and panties, and leaving teasing kisses along your inner thighs. 

“Fuck, you’re wet, baby,” he practically moans as he gets closer to where you need him. 

“Hmmmm, yeah. Well, someone likes to tease,” you let out on an exhale, unsure of how you’re able to make a joke at a time like this. “You want my mouth? That it?” he asks you, nibbling on the soft skin. 

You moan, your hands tangling themselves in the thick locks at the back of his head. 

“Yes, baby. I want your mouth. Please.”

Please. 

He never thought a word could sound so sweet, but coming from you, here, between your legs, as he’s wound you up enough to make you beg him? He’s lost all shreds of self-control he has left, unable to deny you nor him any longer. 

You cry out as soon as you feel the warmth of his mouth on you, parting you open with his tongue. 

“So wet,” you hear him groan  into you before beginning to devour you. 

His tongue is everywhere, licking broad stripes up to your clit, drawing abstract shapes like he’s Matisse, then dipping into you over and over again. It’s not until he slides a finger, and then two into you, his tongue focusing on your clit, that your pants of pleasure have turned into a string of moans.

“Holy fuck, Joaquin!” you cry out. 

“I think I’m gonna-,” you stammer out, feeling the coil inside of you ready to snap. “Don’t stop, babe. Please. Fuck. I’m gonna come.” 

He’s relentless, his tongue on your clit and his fingers inside of you, bringing you up and over your peak till you break like a wave. Joaquin takes his time, slowing down the ministrations of his mouth while he cleans you up with his tongue. 

“How was that?” Joaquin asks, a mischievous smirk on his face as he stares up at you from between your legs. You look just as wrecked as you sound, and he can’t help but feel accomplished. 

You let out a laugh, “Holy shit. Was the screaming of your name not enough?” 

His smirk turns into a grin, and he’s moving up to kiss you as he answers, “I think I could hear it again.” You can taste yourself on his lips as you kiss him back. 

“Then you’re gonna have to make me come like that again,” you’re quick to parry back, as if it’s a challenge. 

“I think that can be arranged,” he replies. “You have condoms?” “Mhm,” you reply, before sitting up. 

You promise you’ll be right back, and anything said after that is lost on him as he watches your naked body move around the room. As you return to him from your quick trip to your nightstand, condom in hand, he can’t get over how beautiful you are. 

“Looks we still gotta get you naked. And do not bring up your personal trainer again, my God,” you groan, earning a laugh from him. You place the condom down on the bed beside you, before pulling Joaquin towards you. 

He kneels on the bed, his knees on either side of your legs as he begins to pull his sweatpants down. You’re not sure if you’re nervous or excited to see him completely naked as your heart flutters. Joaquin clumsily makes his way out of his sweatpants, the two of you exchanging nervous laughs, before he’s kneeling over you again, completely naked. 

He’s thick, and just long enough that you’re glad you’ve had a solid night of foreplay so far. You reach for the condom, handing it to him. Freeing up your hands, he takes it, and you slide one hand around his cock because you just have to feel it. 

Joaquin hisses in response, shooting you a warning look. 

You giggle, allowing him to slide the condom on first, before returning to you. 

“We don’t have to-, you know. Right away. We can do some more of this,” he says, as he kisses you, slipping a hand between your legs. 

It’s insane how your legs fall open for him without hesitation. You moan as he drags his index finger along your heat, earning a soft moan from. You allow him to tease you for just a little longer, the kisses shared between the two of you are long, patient, and passionate. 

This is it. The point of no return. 

As if he can read your mind, he slots himself between your legs, and you’re making room for him instinctively. 

“You sure?” he asks you, almost as if he’s giving you one last time to back out. 

“I’m sure,” you answer confidently, this time, reaching down between your bodies to line him up with you. 

Joaquin hisses once more, the feeling too good as you drag the tip of his latex-covered cock up and down your sex. 

“Baby, please,” you say, as if you know they’re the magic words. 

“Oh my god,” Joaquin groans, because he can’t take it anymore. 

Slowly, he pushes just the tip in, the two of you moan at first contact. He pulls away just enough, before pushing in again, deeper this time. It goes on like this, each thrust bringing him deeper into you till he’s full seated inside of you. Joaquin pauses, allowing the two of you just to feel. You breathe each other in before he kisses you with a passion and fervor that takes your breath away. 

Joaquin begins to move his hips, giving you a few experimental thrusts. 

“Feels so good. You feel so fucking good,” he whispers in between kisses. 

“You feel good too, ‘Quin,” you whine, as he begins to pick up the pace. 

You cry out, because you can feel him so deep, and because he feels so goddamn hard and so goddamn good inside of you. It’s as if your bodies take over, and before you know it, Joaquin’s fucking you into the mattress, pressing your hands above your head, tangling his fingers with yours, and making you come on his cock for the very first time. 

He watches you come down from your high, and he thinks he could do this forever, because you’re so damn beautiful when you come. There’s something about it—knowing it’s him that’s making you feel this way—that makes you feel this good. 

“Switch with me,” you order, pulling him from his thoughts. 

“What?” 

“Let me get on top.” 

He must have the dopiest smile on his face as he does, laying back against the mattress and watching you crawl on top of him. 

This can’t be real. 

Could this be real? 

It feels really fucking real as he feels you slide down over him, your head thrown back in pleasure, taking him inch by inch. 

“Dios mio, baby,” he sighs, his hands moving instinctively to your hips as you ride him. 

He lets you set the pace, moving your hips slowly at first, settling into a rhythm as he admires your naked body. From the way you tangle your hands in your hair, the way your breasts bounce as you ride him, the way your hips swivel every few thrusts, he’s never seen a more magnificent sight. You take your time, just enjoying this, enjoying each other, with no rush or care in the world. 

Joaquin can’t take his eyes off of you. 

It’s just you and him and the way you feel. 

With one hand on his chest, your back arched, your hips working up to a feverish pace, you can feel yourself on the verge again. He feels too good: Joaquin, your childhood best friend, the one that, just hours earlier, you thought would forever just be your friend. But now that you know how he kisses, what his tongue feels like, what his cock feels like, there’s absolutely not going back. 

You let out another moan, an offering to the gods, because all you want is more, more, more. 

“Holy shit! Why didn’t we do this sooner?” you gasp, the pace of your hips quick, chasing your high. “You said you didn’t want to be an army wife,” he pants in return, his thrusts meeting yours. 

“Well, I’m currently reconsidering because-. Oh fuck!” you cry out, and you know you’ll have to bake apology muffins for your neighbors later this week. 

There it is. It’s there. 

You’re so close. 

You can feel it. 

“If you’re still talking, I don’t think I’m fucking you good enough,” Joaquin teases you. 

“Well then, put your money where your mouth is, Torres, and make me cum.” 

It’s meant to sound like a challenge, but you wonder if it just comes out as desperate as you feel. 

Joaquin pauses, and before you can complain, you feel him shift so that he’s sitting upright. You both moan as she sinks just a little deeper. He kisses you deeply, his thrusts starting out slow before quickly moving to something with much more intention. He knows exactly what he wants from you. 

With your face buried in his neck, he’s set a blistering pace, and you’re meeting him thrust for thrust. He really meant it when he said he’s fuck you even better. 

“Fuck. Yes. Right there, right there, right there. Oh my god,” you shout into his neck as he hits that spot inside of you. 

“I’m not gonna last long,” Joaquin grits out, and you can tell how much he’s holding back. “With you squeezing me like that. Fuck.” 

“Then don’t,” you beg him, before your orgasm takes over you one last time. “I want you to come, baby.” 

All you can do is hold on, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, moaning into his neck as you come again. He fucks you through it, his thrusts getting more erratic and sloppy with each one. It’s the way you pulse around him, how tight you’re squeezing him, milking all remnants of self control he has left that brings him to his high. Joaquin follows shortly after, because you just feel too good coming on his cock. 

He comes with a strangled moan, stars exploding behind his eyes, followed by sharp pants as he tries to catch his breath. 

You stay like this for what feels like forever, and not long enough. 

“Holy shit,” you say, lifting your head to look at him. 

“Uh… yeah,” Joaquin breathes, as the two of you share a smile. You leave gentle kisses along his shoulder as the two of you breathe together, enjoying your last moments like this. “Just uh, give me a second.” 

You nod, careful as you let him slip out of you, allowing the both of you to collapse on your backs. 

“So…” Joaquin drags out, looking over at you. “Still think we should share the bed?” 

You laugh, pressing your lips together before answering with: 

“You’ll be lucky if I let you out of this bed this weekend, Torres.” 

“Mmmm I think I like the sound of that,” he grins, rolling over onto his side. 

“Me too.”

[wordpress-blaze-176197706]

The Ridge- REPUBLISHED

Into the Wilderness: Part 6

Our rented SUV was one of the last in the parent caravan. We drove along winding paved roads until we turned off onto dirt pathways, passing white clapboard houses nestled among the hills, weathered with moss, a lone horse, a few sheep hugging dilapidated barns. Then, we turned off those dirt roads onto pitted tracks created by other four wheelers. We navigated slowly up the mountain, wheels edging steep declines. We bumped over rocks, tree branches scraping our doors. We passed an overflowing stream.

Finally, the line slowed and stopped. In what seemed like practiced unison, SUVs turned slightly off the tracks. The forest was damp and thick, the soil emitting steam as the sun warmed it. The Blue Ridge Mountains in Georgia are actually a temperate rainforest and that becomes obvious the moment you crack open your car door. The moisture and heat- it was now late August- envelope you.

All around us was green. If our teens were camped in these woods, seeing them through the trees was nearly impossible. Chuck and I got out of our SUV and followed the other parents walking toward an incline about a half mile down the path. A sense of human presence started to emerge. An abandoned steel tent frame gleamed in a clearing- not from our campers; they have strict rules to leave the forest as they find it. In the distance, smoke from a campfire wafted through the green light. We walked toward it.

All around us, teens and parents had begun to re-unite. Rustling undergrowth, excited screams: the teens rushed to meet their parents.

Far down on the path, was a spot of red. As we walked, it formed into a shape, then a figure. It was unloading food supplies from the back of an SUV. The figured stopped and faced our direction.

Squinting, Chuck asked, "Is that Catina?" We couldn't tell. We walked closer. And as we did the figure began to sprint toward us. And then we knew. This was our girl.

We ran. She ran, clouds of dirt rising around her like Pigpen from Charlie Brown. We came together, grabbing hold and squeezing in an enormous hug.

The first thing I noticed was how bad she smelled. And how smelling so bad, she still smelled good. Every mother knows the scent of her child. It's there from the first moment your child is in your arms and you bury your nose in the soft spot where the neck meets the shoulder.

That was the smell I noticed, along with sweat and body odor. Deoderant attracts mosquitos and flies so the teens avoid it.

Next, I noticed her clear eyes. And her dimpled smile. She was happy, not just to see us, but happy. Her body showed it. She had a confidence she had never carried before.

She had firmed up from the hiking and healthy eating. The teens do not eat processed foods and can only have limited amounts of honey as a rare treat. She was covered in bug bites, red welts dotting her arms, ankles and calves. She wore a long-sleeved red windbreaker and splotched khakis, an orange vest with fluorescent tape and a mismatched pair of crocs, one blue, one orange (see our photo in the About page), without socks.

Chuck and I wore "I heart Catina Wipper" T-shirts. In her last letter home, Catina had asked Chuck to adopt her, and we wanted to surprise her with his answer. Just two days before, we had found a small printing shop in Clayton, Georgia that could make our T-shirts in a day. The T-shirt was hidden beneath our buttoned shirts and we opened them in a big "ta da."

We were together again. After eight long weeks of separation.

We walked to the clearing where they had set up camp. In the center was a big tarp with a campfire. The teens learn how to start a fire using self-made bow drills. Designated campers tend the fire to keep it continually burning. No fire means eating peanut butter in big spoonfuls from the jar or handfuls of GORP.

Each teen was assigned a pack of necessities weighing about 40 pounds: sleeping bag, school and therapy notebooks, water bottles, food supplies, bowl and spoon, a change of clothes, bags for collecting waste, a toothbrush. The packs were piled in a mound about 20 feet from the center tarp. A constructed bathing area and latrine were at opposite ends of the camp, both lined with tarps for privacy. Above the camp, on a ridge, the teens had set up their tents. Each day, they choose a favorite spot for sleeping. This one had a view of nearby mountains, blue and hazy in the distance like a smudged charcoal drawing.

The teens had settled down with their parents, excited to tell them about living in the wilderness. They were all so proud. They had lived outside for weeks tending to their own needs. While different issues had brought them together, the underlying issue was often the same: anxiety, depression, low self-esteem. But now they had discovered they could thrive- through storms, heat waves, bug bites, pesky critters, slips and falls.

Catina took our hands and led us up a hill above the camp to a rocky nook shaded by trees. Chuck and I unfolded our chairs, portable, legless contraptions that suspend a body in a reclining position. These "chairs" are provided only to teens who have reached a certain level in their progress- an incentive to work hard. Visiting parents are warned not to give our chairs away, or to let our kids sit in them.

We checked in. How were we each feeling? Excited, happy, complete. Catina told us about her days- what time they rise, packing up, unpacking, hiking off trails, setting up camp, cooking meals, cleaning up. She had never camped a single day in her life before wilderness, and now she loved being in the deep woods, sitting quietly with a book or journal, or staring endlessly at the beauty of it all.

We talked about a lot of things. Her letters. Her inventories. Her memories. Her new-found love of reading. Her regret. Our regret. An awful, violent incident she had hidden from us and blamed herself for because it had happened at a party she shouldn't have been at. What had led her here, to this place, this moment.

When we returned to the camp, dinner prep was underway, a counselor watching as they cubed raw chicken and cut up vegetables, sauteed in a big skillet over the open flame. They made pasta with chicken and vegetables, simple and good. Catina added sriracha, gobbled it down and wiped her bowl clean with leaves from the ground. When I couldn't finish my serving, she was happy to eat more.

Joy. I had never seen her so in her body, so present to herself. She was just Catina. The Catina that is Catina. Not the Catina that anyone else wanted her to be.

As the sun began to set, we hiked up the hill to the ridge where they had lined their tents. I captured a fallen branch as a walking stick to help heave myself up the mountain and across the uneven terrain.

Catina had chosen to place her tent last, at the far end of the ridge. She tied it between trees, a sharp inverted V high off the ground so she could see the sky and feel the night wind. We crawled underneath, removed our hiking boots and handed them to the counselors. We loosened our clothes and laid on top of our sleeping bags, arms and legs interlinked, staring at the moon through the branches. We repeatedly whispered, "I love you." There was not much more to say.

We lay on this ridge of mountain. The ridge seemed endless, stretching across the Appalachian shelf. It had risen millions of years ago, rock crashing together, thrusting upward, a massive tectonic shift continuing to reshape the landscape even today. And here we were now, on this ridge, together. We too had collided, fault lines rippling through our lives. We had forged new selves out of this, our own seismic event. Here on this ancient ridge, we knew we had come far.

Source: The Ridge- REPUBLISHED

[idontmindifuforgetme]

No bc tell me why when I was younger I’d post multi paragraph think pieces on this blog but lately I just get on and post the most random things 😭😭 no thoughts head empty fr

I literally have nothing to say anymore but I still get on here and post nonsense. And I think that’s very brave of me

[frankmillerturnonyourlocation]

The crowd is still, and for the first time, you think you're beginning to see yourself the way they see you. You, in your spray-painted cutoffs and muddy tennis shoes, sweat-soaked and sun-scorched, are no longer in the same category as these people. You're not a small-town kid, a student, a smile on the way to the check-out line. You, Emerson Molloy, are not Emerson Molloy. You are alien.

It's kind of overwhelming.

You are keenly aware of the camera rolling to your left and the half-dozen phones held up and recording from various vantage points in the crowd.

This world is not unused to aliens, reason whispers to you through the roaring in your ears. We just need to be the right kind. Go on, let's show the camera.

You are not Emerson Malloy. You are alien. The thought is calm, clear as crystal. You get into character.

"Hello," you say, gaze not really focused anywhere, speaking no louder than you would speak at the table. "I have traveled very far. I have waited very long to make your acquaintance." You lift your head, see these people like they are the first you have seen in a very long time. "To meet you."

You smile, and it's the easiest thing in the world. You think you see the person you're making eye contact with smiling back, a disbelieving quirk of the lips, and feel a dizzying rush of affection.

"I am not much," you say, speaking in a way that seems, even to you, slow, careful, filled with intention. Somber, but not sullen. Clear as crystal. Your eyes are unfocused. "I have little to offer but my service. I offer it. This town will shed no blood while I am here to stand by it."

You take a slow breath and, with half-lidded eyes, you tilt your head back. You feel genuine warmth bleeding, really bleeding, into your words like the warmth of the yellow sun. "Thank you for having me. I am very glad to meet you all."

There's a whoo! from somewhere in the crowd.