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Being with Johnny MacTavish felt like stepping into something bigger than you. He was older, more grounded, had seen things that gave his smile that edge—like he knew the punchline to a joke you hadn’t caught on to yet. And he never rubbed it in your face, not really. He just watched you with those steel-blue eyes, arms crossed, letting you talk yourself into trouble before stepping in and pulling you back with a muttered, “You're cute when you think you're in control, you know that?”

He never made you feel small. He made you feel young. There was a difference. You could be bratty, pushy, impulsive—and he'd let you have your little fire until it burned out, then reel you in with a firm hand on your lower back and a low, amused, “Alright, love. You done now?” He never yelled. He didn’t need to. His voice could drop just an inch and your legs would lock up with instinct alone.

He took care of you without making a show of it. You’d wake up and find your car filled with gas. Your kitchen stocked. The lightbulb you forgot to change—fixed. He never asked for credit, just gave you a look when you thanked him like, Why wouldn’t I? It made your chest ache a little. That quiet kind of love, the one that said: I see what you need even when you won’t say it.

Sometimes you’d try to test him. Act like you weren’t affected. Like he didn’t have you wrapped around his finger. But he’d catch your wrist mid-sentence, lean in, and say something soft in that gravelly accent—something like, “You can keep playin’ if you want, but I already know how this ends.” And it always ended the same way: you, breathless, underneath him, wondering how a man could be so gentle with his hands and so filthy with his mouth.

And when he held you afterward, it was like the rest of the world didn’t matter. You’d press your ear to his chest and listen to the steady thump of his heart, his rough fingers tracing lazy lines along your back. “Y’know,” he’d murmur, voice heavy with sleep, “you make me feel young again too.” And it didn’t matter that he was older, or that he’d seen more of the world. You were his peace. His trouble. His girl.

And he was your anchor. Solid. Unshakable. A little bit dangerous—and exactly where you always wanted to come home to.

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Sometimes I realize something is deeply wrong with me, and then I think, 'Meh, might as well do this black magic (metaphorically); what's the worst that can happen?'

But still something is wrong with me man

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captain's hips |part 2| come feed children

|part 1| open for better quality swinging

I'm going to [REDACTED] him so hard he's going to start walking straight.

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Hi! First, I am obsessed with your blog because it has such a cute theme and great writing! Do you have any thoughts on tit worship, in which that man is, basically, making out and tonguing your breasts? Honestly, down to hear this regarding any COD man you see most fit!

(Very sorry if this is not in your boundaries, but, if you want/need inspo, here is the twt corn link that turned the cogs for me https://x.com/ie93p/status/1870577470350782622?s=46&t=FaQYc1OpmBlaJIY_FO1qhg )

MMMPPPHHHH TIDDIES 🚤🚤🚤🚤 Listen I personally am an all tits no ass girl so I declare all of them love tiddies. This is my kingdom my rules 🤚🤚. But in all honesty, they love all tits. All shapes all sizes all uniformity (or lack thereof) and especially all nipples. They’re not very picky.

CW: lactation kink. Nsfw MDNI

Soap uses them as squishy little toys. Don’t be surprised if he comes up to you at random times of the day only to put his hands up your shirt and start squeezing. It was initially a sex thing, but now it’s just a him thing. A little idiosyncrasy. The best part of his day, if he’s being honest. PLEASE send him soapy tiddy pics when you’re in the shower. Also get edible soap because if he’s there he’s gonna wanna lick it off.

Gaz is gonna treat it like yet another bomb to diffuse. He’s already a terror with your clit during sex, and if he wasn’t as strong as he is you’d probably yank his hand off it because of all the overstimulation. Anyway, back to the tits. He’s gonna figure out what you like. Slapping, squeezing, sucking, licking, flicking, biting—whatever it is, he’s gonna find it and bottle it for every time you have sex. Or make out.

Ghost has a HUGE lactation kink. Did someone say mommy issues. Even if you’re not lactating, he’ll pretend. He can spend hours just sucking. Loves using you as his personal pacifier every time he has a headache (made a post about this, actually). Also a big fan of using them as pillows, so even though it hurts to have his big ass head on your chest—you let him.

Price is an old fashioned man. Wear a sheer nightgown that pushes up your tits and he’s close to ruining his pants. Big fan of watching them jiggle during sex—his favorite positions are cowgirl and missionary. Doggy too if there’s a mirror involved.

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I lied put your clothes back on. I don't know how to fuck and I'm scared

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tom riddle in a pea coat covered in blood. tom riddle standing in the snow covered in blood. tom riddle panting from exertion covered in blood. tom riddle kissing you like he needs you to breathe covered in blood. tom riddle who killed men for you covered in blood.

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Deleted the texts, notification on mute. Now i can study in PEACE

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An egg was slightly bigger than the other 2 eggs. Ruined my damn cake

Cooking: it’s okay if you don’t follow the recipe to a T, in fact why need a recipe at all just follow your heart!

Baking: if you so much as think of putting just a pinch more of anything in the recipe your entire family will die

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I almost peed my pants LMAO HAHAAAAAAAAA

Had to go to the Dr.’s today for check up on baby. My Lyft driver (very thick Mexican accent) was like “oh to the hospital, everything okay?” I explain that I’m pregnant. Just a check up for baby and my husband is meeting me there after work.

He asked if I knew what we were having and I told him a girl.

He clutches his chest and goes “ah. Beautiful! I have two daughters and a son. My first daughter, I call her my heart. I call my second daughter my princess.”

“And your son?”

“I call him my chicken.”

I had tears in my eyes from laughing. I get that it’s suppose to be a term of endearment, but having my siblings be mi corazón, mi princesa, and im stuck with mi pollito would have me so pissed. Like why am I the little chicken?

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my holy sister, english in Bangladesh is as simple as water. The grammar part is what makes things a bit difficult, as is "which one is a pronoun?" those questions, but others are easy enough. but math..... I fear that thing

SHAPE HELL

Yup.

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That's why I'm skipping math on my admission exam and going to tik English

SHAPE HELL

Yup.

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ohhhh I'm bad at math, My apologies

SHAPE HELL

Yup.

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I'm too high but is this physics or.. chemistry?

SHAPE HELL

Yup.

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i think about this a lot