#Cheap Sock Boots

[tiffanyachings]

Matching T-Shirts for You and Your Weirdly Codependent Cousin

based on this excellent post by @casgirl

[icewindandboringhorror]

Obligatory fancier outfit that must be present anytime I post outfits 

[justhannigramfics]

“If these shoes are good enough for the military, they ought to be good enough for me” <- me the day before I end up with bloody socks because I went through an eight hour workday in shoes that chafed against my achilles really painfully, and I powered through because pain is weakness leaving the body and I’ll die before admitting to my coworkers that I am in so much pain I can’t walk.

[voidedjuice]

Made a cute dress for my Valerie

[anadorablekiwi]

… I wanna make an Amber cosplay

[dufrau]

Curious about your feelings on Clark's as a boot brand? (I have a pair of clark's men's desert boots that I bought about a decade ago for archaeological field work and then ended up really liking for actual kinda hipster-y academia style outfits too, and they've held up really well, but I don't actually know much about the company's overall reputation in the boot world!)

So Clarks aren't my style personally, for whatever reason chukkas just have never really appealed to me? (I guess they make things other than chukka's but when I think of Clarks I think chukka.) I just prefer chonkier, heavier shoes. But I also don't use my shoes for archeological field work but rather just for walking from the passenger seat to the bar stool and back again, so its definitely a different use case lol.

But I think, even though the aesthetic is different, Clarks fall into the same vague genre as Blundstones, sort of the boot/sneaker hybrid zone? Lightweight and comfortable but tougher and more serious looking than just wearing sneakers. Easy to put on. I think everybody who likes chukkas probably owns a pair of desert boots, they're kind of the iconic chukka.

They're kind of Dad boots tbh? (I say this nonjudgmentally as a person who has often been called Dadlike.) But what I mean is they're not flashy so they don't really go out of style, they're affordable and versatile and they can take a minor beating, so you don't need to worry about buying shoes very often.

The price looks right where it should be, also. Goodyear welted boots under $200 is a good deal. You're not getting anything fancy but they aren't pretending to be fancy. Just a good shoe, in my opinion!

[teamhawkeye]

slowly piecing together my Laura cosplays in time for summer! 🐺🌕

[dragonboyteeth]

Since hormones can't give me what I really want (big fluffy ears, neon purple eyes, glowing rainbow wings) I'm aiming for the next best thing: chubby, greasy hacker dude

[hardwriterdeluxe]

Second Life

I’ve been were busy recently and haven’t had time to write and I’ve also had writers block, I wanna thank @chavdrone and @kaithescallylad for inspiring me to write this story! ________________________________________________

Oliver was walking home from a friend towards the bus stop when he noticed a new shop. He had been around this part of London many times and had never seen this store before. Its dusty storefront displayed many different styled mannequins in attempts to be trendy, but they just ended up cheesy. Oliver looked at the store and read the half-broken neon sign, “Second life”; it was a second-hand shop. Oliver had time to kill, so he took the opportunity to check the store. It was open, and he went in. He was met by a large arrangement of racks with clothes and shelves; he didn't know where to start. The store seemed to be empty of any customers, and the checkout was empty as well, so Oliver just went around browsing for potential items.

Oliver was your average guy. He studied at some college in London he had recently turnt 20 and described by his nerdy characteristics: brown overgrown hair, glasses, a lanky build, and an normal clothing style. It was out of character for Oliver to blink twice at the White Nike trainers he just passed. His body felt drawn towards the pair, and even though the pair were size 11s and his feet were size 9, he felt obliged to try them on. He grabbed them and went towards a dressing room, not finding any other mirror or place to sit; he went there. Oliver removed his boots and put on the White Nike Tns. At first, he felt amused seeing these large, comically-looking sneakers on his feet, but that soon changed. The sneakers quickly started feeling moist, wet, and they were smelling; he was confused. Becoming uncomfortable, he quickly tried to yank off the sneakers, but to no avail, they were simply stuck, and the size gap weirdly felt snug.

Unbeknownst to Oliver, Second Life wasn't just an ordinary second-hand shop; no, it was a store offering a new life. Each item dropped off by the last owner transferred their essence into the new owner, ultimately forming a second life for the customer. Oliver's body started to change, and his height increased; his body frame started filling out, his lanky arms becoming toned, and his stomach gaining the outlines of some abs. His body gained a lean look, and his body started to emit the same smell his sneakers had; ultimately, exuding masculinity mixed with a new fragrance coming from his body, some cheap Axe deodorant and cologne. Oliver's face started changing; Oliver originally had slim and feminine features, a round nose and jaw, and a kind-looking face. That dramatically changed as his jaw started to square up, some stubble growing in, and his mouth gaining a stupid expression, a stupid grin. His nose swelled up and got crooked from all the fights he "supposedly" had gone through, and his eyes squinted up as well as his brow ridge squared up, his eyebrows becoming full and dark, and his ears becoming pierced. Oliver's hairstyle went from his long hair to a short-styled fade.

Oliver's clothes disintegrated all but his underwear that changed into some blue Nike boxers, as well as his bulge growing to accommodate his new length and foot size. Oliver's body started getting new clothes as a black football tracksuit materialized on him, the pants tucked into his socks, and he ultimately got a chain around his neck, finalizing his new look.

The last step was his mental state; Oliver's mind adjusted to his new persona and changed him into Ozzy, a 20-year-old British chav. Ozzy didn't go to college like those fancy shits; instead, he spent his days hanging with his brothers and working for some money. Gone was Oliver, and the world around him had erased Oliver for good. The store owner watched the whole change back in the storage, checking out another happy customer.

[notjustjavierpena]

The Making of Ellie - Part I: Baby-Making

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: This DILF!Joel piece has rotted my brain for 24 hours straight. I have had absolutely no break from thinking about this, and it’s never been easier to write something.

Summary: A look into how you and Joel’s relationship is going two years in. Joel’s POV on his never-ending love for you and his extreme baby fever.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 Smut (MDNI!), Joel’s POV, domesticated Joel Miller, Sarah makes an appearance!!!, tooth-rotting love and fluff, they’re crazy about each other, talk about birth control and ovulation, pussy eating (joel is a cunning linguist), fingering, bit of praise kink, dirty talk, bit of body worship, breeding kink, daddy kink (if you squint real hard), slow and sensual piv sex, intense orgasms, creampie, God they are in love

Word count: 4k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49183051

Song inspiration(!!!): Too Lost In You by Sugababes

Baby-Making

Joel comes home from work around the same time each day now — and it’s never after dinner time. He has made it his mission to make time for Sarah and you, cut down work since you moved in, because two working adults living in the house means that he can slow things down. 

His health has improved, his mood too, his fatigue has practically gone and Sarah has had more time to just be a kid, started playing soccer again, and has even taken up coaching the little league team now that she’s 16. It’s good for him. You are good for him. For both of them. 

He loves it. He takes the afternoon post-work ritual very seriously. Always texts if he should pick something up from the grocery store. Sometimes brings you flowers too, remembering that one time you’d said that you didn’t actually mind the cheap cellophane-wrapped bouquets. 

It’s interesting to him how natural it feels for him to slip right into domestic bliss with you because he never thought that he would get there again after Sarah’s mother. On top of it, he never considered himself a gentle thing, but after you, it’s like you kiss the calluses of him away. He is nothing but gentle now, even in his roughness. 

He throws the keys onto the side table by the front door after arriving home, shrugs off his jacket, and bends down to take off his boots. The sound makes you appear in the doorway. Joel notices that you’ve changed into gray sweatpants and a tank top with a strawberry on it since arriving home, basically removed anything from you that is professional and uncomfortable. Joel loves you like this because he is the only one who gets to enjoy you like this; relaxed and beautiful, hair in a messy bun on top of your head and fuzzy socks on your always-cold feet. He smiles at your radiance, then pads across the floor to kiss you hello. 

There’s something in your eyes; a flicker of mischief as you grab his wrist to look at his watch. With a grin that nearly sets his heart into overdrive, you hold his hand up so he can look at the time too. 

“It’s five minutes past,” you tut.

“Right, but I got ya something,” he says, reluctantly turning away from you to rummage through his jacket pocket. He fishes out a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup and you immediately snatch it from his hands, holding it close to your chest.

“Gremlin,” he teases and you stick out your tongue at him, “No needa hide it. ‘S too sweet for me anyway.” 

“I shall save it for later then,” you walk to the kitchen and open the top cabinet that holds the mugs. You stand on your toes to reach into the very back, shirt riding up just a little, and stash the chocolate cup for later consumption.  

“Hidden from Sa-rah, the candy thief,” you purposely pronounce her name wrong for dramatic purposes. Then you lower yourself onto the soles of your feet again, not bothering to pull your top down again. Joel watches the slight reveal of the dimples on your back.

“Right,” he chuckles. 

Dear Lord, he loves you so much that it is ridiculous. In a way that makes the future look better than it ever has because it’s no longer filled with uncertainty. He knows what’s going to happen; he’ll build a house for the three of you, he’ll marry you in the Texan spring and he’ll give you as many babies as you want. He’d do it all today if he could. 

“How was work?” You interrupt his thoughts by wrapping your soft hands around the nape of his neck, resting them there. You have rosy cheeks, feel warm against his skin, with love radiating from your fingertips. 

“Good, told Tommy to handle the next few clients. Some hotshot guy comin’ into the office tomorrow,” Joel tells you, wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging you closer. He thinks that you don’t actually care about any of this, but there’s no indication of boredom on your face.

“He building a castle or something?” You ask. 

“Somethin’ like that. Guy’s filthy rich but not from his own doin’, looking at blueprints at the end of the week. Should be interesting,” he continues, “Not that you care about that.”

“I do actually like hearing about your job,” you kiss him on the lips, peck them repeatedly until he cannot help himself and lifts you up to hug you tight. His arms rest along your back and his hands on your sides, fingers sprawled out underneath where your bra had been in the morning. You must’ve taken it off too. He loves you comfortable. 

“You just love my hands,” he retorts, nose against your cheek, “Don’t deny it. I see right through ya.”

“It’s definitely not completely wrong,” you admit when he sets you down again.

You walk back to the kitchen, too tempted by the knowledge of what is in your kitchen cabinet. You only take half, proclaiming some bullshit that you have to watch out for your blood sugar since one can never know when it’s going to get you.

Joel rolls his eyes, following you, “I can give ya some sugar.”

“Joel Miller!” You pretend to look shocked. He tastes the peanut butter in your mouth, pushes you against the counter. 

“Gross,” a teenage girl’s voice says.

“Oh right, Sarah’s home,” you announce sheepishly.

Joel pulls away to look at his daughter, “Hey kiddo. How was school?”

“You don’t care about that,” she smirks, “But if you must know, it was fine. No homework.” 

“That don’t sound like Mrs. uhhh…”

“Green, it’s Ms. Green, Dad,” Sarah says dramatically as she moves across the floor to put on shoes. Her tone turns taunting, “Go ahead and make out with your girlfriend. I’m going to soccer practice.”

“Have fun, Sarah! We’ll have dinner ready,” you chime in. 

“See ya, honey.”

The door closes behind her. The house grows quiet for a moment, but then the mischief is back in your eyes, “She’s seeing a boy.”

Joel nearly gets whiplash, not sure why his pulse spikes. He trusts his daughter to make good decisions and has taught her how since she was just a baby, “Nah, she ain’t. Just said she’s going to soccer practice.”

“Joel,” you sigh loudly, “It’s Tuesday.”

“So?”

“She has practice on Thursdays.” 

“Christ,” he runs a hand over his stubble, tries to keep his composure, and ignores the urge to send her a text. 

“But you know what?” You’re back in his personal space, tugging at his arms to make him hold you close again, “Such a fun coincidence. I’m also seeing a boy.”

Joel can feel the tension seeping out of him in an instant.

“Really? ‘Cause I’m seein’ a girl. She’s real pretty,” he wishes that he could show his past self how tooth-rottingly sweet he is being with you because he’d hate it. Though if past-Joel found out who he was treating like this, he’d instantly become a goner just like present-Joel is now. 

“‘S her sweet tooth, unhinged behavior that I love the most though,” he continues. 

You whine in his arms, lean your head back and it earns you a kiss on your neck, “Don’t be like that. Not when I’m ovulating. I’ll climb you like a tree.”

Oh.

Oh.

It may seem innocent but Joel knows this is how you play dirty. It suddenly explains a lot. The sweatpants, the rosy cheeks, the way you glow, no bra, the cravings, why Joel wants you so bad.

Joel wouldn’t say that he is controlled by biology, and he hates the men trying to argue their way out of acting like cavemen. But looking at you right now in your stupid strawberry tank top, knowing that you’re horny and ready because your body wants to make him a daddy... Joel’s head swims. 

Something shifts in the air. You can see it on him, but Joel assumes that you wait for him to act on whatever is bubbling up in his chest and below his belt.

And act, he does. He distracts you with deep, long kisses until he can snatch you up from the ground and carry you upstairs. You squeak out a giggle but don’t fight back, enjoying the freedom of being alone with him.

“That’s why you’re so fucking sexy,” Joel says after placing you on your shared bed. He is already shedding himself of his shirt, undressing hurriedly to get close to your skin with his own as quickly as possible.

You crawl back on the bed, untying the strings of your sweatpants and yanking them down your legs. You match his urgency, but still decide to tease him, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Shut your mouth,” he yanks the rest of your pants off as soon as he is naked in front of you. He throws them in the pile of his own clothes, “You know exactly what I’m talking about, dirty girl.”

You’re just about to take your top off before Joel stops you with a hand curled around the hem. He knows you’re sensitive at this point in your cycle, but it’s not why he wants to keep it on, “I love how cute you are in this shirt. Keep it on like this.” 

He crawls properly onto the bed to demonstrate and tugs the shirt up over your tits so he can still see the stupid animated fruit on the front. Afterward, he tugs your panties down your legs and off your feet. He will swear to a higher power that he can even smell it on you, sweet like strawberries and honey between your legs and it makes him feel like an animal. 

He has had baby fever for a while now, even told you his plans on giving you a whole bunch of babies and you’ve merely giggled at him, especially when he told you that twins don’t run in his family, but he is sure that nature will give him a whole litter with you. 

“Want me to eat you out?” He asks to which you whimper and nod. He doesn’t give you what you want right then and there, instead climbs up to cradle your head in his hands and gives you a long, slow kiss. He sucks on your tongue, hums into your mouth, and gets you worked up and wet before he’ll treat you right. 

“Tell me,” he says when he breaks the kiss, nosing along the bunched-up fabric of his new favorite top of yours. He sucks at the skin between your breasts, places open-mouthed kisses along the swell of the left whilst cupping the right. 

“I want you to eat my pussy,” you moan softly, running a hand over his hair as he licks a nipple. You slide your fingers into it, but you don’t tug at it unless you feel like you need to hold onto it for dear life. 

“God, you’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he growls before going further down your body, his spit leaving a shine where his mouth has been, “Can’t believe I own these tits.”

He goes further down, lets out a satisfied noise when he can see between your legs, “—and this pussy.” 

“Yes, it’s yours, fuck, baby,” you sound delirious already, happy and eager to be touched, on the verge of a giggle even, “Joel, need your mou—“

You gasp loudly into the quiet bedroom. Joel has covered you with his mouth, eyes almost rolling back into his skull at the taste of your ripe cunt. He is too lost in you, a complete idiot with how head over heels he is for you, and he shows it by devouring you like he is starved. 

“Baby!” You cry out, sensitive, “Fuuuck— just like that!”

He watches your thighs twitch in his peripheral, holds you down by placing a strong hand just below your belly button, and uses his thumb on said hand to pull the hood of your clit back. He sucks the little now-hard nub into his mouth, sending you into a state where he is unsure if you can even sense the sheets underneath you. If you had superpowers, he surely would’ve made you lift off the bed as if you were possessed. 

He bobs his head a little, probably looking obscene as he hums against your clit and wiggles his head too. He looks up at you through his lashes, sees the red flush on your chest, and knows that you are close. Christ, he hasn’t been this into someone before. 

“I’m gonna— you’re gonna make me—“ you say like always, announcing your departure from reality. He keeps going, feeling your stomach jump in a stuttering manner underneath his palm with how uneven your breathing has become. 

“Fuck, I’m coming!” You sob with a yank of Joel’s hair and suddenly your thighs are shaking violently without your control. Joel can feel you coming before you announce it, your cunt clenching rapidly against his lips and your clit pulsing in his mouth as he sucks your folds into his mouth. You taste so good as a gush on slick smears his lips and chin even more. He laps it up.

You push him away when he gets too much, and he turns his head to kiss your inner thigh. You finally release the giggle that you’ve been suppressing, drunk on dopamine and Joel falls in love with you a bit more. 

“You’re fucking incredible,” you say. The hand in his hair slides down so you can affectionately run your knuckles over his cheek. He responds by gently rubbing your thighs, soothing you on top of putting such strain on your heart and your breath. You hum, “I love you so much.”

Without warning, he smacks your thigh and you sit up straight. He grins, “Love ya too, sweetheart. Think you can give me one more before I fuck ya?”

“Jesus, what’s gotten into you?” You ask genuinely as you lower onto your back again. 

“Wanna fuck a baby into you,” he replies, voice an octave lower than normal. He senses your shiver without having to look at your face, “Please. Wanna get her red and puffy so it fucking sticks.” 

You let out an involuntary moan at the idea. You want this as much as him, he hopes, and he slides two fingers into your neglected pussy whilst he waits for the green light to fill you up. He crooks them upwards, fingers the spongy spot that only seems to have been discovered by him, “Lemme in. Lemme come in you.”

You’ve been off the pill for a while with the reasoning that it wasn’t doing any good for your body. Joel had stocked up on condoms since then, actually filled the top drawer of his nightstand to the brim because honey, we’re young and healthy, red-blooded Americans. But it had planted the idea in his mind that he could potentially knock you up, and suddenly the stash of condoms was being used rapidly. 

“Okay,” you say with a half-moan, “Fuck, okay.”

Joel immediately sits up on his knees, still fucking you open on his hand. You squirm underneath his touch, trying to get a hold of your breathing this time, holding eye contact with him as he drags another orgasm from you. 

It is much less hurried and a lot more intense, muscles clamping down on his digits rhythmically as you bite your lip and close your eyes with a soft gasp. He can’t decide if he finds this more sexy. 

“Did you mean it?” He asks as he trails kisses up your belly. He kneels between your legs and places an elbow on either side of your chest so he can hold both your breasts in his hands. He squeezes them together, sucks on a nipple until you sigh deeply, and then watches them bounce back into place. 

“Yes,” you say and your voice doesn’t sound unsure at all, “Fuck yes, I want your babies. Wanted them since I saw you. Want you to make me a mommy.”

“The prettiest momma out there,” he says, euphoria evident on his face. He slides his arms underneath you, rests his head on your breasts, and hugs you close to his chest, “Wanna fuck ya.”

“Please,” you say softly, spreading your legs open for him but he has other plans. He releases you from his arms to sit up again, spreading his knees a little. His hands wrap around your ankles to lift your legs up onto his shoulders, your feet behind his ears. He leans over you afterward and bends your flexible legs backward until the front of his thighs are against the back of yours. He can go deep like this, fill you up with his come how he has wanted to for months.

He takes hold of his cock, eases it inside of your spent and warm cunt inch by inch. You feel incredible around his dick without a piece of rubber separating the two of you. He can feel the head of his dick nudge at your cervix, moaning quietly as he is engulfed by your wet, pulsating heat. 

“How are you still so fucking tight?” He groans, resting his forehead against your calf as he gives you a moment to adjust to the stretch. He knows he is big, gets a thrill out of how well you take him each time as if you were made specifically for him. There had been one time where he’d called you a trooper, and you had laughed so hard with his dick inside you that it had made him come. 

“You feel so big like this,” you say as you look down between the two of you, already sounding out of breath. Joel kisses your calf repeatedly and softly, trying to soothe your overwhelmed body. 

“Goddamn. You’re so sexy,” he praises, placing both hands on the sides of your head so he is hovering above you. He finds your hazy eyes, “Look at you.” 

He gives an experimental roll of his hips that makes you whimper, both hands reaching for the backs of his knees. You hold onto him, staring up into his eyes with that siren-like look in them, and then you moan softly.

Joel starts fucking you desperately at that. He doesn’t hurry though, keeps his hips’ movements slow and sensual to have you moaning and gasping ever so slightly at the intensity. He knows he could just give in and fuck you rough and fast, but the heavy-lidded gaze that you are giving him with your mouth hanging open is too good to spoil. 

“Joel,” you cry but it’s barely audible compared to what he sometimes drags from you. He can feel your nails dig into the flexing muscles of his thighs, creating half-moon shapes in the flesh. He switches to a rocking motion, and it sends your eyes rolling into the back of your head. You moan with your bottom lip between your teeth, “Mhm—“

“I know, baby, let it out,” he can see your pulse jumping wildly underneath the sensitive skin of your neck, feeling the heat of his orgasm pool at the base of his spine. He needs to be closer to you. 

“Lift your legs down to the sides,” he tells you gently, thrusts coming to a halt and him realizing that you’ve heard absolutely nothing. He repeats himself, waits for you to follow his instructions, and then hooks his arms underneath your knees. 

Joel gets closer to you by resting his weight on his elbows, his own body on top of your slightly contorted one. You reach for him, grabby hands in the air until he allows himself to be pulled in for a kiss. You cradle his face, make him feel safe in your arms. 

“I love you, baby,” he breathes deeply. The new position gives him an opportunity to reach deeper inside of you, and it’s accompanied by each upward snap of his pelvis causing his cockhead to push into your g-spot. It makes it difficult for you to continue kissing him, eventually simply breathing into his mouth as he has you speared on his dick. Never once do you let go of his face, thumbs on his cheekbones, and tip of your nose against his. 

“I love you,” you whisper, unable to catch your breath. Joel can feel your walls flutter around his dick, threatening to pull his own climax from him too soon. You pant, eyes burning, “You— baby, shit… you’re gonna make me come.”

“Yeah?” He speeds up a little, carding a hand through your hair and gently tugging on the bun. He coaxes you, “Gonna milk my cock into you? Make me a daddy?”

“Yeah,” you whimper wantonly, tightening your legs into his sides as you try moving with him, “Yeah, baby. Gonna make you a daddy! Fuckfuckfuck. Ah— I’m, I—“

Joel doesn’t know if he’s ever made you come like this; without all the muscle and rough touches, without the fast-paced snaps of his hips and the foul taunting from his mouth of how dirty you are. But come you do, with your brows furrowed, gaze on his and a controlled breathing that suddenly becomes erratic and uneven after you let out a high-pitched cry. 

“That’s it,” he admires you, “So good f’me.”

You clamp down on his cock so hard that he sees stars, fucks you through each convulsion of your cunt. His mouth drips with filth as he works himself toward his own pleasure, “You make me so fucking horny, baby. Wanna knock— ngh, wanna knock this pretty pussy up all the time. Give ya a whole fuckin’ litter.”

He tips over the edge not long after, heart pounding in his chest and the sensation in his balls tightening. He releases with a groan, settles deep inside of you to make sure he doesn’t waste a single drop. His orgasm pulses through his cock, swirls in his belly, and warms the small of his back. 

“Fuuuck,” he pants. He carefully removes his arms from underneath your legs before he collapses, allowing you to stretch out underneath him. You look completely fucked out, gasping feebly as he teasingly gives you another thrust before pulling out. 

You wrap your arms around him as he falls onto you, nose against the shell of his ear. He can barely lift his head when you speak, humming into your neck that vibrates as you talk, “You think other people have sex this good?”

“Nah, ‘s why everyone is so fuckin’ miserable, why they gotta build mansions with their parents’ money,” he murmurs. 

“Stop thinking about the hotshot client in bed,” you tease as you cradle his head in your arms, lifting your legs to wrap them around his waist. It seems you cannot get close enough, “You should only think about sticky, sweaty me.”

Joel finds that he doesn’t care about sticky, sweaty skin and you feeling like a furnace after three orgasms. He lays with you like this for a while, sure that you’ve drifted off to sleep at one point, until you push at his shoulder, voice back to your normal pitch as the post-orgasmic bliss has faded slowly, “Gotta pee.” 

“Sure,” he rolls off of you. The sight of your waddle to the bathroom makes him smile, eyes following the way the fleshiest part of your ass and thighs jiggle with each step. 

When you’ve closed the door behind you, Joel finds the strength to rid the bed of the dirty sheets and start dressing again. He’ll have a shower before bed, he decides, ignoring the sensitivity of sliding on boxers and jeans again. 

Hurriedly, he bounces down the stairs to the kitchen. He gets the rest of your peanut butter cup, places it on the nightstand with your clothes right beside it. 

He checks the time. There’s no point in trying to cook something up for dinner if Sarah is home from ‘practice’ soon, so he goes down into the kitchen to order pizza, heart thrumming in his chest as he hears you shout a thank you from upstairs at the discovery of the other half of your favorite snack. He is happy. So so happy.

Especially as he writes ‘pregnancy test’ into his Notes app shopping list.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[erosmutt]

　⯌　𝘽𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙂𝙞𝙧𝙡　⨟　𝗝. 𝗞𝗲𝗹𝗹𝘆, 𝗦. 𝗠𝗼𝗻𝗿𝗼𝗲, 𝗦. 𝗕𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿

〣 ﹒▨﹕CONTENT WARNINGS﹒foursome, incestuous activities, free use undertones, objectification, somnophilia, double penetration, degrading, face slapping, pussy eating, bukakke, large age gap (James is 46, Scott is 21, Sam is 20, reader is 19).

┄﹒WORD COUNT﹒⤹ 4,152

BNUUY'S NOTES┆Finally, the long awaited fic! Part of the "Partnered Up!" series, which is a series of fics where all the characters are paired up and are with reader. The first installment is this one! Titled after a Red Hot Chili Peppers song. Originally, I was going to title it after a Rob Zombie song, but here we are! I'm so excited to share this with all of you. Eat well my loves!

≻ㅤ﹒ㅤlet's have a coffee together!ㅤ﹒ㅤノ

"You're welcome over anytime y'wanna be, sweetiepie."

You snap out of your daydream, lifting your gaze. In front of you stood your best friends' dad, James, a spatula in his hand. The kitchen was filled with the scent of seasoned beef, the familiar sizzle in the cast iron skillet on the stove a comforting sound. Your eyes rake over his broad shoulders, his waist, and down to the curve of his ass in his dark blue boxers. His jeans rest low on his hips, barely held up by his butt. Man, he really needed to invest in a belt.

Right as you open your mouth to respond, the sound of heavy boots hitting the creaky floorboards accompanies the sizzle of the patties James was flipping. "Hey dad, hey babes." One of James' two sons, Scott Kelly, greets the two of you as he sits a hefty 30-count case of beer on the kitchen table. His brother, Sam Kelly, was scrolling through his phone as he nodded to you. "What’s up?"

Scott's hand slams down onto the top of the large case of beer. "Found a new flavor. Peach Busch." He grins triumphantly, while Sam snickers, shoving his phone into his pocket and sitting down in a chair next to you. "A girly drink." He sticks his tongue out at his brother, making the blond sneer. "Go fuck yourself." He mutters, tearing the flimsy cardstock handle to reach a can.

James kills the heat on the stove then tosses the spatula down onto the counter. "Watch your fuckin' mouths, alright? Jesus," he shakes his head, gathering the condiments - barbecue sauce, ketchup, mustard, mayo, and an assortment of other burger toppings - then he sets them down onto the counter. "Now sit down and hush so we can eat."

Sam licks his lips as he gets up, grabbing a few paper plates off the top of the microwave. "Huh," he hands everyone a plate, then plops down in the creaky kitchen chair, making it scrape against the dirty linoleum floor. The four of you join hands and a quick prayer later, you all take in the assortment he cooked. "So," his father begins, cracking open a beer. "How's it been goin' babygirl?"

You look up at him, in the middle of squirting ketchup onto your hamburger. "Uh, what does that entail?" You ask with a lopsided grin. Scott shrugs. "The usual, you know? Like, I dunno, any boyfriends or somethin'?" His baby blues flick up to glance at you before focusing back on his dinner. "You coulda made the fries last, Jesus." Sam mutters from next to you before taking a massive bite of his burger, brows furrowed as he hums in satisfaction.

After chatting, hot beers, and dinner, the four of you were piled on the couch, watching whatever movie you caught on TV. James had his socked feet kicked up on the busted up coffee table, his arm around you, the stench of cheap cologne and potent motor oil clinging to his skin and clothes. His hand caresses your shoulder, fiddling with your sleeve, squeezing, tracing shapes. Your eyelids flutter closed, feeling heavy. James looks down at you. "Sleepy, babygirl?" He pulls you closer up into his side. "Snuggle up buttercup." He chuckles, ruffling your hair affectionately as he removes his arm from around your shoulders to put it around your waist, large hand resting on your stomach.

As the movie goes on, Sam and Scott end up on the floor, playing UNO, oblivious to their father and best friend up on the couch. James' hand slips up your shirt, rubbing over your soft tummy, over your womb. His dark gaze falls on you, eyes half-lidding as he rubs over your warm skin, your stomach distended with all the dinner you ate. "Sheesh..." He whispers to himself, teeth gently digging into his bottom lip. 

He'd be absolutely lying to himself if he tried to say he didn't have dreams about you full and round with his baby. Disgusting, he knows. He's pushing 50 years old, his knees creak when he gets up after sitting awhile, he has to be in bed before 10pm or he'll get pissy - he has zero business wanting to knock up his young sons' barely legal best friend. You kept him young, kept him on his toes, kept him wanting to keep up with the times. He'd do nearly anything to get just a glimpse of your teenage pussy. Oh, he could already imagine how tight, how warm, how wet, how -

"Dad!" Scott's grating voice snaps James back to reality. He looks down at his son. "What?" He hisses, rubbing his hand over his dark stubble. Sam turns around and looks up at his dad, then at you, then back at his dad. "Wanna play cards with us?" He asks, waving the cards as if tempting James. You stir out of your half-asleep state, then you smile, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. "Mmm, UNO?" You move away from James, standing up. You turn to look at him and hold your hands out, giggling as he lets out a heavy sigh, taking your hands and rocking back and forth before using you to get up off the couch with a groan that makes your stomach coil. "To the kitchen. I ain't gettin' down on that damn floor." James says, making his way to the kitchen. You follow as Sam and Scott gather up the cards.

"James?" Your voice calls, your hand resting on the door frame of James' bedroom. He groans, opening his eyes to look at the digital clock on his nightstand - 2:52AM. He turns his head to look at you and waves you into the bedroom. "Mm, what's wrong dollface?" He sits up, rubbing his hands over his face. You make your way over and sit down, a pout on your lips. "I can't sleep. Sam and Scotty are up playing games." You go quiet. James listens, and the resounding sound of his sons’ joint bitching at the TV reaches his ears. He rolls his eyes and licks his dry lips. "C'mon, you can lie with me." He pats the mattress. You climb into his warm bed, and once the two of you are settled in, the only sounds that grace you are your breathing, the muffled voices of the boys in the living room, and the rhythmic clicking of his rickety ceiling fan above the bed.

"Usually you're out like a light." James comments. "Well, 'least you used to be able to sleep through anything. Guess that changes when you ain't a kiddo no more." He says, a warm hand rubbing your arm to soothe you to sleep as he did when you were little on nights you would sleep over, when you would come crying to him about a nightmare. Even now, all these years later, it was incredibly endearing to him. The way you suckle around nothing and end up sleeping on your stomach. That wouldn't do if you were pregnant, though.

Throughout the night, James found himself unable to sleep. He had a raging boner, his cock aching, boxers nearly sopping with pre from all the leaking his tip had been doing. You had your cheek pressed against his shoulder, your arm draped over his doughy middle. He stares down at you in the dark, the moonlight streaming through the dusty blinds helping him see your parted lips as they catch the pallid glimmer.

James brings his hand up and rubs his thumb over your bottom lip and the corner of your mouth, collecting the drool that accumulated during your peaceful slumber. He brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks the drool off it, his eyes fluttering closed and nearly rolling back in perverted satisfaction. Removing his thumb with a gentle 'pop,' James rests his hand on your side, beginning to rub up and down, up to the side of your chest then down to your hip. "Christ," he whispers, digging his fingers into your flesh with a gentle squeeze. He finds his way into the side of your camisole, calloused hand rubbing over your breast and soft nipple, thumb caressing the bud.

He was at a really horrid angle, his joints beginning to ache already, but he deemed it worth the pain to be able to grope you in your sleep. James' other hand goes down to his crotch, slipping into his boxers and grabbing at his velvety shaft. After hearing noise he stopped for a second, then went on, rubbing his thumb over his damp tip, assuming the boys were packing it in for the night.

"Dad?" Sam's voice calls, and right as James snatches his hand out of his boxers, the bedroom light flickers on. He stares at his sons, his hand still around your soft, fatty breast. Sam's lips part as if to comment, and Scott just stares at the print of James' hand through your thin navy blue camisole. Oh, he was fucked.

“Um, are we interrupting something?” Scott finally comments, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants. “We came to see whose bed she wanted to take, or if she wanted to stay in the living room. For fucks sake…” He sneers, and his brother watches, fiddling with his labret as he watches his dad slowly retract his hand from your top.

Sam's big blue eyes travel down to your now exposed stomach, blinking silently. "Hey hey, calm down," James coos, pushing himself up into a sitting position, unintentionally making you stir awake. His cock strains against his soft boxers, tip threatening to peek out from underneath the fabric scrunched around his thigh. "She can stay in whichever one'aya's bed she wants. No need to fuss." He says, and you lift your head to look at the twins, returning Sam's slow, cat-like blink. "Huh?"

With a disgusted scoff, Scott turns on his heel, his hand resting on the wood of the doorway as he readies himself to leave. "I can't believe this." He mutters, walking out and down the hallway. Sam took a moment before making a move to leave, though, but he soon followed his brother, disappearing down the hallway.

Left in a tense silence, neither you nor James commented. Just sat, oddly content, until he spoke. "I know you might think this is gross," he begins. "But... do you mind helpin' me out, babygirl?" He asks, and the two of you make eye contact, his gaze pleading while yours was surprised. "James," you murmur, your hand finding his hairy thigh. "I can try."

You make your way between his thighs, your hands resting on either side of his penis. “Can you show me what to do? I’ve never seen a guy’s thing in real life before.” You admit, examining his cock curiously. When you wrap your hand around it, a bit harshly, James hisses. “Gentle, dollface, gentle.”

“Here, slow. Slowly. Up and down. Yeah, just like that.” He watches, a smile coming across his face. “You got the hang of it already.” So, you began to stroke him, getting a feel for it, taking in the warmth, the scent, the texture, the way his shaft twitched in your grasp. You watch as his hands fist the sheets beneath him, his nostrils flaring as he nears what would be his first orgasm of the night. With a shudder, James comes undone, warm semen spurting onto your hand. “Oh.”

“You’re a natural,” James pants, his hand coming up to brush some wispy hairs away from your face. “Good job sweets. My boys are missin’ out.” He grins lazily, then falls back onto his pillow with a sigh.

You get up and adjust your top. “I should get to bed.” You make your way over to the bedroom door, and as soon as you open it, Scott and Sam stumble in sideways. Those little creeps, they had their ears up against the door, listening in. You yelp in surprise, and step back from the door. “What the hell is wrong with you two?!”

Scott’s eyes go from your face, to your cleavage, then over to his dad’s exposed cock, then back up at your face. “No fucking way his jizz is on your hand right now.” Sam chimes in, glaring at your hand with contempt. Overcome with embarrassment, you look down at your sock-clad feet, eyes tracing the checkerboard patterned fabric. “Are you listening to me?”

You and Scott were so preoccupied that neither of you noticed James come up behind you, hand coming to rest on your shoulder, his dick still out of the confines of his boxers. “It ain’t somethin’ to be ‘shamed of, you know.” He reassures, caressing your shoulder as he looks between his twin sons. “I never got to give y’all the talk, did I? Maybe now’s a good time, yeah?”

Scott was a bit more enthusiastic than you anticipated. Sam, on the other hand, seemed more hesitant. Though judging by the tent in his shorts, he was far from unaffected. With a deep breath, you settle down onto the bed, the boys on either side of you. James stands in front of you three, his cock noticeably hardening. “What the fuck,” Scott whispers to himself, meanwhile Sam was shifting around, trying to relieve the friction in his bottoms.

James begins pacing, starting his impromptu sex ed lesson. “It’s not a weird thing to talk about. Sex is how we all got here. ‘S a natural thing.” He reaches down and tucks himself back in, thankfully. “It’s not just a way to make life, but to pleasure yourself, too. Everyone likes it.” Their father turns and looks between his sons, then his eyes settle on Sam. “Especially you,” he points. “You think I don’t hear you?” He then looks at Scott. “You? Don’t even get me started on the shit I hear you watching.” The blond raises an eyebrow, parting his lips to bitch back when James goes on. “Both’a’ya think she and I are disgusting for doing shit like this when really, we not. You just ain’t mature enough to get it through your heads that you two not the only ones that think with their dick.”

Sam looked especially uncomfortable now, doing his damndest to not make eye contact with any of the others in the room. “Then give us a hands-on lesson if you give so much of a shit.” Scott quips, making everyone look at him. Realizing his mistake, he widens his eyes. “Wait! I’m fucking with you, I’m fucking with you, I’m fucking with you!” He rambles, making you snicker, until Sam finally chimed in. “Can we?” He asks. The other three of you turn to look at Sam, his cheeks reddening a deeper shade.

“Fine then,” James says, making his way to the bed. “Lay down sweetpea.” He urges you, gently pushing your shoulder, a silent instruction for  you to lay back. “Usin’ you for some edjumacation, just relax dollface.” He smiles, and you make a noise of confusion as he runs his hand over your stomach. “Watch boys,” he instructs, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts. He tugs them down, your thighs jiggling as your hips plop back down onto the bed. 

You can’t help but feel embarrassed, you were being put on display for a less than ideal anatomy lesson, and the two boys you’d called your best friends since you could remember were staring at you like they could just devour you. The room fills with the nervous laughter of the two others as your body unfolds before them, eager to learn the intricacies that make you so unique. Your stomach was revealed first, followed by your thighs. As Scott giggles, you flush, feeling a sudden heat fill your face.

With your underwear the only thing keeping your intimate parts hidden, James gives a shit-eating grin to his audience, who tap their feet and shuffle in anticipation. James then hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and gives a swift tug down, revealing your fat, squishy mound and puffy pussy lips, soft and inviting. The sight of your hidden treasure causes the boys’ eyes to widen, taking in every detail of your body.

Your cheeks flame with mortification, an uncomfortable mix of embarrassment and arousal. The twins sat gazing at your exposed body, their eyes raking it in all its glory. You shudder, goosebumps forming on your skin as you sense their unabashed curiosity and lust. Pleased with his handiwork, James steps back, hands resting on his hips. “Go on, you two always were hands-on learners anyways.”

Scott, on your left, reaches out and touches your breast, his palm cupping the mound, eliciting a soft moan from your lips. You were overwhelmed with humiliation and pleasure, which was only amplified when you felt someone between your thighs. When you lifted your head to look down, you saw Sam on his knees before you, lips inches away from your pussy. “There you go, touch on ‘er.” James encourages the boys before taking a seat on the bed to your right, his large hand coming to rest on your stomach. “You’re such a trooper babygirl.”

You felt heat coursing through your veins, and you were unsure whether to be disgusted by the incestuous display or to just continue going with it. The feeling of being stripped of your dignity and autonomous power left you in a state of confusion, but your stomach coiled with a twisted thrill that came with the degradation. “Eat ‘er out, Sammy.” Scott tells his brother, sitting up straight. He swings one leg over your body and straddles your chest, then pulls his sweatpants down enough to remove his cock comfortably. His musky shaft bounces free before hitting you in the face. “Open your mouth- open it,”

You open your mouth willingly, the tip of Scott’s cock gliding past your lips and into the warm sanctuary of your mouth. Your tongue traces the underside of his shaft, sending tremors through his body. James watches in satisfaction as his sons take turns pleasuring you. Scott’s rough, unskilled hands gripping your head to guide his cock into your mouth contrast with Sam’s gentle, teasing tongue that flicks at your clit. As you begin to get into it, the twins sense it, their eagerness increasing tenfold. The blond bottoms out, balls against your chin as he groans, barely able to hold himself up, his thighs tensing. “Fucking- oh my- oh fuck,” he hisses, fully intent on keeping the two of you that way until James had to guide him back out. “Off.”

When Scott and Sam move out of the way, James settles between your legs and with a firm grip, finds your hips and snatches you to the very edge of the bed, his lips meeting yours for a slow, deep kiss. He groans softly against your lips, cock resting on your mound, the taste of peach beer like honey on his tongue.

James breaks the kiss and looks up at his sons. “Fuckin’ hell, Sam, play with ‘er tits.” The teen nods, hands finding your breasts, kneading the flesh gently. He drinks in the sight of the mounds jiggling beneath his touch, the curves and contours calling to him like a siren. “Scott, get under her.”

Scott doesn't waste a moment, his bottoms getting kicked across the room and hitting the floor, joining all the clutter and shit in his dad's room. He maneuvers underneath you, arms wrapping around your middle. “You good doll?” James asks, and you nod, hands on top of Sam's, guiding him to play with your nipples in a way that'll bring you the most pleasure. “Yeah, ‘m good,”

“Good.”

With the help of James’ hand, Scott's cock pushes into you, pulling an embarrassingly loud moan from your lips. “Oh, fuck!” You arch your back and Scott pulls you back down. “Stay,” he whispers hotly against your ear. “Stay right there.” In the heat of the moment, you didn't even notice that James was beginning to push into you as well until your poor cunt was being stretched to the brim. “James! James- ‘s so- ohhh, can't fit it,” you slur, making the man chuckle. “Yeah you can. Cunts are made for this, it's just a lil’ difficult ‘cause you're so young, babygirl.” After a bit of struggle, James penetrates you, your warm walls enveloping him. A guttural moan escapes him as he starts to grind against you, the friction from his son's cock against his paired with your wet heat almost too much for him to handle. “Atta girl, grippin’ me tight.” He smirks, drinking in the moans and cries that came from your lips.

Sam leans down and captures your lips in a soft kiss, much different from the other two on a mission to ravage your poor body. One of his hands tangles in your hair while the other is shoved down his pants, palming his shaft over his boxers. He was waiting, itching to have a go at you.

Your eyes flutter open, hazy gaze meeting James', whose eyes were sparkling with a devious triumph. “You gonna let us cum inside ya sweetiepie?” He asks, moving his hips in a rhythm that compliments Scott's. Since you were stretched so far and the friction was so great, the two of them had to find something that worked.

“Fuck, ‘m close,” Scott moans, his fingers digging into the flesh of your sides, tugging at you. The desperation in his voice is almost laughable. Sam breaks the kiss with a snicker. “Think it’s been like two minutes, dude. Pull out, let me.” Scott nods and does so, his cock glistening with your juices as he crawls out from underneath you.

With everyone out of the way, the three of them looming over you like a hungry pack of wolves, you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. The others join in, the sound of their laughter mixing with the shuffling around. “I can’t even sit right,” you giggle, running your hands through your damp hair.

“I know. It’ll be fine babycakes. Get up.” James grins, turning you over so you were now on your tummy. “Gonna run a train through ya baby. Ready?” He lifts your hips, hands coming to rest on your ass. “Gonna take all of us, yeah?” His sweet talking distracted you from the way the teens were maneuvering your body, putting you in a position they wanted you.

James spits down onto his cock, lubing it up before he pushes the tip of it against your tight cunt. He grunts, feeling the resistance, but he’s determined. With a swift thrust, he breaches you, his cock sinking deeper with each rock of his hips, making your pussy stretch open. The boys, not to be outdone, get to work on their part. Sam guides his cock into your inviting mouth, your tongue swirling around his cockhead while your saliva bathes him. Scott groans, smacking your cheek with his own member, smearing precum onto your skin. “Fuck yeah,” he grins. “Take it like that baby, take Sam’s dick in your mouth.”

“Ghhk- hhg, kkh-” you gag on Sam’s cock, eyes shut as you struggle to breathe. Your body is a mess of pleasure, tits bouncing with every thrust, your pussy gripping James’ cock and your mouth moving up and down Sam’s. Your moans are muffled, but it only makes it all the more arousing. Sam pulls out and his dick is replaced with his brother’s, Scott’s tip hitting the back of your throat. The springs in the old, cheap mattress squeak and creak underneath the combined weight of the four of you.

Scott’s fingers tangle in your hair and grip your skull, being fed off the sounds of you choking and struggling. “Fucking take it, don’t fucking stop,” he growls, teeth gritting. “I wan’ cum on ‘er face,” Sam chimes in, getting off the bed, hand beginning to fist his cock as he waits for the other two. Following suit, James pulls out and so does Scott, the pair pulling you down onto the floor.

You cough, attempting to catch your breath before they get their hands on you again. You steady yourself with your hands on the dingy carpet, getting ready for the facial. “Fuck babygirl, close your eyes and stick that tongue out.” James commands, watching as you oblige. “Oh shit, keep it right there,” Scott pants, and you let out a surprised squeal as your face is covered in sticky sperm. You give an open-mouthed giggle and slowly open your eyes, keeping your tongue out.

It frosted your nose and cheeks and tongue, and your lashes were matted as you looked up at the three of them, meeting their satisfied expressions. Hopefully there would be a second class for James’ anatomy course.

ılıl﹕𖥻 . @addictedtohobi , @102hannah , @emmaloo21 , @vixxensvoid , @ilovekmchenzie ﹒📧

ılıl﹕𖥻 . @laylaplease , @brooklynb8by , @geekforhorror , @gallerygourmet , @anakinsbbgirl ﹒📧

ılıl﹕𖥻 . @literally-izzy , @anakinstwinklebunny , @jadegmfu , @bimbo-baggins17 , @thesassypadawan ﹒📧

ılıl﹕𖥻 . @t03soup , @trippyhippywitch , @valloos , @demieyesore , @piastricentric ﹒📧

ılıl﹕𖥻 . @s1aywalker , @s1ck-skv1l , @catnipaddictt , @gabsskkk , @slutforfinnickodair﹒📧

ılıl﹕𖥻 . @realscott , @jediavengers , @enchant5d , @zapernz , @starlmbed﹒📧

ılıl﹕𖥻 . @offthethirlwall , @tfmerc , @dazednstars141 , @anisluvrgirl , @stepdadjameskelly﹒📧

ılıl﹕𖥻 . @cocobear18 , @poutypisces , @mugwump327 , @espinathena-17 , @fallout-girl219﹒📧

ılıl﹕𖥻 . @necromancerrrs , @decaffeinatedunicorn , @speaknow-sw , @lunarnightt﹒📧

ılıl﹕𖥻 .  @jyinnc , @haydenslittlegirl ﹒📧

[lennadanvers]

Winter back home

Simon Riley x Reader

He has a problem.

He’s had problems all his life. He’s got a lot of experience in dealing with problems, really. The ones that can be solved with bullets, anyway.

This is not that kind of problem. Well, maybe a bullet could take care of this. But he promised himself he would never take that path. So, he suffers.

His problem is the dichotomy. His problem is Ghost, months of suffocating under a stale mask, the orders, the blood, the uniform. His problem is Simon, weeks of nothing, the silence, the civilian comfort, being a person.

He’s gone. Somewhere between base and “home”- a cold, dark flat in the outskirts of London-, he lost his soul. Now he isn’t here nor there. None of his names fit him.

He is just a being, two legs on top of two feet that can’t stand the feeling of dry, clean socks inside of simple sneakers. A head, a neck, on top of a pair of shoulders too wide to fit the door of normalcy. A back too tight to bear the weight of actual life. Hands too strong to hold reality without breaking it, skin so rough it tears instead of caressing. A pair of eyes that do not know where to look if not for threats.

He's a storm waiting to happen. Too dark to be a person, too broken to be a man. Too heavy for a ghost.

The flat feels wrong. Especially the first few days. He has to open the windows to let the fresh air in- more like freezing air. It’s okay, he’s used to dealing with the cold. It’s actually being comfortable what makes him uneasy. The fact that he has so much space for himself. He doesn’t have things. He doesn’t own more than a couple changes of clothes. His sofa looks new, even though he bought it years ago. His bed is soft, his bedside table is empty. He owns a table, two chairs and headphones. One bottle of water. Four glasses, a cheap six-piece cutlery set. Some plates he bought on sale. One rug he doesn’t step on. A broom. Shampoo, toothbrush and toothpaste are in the bag he brings from base. Even his bike just takes up half his designated parking space.

Other than that, he has nothing.

The other thing that bothers him is the silence. He should be able to sleep in the quiet- he’s fallen asleep in active bombing zones, for God’s sake. But the white noise of the cars, the soft humming of the refrigerator- all they do is keep him awake. It’s always too quiet, too… Too safe. He knows it’s a trap. It always is.

That’s why he checks the windows.

Like now, when he enters the apartment in silence. The lights stay off until he’s cleared every room. Then he turns them all on. His duffel bag goes into the wardrobe, still closed. The boots under the bed. He changes into civilian clothes, checks the pantry- empty, always empty- and starts his rounds.

He checks the three windows: the small one in the bathroom, the one in the bedroom that looks over the neighbor’s rooftop, and the one in the living room. Usually, the last one is his favorite. The view lets him keep an eye on the street, alert in case there’s something suspicious lurking down there.

This time, though, he can’t look down.

He’s stuck in the window in front of his. The apartment building across the street is nicer than the one he’s standing in. By his standards, anyway. That means it looks warm and worn down. Brick walls instead of grey cement, wood stairs instead of metal. It has pots with flowers and an old mirror in the entrance.

There’s only one apartment with the lights still on. It’s late, he reminds himself, for normal people. Most of them are asleep at two in the morning.

You’re not. Through your open curtains, he can see your tired face. You’re curled up on a desk chair, with messy hair and reading glasses on. Your pajama is cute, it looks soft and a little too big. It fits you perfectly. You’re holding a steaming cup and frowning at the pile of papers on top of your desk.

When you fix the -presumably hand-knitted- blanket on top of your shoulders, he frowns. Aren’t you cold? You should close the window.

And go to bed, while you’re at it. What are you doing up this late, anyway? Working? He hopes not. A cute little thing like you should have a quiet job, with stable working hours and low stress. But you look very stressed. Maybe you’re studying. That’s it, probably. You don’t look his age, but he’d bet you’re in your late twenties, maybe thirties.

He pictures you getting a degree. It’s easy, you look smart. Oh, you must have a degree already. Surely, he decides, you must have one. You’re getting a doctorate now, aren’t you?

It’s a silly question, of course. He knows nothing about you, except that you should be sleeping instead of munching at a cookie. But it’s a relief to pretend he does. To believe he can see life through your window. If he had to guess, that’s what living looks like: a woman in the room, plans for the future, eating homemade treats and knowing you’ll survive the upcoming test, even if you don’t pass.

For the first time since he bought this place, he’s actually there. As if taking a deep breath, Simon is suddenly aware of his body. The t-shirt he’s wearing is soft, a little too thin for the weather. The place smells like leather- must be the sofa. Was the ceiling always this high? Simon makes a mental note to buy air freshener and a blanket.

It takes him a couple of days of staring out the window to realize what happened.

It’s Friday, and he’s checked your closed blinds for the third time this afternoon. Simon hasn’t seen you today. He sighs and turns around. He goes to open one of the kitchen drawers when it hits him.

There are cookies in there. Two different kinds. And he’s wearing slippers- they were on sale at the supermarket, and he didn’t even think about it. But he’s thinking about it now. Simon looks around. One of his jackets is hanging by the door. There’s lint on the rug. The cushions on the sofa are out of their place. He left a mug on the counter.

He's living again.

It a crushing discovery. Once he saw it, it’s impossible to miss. He made plans. He has tickets to watch a movie next Tuesday. When was the last time he planned something other than a mission? And cookies? Simon hasn’t eaten cookies since he enlisted. Maybe longer. His clothes are comfortable. Actually comfortable, he doesn’t need to ignore the fabric irritating his skin. The windows are closed: he’s not cold. It’s quite nice, honestly. And the place smells like someone lives here. A mix of cologne, tea and leftovers from lunch.

The flat doesn’t feel empty. Simon doesn’t feel empty.

His muscles give out. It’s not a dramatic fall, more like an extreme relaxation. It hurts a little; like clenching your fist for hours and then letting your hand open. The blood starts flowing back with a tingle. The oxygen gets where it is supposed to go. There is a strange open space in the palm of your hand.

The relieved smile is a side effect.

He still wears it when he settles back down on the couch. Someone is playing music outside, and the plants on your building’s hall are blooming. What a weird time to bloom, in the middle of the cold.

Simon understands, though, when he sees you finally open your blinds.

Yes, he gets the desire to be alive now.

A/n: I sat down to write and four hours later I'm posting this. It is not proofread and I'm a little too tired to care. Maybe I'll fix it later. Also, my anxiety has been a bitch lately (that means I freeze instead of being able to reply to messages and asks- my poor friends have the patience of a thousand saints stacked on top of each other), so I won't reply to the asks today. Maybe tomorrow, we'll see. In any case, I hope you're all having a great weekend, full of flowers and treats <3

[tinybabiebear]

cheap stores to find agere objects!

in person

dollar stores

often in dollar stores you can find a specific baby section with low-priced baby objects! though sometimes there are objects that only specifically babies can use, there are some agere friendly objects as well!! some of the things you can usually find here are:

- teethers

- sippy cups

- baby powders / lotions

- bath toys

- baby toys / blocks / rings

- stuffed animals

- hair bows / accessories

- rattles

- off-brand bigger kid toys

- colouring books + crayons

2. walmart , target, etc

though this can be less cheap than places such as dollar stores, there’s often either more options or more on-brand objects here. here you can find toys and themed objects for kids from popular tv shows, or branded stuffed animals. there’s a variety of options for many different agere age ranges! some of the things you can usually find here are:

- baby bottles ( be careful of the teet )

- sippy cups / themed sippy cups

- kid cups

- teddy bears / stuffed animals ( of shows and other popular brands )

- dolls / barbies / trucks / etc

- bigger kid toys & popular brand toys

- baby lotion / powder / oil

- baby food ( either the squeeze type / liquid or puffs! )

- teethers / ice teethers

- pacifiers ( i wouldn’t recommend, they will hurt your teeth ! )

- security blankets

- kids plates

- baby / kids books

online

etsy

etsy can be tricky! a lot of the time there are shops that aren’t sfw, which isn’t always comfortable or available for minors under the age of 18! if you’re uncomfortable with that, make sure to add ‘ sfw ‘ and ‘ agere ‘ to your searches, aswell as checking description boxes of either the listing or the shop in specific. also watch the shipping on certain listings as they can be very expensive ! some of the things i often find myself searching for and you can find here are:

- adult bottles with adult nipples ( this means that you can use them without hurting your teeth as much! ) / these can also be themed towards shows and characters aswell as have themes in general!

- adult pacifiers ( these can also hurt your teeth much less and are safer to use! )

- baby hat / mitt / boots in adult size

- adult onesies

- baby sensory cubes

- sensory objects ( chewies, sensory books, fidget toys, etc! )

- adult diapers / training pants ( make sure to be extra careful with brands if you’re uncomfortable with not sfw shops!! also, make sure to be very careful with sizes as sometimes these can be sized weird. )

- adult length pacifier clips

- adult sized bibs

- bloomers

- rattles & stuffed animals

2. amazon

amazon is a limited place for specific agere products but it has a wide variety for baby products in general! not only this, but their shipping is often very discreet and also fast + inexpensive! keep in mind shops that aren’t sfw again if you’re uncomfy with that! some shops that are popularly available on amazon are: LFB, rearz, landofgenie, etc. some products you can find here are:

- adult onesies

- adult pacifiers

- adult bottles

- adult bibs

- sippy cups + cutlery, plates, cups, etc

- stuffed animals, rattles + sensory

- adult diaps / cloth diaps

- teethers / ice teethers

- baby powder/lotion

- bibs

- adult pacifier clips

- fidget toys / toys / dolls, fandom/theme plushies + toys

- footed jammies

- changing pads

- overalls

- colouring books

- play tents

- mobiles + crib accessories

- DS + DS games

- leapfrog toys

- accessories ( ex: boys, headbands, clips, necklaces, etc )

- bubble bath / bath toys

- night lights

- long socks / paw socks

3. aliexpress

make sure to be careful here!! you can find most things that you’d be able to on amazon here, but make sure whatever you buy has reviews!! if not, it’s easy to get scammed. not only this, but it takes a long time to ship!

4. shein

shein is probably the most limited out of these options! you can find more discreet things here rather than more open things! some things you can find here + what to search for to find them are:

- onesies! i often use the words ‘ bodysuit / t-shirt bodysuit ‘

- cute water bottles!! sometimes you can find sippy cups here but they take a bit of searching for! ‘ cute water bottle / kids water bottle / sippy cup ‘ usually work!

- thigh / knee high socks!

- overalls

- nightlights

- fidget toys / stuffed animals

[columboscreens]

columbo is so gender to me but i dont think i could ever look like him</3

i think it's totally possible for anyone to embody his essence. you can even manage to rock something directly inspired by columbo without looking like you're cosplaying.

hair

if you have columbo's hair type, it's actually pretty easy to emulate his styles. i even know people who show pictures of columbo to hair stylists to get his look. my partner's hair in its natural state is very similar to columbo's--dark, wavy, tending to grow in spite of gravity rather than with it. whenever he gets his hair cut, he shows the stylist photos of late 60s/pilot episode peter falk, whose look is actually pretty on-trend for the current era. it works out pretty well.

your swag may have aged well pilot columbo but you can't beat floof

failing that, getting any haircut that is natural, low-maintenance, and not too attention-grabbing captures the visual language all the same. for reference, natasha lyonne in poker face has her hair in natural-looking, messy waves that to me just exude columbo.

clothing

how you present yourself to the world is up to you, but if you want to invoke columbo, there's a lot more you can do than buy a tan raincoat.

in an era of sharply-cut, wide-lapelled constructions, fat tie tuesdays, and gucci loafers, columbo stands out as classic comfort personified.

his collar, tie, and lapels are slim, proportional, and unassuming; they'd look good in almost any era. his pants fit closely to his leg but not too wide or slim, and sit at or near the natural waist. though his suits, shirts, ties, shoes, socks, and even coats rotate, there is a consistent color palette keeping him "on model". he embraces earth tones: creams, forest greens, light browns, dark browns, stony grays, rusts, and roses. his clothing seems like an afterthought, but it's an extension of his personality--rumpled and unassuming at first, yet sharp and deliberate upon further inspection.

amid the 1970s explosion of synthetic popularity, it says something that every stitch of textile on columbo's person is natural (aside from the raincoat, which is probably nylon or poly--he wears it without a lining and uses it as essentially an oversized windbreaker). his boots are leather with crepe latex soles; his tie is silk. his shirt is cotton, a bit boxy but comfortable and properly fitted. because the construction of his suits is roomy and unstructured, and because they're made of linen, they wrinkle easily.

this is easily confused for appearing slovenly. actually, all things considered, his clothes fit him pretty damn well, it's just hard to avoid wrinkling natural fibers like linen and cotton, especially in hot weather. he's running around los angeles sweating up a storm, the man needs loose, breathable fabric.

point is, columbo dresses very thoughtfully. since these clothes are workwear for him and he works a hell of a lot, it's imperative that he factors in the weather, his comfort, and proper fit when picking clothes. he wants to like and be comfortable in them while looking unassuming. so even though he sometimes ends up looking like an unmade bed, his choices are deliberate.

you could invoke these principles in your own appearance by picking earthy colors/jewel tones and comfortable, natural fabrics that you enjoy wearing, which has the added benefit of being better for you and the environment. consider also taking a few garments in to be altered. it's usually not that expensive, supports your local needlefolk, and makes even cheap clothes fit great.

as a last little aside, i think having a "signature" clothing item akin to columbo's raincoat would be a nice touch. a jacket, a pair of shoes, even a watch or necklace. something you always wear. if you really do want a raincoat like his, just make sure you're not buying a trench coat, because, repeat after me: columbo does not wear a trench coat.

[the-fiction-witch]

Void Sickness

Media - Doctor Who Character - The Doctor (11th) Couple - The Doctor X Reader Reader - Y/n Rating - Sweet Word Count - 616

The Tardis console whirrs and flashes with its usual alien business. The doctor stood sorting things with the computer screen he wasn't really doing much as he often kept glancing across to Y/n, as he felt compelled to keep an eye on her. 

Y/n sat in the leather chair beside the console, having kicked off her boots revealing her fluffy white polar bear socks, grey leggings, white and grey plaid skirt and sleeve grey top with her large white yawn jumper over her, she'd pulled the sleeves of her jumper around her hands. Her head on the chair her hair up in pigtails, and her eyes closed as she took a small nap. 

She was feeling sick, and had been since their trip to Felazian Seven's Crystal Spa. 

And he was getting progressively more concerned about her. 

"You feeling alright?" He asked,

She stirred, "Humm? Ohh... yeah... sorry I uhh..."

He sighed and moved over kneeling on the glass floor and taking her cheek in his hand moving her face gently, "Come here,"

"I'm just a little tired," she says,

"Umm..." He mumbled as he checked her over, "Tired?"

"Mhm," she nodded, 

"Fatigued?"

"Mhm,"

"How do you feel? in yourself?"

"Cold... very cold..."

"Okay," he nodded taking her hand, "Let me see them," He said,

She tried to resist but he pushed up the sleeves of her jumper revealing that her hand was now this matt black as if covered with a velvet paint that seemed to suck all the light around it, He was taken back but he kept quiet not wanting to scare her, 

"Open your eyes for me,"

"It hurts to -" she whined 

"I know, I know it hurts but you have to open your eyes." he pleaded, 

She stirred and whined but slowly peeled open her eyes and they too were nothing but this darkness as if taken by the void. He nodded slowly and moved to press a tender kiss to her forehead,

"Don't you worry, close those little eyes and rest." He told her as he quickly got up to go to the console but she grabbed his hand,

"What's happening to me...."

"it's nothing-"

"Doctor..."

"Some crystal spas across the universe filter their water through a crystal known as Peslin, peslin is a good filler and is known to break down many different contaminants which it stores within itself. It's cheap and effective but... if left unchanged for too long peslin can become full of contaminants and when it does it begins to grow a... form of mould, in most species it's filtered out through usual biology at worse a week in bed..." he explained, "For humans, it can incubate sickness known as void sickness, the sickness flips the orders for your photoreceptive chromophores,your skin and body turn black and you reject light. You lack energy, body turns voidulous,"

"I- am I gonna die."

"no. No." He demanded, "You are not going to die." He said holding her face in his hands, "Rest, I am taking you to the best most advanced hospital in the universe and they are going to fix you up and you'll be back with those beautiful eyes that make me weak in no time." 

she nodded, and he nodded too and kissed her lips before he went to the console and began to get the tardis to head there. 

The doctor sat in the chair beside the bed holding Y/n's hand as she was slowly treated for the void sickness, he watched her with worried eyes before she slowly stirred and opened her eyes. As she did it revealed that her eyes were better back to their sweet Y/E/C eyes, which made him smile.

"Hi,"

"Hello,"

"Am I getting better?"

"You are getting much better sweetheart," He cooed moving and giving her a kiss, 

[zervem]

💀Ghost Headcannons💀

——————————

Speaks Spanish with a thick British accent on purpose because it makes Alejandro laugh.

Actually fairly fluent in Spanish due to the fact he enjoys telenovelas. He will never admit to watching them though.

Does not know how to hula hoop.

Didn’t learn how to ride a bike until his 20’s

Usually is a very light sleeper but when he is off base and feels safe he can fall into a very deep sleep. Has woken up to soap sobbing over him because he was convinced Simon was dead.

Sometimes after he has a night terror he doesn’t want to be in his room. He often chooses to sit in the 141’s private kitchen. In the dark. Unmoving. This has almost sent Price into cardiac arrest on multiple occasions.

Once bruised his tailbone after accidentally slipping in mud. Refused to tell anybody about it because he was too embarrassed. Anytime someone asked why he wasn’t sitting he’d just glare at them until they went away.

Gets major cuteness aggression. Usually resorts to biting soap to help with this. This really confused Soap the first time he did it- he also refused to explain why.

Buys his skeleton gloves in bulk. Has a deal with the manufacturer to get them cheap.

Wears skull socks inside of his combat boots.

Unironically owns bad pun shirts.

The sound of styrofoam makes his gag.

Managed to convince Soap that he didn’t believe Canadian accents were real and that Canadians were just faking it as a joke. Caved and told soap he was joking an hour later because he was concerned Johnny genuinely thought he was that stupid.

(Recanting my previous HC that ghost doesn’t know how to cook) of course ghost knows how to cook. Dude had a shit childhood and probably had to feed himself a lot of the time. He’s a good cook but rarely gets to show his talent since he doesn’t cook on base. He really enjoys baking too.

Known to eat cold beans straight from the can.

Expert at claw machines. Always gets a prize from them.

Chronic “Massive dog who thinks he’s small enough to be a lap dog” syndrome.