#fever summer

[anuraghospital]

Call us today for your Appendicitis

Contact: +919951974147

[sharkenedfangs]

— ☆ “IT SHOULD BE ME, YOU LOOK AT — NOT HIM.”

#. — synopsis. this, he has to admit — is entirely on his part, for foolishly falling for such baseless fantasies, for stupidly expecting an ever-changing person to stay the same as he had intently molded to his desired shape.

#. — content warning! jealousy and possessive behaviour, handjob, some clumsy thigh job, lots of ‘darling’ and ‘doll’ thrown around, best friend yandere robin that may or may not be out of character, pushover male reader and mentions of whitney who robin claims is undeserving of you.

#. — word count? 3.0k words.

#. — extra extra! ashes snippets. : “..yeah, normal stuff.”

This, he has to admit — is entirely on his part, for foolishly falling for such baseless fantasies, for stupidly expecting an ever-changing person to stay the same as he had intently molded to his desired shape.

Yes, Robin should’ve known better than to mistakenly assume that despite the difficult circumstances at hand, you would’ve remained the same old you as he has always intricately known. Wouldn’t have long grown past the distant, forgotten memories you’ve shared alongside him in that filthy town you both grew up in. That vivid moment of instant connection as he so happily recalls back on it, the eventual development of your childhood friendship that gradually took on a completely different meaning for him. Inevitably bloomed into.. as embarrassing as it is to bashfully admit, an innocent crush. Love, in the cheesiest of terms.

All of which he so deeply cherishes, blissfully reminiscences upon, only to be thoroughly ruined, savagely ripped to shreds by one person, and one person only.

Whitney. Your newly found friend, you’d say. That local bully famously known for terrorizing a variety of poor students reluctantly attending the school. Yes, whatever is his name as if he’d bother to properly memorize it, whether or not it’s rightfully articulated in his mind. Not that he gives two shits about who is who, just that, well, beneath his evidently awful influence, you’ve seemed to have taken on that same shitty behaviour in turn, too. As younger friends usually do, following forth in their admiring, older figure’s footsteps, right? The instinctual need to impress, to seek out sweet approval from others nearby, yeah?

But, you’ve gotta understand, you’re really heading off in the wrong direction, here.

That nauseating scent similar to that of used cigarettes, the swirling cloud of smoke that should’ve surely surrounded your curled frame when standing so closely — far too close, in fact — next to the blonde. Disgusting, makes him wanna vomit to visualize the mere thought of you two comfortably acting so intimately around each other. Fag snugly tucked between the delinquent’s accommodating lips, friendly arm casually thrown around your shoulder all the while sweetly whispering utter filth in the shell of your delicate ear. Is that why you’ve been crudely stinking of cigarettes lately? Been frequently remarked by several acquaintances and other friends that the fabric of your attire smells awfully familiar? Because you and Whitney, your little, new ‘friend’ by the way, are in constant close proximity at all times, are sneakily concealing a hidden, sinful relationship underneath that underlying facade of an amiable bond? Is that it?

Would’ve that been in part, used as a reason for your noticeable shift in the absence of your calls? Cmon, your best friend or so-called one, isn’t a moron and y’know better than to have him decisively fall for such tactless excuses hurriedly tumbling out of your lips on the other end of the line. Busy, you unnaturally stammered. Had to tirelessly study for an upcoming exam was the next on the list, which he has to mask the subtle smirk of disbelief briefly marking his lips since you’ve never been much the studious type, have you? Huffing out a sigh of disappointment as you expectantly decline to another one of his proposals, an occasional offer to possibly hang out further down the line of this weekend, maybe?

‘Course not, a family outing had already been planned long before, stubbornly blocking his initial intentions simmering deep within the back of his mind, no matter how twisted it is to fervently lust after his supposedly close friend. Contradicting the very words you had dutifully uttered out on the day you were faithfully bound to depart, move out of this cramped place— “Promise I’ll call you everyday.” Yeah, whatever happened to that shared commitment the both of you had enthusiastically agreed upon?

Liar, you had easily given up on the engagement, hadn’t you? Hence why the lack of calls-in he awaited to receive were gradually declining to none at all, accompanied by the already limited interactions between each other. It was becoming increasingly clear you weren’t going to return his persistent check-ups for another update.

To say, he expected better of you. After that beaming grin you happily shined him back with time and time again, the one he had grown used to seeing whenever he came out of that run-down orphanage, only to be greeted by the sight of your form patiently awaiting for his arrival. Hand in hand, habit having thickly settled in, walking forward to the nearby school all while the years steadily passed by. Meant nothing to you, did it?

And truthfully, under any other position, the sanest decision to be made would be to simply let it go, to move past this unfortunate situation and obliviously pretend like none of it had taken place to begin with. Not whatever he has done— Consequently arriving to your doorstep out of the blue, hastily pushing past your exclaimed questioning as to why or how he’s suddenly decided to show up here. Why? Is there any real reason for a best friend to happily visit his distant own? Ah, another coated lie to plainly convince himself that whatever he is doing at this moment isn’t wrong, isn’t downright immoral to be sullying a dreadful stain upon your precious friendship like this.

Still, isn’t this what he’s been due lately for having been such a good, willing and patient friend for you? The ushered praises he’d like to intimately exchange with you in turn, falling short due to his drooling mouth currently being occupied by the tender flesh of your neck. Always been so soft— so damn fragile within his well-intentioned grasp, how he’s been longing to finally be given a taste of you. And now, he has.

Whether to greedily relish in your hitched gasps or muttered series of words in utter bewilderment of what he’s currently doing is beyond Robin’s feeble mind. Too caught up in the fact that you’re comfortably sat upon his lap, well— not necessarily the most convenient of seats, but he can contentedly make up for such a trivial matter, can’t he? Solely focused on pleasuring you over here, like a good friend properly should when occasionally visiting them, no? Cmon, he’s just being fortunate with the fact that he gets to witness this firsthand, beneath his watchful guise and heated palm steadily jerking you off. So, so cute..

Really make the cutest of expressions when you’re being so cruelly stimulated like this, but not without some hint of affection sneakily laced in his careful movements! After all, despite having been such a filthy, ungrateful friend on your part, he’s still faithfully serving you as best as he can.

Slippery glides of his tight held fist rhythmically stroking up and down, thumb discreetly hovering above the leaking tip to rub along your dribbling slit and coax out more beads of pre. Look at you, stupidly losing your mind over a mere handjob like some virgin prude who’s never been generously given the addictive touch of another in his life. Familiar fingertips desperately clutching at his shoulders for proper stability, as if that might actually reel your hazy mind against his softened coos, lazily circling at your sensitive head all the while.

“Does it feel good?” Huskily muttering in the shell of your flushed ear, acutely aware of the dizzying effects he holds upon you right this moment, this instant and, god— It feels so right. As if faith itself had initially intended for this to play out precisely as he had originally anticipated. Endlessly thanking the divine deities from above, not that he truly believed in religion to begin with, with his bleak upbringing up till now, but today, perhaps he will for lovingly gracing him with the adorable sight of your fucked dumb face.

Scrunched up features, furrowed brows deepening in pure concentration with the sole intent to hungrily drink in every minor detail, commit them to memory. The quivering of your rosy, pouty lips, scarlet flush adorning your cheeks to prettily match with the faintest of tints along the nape of your neck. Sheer embarrassment rendering your form immobile beneath his cupped palm, writhing legs deftly locking themselves further around his slouched waist.

And, the sounds— fuck, the sounds are honestly the best part he gets to excitedly experience with every steady stroke of his tightening fist, breathlessly gawking in awe at the staining mess of sticky slick smearing across the softened pad of his thumb. Strangled whimpers involuntary exiting past your lips, your helpless blabbering unfortunately muffled in the crook of his neck, that laidback demeanour of yours he’s grown used to knowing, now stupidly reduced to a mumbling mess. “R-Robin— ah, fuuu— s-slow down—“ Pleas falling upon deaf ears, gets his cock all achy underneath the tightening confines of his pants, straining bulge undoubtedly twitching against your sat ass who isn’t helping matters here.

That’s fine, though. Not only does he get to selfishly jack you off, there’s also the downright desperate opportunity to tentatively roll his hips upwards, frantically grinding his hot, soaking tip between your widening thighs to his content leisure like a dumb mutt in heat. Fuckin’ feels so good just to mindlessly hump away against your plush ass— wonder if you’d even offer him a thigh job in return if he were to consequently ask, ah— shit, he’d like nothing more than to be enveloped by that soft, warm heat, sneakily slide his throbbing cock in between the slim gap of your cum coated thighs and relish in your muted moans.

You’d like that, wouldn’t you? By the looks of it, eyes instinctively rolling to the back of his skull with a pouted huff since it isn’t fair, y’know? Not fair at all that you’ve been secretly hiding those pretty expressions of yours and adorable noises from him all along, selfishly depriving him of such a pretty picture he’s repeatedly visited in his perverted mind. Deceitful friend, aren’t you? It’s merely logical to reach for what was initially his from the start after all, besides what Whitney has flimsily offered you in the past.

Oh, but he can be so much better than that brute who savagely takes what he so pleases, gentler in his careful strokes to loyally get you off. Promise he’ll make you feel so, sooo good— hah, just give him a chance and that’s all it’ll ever take to decisively prove himself to you. Promise to provide you with nothing but utter pleasure as long as it means he gets to be only one to gaze upon you like this, witness your helpless ruin beneath his moving hands.

And, ah god— the things you do to him, no better than Whitney with how they collectively both leer at you in the same hungry manner. Impulsively shifting positions so at to hover above you, pin you further underneath his tight held grasp willingly refusing to loosen any more cuz’ no way is he letting you go from now on, ‘kay? Bitterly huffing over the crook of your neck, savagely panting like some dog in heat as he instead settles on spreading your legs apart for his viewing enjoyment and specially, with the intent of fucking himself between those soft, milky thighs and rub against that swaying cock. A whimpering boy, but you have the thighs of a girl— not that he’s necessarily complaining about that minor aspect.

“S-Sorry, I wanna— ah, make you feel so good. Make you feel so, so good for me.” Truth is, he isn’t sorry in the slightest nor does he feel any ounce of creeping remorse for his downright, desperate behaviour. Tumbling off in another direction entirely, a whiny mess just as much as you in his frantic thrusts accompanied by a shuddering gasp, clumsily fumbling with the hem of his jeans— stupid zipper, really — stripping himself bare before finally, plainly kicking his pants off to carelessly land amongst the messy heap of already spread clothes. There you are, darling. So good for patiently awaiting his next move, supple fingertips timidly curling in the softened fabric of his shirt. Needy baby needed Robin that bad?

He’d be nothing more than content to quell that quivering ache pooling in the pit of your tummy, leaking cock springing free, hefty weight resting against your own drooling dick to smear the melding globs of pre-cum together in a gasped moan. Effortlessly slipping his slicked length between the squish of your thighs, overly sensitive tip oozing pre and provokingly peeking out from the warm enveloping of your soft flesh tenderly wrapped around him. Just being neatly nestled in the welcoming heat of your thighs has him dizzy, hitching a held breath. What would it feel like to be fucking your hole instead? Ah, he’d cum on the spot simply from shoving it in, rendered dumb from the feel of those slippery walls tight around his throbbing girth.

“Push your thighs together for me, please— yeah, just like that. Good boy.” Wistfully whispering praises to you ever so sweetly, a tentative thrust of his and it’s all he truly needs to have him going. Quick, steady snap of his hips following suit with a shared whine spilling past each others parted lips, one hand securely placed around your hip to absentmindedly pinch at while the other rests atop your knee to easily guide himself deeper. “You really feel so good like this.. Ah, I should’ve done this sooner— hah, should’ve done it before he did.” Drooling mutt humping himself stupid between your shivering thighs, reflexively tightening in return from every sloppy buck of his hips against your backside, fat balls repetitively meeting yours in a sickeningly loud slap! to both audibly groan at.

If Whitney is the big, bad wolf deftly awaiting for your clumsy self to consequentially fall into his open maw, then Robin must be nothing more than a huffing puppy in a rut, practically mounting your heaving frame beneath his. Taking advantage of this cherished bond you’d dumbly call friendship when ultimately, a good friend probably shouldn’t be out here openly taking advantage of his own convenient status to slide himself between your legs. Crude, isn’t it? Yet, feels so fucking good— can you possibly blame him so for shamelessly moaning down the curve of your shoulders? Baring teeth instinctually seeking for the nearest source of relief which merely happens to be your sweat slicked flesh underneath his lolling tongue. Not wanting to be too rough either with your quivering figure, instead settling upon peppering warm kisses along the edge of your collarbone.

Plus, how could he so bitterly refute you when you hazily gaze upon his scarlet cheeks with glazed over eyes, glistening lips glossy with spit parted lightly just begging to be intimately kissed and pleasantly tended to. So very responsive in your every shivering twitch, cautious fingers carefully shifting up to cup your warming cheeks in his heated palm to have your pouty mouth eagerly accept his. Pink, wet tongue tentatively swiping along the puffy flesh of your bottom lip in a silent plea to further open up for him, mingling saliva pervertedly dripping into your wanting throat as you two share spit. The surprisingly soothing gesture of his thumb tenderly rubbing across your skin, sneakily coaxing you out of those crumbling walls you’ve narrowingly built around yourself, bit by agonizing bit.

Sometimes, one can’t help, but to eventually cave in when faced with ushered platitudes and cooed niceties wistfully uttered into his ear. Only human to break, isn’t it? Little doll. So— “Hah, shit— I think, I’m gonna—“ Helplessly sputtering off into a broken moan and maybe, it’s the way you breathlessly call for him in a meek ‘Robin’ like he’s all you could ever need — ah, what is he thinking? Evidently, he would be! — that has his hips stuttering, drawn further back where his sopping tip coyly rests at the edge of your plush thighs only to sloppily shove himself in one last time before sticky cum comes to coat at your tummy. Honestly, he didn’t mean to! It was an— ah.. accident that his cock automatically squirted out white strings of cum for you to pitifully whine at, intent on getting you off too as he deliberately reaches down to take ahold of your poor, neglected cock between his soft fingers. Just a bit more, a bit more.. Poor baby didn’t get to cum, huh? He can easily fix that, absently squeezing at the base of your cock, whining just as stupidly as you once he luckily catches sight of your contorted features, the wet squelch drawn forth from every clumsily made stroke of loosely tugging at the tip.

The things you do to him, shakily moaning in tandem with you from the sheer, puppy love his thudding chest occupies for you, bent over in a hasty need to finish you off and fuck, look so pretty when cummin’, darling— drawled out whine of a pathetic ‘wait!’, pulsing squirts of your cock shot out to add onto the already sticky mess staining your bare stomach, head dumbly thrown back in which he can’t help, but etch to his memory for later use. Isn’t this proof enough for you? Of his unrelenting devotion, sweetly planting a brief kiss upon each of your sticky with sweat fingertips in another display of his unwavering loyalty, need to throughly worship you for what you so prettily are.

“Only look at me from now on, okay?” And, if your wandering gaze does ever dare to stray too far away from his unmoving one, then, he could always forcibly direct it back to its rightful place, can’t he? You, in his loving embrace, supposedly where you truly belong in his wishful mind, deserving of every ounce of giddy affection he has to gleefully offer you with a tender kiss of his own. Cupped palm earnestly stroking along the length of your heated cheeks, so prettily pink for his selfish eyes to dote upon only. As it should be, little doll.

So, when he does boldly utter out an easy order for you, one meant to be readily followed and faithfully promised to— don’t break it this time, alright?

Because it’ll only offer him another, self-serving reason to continuously break you in return.

[americanhell]

[cultofcreatures]

[happyheidi]

x - x / x - x / x - x

[roscoe-me-and-this-fuckin-kid]

florence welch was right. she IS like if jesus came back but in a beautiful dress

[warmblanketwhump]

another beach vacation

inspired by those bizarre moments when it’s sweltering out and somehow you’re freezing with a fever (most definitely not inspired by my low-grade fever last week lol)

It was just another hot day at the beach during their vacation at the oceanside cottage, but B can tell something’s off. They’re all swimming, B a bit further out from A and C, but B notices that A’s out of the water more than they’re in, and they barely get in past ankle-deep water. After a few minutes and some wild gesturing from C, they get in deeper, and B goes back to swimming alongside the current.

But when B checks again, A’s left the water entirely, sitting directly in the sun even though they burn easily. When B gets out to investigate, they see A’s covered in goosebumps and visibly shivering, arms wrapped around their knees.

“A, what are you doing? You’re gonna get burned.”

A shrugs. “I’m cold. Like, in my bones. I don’t know what’s wrong.” A gentle breeze wafts through the air, sending a shudder rippling through them, and they hug their knees tighter to their chest. “I thought the sun would help me warm up.”

B wraps a towel around them and curls behind A, hugging them close. Contrary to A’s belief, they feel like a banked coal against B’s body, yet B can feel the small shivers that ripple through them as they rub A’s blanketed arms. “You’re probably just a little chilled from the water.”

“Maybe.” A’s voice is small, shaky, quiet. Not at all like themselves.

Eventually, A pulls on the dry t-shirt B offers and lays down under the beach umbrella, curling up in a ball with arms wrapped around themselves, while B pulls out a battered old paperback. Every so often, B can hear A’s teeth chatter, and eventually they drape one of the dry towels over them, even though it’s sweltering out.

C darts up dripping wet, starting to say something to B, but stops short when they see A laying down. “What’s wrong with A?”

“Not feeling well.” B glances down from their book to see A, still curled under the towel. “They got chilled and needed to warm up for a bit.”

C stops short, glancing down at A, then to B, face guilty. “I….may be the cause of that.”

B gives A a confused look. “What?”

“They…didn’t really want to swim, said they didn’t feel up to it. I nagged them, told them they were boring and never wanted to have fun, and then they finally got in.“ C shrugs, swiping their foot in the sand. “They shook so bad the whole time they were in the water. I thought they were faking to be dramatic.” C looks sheepish. “It’s just….it’s so hot out, and the water wasn’t that cold…”

C’s not wrong—the air temperature must be over 90 degrees, and there’s barely a cloud in the sky. But A’s visibly shivering, face pale in the shade of the umbrella, hands clutching the towel tightly around their shoulders like they can’t get the extra layer close enough.

“A, you feeling any better?”

A just moans, pulling the towel up to their chin. B reaches out a hand, and the mystery is solved the second their palm touches A’s feverish forehead. They’re even warmer now in the shade than when B felt them earlier.

Poor thing. “A, we’re gonna go back up to the house now and get you dried off and in bed. You’ve got a fever.” A moans again, softer this time.

C’s face falls at B’s announcement. “I guess I’ll…stay here a bit longer then. Meet you at home.”

B nods, hoists A up in their arms in a bridal carry, towel and all, and begins the trek up the winding path back to the coastal beach house.

Arriving home, B carries A up to the bathroom and persuades A to allow a quick shower to wash off all the sand and salty seawater. A shivers the entire time, knees tucked to their chest and arms folded to their body, head bobbing as they fight to stay awake, hands feebly rubbing at the goosebumps that skitter across their arms.

Eventually the two minutes of misery are over and B wraps a thick bath towel around A’s waist, and another around their shoulders. The rest of the home is frigid from the air-conditioning, and A hunches over to try and preserve warmth as they half-shuffle, half lean on B to their room. B helps them dress in a dry t-shirt and shorts and eases them under the light summer covers, and A pulls the top quilt tightly around their body.

“I’m going to run to the corner store and see if they have some medicine. Stay in bed, okay?”

B takes the single moan from the lump of blankets as a yes.

A half hour later, B returns with a plastic grocery bag full of medicines, expecting to find A still curled up in bed. But instead, A’s on their hands and knees by their suitcase, frantically rummaging through their clothes.

“A, what are you doing out of bed?”

“I need s-s-something, anything warmer.” A’s teeth are audibly chattering, and they’re clutching their arms close to their body as they shake with chills. “I tried to sleep, I tried, but the c-covers are so thin, and I couldn’t stop shivering, and I couldn’t figure out how to turn the AC down…” A’s lower lip quivers as they stare mournfully at their suitcase. “I didn’t bring anything warm. Not even a pair of socks. I’m so cold…”

B’s heart squeezes at the admission. “C’mon. Let’s get you back under the covers and I’ll see if I can find some of my stuff you can wear.”

After getting A back in bed, B goes to their room and begins tearing clothes from their suitcase, but it’s useless—the weather forecast had been for sweltering temperatures all week, so they just some lightweight T-shirts, shorts, an outfit for when they went to town for dinner….

“What’s wrong?” C must’ve gotten back after B, and they’ve now changed into regular clothes, hair still damp, with a half-eaten popsicle in one hand.

“A’s got bad chills and can’t sleep. And of course, none of us brought warm clothes because it’s so hot here.” A tosses another pair of shorts to the side. “We used up all the towels, too, so we can’t even have that as an option until I do some laundry—“

“I’ve got some sweatpants they can borrow.” C shrugs. “And an old sweatshirt, I think.”

“You? In the summer?”

C shrugs. “What? I hate the thought of being cold.” Their eyes flick to the carpet. “And it’s sort of my fault anyways. I shouldn’t have made them swim when they weren’t feeling good.”

“Hey. You didn’t know.” B gives C’s shoulder a squeeze, even though C doesn’t look absolved.

Within a minute, C makes it back to A’s bedroom with the extra layers, plus some extra blankets they found from the linen closet. B helps A dress, then wraps an extra blanket around their shoulders before tucking them back under the covers.

“Better?” B asks, rubbing A’s back through the blankets.

“Uh huh,” A says with a sigh, burrowing deeper into the blankets. “I thought I was gonna freeze.”

C’s at the end of A’s bed, scuffing their toe into the carpet, when they finally speak. “A, I….I didn’t mean what I said back at the beach. Heck, I shouldn’t have said it, even if you were feeling well. You’re not boring, I promise. I was just being stupid, and I’m sorry.”

“C, you were forgiven the minute you gave me these clothes,” A says, voice muffled from beneath the blankets. “But if you’re not feeling forgiven enough, making me a cup of hot tea will absolve you fully.”

“On it.” C darts away to the kitchen, and after giving A three different types of medicine, B settles in with their book on the bed next to A.

“Sorry I’m ruining the vacation,” A mumbles, quieter. “I’d much rather be out in the sun and swimming than in here trying to stay warm.”

“Nonsense. You’re just giving us a little break from the sun.” B smiles, giving A’s shoulder a little squeeze before tucking their blankets just a little bit tighter.

[newblvotg]

[smithsibsceo]

boy what the hell boy

[jenoutof10]

kuroo and the beach! for ei's bday

[napakmahal]

Butterfly Stroke

It is a truth universally acknowledged, babies are not easy. You accepted it when you realized you were going to have a baby, when you had a baby, and when your baby kept you from doing the things you both loved to do and needed to do. But your mindset deviated from that whenever you watched your boyfriend with your baby.

“Ready…up,up, and down!” Tadashi cooed at Bodie while bouncing her up and down in the pool.

He was a natural.

When Tadashi was building Baymax, he studied all types of medicine and human sciences. Including psychology, which had a sub-subject of how fatherhood and motherhood is affected by infants. He also learned that many parents have reservations about teaching their children to swim out of fear of them drowning. Shockingly, drowning is a very unfortunate and sad cause of death in infants and toddlers because of how silent it is. From then on he made sure he would always teach his children how to swim. It seemed dumb. Why not teach your kids how to navigate 70% of the world if you have the means to?

You clutched your hands over your chest as a feeling of worry rested in your stomach. It’s not like you were totally panicked. Tadashi was a strong swimmer and would rather throw himself in front of a bullet train than have his baby get hurt in any way. Still you couldn’t help but feel uneasy.

“Baby, careful.” You pleaded. “Watch her face.”

Tadashi reassured you, “I got her, don’t worry.”

Despite your worry, Bodie seemed to be having the time of her life. Her chubby little face was contorted in laughter and happiness as she pounded her baby fists into the surface of the pool. Even as a baby, she loved water. Just like her daddy in every way possible. Tadashi was a surfer and a champion swimmer in high school. And he probably would have gone on to be the next Micheal Phelps if he didn’t choose to go to SFIT for a 5,000 dollar scholarship in the robotics and physics department.

“Look at you!” Tadashi cooed at Bodie. His bare chest pressed up against her tiny body as she started kicking her chubby little legs. “Waaa- my baby is so strong, look Bodie! Say hi to mommy!”

Tadashi grabbed Bodie’s hand and waved it at you.

“Hi baby!” You squealed back at them.

Tadashi smiled before motioning his hand for you to join them to be fully immersed in the pool. He leaned over and pressed his lips to the side of your face before shaking his jet black hair back and forth like a dog.

“EW!” You squealed before grabbing Bodie into your arms. “Bodi say ‘ew, daddy!’”

Tadashi laughed before ducking his way under the water and butterfly swimming across the way.

“You gonna be a swimmer?” You asked Bodie.

Bodie giggled, “Dada!”

“Yeah? ” you giggled. “like daddy?”

Tadashi had already swam back to you two and hugged you from behind. Dripping wet.

“When can I take her surfing?” He mumbled, face dropped into the dip of your shoulder.

You let out an audible laugh. “Never!”

“What?! That’s not fair,” He whined. “Bodie tell mommy that isn’t fair.”

“Nooo, mama.” She babbled in response.

Your boyfriend threw his head back in laughter and your jaw dropped. But you were only half joking. Once, at the beach during summer break Tadashi fell off his board after slipping from a wave. For almost ten minutes you couldn’t find him until another group of surfers pushed him towards the shore. He was coughing up water and had to just lay down for a few minutes to catch his breath. You’re not sure. If you’ve ever felt so scared. Especially when he sent you a photo two days later of him scuba diving with Hiro.

“No you’re right though, it’s dangerous.” He agreed with you.

You leaned your head back into his chest to kiss the bottom of his chin. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Tadashi reached over and squished his daughter's baby cheeks. “And you!”

[americanhell]

[cultofcreatures]

homeward bound

[kindahoping4forever]

Pretend I gave this a hinged and appropriate caption

[roscoe-me-and-this-fuckin-kid]

Florence + the Machine Sorters

All Songs

Lungs

Ceremonials

How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful

High As Hope

Dance Fever

if you want to make your own sorters, here is a link to instructions!

[newsbrand]

Congrats to Angel Reese & the WNBA team Chicago Sky for the win against the Indiana Fever team (Fever with 87 points • Sky with 88 points)

Angel has reached a career-high with a whoppin 25 points and 16 rebounds 🔥 making it her 8th double-doubled in a single row