#oh shit this is way worse if you put it like that

[atticrissfinch]

Father's Day | (joel miller x reader) (18+)

A Meet Me in the Back Oneshot

pairing: sleazy gas station clerk!joel miller x fem!reader summary: Father's Day isn't your favorite day. Joel tries to make up for that. warnings/tags: [18+ MINORS DNI] age gap (no specifics), daddy!kink, praise!kink, ass-eating (f receiving), fingering, a lot of fucking angst and fluff, kind of hurt/comforty ig, reader wears joel's boxers, a lot of Complicated Father Feelings on both sides for these knuckleheads, idk where this came from word count: ~2.1K | ao3 a/n: this came out of NOWHERE but suddenly i really wanted to write a little something for Father's Day. This takes place on their first Father's Day together, so a few months post-part 6. Am I writing this to heal some of my own feelings about this holiday? who's to say, really. but i hope you enjoy this little surprise <3 Un-beta'd and barely proofread so I'm sorry if there are glaring mistakes. I just wanted to get this out on Father's Day :)

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Kofi

“Bit of a weird day for you, I take it?”

You blink out of your zoned-out state, some guy with poofy hair waxing poetic about the Easter Island heads being planted by aliens on Joel’s television (“His name is Giorgio A. Tsoukalos, baby.” “You couldn’t spell that if your life fucking depended on it, Joel. Don’t act like it’s a crime that I don’t remember his name.”).

“Hmm?”

“Today. Father’s Day. Bit of a weird day?” He asks again, pulling one of your bent legs into his lap to stroke his thumb along your thigh.

“Oh,” you say, your mind still drifting back from elsewhere. “Yeah. A bit.”

Joel nods in your peripheral, bending down to place a kiss on the hinge of your knee.

“‘Bit’ might be an understatement, actually.”

Because it is. It’s very difficult to describe your feelings about your father. Even more difficult now that he’s dead, been dead for years. He provided a home for you, bought you the necessities to live, ensured that you never went hungry or thirsty or cold. But he gifted you little else, other than crippling emotional insecurity and an inability to recognize your own achievements as good enough. It’s a bizarre cognitive dissonance that you’ve yet to fully process in your years since he’s been gone.

So, yes. Father’s Day is a bit weird for you.

“You wanna talk about it?”

You worry your bottom lip and start to move your leg out of his lap. “Not particularly.”

“Hey,” he objects, clinging to the back of your knee and hauling it back, “that’s alright with me, little sugarplum. We don’t gotta talk about that fucker if you don’t want. Lord knows I don’t wanna talk about mine.”

And he doesn’t, as far as you’ve noticed. You know barely anything about Joel’s own father. Just that he never talks about him, and he gushes about his mother in contrast. You have some creeping suspicions about his father. The way he was. You have reason to believe that he was significantly worse than your own. But he’s refused to let that get in the way of how he behaves.

Joel has a lot of sides to him, you’ve come to discover. None of them terribly violent, but a very do no harm, but take no shit type of vibe follows him around. You’ve found that other men are not eager to fuck with him. He has this undercurrent of threatening energy when another man starts to act up around a woman. You remember how he was around Nate.

Don’t remember askin’ you a goddamn thing, son.

Those pieces put together lead you to believe that his father was not the most respectful of his mother. Or kind to her at all. He’s never said as much, but you’re pretty good with context clues. You don’t think you’d ever ask, not unless he offered. But you maintain your sensitivity about the subject. He can tell you in time if that’s what he wants.

There’s a sort of comfort in him clinging to your leg, clinging to you in the manner he just did. On any other day, you might not think anything of it. Just Joel, being horny, being himself, wanting to touch you.

But today…today it feels an awful lot like “I want you” and “You’re good enough” and “I’m not leaving”.

A lot like “I’ll be the daddy yours never was”.

You feel a tightness in your throat, a stinging behind your eyes as you study his grip on your leg, his thumb pressing into the flesh, stroking along your skin .

“I want you.”

Stroke.

“You’re good enough.”

Stroke.

“I’m not leaving.”

Stroke.

You mutter, your voice thick, “Daddy?”

A crease indents between his brows as his free hand comes to cup your cheek. “What, baby?”

“I’m…I’m good, right?”

Slight confusion crosses his face. “Baby, I don’t…what do you mean? Good?”

Tears prick at your waterline as you say, “Like I’m good. I’m a good girl.”

“Oh, sugarplum,” Joel breathes, shifting onto his knees to straddle your hips and hover over you as he takes your face, framing it in his hands. “You are the goodest fuckin’ girl I ever met. Beautiful-est, sexiest, most perfect girl.”

You blink and a tear breaches containment down your cheek. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. ‘Fact I think the worst thing you’ve ever done is shack up with this ol’ bag o’bones,” Joel jokes, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly.

“I don’t,” you say quietly, lifting your fingers to drag through his beard, and Joel’s eyes flutter closed at the contact. “I think you’re one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. You make me feel so fucking good. All the time.”

Joel sighs, pivoting his head to the side to kiss your palm and mumble into it, “Man ain’t a man unless he’s makin’ a woman feel good. Don’t matter the kinda woman. If you’re hurtin’ her in a way that don’t feel good to her, you ain’t a man.”

You run your fingers through his hair and dip your fingers under the dangling hem of his shirt, sliding through the delicate wires adorning his rounded belly. “I like how you hurt me, daddy.”

You can see his cock stiffening in his pants, pressing against the seam, and you had already been wet since he positioned himself above you.

“I know you do, darlin’ girl. You like that daddy hurts you real good, huh?”

“Yeah,” you exhale as Joel’s hand creeps between your legs, rubbing circles into your clit through his boxer briefs you had stolen to lounge in.

“Do somethin’ for me, babygirl,” he requests, observing your face as your eyelids dance and your hips surge toward him.

“Anything,” you whisper, bucking into his hand.

He sinks down to press his lips to your ear, his hot breath sending a shiver down your spine. “I want you to forget all about that fucker who called himself your father and didn’t deserve it. You’ve got a new daddy now, don’t ya? And he knows exactly how to treat ya.”

You gasp as two of his fingers slip inside the fly of his boxers, touching your pussy skin-on-skin for the first time since this wretched day began. And it feels healing.

“Yes, daddy,” you pant, rolling your hips into his fingers as they deftly work your clit under them. You can already hear yourself sopping and wet beneath his movements, slipping between your lips and massaging you torturously as you whine.

“This day ain’t for him anymore, babygirl. Not today, not any year after. Who’s it for now?”

You breath hitches on a moan as a finger teases at your entrance, presses inside. “For you, daddy,” you reply, gasping as his thick finger glides inside your slick heat.

“That’s right,” he rasps, fitting his second finger in along with the first and rubbing at your clit with his thumb through the soaked material of his boxers. “Good girls like you who have daddies that care about them, you know what they get?”

You feel yourself barreling embarrassingly quick to your orgasm, but it’s really more of a testament to how well Joel knows your body and your pleasure at this point in your journey together. He tears you apart like wet tissue paper in his hands, like it takes a single brain cell to send you spiraling. And aren’t you blessed that he has at least one to spare.

“Wh-what do they get, daddy?” You manage to moan out, preparing yourself for whatever filth he has prepared to gift you with that will send you floating through space once it leaves his lips.

Joel captures your mouth with his in a sloppy kiss that has you gasping as you edge closer to your climax, then growls against your lips, “Good little girls with caring daddies on Father’s Day get their tiny, wet little slits fucked until they cry. Don’t they?”

Your mouth falls open in a loud, shameless moan as your hips jut forward, pressing into his hand as you feel your cunt pulse against him in powerful waves, your face flooding with heat as he fucks you through it with his fingers, groaning against your mouth as you come for him for what is likely the millionth time since the first. And yet it still rocks through your body like lightning, leaving you boneless and fried at your ends.

Your chest pounds as Joel pulls soaked fingers from your borrowed underwear and shoves them in his own mouth, sucking off the flavor of your pleasure at his hand with a passionate moan.

“Not fuckin’ enough,” Joel grunts, gripping the band of the boxers and jerking them down your hips, tossing them over the back of the couch and situating himself onto his stomach as he spreads your shaking legs wide in front of his eager mouth.

“Daddy, I’m—” you squeak out, your clit still throbbing and sensitive with your first orgasm as he breathes over it hotly.

“It’s Father’s Day, baby,” he admonishes, gazing up at you from between your thighs, “The least you can do is let me stick somethin’ in the pair of socks you got me. Come inside them like a horny teenager alone in his bedroom,” he teases, licking a long stripe from your asshole to your pussy, flicking at your clit.

“Jesus Christ,” you sigh, but you dig your fingers into his hair regardless. “You can come inside one sock. This sock,” you clarify, slipping two of your fingers inside your cunt.

Joel is quiet for a second, something clearly unusual for him, and you lift your head to glance down. And you see a man mesmerized by the motion of your own fingers fucking into yourself, his lips parted and eyes glazed over in lust.

“Fuck me. Keep doin’ that,” he mutters, settling his chin onto the cushion of the couch and spreading your asscheeks to mouth hungrily at your asshole.

“Fuck, daddy,” you whine, tugging at his hair as you fuck yourself with your fingers, thumb finding your clit in tandem.

Joel groans, face buried in your ass as you feel the sharpened tip of his tongue pushing past the tight ring. Heat burns in your stomach at the sensation, something that he doesn’t do often, and you think it’s because he knows it feels too fucking good to indulge all the time.

But he eats at you ravenously, plunging his tongue inside you in staggered tempo with your fingers in your cunt, and another orgasm is building just as swiftly as the first. The bite of his fingernails into the meat of your ass has you keening with overwhelm, so many parts of you being stimulated simultaneously, and it sends you crashing hard. Your clit beats wildly against the pads of your fingers, your cunt squeezing around your fingers, and your asshole contracting on Joel’s tongue as the rush of pleasure floods your body again. Joel’s moans vibrate against the delicate puckered skin, sending shockwaves pulsing through you as you attempt to come down.

Joel emerges from your other hole and bites kisses into the softness of your cheeks, sucking and dragging his tongue along the broken skin that nobody will see but him.

“Fuck,” you gasp, heart pounding in your chest and fingers still wound in his hair. You pull wet fingers from your pussy and brush them over his damp forehead, knowing full well that he doesn’t mind the mess.

“So fuckin’ good for me,” he rumbles against the back of your thigh, continuing a trail of kisses until he’s up your stomach, over your tits, and back at your mouth. And maybe you shouldn’t be kissing him when he just got done tongue-fucking your asshole, but you can’t bring yourself to give a shit when it comes to this man.

His hands glide up the backs of your thighs, reaffirming the spread of them as he tucks them into the hinges at the backs of your knees, his violently hard cock, newly freed of its confines, knocking and dragging at the tired seam of your cunt.

“You heard what daddy said about fucking your slit ‘til you cry?” Joel asks, snagging your bottom lip between his teeth and letting it fall back in place with a wet slap.

You gaze back up at him and nod with a whimper.

“That what you want me to do?”

You nod again. “Yes, please, daddy.”

“Alright then,” Joel says in a low rumble, taking his cock in his grip and lining himself up with your opening as he strokes your warm cheek with his other, “Then Father’s Day ain’t even close to finished yet. And seems like I got buncha shitty ones to make up for. So you better buckle in, my sweet little sugarplum. Daddy’s got a score to settle.”

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[evilminji]

I came across it in a fic and now it is DRIVING ME INSANE...

Marriage Hunts.

Mmmm, yes, Sexy™. Prove to me you are a Worthy Spouse! Fuckin FIGHT ME! Let's GO! You wanna put a ring on it? You better EARN that right! *weapons n explosion noises*

BUT!!!

Okay. We have successfully DONE it. We caught the sexy, sexy Spouse Of Our Dreams. Much Hotness. Tasteful, of screen, and fully consenting sexy times were had. #NICE.

......whaaaaaat happens NEXT?

What, in a word, is Step Two? ESPECIALLY if? This is "suprise! You've found yourself in a Sexy Hunt For Marriage For PLOT REASONS!" which means that ONE of these two cultures? Sure as SHIT does not practice this custom?

You are Alien Married.

They are fully expecting to either take YOU home with THEM or YOU to take THEM home with YOU, presumably. You have marital responsibilities as defined by TWO different cultures, only one of which you know. This person? Is ALSO a stranger to you!

Basically just met.

High intensity one night stand that's now Forever.

No one ever follows UP. They have fics trying to get OUT of it. Or the boning itself. But not the "....so, like, do I need to help you pack, oooor?" And the culture shock. The dumped in a new society that may not even RECOGNIZE the validity of your marriage. May consider both IT and YOU, barbaric.

And??? For ADDED spice?? Just to make the two cultures REALLY different?

I'ma say Ghosts do it. Not all of um. It's regional. An opt in sort thing. Since fighting is so ingrained into socializing. What BETTER way? To speed run the dating process? Then to Hunt Each Other For SPORT! VIOLENTLY!!! So romantic~♡

And Danny? Keeps failing in the romance department. Too many secrets, ya know?

Figures... Fuck It. Not like anyone can BEAT him. Maybe he'll find someone he wants to date? Or maybe he WILL find that special someone! Who knows? He's lonely, man.

And who should arrive?

FUCKIN NINJAS.

Pick a bachelor with a Summoning Contract. They tried to call their buddies while trapped in an old, long forgotten, HALF ROTTED Uzumaki Seal. It tore reality and yeet them sideways. Their Summons are frantic. THEY land just in time to hear the rules, the name of The Hunt, and see they are surrounded.

*opening horn blasts*

Begin!

Oh FUCK no! They are NOT staying trapped here! They fight! They WIN!

They...accidentally pin a really, REALLY strong and hot Spirit Warrior to the ground. Oh shit. They have a husband.

......but I mean... worse things have happened to them.

But? BRINGING SAID HUSBAND BACK? That. THAT I want to see. They left for a god damned MILK RUN of a boring ass punishment mission. Come back with a possibly half alive, spirit prince husband? The husband glows.

*jazz hands* s-suuuuprise?

@hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @hypewinter @babbling-babull @the-witchhunter @lolottes

[s2elliescuteness]

Addicted!Ellie

Jesse Pinkman inspo.

Synopsis: suffering from abstinence. Ellie goes to her friend's house to buy more weed. She just didn't expect to find his sister instead.

Ellie jumped the fence behind the house, falling to her knees on the ground. She wiped her hands and clothes awkwardly, acting like has dust on the grass.

Looking at the back of the house, the pool, and the open space at the back, she widens her eyes. "Fuckin' big house that dickhead man has. World's not fair" as she goes to the back door.

Knocking, she waits for him. His family not home, he had say this to Ellie after a 'free pass to my house if you have money!'

Either way, it was surprising how Finneas had NO drums playing skills, he could afford lessons since he lived in a mansion. Ellie firmly believes that talent comes from inside now. What she can do? She is, by nomenclature(no), a natural using fingers!

She continues waiting, not blaming him for being slow to answer the door - just a little. If she lived in a house, this big, would take her days to get from one room to another.

She were about to knock again, yet the door finally opened.

That's NOT Finneas shit man... this is–

"Hello" you said, a confused look in eyes.

That damn boy said he was the ONLY one son. Oh, son.

But Ellie knows why he'd be lying about being the only one. She'd get very jealous too if some of her 'friends' tried to fuck her sister - she didn't have one. Good.

BUT HE STILL A TRAITOR.

You snap your fingers in front of her, trying to wake her from her dream. Yes, your brother told you about the cocaine addicts he hangs out with; but you definitely weren't expecting a girl.

"Hey?" you said, again.

"Hey... uhm..." she answered, sending you a deep stare of her hooded green eyes. She SUBTLY get closer from the door frame.

"Are you high?" and she stopped her attempt to harass your nose with her alcoolized breath. "Drunk?" you have to be kidding.

"No–" she scratch her neck. "I'm..." clearing her throat. "I'm actually looking for Finneas."

"He's not home."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Ellie compress her lips, tongue rolling to each side of her cheeks. She should probably go, the hell she want to stay near a girl who absolutely wants to kill her with words?

Yes, she thought about you being straight. But Ellie faithfully believed that she could transform a girl in gay with her charm. Why? Well, have that one girl called Van–

"You'll stay here? Think he will come home late."

"U sure?" she moved her shoulder a little bit forward, hands inside pocket, ready to come inside and have fun with the pretty girl she knows for less than one hour.

"Yeah."

She was FORCED to go home with empty hands. Going to be your fault if she dies somewhere with problems in her heart (love).

Since you evilly brokes Ellie's heart with you poisoned words, she was found herself destroyed. — not dead, lucky you.

Even going to hundred partys a week, fucking (7) yummy hoes per night, she could see the point of living if she can't have you.

Something about you were different. You was the first girl who neglicencied Ellie. She CAN NOT believe you didn't find her attractive. Maybe you are a witch and make a powerfull love poison, putting it in a whore pussy while Ellie drinkened it, drop, by drop.

Oh, and you were the only one she could say beautiful things about too. You smile is very pretty, she, believe or not, cut the belief that someone could have pretty things except body.

She drawed you!

Riding her strap in a pretty skirt, also, giving it from behind, with lace panties.

Sure, Ellie's sick.

So sick that, in the moment she discovered you birthday was close, she occurs to invite herself from your window! She'd be admiring you from affar, a little mad that the big glass couldn't show much of you, but now she knows what's your room!

(Unluckily, your brother invited her with a card, now she'd be forced to come party from door - and, bought a gift to not seem rude, WORSE, the gift can't be her, so sad.)

Mind foggy, hard to stand there and not trade looks with some your lookalike and end up the day inside a cunt (that's not yours).

She walked through the whole two floors, everyone drinking, high, about to hookup in the path... but you weren't here also!! Did you didn't received the happy nineteen birthday's card for your own party?

Although that, she still trying to find you! So she have to search for you in your room. Maybe you're changing, doing something - need help!!

Snickers sole trying so hard to not dirt the pretty red carpet that have in the hall. She surely not using her tiptoes up to try to not make a sound. She's not sneaking!

Finally finding your room, the pretty 'y/n room' like she didn't already know that... silly.

Putting her ear on the door, holding beath to try to hear something. Some... noise that, perhaps, you're doing; she needs to appear from the shadows (behind the door), and make you finish it before someone notice that you disappeared.

Sadly, she heard absolutely nothing. Ellie's palm rounded the handle, opening it with caution. The entrance to paradise just a little spreaded - she stepped in. Slowly, carefully achiving steps towards your dirty (not really for her) laundry basket that you potentially put there, so she'd had her own gift.

This is her reward! A piece of a laced red cloth that you probably used recently (cause it's in the top of the pile).

After smelling your good scent, she runned her hand to her hoodie pocket, forgeting about her bag.

"Weirdo." Ellie knows she shitted on her jeans. You got to be kidding, again. Why do you always a kill buzz?

She kept the hand on pocket, your panties in a firm knot in her fingers, scared that you might - definitely, try to take her treasure (the one she battled to win.)

"What she doing there" she mumbled, dumbly thinking she was saying this mentally.

"I ask the same" you are CRUEL. Confidently torturing her mind, guilty now running through her veins. Look what you've done.

"Sorry" she said in a low voice. Perchance, her nails digging in the cloth of you panties to calm herself.

You entered your room totally. That over knee high hello kitty fur boots you were wearing make her day. But the mini short hugging perfectly your thighs inside those fishnets... Godness, was hard to not put hand inside underwear and start to get off in front of you.

"Give me a reason to forgive you." do you think you are a god? She does NOT need to–

"I was needing this." weird, for the first time, she didn't feel proud of doing something dirty. HELL NO, are you really a god? Is she... sinning??

"A pair of my dirty clothes? Why exactly?" so you didn't know she choosed your underwear? Good to know.

"Was about to pick your..." she do a corner eyes look at the basket, trying to find something decent "t-shirt."

Knowing damn well what you used every day of the weekend, the t-shirt she were talking about surges on your mind.

"You like Jurassic park?"

JURASSIC PARK? Do YOU like it? SHE IS AMAZED.

Green eyes in awe, chin almost falling to the floor, she silly nods head. "Hell yeah... love jupa." butterflys frying, yeah, frying inside her stomach. Cheeks... Reddened. A little inspired by making you see how fan she is, she plans everthing she knows about. But when she starts:

"Have that one dinossaur that–"

"Don't change the topic." fuck you, really.

"Sorry" the FIRST time in her live she say this to the same people, in the same day, less than twelve hours.

"Why did you come there to a t-shirt? I mean, not that I couldn't borrow this to you" you calm way to talk making her wet.

"I-I know... I'm sorry." again, three, times. You nodded. She gave you a real, bonetheless small smile, seeming unproud of her actions.

Then you get closer, and Ellie shoulders tentatively line up. Swallowing dry in nervousism. She soak lips with her tongue, like she have a crystal ball, and know you won't last longer - you'll give to the desire.

"Don't get so close" firmly saying, conscientiously begging you to kiss her.

"Thought that was what you wanted." you answered. "Borrowing my panties to god knows what you'll use."

How dare you embarrass her in front of her crush? You mean girl...

Her frame getting smaller by seconds, the regret showing in her freckled face. Strands of loose auburned hair falling over her forehead.

"Forgive me" like an order.

"Why?"

"Can I show you my present?" she tosses her backpack aside. Didn't she said the worse part was the gift couldn't be her?

"Course." less than TWO SECONDS, she's sinking into your lips. Her veiny hands holding your cheeks by force. Digits digging on you skin. Her cultural dominant tongue trying to guide you. Her mouth trying to suck your skills out. She were really wanting you to let her do all the job. Make sure you're her toy.

Then she puts her palm up you head, pressing you to go lower. Subtly asking you to be on your knees.

Not in your birthday - never.

"Get on knees babe" she panted commandingly during the kiss.

She tried to push you down again, this time, by shoulder, you refused, creating a space between both of you.

"U think I'm going down for you? Nuh uh." she rolled her eyes, buffing with your disagreement.

"Fine." she said tenderly, close steps to the bed, she points to the mattress. "Let's start the other part then." not seeming happy.

You nodded, sitting in the center of you big sized bed, waiting for her. Ellie pick up her bag again, uzipping it and starting a search. She finally find de strap she bought there, she takes of her jeans, about to attach it on her underwear.

"Wait." both trade confused gazes.

"What?" she asked.

"You're not going to take these off?" you finger points up and down her clothes.

"You'll?"

This provoke a subtly reaction of disgust to your whole face. Ellie gets a bit red, reading you expression.

"Do you ever had sex?"

She laughed. Funny how you asked HER if she ever do sex. She literally breathe sex. "Do you ever?"

"Yeah." Ellie eyes widened.

"With who?"

"With a no-more friend." you answer and she gave - tried to give a nonchalant understanding expression. Clearly jealous. Crazy how the bitch she loses her virginity is the same she fucks almost every week when she want to.

"I do better" a sudden competitive tone.

"Must do" with a monotone expression. "With clothes? Such a fucking machine. Well, it saves less time for rounds with another girls."

"I'm not going to do that" she plays defense.

"I'm sure, Ellie." you responded. Heat pooling between her legs. "Go on, take you clothes."

Ellie hesitates, but doesn't want to miss the opportunity. No, you are an obsession for her. Her jeans a pile on her ankles. She put her hands in the hem of her hoodie, crossing arms and awkwardly taking off, the panties in her pocket flying in the air - you noticed that, she didn't. To someone so experienced, she was absolutely lost in her trecks.

You eyes passed in her tank top, she taking it off faster than your photographic memory could record. No bra? Nice.

Naked from upper body, she were touching the waistband of her boxer. It makes you question if she are like that with other girls - lingering to put body full display.

"Go on." she nods, hands trembling.

Heart aching a bit, you get on you knees on top of the bed, your own hands on her underwear.

"Don't need to get nervous" shes trying - and, trying to understand why she's acting like that. She's good in bed, not this virgin girl she seeming to be.

Eyes on eyes, you pull her underwear down slowly. Ellie head nodding forever, consenting you to keep the activities.

Finally all bared to your eyes, she nervously attacked your lips. You hands coming to rest in her waist, manipulating her to fall on the mattress. When she do, she stop the kisses.

"U're not going to-" you glue you lips together again, palms roaming through her body, feeling the toned skin and tenses muscles.

Panting, she pulls you a little, taking air to her lungs. Her green eyes on you, not even remembering you still with clothes, cause she's not wanting to look to your body.

But when you starts to get down, she grips you shoulder, holding your attention.

"I'm good at this." you say and she cocks her head. Ellie goes silent, and you take this like a positive sign, going down over hear again.

Seatted between her legs, Ellie's kinda bored. Actually, she gets worked up because YOU are preparing yourself to do that, she just don't want to receive lap - she's used to it, and it's not that exciting.

Girl's head session is really short with her. Normally, less than three minutes, barely it somedays. So when you started to kiss her tights, she simply gasped.

Ready for you to start the head, back pressed again the mattress, she feels the sloppy kisses in her belly, tickles sending, making her let out a nasal laugh. You continued, sparkles surging in her eyes while you lips caress her lower stomach.

If some other girl were THIS close to her pussy and didn't put her whole face near, Ellie would take her off this position and fucks into her in punitive mood.

The time you tongue rounded her clit reddish in need, she whimpered. Mind suggesting you must have power. Prosecuting you work, the tip of you pink muscle up and down the inside of her sensitive folds, carefully collecting the liquid that were evacuating.

The wetness in Ellie's cunt starting to make sounds, her own noises echoing in the room. Her mouth like a gate, expelling from throat the moans that have never been released. Her poor entrance clenching from denied touch making it hard to contain legs apart.

Ellie's thighs squeezing together, trapping you head between while her glistenized eyes treated you like a sacred being.

"Oh my god" the broken tone in her voice showing how desesperated she were. "F-Faster" knowing damn well the squeal sounds proving she can't take it.

She proceded to say things, enabling you to understand that everything was happening normally.

Fingers curling in you hair. Greenish globes rolling inside her skull. The bit in her lip when you looked up, and she forced her mouth to close. Her vision starting to get blank. She was losing control - the proof were her hips, jerking close to you face, bed in distance.

"Cum Ellie, c'mon, I know you want it" she forces herself to hold, not giving it from you tone; she's stubborn.

Tongue flat, sliding against the nervous in the exposed red meat, you meet her eyes again. Tip of your pink muscle a inch away from her pussy, she low gasping in response.

She wanted so bad to cum, but she felt like that was embarrasing, like, she never have an orgasm while having head. What did you have different from the other girls?

"Cum, baby, c'mon" a sweet voice while you hold her waist, putting her hole more close for you to stretch you tongue inside. Using the rolls to reach all the walls, not forgeting any channels to tease. Ready to stop, you feel the squish in your mouth.

Lips getting soaked, dripping Ellie's cum while her eyes shut close for a minute.

"Good girl" you kiss her sensitive mound, her body squirming beneath yours.

Her finger grip tightly in you hair, scared that you might go away if she didn't hold you like that.

"Please... another one, need 'nother on" she pleaded, hips levitating to be close to you mouth again.

Round two. Fucking you exist to be setted on Ellie first thing to do in list. She never expected you to have her whimpering like a shit in your blanket - supposed to be you in this situation.

You give such a head. She will not get over it.

"Ohw r-right there" she told by mewling after you skilled tongue slides, hitting the curve of her entrance, again, close to her most sensitive part - that she hadn't found out about, you were the one who discovered it.

Her hands all desesperated to messy with you hair, what was once tidy and prepared for your birthday, became a straw. She were doing it on purpose, to keep you near her forever.

One hand still holding her waist, while the one secretly reach the between her legs. Grouping two fingers, you fidgetted with her inner walls. Finger sudden pumping in and out her sloppy-dripping cunt.

"S' good at this- hmm you'r s' go-good!" bleating, head moving side to side while buried in the pillow.

Getting a little tease, you were not the person to talk during it, you prefer focus on what you doing. Ellie was a exception.

"Have a girl better than me? Huh?" plumping faster, entrance adjusting against your fingers. A silly jealous panged in you. She didn't responded, however, sinked her hips in the mattress, forcing them to roll up again to meet your mouth eagerly. Lips not touching her. Finger starting to slow down, the last thrust curling and hitting her g-spot on purpose.

Feeling so good, Ellie cried when you seemed to be stopping "Nononono" she shakes head. "Nn-none better than 'u "

"Yeah? Sure?" she answered with a moan, body squirming in you bed.

"Suresure you you s' good. N-need u more much more" pleading to push your head to her pussy again.

You tsked. "If a making you cum again, you'll belong to me Ellie."

[stickyspeckledlight]

Pardon My French [Yan!Boothill x GN!Reader]

You fight back in the one way you can, or, at least, you try.

Ao3

Word Count: 2.2k

Tags: Reader is GN but Boothill calls them 'princess' once (reader is hurt by this disrespect), swearing. It's boothill. Oh and also there's some dead guys here and there but they're kinda glossed over (because reader sure does not wanna think about that too much)

Notes: Sup muddlefudgers it's me with a quickie. Didn't proofread this since I wrote this in mostly one go so sorry for any errors you may find lol. Also Boothill kinda sucks, but like. It's yandere so they always kinda suck. That's kinda stupid to put as a note isn't it now that I think about it huh. HOLY SHIT 2k words how tf did that happen---

(Written before 2.3)

Boothill is an opponent you have no hope of overpowering, much less escaping. How exactly do you outrun a Galaxy Ranger with an exorbitant bounty on his head? Much less one who manages to keep you attached to his hip all the while evading bounty hunters? The lifestyle alone is exhausting, and whenever there's a moment of downtime, you just go and hit the hay.

Suffice to say, there isn't much you can do to fight back. Not to mention that he needs far less sleep than you do thanks to his cybernetic enhancements (but seeing as how all but his head is gone, it'd be better to call it a butchering). Also thanks to his cybernetic enhancements, you now know very well what it's like to have all the bones in your hand nearly shatter.

If you want to fight back against him, you muse as your thoughts drift to a restful sleep, you'll have to utilize that silver tongue of yours (maybe more like rusty iron tongue, but improv shouldn't be too difficult).

You've taken great pains in observing your captor ("You call a guy takin' you to the stars over yonder a 'captor'? Tch, drop that talk before I think you have a hankering to be treated like one of my prisoners."). Your observations? Vigilant. Prefers his drinks to have a strong kick. A hand always lingering to draw his gun when need be. However, these are not going to aid you in your mission. Oh, no. They will not.

It is when you are wrapped in a blanket huddling next to a simmering fire that you are able to put your plans into motion.

"...those clock-sucking muddlefudgers!" Boothill seethes, venting all his frustrations to you as if hearing his woe didn't make you feel a bit giddy. He grumbles, throwing a piece of shredded cloth to the fire, unable to get rid of the fresh blood that stained it, "Ambushin' us in the middle of the night like that! Smart move I admit, but doesn't change that they got to see how pissed I can really get. Though I was done with them after that lil' scuffle, but seems not..."

You hum noncomittedly. "Kinda was a bummer to get my beauty sleep interrupted. One of those motherfuckers nearly shot me." And it's true. You can barely keep up with Boothill as is, after all. Sure, he'll drag you with him anyway, but when that does happen, he starts making demands of you. Better to use your own feet than the abilities of a needy cyborg, right?

Boothill hums in a way you can mistake as apologetic. "Yeah, ain't too peachy of them to do that darlin', those sons of a nice lady." He briefly frowns, like he's been met with a great offense, before throwing a pebble at some poor sap's corpse. This seems to have resolved his previous grievance. An amused huff escapes his lips. "Too dead to do anythin' more though." The rock embeds itself in the boy's chest with a meaty squelch. Although such a sight and sound is no longer foreign to you, you can't help but shiver and curl your toes, your mind flooded with the very real possibility that that could be you. Frankly, it's a miracle you've survived this long. You've pointed this conundrum to Boothill before: if he's supposedly doing this to keep you 'safe,' then why is he introducing you to dangers worse than a mugging in an alleyway, or a petty thief holding a store clerk at gunpoint?

His answer was a single bullet. The cut on your cheek is still healing.

("Darlin'," he coldly mutters to you, in the same tone he uses to an enemy before lodging a bullet in their skull, "maybe you oughtta think 'bout how lucky you are that I find myself real fond for you. Because if I didn't," the warm muzzle of his gun presses against your forehead, and his finger teases going in and out of the trigger guard, "let's just say nobody could guess that you've ever had such a pretty lil' face. 'Fraid the galaxy ain't to kind to dreamers like you.")

After that, all you really have to say is that your Ranger friend is the most incorrigible, selfish man you've had the displeasure of knowing.

Your lips twitch. "Mmm, you really did show these sons of a bitch what for, Boothill."

"Not enough," he admits, crossing his arms, "if these dumbashes thought they had a chance in the first place." Yet, a smirk crosses his face, "But...maybe this'll show 'em not to poke their head where it don't belong."

"But, if they're dumbasses in the first place, do you really think they'd be smart enough to realize that?"

He shrugs. You deflate a little; your plan isn't working in the slightest. "Then they get what they asked for," he leans his head back against the tree behind him, staring into the stars with an exasperated awe. The stars used to inspire you, to the point you bought an expensive telescope to observe them better. But that was when you weren't dragged into them against your will. If you do somehow escape your captor's clutches, you know that any aspirations for interastral travel you once bore will have fizzled into dust, like a dying star. Why explore the cosmos when all you've seen of it is death, thugs, and crime? Why willingly go into that, when you may either end up a corpse or worse: stumble into someone like Boothill.

Out of everything he's done to you, that is his greatest crime.

That strong accent with an off-kilter robotic filter snaps you out of your thoughts. You then realize that Boothill has been talking while you were spaced out. "Why the long face, darlin'? Yer lookin' a lil' outta sorts." There's something a little offputting about how his gruff voice...softens, when he says that. You aren't sure if it's something to be relieved about, or if you should start laughing.

"Ah, haha," you chuckle soullessly, "Nothing, just...thinking. Guess I'm pretty tired, huh? Those, um," you rack your mind for which profanity he used, "er, cocksuckers, really interrupted my sleep, y'know?"

"Can't say I didn't notice." He grumbles, almost childishly, "Made it pretty clear you got no sympathy for those muddlefudgers." He scrunches his nose with a frown.

Ah. You perk up. Maybe your plan, as subtle and soft as it is, is working. "Of course. No reason to have any love in my heart for motherfuckers who barge in on my beauty sleep." And life, but you don't want to set off an argument. Yet.

"..." He just nods. Begrudgingly. A small smile plays on your face.

"Seriously, how stupid do you have to be to degrade to the kinda dumbass that challenges the Boothill?" You tap your chin, to give the appearance that you're giving this any semblance of thought, "Either they like their boss's cock that much, or they really just want a good story to tell to their next fuck."

"Never knew you were this vulgar," He frowns. His countenance is exactly that of a child being forced to tip the swear jar, "Why doncha get along with tha' beauty sleep you were yapping on about?"

You cannot help but beam, "But they're just a bunch of motherfucking sons of bitches, Boothill! Much as these dumbasses had their heads stuck up their asses, they turned my sweet dreams into a pile of shitballs. They deserve to be remembered as the sorry little fuckers they are, right? I'm just giving them the appropriate eulogies!" Your curses are poorly strewn together, but it doesn't matter, when Boothill looks like he's sucked a lemon with how puckered his expression becomes.

"Sounds to me you ain't so tired after all," he huffs, "seein' how you're yappin' so spiritedly."

"Learned from the best, Ranger." You smirk, "If anyone should take the blame for corrupting me, it's gotta be y-o-u."

"Corrupt? Hardly," he spits out a laugh, "I think the words yer lookin' for are 'wisening up.'"

Well, he's not exactly wrong. Suddenly, your tongue tastes like a bitter thing, and it makes you want to scrape your tastebuds off. "Good point. You did help me realize that I fall for do-gooder facades too easily."

The instant you gave Boothill a little taste of the bitterness coating your tongue, he groans with a scowl. "This again? I don't got the energy for 'another one of yer tantrums."

You scoff. "Should've thought of that before kidnapping me, but I guess not all of us have basic human decency."

"Maybe," he hostilely drawls, "I ought to shut that little mouth of yours."

Gags aren't exactly pleasant, but you know what? Getting your mouth stuffed with some dirty rag is the least of what he's done to you. "I didn't take you for some baby who can't handle an ounce of criticism. I thought you liked the truth, Boothill. Or are you just that delusional?"

"Ain't delusional, princess," you recoil. 'Princess'? Really? The pain you feel at being called such a thing quickly fuels more anger. And you didn't think he could disrespect you more. You feel incensed in a way that's a complete 180 from how you anticipated the remainder of the night going---you were supposed to play with Boothill, not fight him in an unwinnable battle (because he's a cheater), but here you are. Emotions are quite a volatile thing, you suppose. "You said you was a dreamer; gushin' 'bout the stars, all about how you'd abandon all yer folks for even a chance to touch 'em. And lookat you, dreamer you, livin' your dream. And why are you livin' yer dream? Me," he lowly growls, "so don't get fussy with me."

"I," you swallow. Your teeth clench, your face contorting into a pained snarl, "didn't ask for any of this shit. Tell me, Ranger," you blankly register that you've stood up at some point, "did I ever say I wanted to live as a fugitive? See things like--like---" Your breath is uneven, as every horrible thing you've seen flashes in your mind like a film, "---like this?!" You gesture over to the corpses littered about the forest, all with a permanent look of shocked horror etched on their faces, with a smoking hole between their eyes. "Boothill," you gasp, subconsciously taking a step toward him--- subconsciously thinking about how much you want him to join the forest ground, "I wanted a fucking choice, on how I wanted to live my life---and you've put that square in the grave!" For some reason, you laugh, "I should've ignored you. Better yet, wait for you to die, and then I wouldn't have to be here," another humorous idea sparks in your mind (and you are too engrossed in your humor, in this near bout of insanity, to notice how Boothill's expression goes from a beast's to a calm, calculating predator's; blank and cold), "and hey, could've gotten a decent amount of cash to do with as I pleased." The hilarity is nearly too much for you to bear---you're clutching to your stomach, and you can hardly breathe now.

"(Name)," you hear seethed very, very near you, dripping with malice and a need to harm, "I think," cold, apathetic metal comes to your arm in a crushing grip, "you don't really mean that."

You laugh. Your arm feels a little funny, a little numb and sagging, but you just laugh. You laugh and laugh. You think about how you can curse and he's stuck with juvenile attempts at doing so; you think about how guts strewn about the forest floor really just looks like a bunch of spaghetti; you think about how funny it is that you've technically gotten your wish, though granted by a cunning genie.

And you think about how you'll never get to see your dreams accomplished. All of the anger, jovial despair, fear, and betrayal that you've felt gathers into the fuel for an ugly spectacle of your tears. Because although anger has been your boon companion, there's only so much you can take before you need to let it all out. Feeling returns to your arm; the metal has relinquished its hold. Your knees shake and collapse, but metal keeps you from taking the brunt of such damage. As your chest heaves, you finally, finally find it within yourself to ask the one question that has been taunting you for so long.

"I, I, I," you cough, "I loved you, Boothill. Why'd you have to ruin everything like this?"

He pursues his lip in a thin line, but as you cry, it relaxes---softens, even, and his revolver is put back in its holster.

"Darlin'," he quietly says, "leavin' you behind like that would've meant I'd never see you again. And," cold metal tips your head, to meet the dark eyes of a horribly broken man, "if I was sent back in time to make that same choice...I'd do it again." His other arm wraps around you, stroking your back, but cold, inhuman metal is no comfort to you.

Your first kiss tastes like your dreams: of salt, showered over budding blooms.

[malwaredykes]

honestly tbh leigh's relationship with the ncr is REALLY funny because. she hates them. she has 0 allegiance to them. she doesnt help THEM she resolves matters in ways that often happen to benefit them in some way or simply prevents needless loss of life, but it never is about them and aside from that shes always stealing, sabotaging, disrespecting them, turning people against them, encouraging members to desert, putting their legitimacy into question, especially the legitimacy of them being in the mojave in the first place, and exposing their ineffectiveness. she has 0 intention of venerating The Republic that she comes from. she thinks its hilarious that anyone should take that stuff seriously.

but she ends up being a celebrity to them. because crocker likes her despite everything, and hsu likes her, and because shes from new cali but important in the mojave, and because shes done stuff like calm things down in the freeside and help at refugee camps and retake nelson. which makes her even more of a problem in a way. if she were Only a nuisance thatd be one thing, theyd just put a bounty on her. but shes a celebrity. she has a status in new vegas and in the ncr. shes kind of untouchable. and her crimes and sabotage can never quite be proven. of course to the higher ups theres having proof and theres Knowing. shit only gets worse when she and her buddies storm the legion fort and kill caesar and free a bunch of slaves because like. this strengthens her vip status AND is absolute humiliation to the ncr. like they cant take the credit and instead they have to live with the fact that what a lot of them dismissed as some upstart with a bunch of clueless locals backing her did something they never couldve achieved. "oh this was pretty much an angry mob of townies and misfits" yeah and they got caesar in his own fortress. shes out there making the ncr look like shit and pointing people to seeing the ncr as the problem and yet she never does it in a way that she could be prosecuted for. by the time the ncr realizes shes a lot of trouble they also know they would lose a TREMENDOUS amount of support if they did something to her

like shes never openly hostile. she never provokes open hostility. shes not Openly Antagonistic to the ncr but its not exactly a secret shes got something planned and would like them to leave. young ncr recruits seeing her are like Omggg ma'am its an honor!!!! ^_^. there are officers and rangers whod be REALLY appalled if you said anything bad about her because Well she sure has done a lot more for us here on site than any of you government people. and that was her goal. that is the game shes playing. folks youll eventually realize its not the ncr that has done good in the mojave despite its flaws, but yours were the hands doing the work, and all the reasons one might consider ncr good or necessary are within you, Are you, the people who joined hoping theyd make a difference. folks youll realize that the ncr has to lie and obfuscate and make bullshit orders and directives to maintain claim over that good work and whitewash its own crimes. folks, i have this ex-ncr friend here. do you know what the ncr got him? complicity in atrocities (lyrical miracle), ptsd, apocalyptic thinking, countless biases to unpack, hopelessness, enemies where he shouldve made friends. and so on. and do you know what he got from *me*? a chance to actually do good. a chance to question those false beliefs of his. a friend. new opportunities. 40 rolls of duct tape. new rifle. lots and lots of soda. TWO toy trucks. and an apple. just ask him

[inkskinned]

you were raised in comparison.

it wasn't always obvious (well. except for the times that it was), but you internalized it young. you had to eat what you didn't like, other people are going hungry, and you should be grateful. you had to suck it up and walk on the twisted ankle, it wasn't broken, you were just being a baby. you were never actually suffering, people obviously had it worse than you did.

you had a roof over your head - imagine! with the way you behaved, with how you talked back to your parents? you're lucky they didn't kick you out on your ass. they had friends who had to deal with that. hell, you have friends who had to deal with that. and how dare you imply your father isn't there for you - just because he doesn't ever actually talk to you and just because he's completely emotionally checked out of your life doesn't mean you're not fucking lucky. think about your cousins, who don't even get to speak to their dad. so what if yours has a mean streak; is aggressive and rude. at least you have a father to be rude to you.

you really think you're hurting? you were raised in a home! you had access to clean water! you never so much as came close to experiencing a real problem. sure, okay. you have this "mental illness" thing, but teenagers are always depressed, right. it's a phase, you'll move on with your life.

what do you mean you feel burnt out at work. what do you mean you mean you never "formed healthy coping mechanisms?" we raised you better than that. you were supposed to just shoulder through things. to hold yourself to high expectations. "burning out" is for people with real jobs and real stress. burnout is for people who have sick kids and people who have high-paying jobs and people who are actually experiencing something difficult. recently you almost cried because you couldn't find your fucking car keys. you just have lost your sense of gratitude, and honestly, we're kind of hurt. we tell you we love you, isn't that enough? if you want us to stick around, you need to be better about proving it. you need to shut up about how your mental health is ruined.

it could be worse! what if you were actually experiencing executive dysfunction. if you were really actually sick, would you even be able to look at things on the internet about it? you just spend too much time on webMD. you just like to freak yourself out and feel like you belong to something. you just like playing the victim. this is always how you have been - you've always been so fucking dramatic. you have no idea how good you have it - you're too fucking sensitive.

you were like, maybe too good of a kid. unwilling to make a real fuss. and the whole time - the little points, the little validations - they went unnoticed. it isn't that you were looking for love, specifically - more like you'd just wanted any one person to actually listen. that was all you'd really need. you just needed to be witnessed. it wasn't that you couldn't withstand the burden, but you did want to know that anyone was watching. these days, you are so accustomed to the idea of comparison - you don't even think you belong in your own communities. someone always fits better than you do. you're always the outlier. they made these places safe, and then you go in, and you are just not... quite the same way that would actually-fit.

you watch the little white ocean of your numbness lap at your ankles. the tide has been coming in for a while, you need to do something about it. what you want to do is take a nap. what you want to do is develop some kind of time machine - it's not like you want your life to stop, not completely, but it would really nice if you could just get everything to freeze, just for a little while, just until you're finished resting. but at least you're not the worst you've been. at least you have anything. you're so fucking lucky. do you have any concept of the amount of global suffering?

a little ant dies at the side of your kitchen sink. you look at its strange chitinous body and think - if you could just somehow convince yourself it is enough, it will finally be enough and you can be happy. no changes will have to be made. you just need to remember what you could lose. what is still precious to you.

you can't stop staring at the ant. you could be an ant instead of a person, that is how lucky you are. it's just - you didn't know the name of the ant, did you. it's just - ants spend their whole life working, and never complain. never pull the car over to weep.

it's just - when it died, it curled up into a tight little ball.

something kind of uncomfortable: you do that when you sleep.

[rapidhighway]

Ahahaaaa oh my goddd can you not make "ADHD undereating" and "ADHD overeating" into a competition of who has it worse and who has nothing to complain about, that'd be awesome

[crystalkitty1220]

Man I wonder where the leader of the fear realm could've gone, it's alMOST LIKE NEVIN HAS AN

[sherlock-is-ace]

.

[skibasyndrome]

I'm about to throw all my academic values overboard to get this fucking article done

[mooniladragon]

per my last post...

that's right.

im gonna read homestuck^2. i heard it sucks. i just ended day one of me reading it. in my opinion, it does.

DISCLAIMER

please dont hurt me for what i think about it im not attacking your opinions im stating my own... please.. im only an extremely self-aware and mature fourteen-and-a-half year old.. wah

[deityofhearts]

the moment a character doesn’t act the way you think they should y’all are so quick to call them stupid and useless and claim that you would do better if you were them (I promise you that no, you would not do better than them if you were in the same exact potion as them under the same exact circumstances, it’s bold of y’all to assume you would and I do wish that I had to power to toss y’all in said situations and watch y’all fail tbh)

[unproduciblesmackdown]

ppl will be explaining how a difference is a difference & not a Deviation from a Superior state, & people who are the ones considered Default Normal (superior) will be like "okay....to be polite....i Might say i consider Some aspects of Some people's existence mere 'difference' & not being less than me...." as like hey i'm a Benevolent god. i still actually get to consider you worse & don't have to "humor" anything that challenges my superiority. if you only want everything to fit into the norm then it will all come back to upholding the norm. thinking of people's analysis of their own realities as equally legimate as being like Obscure, Irrelevant, Superficial & then using that reasoning to justify dismissing them. same as worrying that the [Different Lessers (Others(tm))] as Everywhere = a manifestation of the awareness that, yeah, respecting them as equals Does threaten your norm which is smothering everything everywhere. ppl who need to lock in the idea of Borders around personhood like um Yes they're all delineated separate Identities outside any hierarchy & so i think it's relevant to for some reason push back against "ohh so now Everyone's queer" like why not. why couldn't they be. what if they were. what if queerness was everywhere b/c it's ideological not a cordoned off Alternative Identity that is accommodated by focusing on Love(tm) as the new border around whose existence we might begrudgingly accept at arm's length (i.e. being otherwise "normal"! just imagine swapping out the binary gender (or, deep breath, presumed Private Parts) of one partner in an exclusive romantic lifelong nuclear family marriage, & that is Gay / Trans Rights. still gross but maybe we can do it, as long as they don't talk about it or shove it in our faces or even exist for more than one encounter w/us in our lives b/c what are the odds). evergreen laughing at someone suggesting ableist logic might be embedded in language of past & present b/c it's just So little to ask for that it's irrelevant but it's also So much to ask for that of course i'm not gonna do anything more than pass it along like "this is why i don't take ableism seriously" like yeah it's the disabled randos like it's the individual cringe teens(tm) ruining [the cishets would take Gender seriously otherwise!!!] & that's why you won't think about it or do anything about it & continue being comfortable with the norm & resent that actually their Difference is Less & disability is something worse that ppl "excuse" & all these ways that people are & all these things that they do are funny & weird & inexplicable & etc & one can't possibly be cruising along perpetuating a hierarchy with a sense that you're reasonable, well meaning, kind, etc etc & thus Justified, systemic oppression definitely wants to maximize how uncomfortable & arduous it feels to everyone rather than push to make it more streamlined & rewarding to embrace, or at least accept, whatever superiority over others you're afforded

[theclearblue]

I'm gonna vent in the tags so scroll past if ya don't wanna read all that 😃

[bunnyb34r]

Holy fuck people on nextdoor are worse than twitter

I used the "haha 😂" reaction on some lady's post ab these little octopuses she crocheted on a beer tab, bc I thought they were clever and cute

And she fucking private messaged me asking me "what's so funny about my post?"

Like chill??? I didnt mean anything by it besides it made me smile and laugh??

[helloidkwhatimdoing-0]

Okay i think im gonna go shower and then lie face down until i fall sleep bc i rly am not having a great time right now lol

Hopefully tomorrow will be better