one day, you’ll celebrate your birthdays over there, and your wishes may turn softer, more resigned—no longer the desperate wishes you make now. these weeks of struggle will be no more than a fleeting thought, something you’ll brush off with a small giggle, then bury back in the deepest, dustiest shelves of your mind. you’ll look back at the nights you spent wondering if this was it, and you’ll laugh, and laugh, and laugh—a hollow but somehow full sound, at how little you knew then.
please help a displaced family of 7 in gaza https://gofund.me/e231bb99
Keanu on his Norton Commando
the fact that scammers are consistently using real palestinian stories to scam people is genuinely sickening. i’ve gotten at least 10 asks in my ask box just this week and not only is it annoying, it’s sad. plus if you’re going to try to scam people, be less obvious…. your paypal account called “GoFundMe” is verrrrrryyyy convincing buddy
Do y’all watch a movie see someone from your dr and like
proper fed — simon “ghost” riley
simon ghost riley x fem!chubby reader
warnings: tried to mimick his accent in the writing but i probably failed cause im extremely southern
when ghost comes home, he’s all worn-out muscle and quiet exhaustion, his broad frame leaning against the doorway as he watches you from beneath that ever-present balaclava. but the second he sees you—curled up in one of his old shirts, all soft and waiting for him—his shoulders ease just a little.
“missed you, love,” he mutters, voice thick and gruff as he strides over, pulling you into his arms like he’s been starvin’ for the feel of you. his hands, rough and calloused from too many fights, find your waist, squeezing just enough to make you shiver.
“you’ve lost weight again,” you scold, smoothing your hands over his chest, frowning at the way his body feels sharper, leaner.
“been busy, ain’t i?” he grumbles, but you’re already dragging him toward the couch, settling yourself in his lap as you grab the plate you made for him earlier. He doesn’t argue—not when you’re all warm and snug against him, not when he can feel the soft press of your thighs over his own.
the telly’s on, some football match playing, and he barely glances at it as you lift a forkful of food to his lips. “c’mon, si,” you murmur, tapping it lightly against his mask. “up.”
with a quiet sigh, he pulls it up just enough, letting you see the sharp cut of his jaw, the hint of stubble he never quite gets rid of. and when he takes that first bite, his eyes flutter shut for a brief second, a low groan rumbling in his chest.
“bloody hell, you tryna fatten me up, sweetheart?” he mutters, cockney drawl thicker now that he’s home, safe, warm.
you grin, feeding him another bite. “maybe. can’t have you wasting away, yeah?”
his arms tighten around you, one hand settling on your hip, thumb rubbing slow circles over the softness there. “gonna make me proper spoiled, you are.”
but he doesn’t complain—doesn’t stop you from feeding him, doesn’t stop himself from pressing his face into your neck between bites, inhaling deep, like he’s trying to memorize the way you smell. and when the match ends and he’s full, relaxed, his hands stay where they are, holding you close, keeping you exactly where you belong.
an extremely overdue vacation with spencer on the coast somewhere sunny. ⋆˚꩜。
staying in bed till noon and leaving the beach well after sunset.
the two of you drift off into naps under the rays of light, a warmth that tingles pleasantly on your skin, bodies draped over soft towels. spencer makes sure to reapply your sunscreen every two hours.
the sun brings out a light dusting of freckles on his chest; you trace along them, stringing them together like constellations.
spencer lets you hold onto him as he walks to the deeper end, his height posing an advantage. he relishes in the soft press of you behind him, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, leaning his head back so he can catch your lips.
the orange glow of the sun illuminates his skin beautifully, you're doomed to admire him the entire time. fortunately for you, he does the same, leaving you both reeling, sheepishly ducking your heads, a pink flush accompanying the light sunburn.
They’re making Joel Miller so fucking gray in the second season of this show…my coochie is not behaving y’all. IM GETTING OVERWHELMED! I need to be snowed in with that man in a cabin a bit ways off from Jackson on patrol and fucked STEWPID for a couple of days until the storm passes. NEED DAT OLD MAN SO FUCKING BAD YOU GUYS DON’T FUCKING GET IT!!
That's all I need fr 💔
Do you have any kinks?
peace and quiet
hello!! my name is fawn ⋆.˚ eighteen years old ⋆.˚ i write things sometimes, feel free to indulge in them!! <3
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