saw someone including "Mandate of Heaven" as one of those christian terms tumblr likes to use to sound profound. which i get where you're coming from but t☝️hat one is chinese
Sam cvms his pants from sucking his pregnant wife’s tits
Oh definitely, he gets all needy now whiney and just begs his wife to get just one more taste, grinding into his pants and shaking from excitement 🧘🏾♀️
sam winchester x reader where he kisses the readers underwear bow while eating her out for the first time, also trying to understand what she likes and doesn’t like, hearing her whines and begs, and he comes in his pants untouched. i just know sam is the type of person to gain pleasure from his girl enjoying herself 😩 unwell from thinking about this
thanks babe <3
oh u are cooking
KISSES DOWN LOW
wordcount: 1511
summary: the first time Sam Winchester goes down on you– tiny bows and utter devotion to his girl.
warnings: sam winchester x fem!reader, established relationship, mild cursing, porn w little plot, smut (making out, grinding, fingering, oral/fem!receiving) !!!
Sam and you had been dating for a while now, a couple weeks maybe. It was amazing, you couldn’t possibly have asked for a better boyfriend. Sam is sweet, attentive, smart… Everything you could want in a man and more– you’re lucky, really.
It’s fairly ‘new’ so it hadn’t gotten much farther than making out and maybe some hand stuff whenever Dean left y’all alone in whatever shitty room you’re sharing for the week.
Tonight was no different. Dean had disappeared about two hours ago with some excuse about ‘following a lead’ despite very clearly heading to the bar. The cowboy movie the eldest brother had rented was still playing on the TV– mostly background noise given both of y’all are busy in your respective reading. Sam is sitting beside you on the bed, long legs spread awkwardly in the too-small mattress to hold up his laptop. You’re sitting crossed legged on the mattress, an old lore book on your lap which’s letters started blurring together about an hour ago. Your eyes skim over the same paragraph for what feels like the hundredth time before drifting sideways instead, landing on your boyfriend’s profile illuminated by the glow of his laptop– his brows are pinched together in concentration, one hand absently rubbing at his jaw while the other taps against the keyboard. His hair is messy from constantly running his fingers through it which Dean would definitely tease him for if he were here, making some comment about ‘needing a trim’ or something like that.
Cute. Annoyingly cute for a man his size.
Almost like he can feel you staring, Sam glances over, lips twitching instinctively upon catching you looking, his dimples showing. “What?” He asks, clearly amused.
“Nothing” You huff softly, it was half-defensive and half-fond at his boyish grin.
A quiet chuckle leaves him, warm and genuine as he closes his laptop– almost like he was waiting for an excuse to finally get a break from endless research. “You haven’t flipped a page n’an hour” He points out.
“That I haven’t” You hum in response, closing your book and setting it down somewhere on the bed. “Became too much ‘bout twenty minutes ago” You burrow your face into his chest, easing into the familiar comfort of his warmth.
Sam doesn’t tease you– he could– instead, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer while pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Deserve a break then” His voice rumbles softly beneath your cheek, chest warm against yours. For a moment, neither of you move.
The movie keeps playing quietly in the background– muffled gunshots, old country music… But it all fades underneath the slow drag of Sam’s fingers up and down your back– comfortable, intimate. You tilt your head just enough to look up at him, chin resting against his chest. “You saying I worked hard?”
Sam huffs out a quiet laugh, dimples deepening. “Mhm– very demanding job, staring at the same page for an hour”
“Oh, shut up”
Your hand pushes halfheartedly at his face, but he catches it easily, large fingers wrapping around your wrist just to keep you close. The smile on his face softens, puppy eyes fixed on you. Not enough to make you uncomfortable– never that– but enough that warmth starts creeping into your cheeks under the weight of his attention, a nervous smile on your face. “What?” You murmur quietly.
“C’mere” The words are barely out before he’s leaning down to kiss you. Slow at first– lazy, warm, familiar– the kind of kiss that feels like being wrapped up in a blanket after a long day.
Somewhere along the moment, Sam’s hands gently coax you onto your back. His broad chest is now hovering over you, shoulders tense from holding his bodyweight up. One hand carefully slides under (his) your shirt, slowly easing it over your body without even breaking away from the kiss. He’s moving out of instinct now– fully focused on you and your body. His mouth trails from yours down to your neck, kissing his way down the sensitive skin while his thumb gently brushes your ribs. You’re completely lost in the feeling of him, solid and warm, his lips working that sensitive spot below your jaw that always makes you melt for him– legs opening to accommodate him between them and hands going around to clasp at his shoulders.
Your gaze is half lidded, lips parted in soft breaths while watching your boyfriend slowly kiss down your torso. Once Sam reaches your navel, he pauses– looking up at you with wide, pleading eyes– quietly asking for permission. “Mhm” You nod softly, fingers threading through his hair to brush it away from his face.
Sam doesn’t need anymore encouragement, quickly turning his attention back to the skin below him. He’s face to face with your clothed core, all his focus onto the lacy fabric. God. He hadn’t noticed the tiny bow on the front– how hadn’t he noticed that? A low, choked groan escapes him, eyes fluttering shut before reverently kissing it. His thumbs hook on the elastic, pulling it off your body– his mouth follows the movement, soft little pecks all over your legs before turning his attention back up to your core. You’re too distracted to spot how he pockets the underwear– not that you would’ve minded.
“God” He groans under his breath. It’s the first time he’s seen your pussy this close. He’s seen literal angels before– he’d still choose this as the most beautiful sight in the world– you. Spread out beneath him, glistening with need. “So pretty” He adds quietly, finally meaning down to lick a slow stripe up your folds.
“Shit, Sam–” You moan, thighs trying to clap around his head but your boyfriend’s hands are fast to hold them down, leaving you open for him.
He starts slow, long stripes of his tongue over you weeping slit– testing, assessing. Like everything else, Sam takes eating you out with attention to every detail, testing and pushing to see what things made you moan louder for him. Each sound, each sharp breath makes his hips subconsciously press down into the mattress– not out of greed– but purely out of overstimulation. The feeling of your legs wrapping around him, your taste on his tongue, everything is too much for Sam. God you were perfect.
“Need you, Sam– please” You protest in a needy moan, hips bucking up to meet his mouth in a desperate attempt to bring him even closer.
“What’dyou need, honey?” Sam asks, warm breath fanning over your core as he pulls back just enough to look up at your face. He’s wrecked– his pupils are blown, his hair’s a mess, there’s a patch of wetness surrounding his mouth.
You’re too far gone (and embarrassed) to voice exactly what you want, instead leading his hand to your entrance. The focused frown on your boyfriend’s face eases at the feeling of your hand on his, quickly understanding and taking over– one of his long fingers slowly pushing in. You have to hold back a literal sob– the stretch of your walls around him being overwhelming in all the best ways. He starts slow. Deep, careful curls of his finger before easing another one in.
It doesn’t take long for you to start moaning for him again, your hips pushing down to meet each thrust like you can’t bear the thought of being empty. Sam’s tongue starts lapping at your clit, lips wrapping around it with maddening pressure. Each suck of his mouth is accompanied by him humping the bed– shameless groans and moans escaping him and vibrating against you. “M’gonna–” You try to warn him, but Sam simply hums against you. Apparently already knowing your body better than you. He simply doubles down his efforts, each curl of his fingers pressing deeper inside you while he keeps making out with your clit. If you knew any better, you’d say he’s enjoying it just as much (or more) than you are– but you’re too busy coming undone to notice it.
Sam works you through it, drawing it out as much as possible. Slowly thrusting his fingers in and out while peppering soft kisses to your thighs. He waits until your breathing evens out before slowly pulling his digits out of your pussy, sitting back on his heels to taste them– eyes closing in bliss with a shameless groan.
“Sam–” You protest in embarrassment– though your attention is pulled elsewhere when you notice the damp patch on the front of his jeans. “You didn’t” Your voice is etched with awed disbelief, a whole new wave of arousal flooding down to your core.
Your boyfriend shrugs like it’s the most natural thing in the world, finally pulling his fingers away from his mouth before leaning down to kiss you. It’s dizzying– you can still taste yourself on his tongue, mixed with something uniquely Sam that always manages to make you melt. “Couldn’t help myself” He murmurs against your mouth, pressing one last, fleeting kiss to your lips.
you know what, fuck it be free, keep reading that bad fan fiction, keep writing that bad fanfiction, keep using y/n, keep staying up to 4 a.m reading x reader, to be cringe is too be free
Summary: You love giving PDA to your boyfriend, Ray. One day, you decide to bring him lunch at work. His friends give him a hard time about it, but Ray ignores them in order to give you your own PDA.
Format: Short Story
Word Count: 1.6k
Genre: Alternate Universe; Romance
Additional Tags/Warnings: no use of (Y/N); no Long Walk; no Major; some mention of Clementine; setting is modern-ish; everyone is aged up slightly; everyone works construction (except reader); minimal research went into how construction works (apologies for inaccuracies); everyone is on a company baseball team (thank Ray for that one); strong language; suggestive situations; reader likes PDA; teasing from the boys
Author’s Note: HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!!! ♥😍🥰 May you have someone who is not afraid to show that they love you. Enjoy!
P.S. Click here to see what other stories I’ve cooked/plan on cooking this month.
P.P.S. Please be kind, as this is my first time writing for this fandom and its characters. Also know that I DO NOT OWN THE LONG WALK OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS.
“I’m telling you guys – octopus does not taste like chicken!” The others chuckled at Olson’s remark.
Everyone – Pete, Olson, Art, Collie, Stebbins, Barkovitch, Harkness, Curley, and Ray – was busy fixing up the part of city hall that got destroyed by the recent storm. The frame was almost done, and after that would come the electrical business followed by putting up the walls and flooring. It was hard work, but time seemed to fly by for the men as they talked, laughed, and argued with one another. Right now, the subject was food. Olson brought it up when he talked about his anniversary dinner with his wife, Clementine, at some fancy restaurant in the neighboring town.
“I would’ve been fine just making dinner with her at home,” Olson went on, “but she insisted on making the whole night special.”
“Maybe she wanted a break,” Pete suggested. “God knows you can put it away.” He got a middle finger as a response, which made everyone bust out laughing.
“I don’t blame you, Hank,” Art chimed in. “Your wife is a great cook. Mmm, she could make plain bread taste like cake, I swear.” The men nodded in agreement, except Curley. “You ever had Clementine’s strawberry cake bread, Curley?” Art asked the newest and youngest of the group. He stopped measuring long enough to answer, “No, I haven’t.”
“Oh, you’re missing out! Hank, tell Clementine to make some for tomorrow.”
“No.”
“Come on, man! Don’t keep all your wife’s cooking to yourself!” The others pleaded along with Art, the thought of Clementine’s bread making their mouths water. Strawberries sounded particularly good to Ray. His brain began trying to remember if there was still some in his fridge.
“Fuck!” he suddenly exclaimed.
“What?” Pete asked.
“I forgot to pack my lunch,” Ray sighed, pinching his nose in frustration. “I usually make it the night before, but…”
His hesitation made everyone stop. “But?” Pete inquired.
Ray’s mouth was tightly zipped shut. He remembered why he forgot to pack his lunch last night. It had to do with his girlfriend – you – and how you wore that cute pajama set for him and how you offered him a back massage because he had been griping about his day and how that led to you two…
He blushed and quickly turned away. “Nothing,” he finally let out, hoping that if he looked like he was working the others would go back to doing the same. Unfortunately, it didn’t take long for the men to guess what Ray was hiding, and even less time to start shitting on him.
Barkovitch was first. “Oh ho ho! Seems like someone was busy last night!”
“I’ll be damned,” Collie muttered.
“It must’ve been good if it has you forgettin’ stuff, Garraty,” Olson commented.
“Guys, let’s not,” Harkness tried.
“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Stebbins piped up. “She’s all over him all the time.”
“Yeah, you’re right!” Art agreed. “Always hangin’ on him and huggin’ and kissin’ on him. Remember our last game, she was blowing kisses from the stands the entire time?” He started making kissy faces, then the others followed one by one. Barkovitch took it a step further by miming a couple making out. He then turned his attention to Harkness and tried pulling him in to play pretend. The man ran away with the other hot on his tail. Everyone except Ray, Pete, and Curley howled at the scene.
“What’s wrong with Ray’s girlfriend loving him?” Curley innocently asked.
“Absolutely nothing,” Pete stated. “Come on, boys. Let Ray and his girl be young and in love. And let us get back to it.” They all shook their heads but ultimately listened to their “leader.” Ray really tried to concentrate, but the words of his friends were mingling with all his memories of you and him.
They were right; you were always showering Ray with love in big and small ways.
You made sure he got lots of hugs and kisses before he left so he could “make it through work.”
You showed up to all the company baseball games and loudly cheered him on.
Your hand was always in his when you two took a stroll through the neighborhood, or went grocery-shopping, or sat down for a movie.
Whenever you joined him and that boys for a drink at the bar, you would do random things like play with his hair, wrap yourself around his arm, rest your head on his shoulder, or randomly smooch him on the cheek or ear.
Was it all a bit much? Honestly, Ray hadn’t thought hard about it before. He just knew that’s how you were. It wasn’t that big of a deal… right?
Suddenly, a car horn tore through his thoughts. Everyone instinctively walked to the edge of the building to see what was going on. The city hall’s tiny parking lot wasn’t too far from the construction site, and there weren’t that many cars there except essential people working on the functioning side of the building. One car stood out, though – yours.
You quickly got out and make your way towards them. Ray found his feet leading him to you. Once he got close, his mouth took over. “What are you doing here?”
“’Hello’ to you, too!” you replied cheerily. “I was getting ready for work when it dawned on me that you didn’t take a lunch with you. So, I made you something!” You held up one of his old lunch boxes. “Ham and cheese sandwich. An apple. Chips. Water. And for dessert, a couple of those oatmeal chocolate chip cookies you love. Oh, and this!” You quickly leaned in to press a kiss to Ray’s lips. However, he took a small step back, which caught you off guard. You just shook it off, immediately changing course so your sweet lips landed on his cheek.
You looked past his shoulder and saw the others staring at you. You waved at them. “Hi, boys!” They all waved back and shouted various greetings at you. “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” Pete asked. You pointed to Ray. “Bringing this one lunch!”
The boys audibly awed at your sweetness. “Isn’t that sweet?” Collie asked.
“So sweet, I’m getting diabetes,” Stebbins joked.
“What about the rest of us?” Olson pointed out.
“Sorry! I don’t love you as much as I love Ray!”
“Oh, we know how much you love Ray!” Barkovitch yelled before miming a couple making out again. The boys were between laughing and shoving him to knock it off. You began to giggle, but one quick look at Ray made you stop. He didn’t seem to be enjoying this.
“You get paid to move wood, not look at me, motherfuckers!” he turned around to shout. The boys jeered at him. “Come on, Ray. That’s no way to talk in front of your lady,” Pete said. “Now, why don’t you kiss and make up?” Everyone rallied behind him by shouting random words of encouragement to you both.
Ray let out a sigh and turned back to you. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. And you don’t have to kiss me, if you don’t want to.”
Ray’s eyes widened in surprise at your remark. He then took the time to study you for a moment. Disappointment, embarrassment, and shyness radiated off you at your own suggestion. It didn’t suit you, he realized.
The bright smile that came after you hugged and kissed him to death suited you.
Your loud and cheerful voice that made his name sound so great suited you.
The look of pure love in your eyes that was meant only for him even in a sea of single, more eligible fishes suited you.
That’s how you were, and he loved you. And it was time for him to really show you.
Ray set his lunch box on the ground and gently cradled your face in his hands. You held your breath, stunned at the shift and anxious for what was to come. Your boyfriend looked deep into your eyes and brought you in for a deep kiss. Neither of you paid any mind to the whoops and hollers of the group. You were too busy enjoying the moment.
Ray made sure the kiss lasted for a good long while before pulling away so you could catch your breath. Your eyes slowly opened, and you were greeted with a big, proud smile. “That was…” you trailed off, overcome with emotion.
“I know,” Ray said. He got closer to your face. “But I’m not done yet.”
Before you could react, he placed his arms just so and dipped you back for another passionate kiss. The cheers from the others got even louder, and the smiles on you and Ray’s faces got even bigger.
That lasted for another minute before Ray pulled back to look at you. You were in such a daze. “You are so…” you trailed off again. “I know,” Ray repeated.
He slowly pulled you up, keeping his arms around you so you were flush against him. “You’re just so good to me, and I wanted to return the favor. I want you to know how much I love you.”
“I love you too, Ray.”
With that, Ray picked up his lunch box, gave you one last hug and kiss, then skipped his way back to work. You waved after him and then the others, who were still trying to pick their jaws off the floor at the bold and spontaneous display of affection. Ray sat his stuff down and resumed his post. He stopped long enough to ask, “Hey, what’s wrong with me loving my girlfriend?”
Author’s Note 2: Electric Boogaloo: Thank you so much for making it to the end! I ask that you NOT post this story as your own, please. Instead, give it a like/review/bookmark/reblog/all of the above wherever you read it.
Hey Americans, if you're spiraling about war coming to your doorstep, get the fuck over yourself.
No, seriously. This isn’t The Blitz. You are not in London in 1940, and no one is going to be blacking out your windows while your kids cry in bunkers. You are not going to be hiding from air raids. You are not going to be on the receiving end of war because America does not receive war. America delivers it.
The United States doesn’t get invaded. It invades. It doesn’t get bombed. It bombs. It has military bases in over 70 countries. It has enough nukes to turn the whole planet into dust several times over. If anyone even tried to touch American soil, the response would be so devastating that it wouldn’t even be a fight it would be a warning to the rest of the world.
So no, you’re not brave or insightful or ahead of the curve for doomposting about WW3 like you’re starring in a gritty survival film. You’re just catastrophizing from the safety of your air-conditioned home, where DoorDash still delivers and TikTok still works. You’re anxious, and I get it. But don’t confuse anxiety with lived war experience. You're not the oppressed. You're not the target. You're a bystander, at worst.
War is already here — it just doesn’t look like bombs over Brooklyn. It looks like drone strikes on brown kids you’ll never learn the names of. It looks like the U.S. sponsoring coups, destabilizing governments, and sucking the wealth out of entire regions. It looks like the military-industrial complex siphoning billions while people in Flint still don’t have clean water.
So if you’re American and scared of war coming to you, remember: It already came. You just weren't the one bleeding.
You live in the belly of the beast start acting like it.
Every few months, the U.S. dips its toe into some international tension and suddenly every American on the internet starts spiraling like they’re in a war film. "Oh no, are we going to get nuked?" "Is WW3 coming to us
It’s such a uniquely American thing to only care about global conflict when there’s even a microscopic chance it could affect you. Never mind that America has been destabilizing governments, drone striking children, and funding proxy wars for literal decades. That was all fine. That was "just foreign policy." But now that you think you might be inconvenienced? Now it's terrifying? Now it’s real?
You are not Syria. You are not Gaza. You are not Ukraine. You are not Afghanistan. You are the country that does that to other people and then panics when gas prices go up.
So please. Grow up. You live in the empire. You benefit from the empire. The only bombs falling in your neighborhood are ones you made memes about or forgot entirely.
Be scared of your rent.
Be scared of your healthcare system.
Be scared of the fact your government would rather fund another war than fix your roads.
But don’t pretend you’re a war victim in waiting you’re just American.
in which . . . chris can’t resist fucking you in the morning
warnings . . . smut, cockwarming, unprotected sex, making out, praise, use of pet names, soft!dom!chris. (no somnophilia!!)
written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)
POSITIONS WRITING MARATHON . . . fic #6
it’s 6:30 a.m. and the sun hasn’t fully risen yet. the room is bathed in soft blue-gray light, quiet except for the steady hum of the fan and the lazy rustle of sheets. your eyes are half-closed, still drifting somewhere between sleep and consciousness, and chris is beside you, warm, tousled, bare-chested. his arm is already draped over your waist, fingers curling slightly like they don’t know how to let go of you even in his sleep. he shifts a little, breath warm against your neck, and then… he kisses your shoulder. slow. soft. like it’s instinct. like his mouth just belongs there. “you awake?” he murmurs, voice gravelly, ruined by sleep. you hum, pressing your back against his chest. “barely.”
“mm. good,” he whispers, nosing along your jaw. “just stay right here.” you feel him smile against your skin before his lips find your neck, slow, warm, and unhurried. it’s not a kiss meant to wake you up. it’s a kiss that says i missed you even in my dreams. you turn to face him, eyes still heavy, and he looks wrecked in the prettiest way. messy hair, swollen lips, that sleepy look in his eyes that makes your stomach flutter.
“you always kiss me like that before sunrise?” you tease, voice soft. he grins, lazy and dangerous. “only when you sleep in my shirt.” you glance down, his shirt hangs off your shoulder, thin and wrinkled. no bra. just skin and fabric and heat building between you. “you gonna start something you can’t finish, chris?” you murmur. his hand slips under the shirt, fingers grazing your hip. “not a chance.”
the kiss starts slow, just a brush of lips, lazy and sweet. then he deepens it, one hand sliding to the back of your neck, the other gripping your waist like he needs you closer. your fingers curl into his hair, tugging just enough to pull a groan from his throat. he rolls you onto your back, never breaking the kiss, moving over you like he’s done it a thousand times. his knee slots between your thighs, his mouth claiming yours again, deeper, messier. your breaths start coming faster, mouths moving like you’ve got nowhere to be. because you don’t. “you know,” he mumbles against your lips, “we could sleep in…”
“you think i’m sleeping after that kiss?” he laughs, low and warm, and then kisses you again. and again. and again. hands exploring slowly, lips trailing fire down your neck, across your collarbone, under the hem of his shirt. every touch feels like a question he’s already answered a hundred times.
his shirt rides higher up your body with every kiss, and you swear it’s the only thing keeping you from coming completely undone. his hand slips beneath it, palm warm against your stomach, fingers skimming slow, lazy circles that have you squirming underneath him. “you’re so warm,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours. “so soft…” you tug at his waistband, fingertips teasing just under the hem of his boxers, and he hisses through his teeth, forehead dropping to yours, breath hot. “careful,” he warns, voice low and strained. “you’re gonna make me forget how to be gentle.”
“maybe i don’t want gentle,” you whisper. that’s all it takes.
he exhales sharply, eyes flicking to yours for permission, just a flicker. and you nod, already pulling him closer, already lifting your hips to meet him. the shirt is gone first. his hands tug it up and off in one smooth motion, tossing it somewhere over his shoulder. his eyes rake down your body like he’s been starving, like this is something he’s craved in secret every damn night you’ve slept next to him. and then he’s on you again, mouth on your chest, your stomach, your thighs. kissing, biting, marking you slowly. you moan into his hair, fingers tangling, pulling him closer as he takes his time with every inch of skin like it’s something sacred.
“fuck, chris,” you whisper, breath catching. he smirks against your skin. “yeah, baby? you like that?” you nod and grab his jaw, pulling him up to kiss you again, this time desperate. teeth, tongue, heat. it’s sloppy, breathless, perfect. he groans into your mouth, grinding into you with just enough pressure to make your thighs shake. he kisses you hard, and this time, there’s no teasing. no waiting. he lines himself up with your entrance, eyes locked on yours, and when he pushes himself in, you both gasp. the stretch. the heat. the way he fills you like he was made for you.
he moves slow at first, deep, deliberate, his name spilling from your lips like prayer. every thrust pulls another sound from you, every grind of his hips makes you arch and cling to him harder. he’s everywhere, in everything. the morning light catching on his skin, the rough groan in your ear, the hand on your thigh keeping you wide open for him. “chris..” you mumble, his thrusts nice and slow.
“you feel unreal,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours. “you are unreal.” you kiss him before you can say something too soft. but he already knows. he always knows. you reach that edge and cum together, his pace quickens, your legs tighten around him, and the air fills with broken moans and whispered curses. when it hits, it’s not just physical. it’s electric. overwhelming. consuming. like you’ve given in to something that’s been building for so long. afterward, he doesn’t move right away. just collapses against you, both of you still panting, bodies tangled and sticky and flushed.
“so…” he says eventually, grinning. “this our new morning routine?” you laugh, lips brushing his shoulder. “if it is, i’m never leaving this bed again.” he hums, trailing lazy fingers down your spine. “let me just keep my cock in you, yeah?” chris smiles, his cum and his length still stuffed inside you. and with the sun barely rising, chris wrapped around you like gravity, and your body still buzzing from him.
interesting how some bylers think they're really smart and understand the show & the subtext better than anyone else, and yet think that Will POTENTIALLY having an intimate scene with Mike would be problematic. Like mind you he's one of the characters that I'd say needs an intimate scene? In this economy especially. The gay character, and the only character from the main cast who hasn't been in any romantic relationship and hasn't experienced anything like that, who's been suffering through the whole goddamn show, thought he's a freak for being different (including being gay and wanting Mike), was a victim of assault, struggled with his feelings, and so on and on, and yet some say him having that would be "gross". I've said it before and say that again: stop being homophobic.
Like such scene for Will in particular would be liberating in several ways. (for Mike too btw! But I'm talking about Will now). and I'm not saying that it needs to be explicit or anything but the way how a lot of bylers act like just the idea of anything more than them holding hands uwu and timid kissing would be "problematic" and "gross" is honestly so weird. Stand up.
tangentwithtanner
areudirty
pixelskylines
andulkaphoto
izzy806
