In The Fields We Lie

MAGA know they are inferior.

Anyone who has to negate black achievement is a loser. Complicit white people are bigger losers.

Charles Rogers represents all America. 🇺🇸

MAGA must disrespect black people. The racism feeds the myth of white superiority.

End the racism and the myth disappears.

𝓴𝓲𝓭𝓼? D.Winchester

you’re nursing a beer, your legs pulled up to sit cross-legged as you lean back on your palms. dean’s beside you, his own bottle dangling loosely in his fingers. his knee rests against yours, this simple, casual point of connection, but it’s enough to ground you. his shoulders are relaxed, his legs stretched out long, but there’s something... off. you can feel it in the way his gaze keeps drifting, how he’s not quite looking at you or anything in particular. he’s lost in his own head, and you’ve been with him long enough to know that’s rarely a good thing.

“you’ve been quiet tonight,” you say, finally breaking the silence. your voice is soft, not accusing, but the words seem to snap him out of whatever spiral he was falling into. he glances at you, his green eyes flickering in the dim light, and he huffs out a little laugh. it’s small, almost self-deprecating, and he looks away again, his jaw tightening.

“just thinkin’, sweetheart,” he murmurs, taking a swig of his beer.

you tilt your head, watching him. “about what?”

he hesitates, running his free hand through his hair, and the gesture makes your stomach tighten. whatever it is, it’s big. he’s not usually this careful about his words—dean winchester isn’t careful about much, period—but right now, he looks like a man standing on the edge of something.

“can i ask you somethin’?” he says, finally, and his voice is quieter now, more raw.

“of course,” you reply immediately, setting your beer aside. you shift closer, your knee pressing more firmly against his, your hand resting on the cool metal of the car between you. “what’s on your mind?”

he exhales slowly, staring down at the bottle in his hands. for a second, you think he’s not going to say anything. then, all at once, the words come out.

“you ever think about havin’ kids?”

the question hits you like a punch to the gut—not because it’s unwelcome, but because it’s so unexpected. you blink at him, your lips parting, and he finally looks at you, his expression guarded. like he’s bracing for you to laugh at him, or worse, to shut him down completely.

“kids?” you repeat, just to make sure you heard him right.

“yeah,” he says, his voice gruff, like the word’s hard for him to get out. “like... not right now, obviously, but... someday. you ever think about it?”

your mouth opens, then closes. you glance at him, searching his face for any clues about where this is coming from. it’s not like dean’s ever been the white-picket-fence type. hell, you’re not even sure if you’re the white-picket-fence type, given the life you lead. but there’s something in his eyes, something vulnerable and almost... hopeful, that makes your chest ache.

“i don’t know,” you say honestly. “i guess i haven’t thought about it much, with everything going on. it’s not exactly easy to picture that kind of future, you know?”

he nods, like he was expecting that answer, but there’s still this shadow of disappointment in his expression. “yeah. yeah, i get that,” he mutters, tipping back his beer for another sip.

you watch him for a moment, your mind racing. he doesn’t bring up stuff like this lightly—hell, he barely even talks about his feelings unless you pry them out of him. but this? this is something he’s been holding onto, turning over in his mind, and now he’s laid it at your feet like some kind of fragile offering.

“why are you asking?” you ask gently, leaning closer. “is this something you’ve been thinking about?”

he lets out a low laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “yeah,” he admits, running a hand down his face. “i don’t know, it’s stupid. just... sometimes i think about what it’d be like. teachin’ a kid how to throw a football. takin’ ‘em for a drive in baby when they’re old enough. tryin’ to be the kind of dad mine never was.”

the confession is raw, almost painful, and you feel it settle heavy in your chest. dean’s voice drops lower, like he’s afraid of saying it out loud. “i mean, i know it’s a pipe dream, with the way we live. but... if it ever happened, you know? with you... i think i’d want that.”

his words hang in the air between you, and your heart stutters. with you. the way he says it, so quiet, so certain, makes something twist inside you. you reach out, your fingers brushing his arm. he looks up at you, his expression cautious, like he’s waiting for you to tell him he’s crazy.

“dean,” you say softly, “you’d be an incredible dad.”

he snorts, shaking his head, but you tighten your grip on his arm, making him look at you. “i mean it,” you insist. “you’re already so good with sam, and jack... hell, you take care of everyone around you, whether you realize it or not. you’ve got more love in you than you give yourself credit for.”

his jaw clenches, and he looks away, but not before you catch the flicker of emotion in his eyes. “you really think that?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“i know it,” you say firmly, leaning in closer. “and if that’s something you want... someday... then yeah. i think i’d want that too. with you.”

his head snaps toward you, his eyes wide, and for a second, he just stares at you. then, without warning, he leans in, his hand sliding to the back of your neck as his lips crash against yours.

the kiss is desperate, messy, like he’s been holding himself back for too long and finally let the dam break. his fingers thread through your hair, holding you close as his mouth moves against yours, hot and demanding. you gasp into him, your hands grabbing at his shirt, pulling him closer, needing him like you need air.

his tongue sweeps over your bottom lip, and you open for him, letting him in. he groans into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, and it’s like a switch flips. suddenly, you’re climbing into his lap, straddling him as his hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against him. the heat of him, the way his stubble scrapes against your skin, the sheer wantpouring off of him—it’s overwhelming in the best way.

he breaks away for a second, his forehead pressing against yours as you both catch your breath. his hands are still on your hips, holding you there like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “you have no idea how much i love you,” he murmurs, his voice rough and low, sending shivers down your spine.

“i think i have a pretty good idea,” you tease, your lips brushing against his as you speak. he laughs softly, the sound muffled as he kisses you again, slower this time, but just as consuming.

the future might be uncertain, but right now, with dean’s arms wrapped around you, his lips on yours, you think maybe, just maybe, you’ve found something worth holding onto.

Idk who needs to hear this but just because your writing isn’t good yet doesn’t mean it’s bad either

໑ৎ — thinking about SOLDIER BOY and his little spit–obsessed bunny girlfriend…

warnings: no plot smut, dry humping, daddy kink, use of ‘dad’ once, spit kink, teasing/mocking, lowkey pathetic reader (daddy!soldier boy x bunny!reader) 18+

࿐ ˚ 　· 　　 .

ben’s gone his whole life thinking he’s a sexual deviant, enjoying marking up his partners and taming them all into submission, loving the way he can get just about any woman to call him daddy.

but when he started seeing you, he found himself in new territory—unfamiliar territory.

ben didn’t realise how much he’d been missing out on until he met you. you’re filthy and just so unashamedly needy, unlike any woman he’s ever been with, and he just can’t get enough of it. the way you’re always begging for his fingers in your mouth with wide doe eyes or begging him to fill your mouth with his smokey, whiskey flavoured spit drives him wild. you’re insatiable, and it's like you’re his own personal slice of heaven, letting him use you in any way he pleases.

he loves the way you so shamelessly sit perched upon his lap, bouncing around in front of him, so needy and wanton, with your pretty pleading eyes, round and glimmering with anticipation, like a little puppy in need of attention.

you eagerly grind down onto his lap in just your t-shirt and panties, rubbing your swollen tumescent cunt against his hardened length. your puffy folds spread apart over the thick bulge, desperately searching for friction against his sweatpants. he watches you with a mixture of amusement and need, your filthy fucking antics setting his body on fire.

ben meets your eyes, seeing the way they’re already droopy. “bunny, don’t look at me like that,” he chuckles, the rough sound reverberating in his chest. his hips buck up to meet your movements, and you feel him rubbing the hard line of his cock against your slit. his large hands find your hips, grabbing ahold of them, his fingers digging into the plush skin, helping guide your movements.

your lips purse at his words, and ben rolls his eyes, his face gleaming in amusement at your little pout. he watches you open your mouth and stare right back at him with a childish petulant look on your face—waiting, watching expectantly.

ben’s face morphs into a cruel expression, a smirk that tugs up at his lips, making the corners of his eyes crinkle. a thick wad of his saliva lands on your tongue, filling your mouth with his taste. “swallow. now,” he says, his eyes boring into you. you do as you’re told and swallow, opening your mouth again to show him you’d done what he’d asked. your eyes search his with an eagerness that says, ‘i did it, look at me! tell me i did good!’

ben revels in the needy look you're giving him, so pathetic and desperate; it’s almost laughable, and as much as he wants to kiss you senseless and knock that eager little look off your face by shoving his tongue down your throat, his need to remind you of his power over you wins.

he’s quick to force his fingers into your mouth, his middle and index pressing against your tongue, instead of giving you the praise you’re so obviously yearning for. he ignores the way your face falls momentarily as your brain tries to catch up with the intrusion of his meaty fingers. “suck,” he commands, his voice low, watching as your lips gingerly wrap around his digits. “be a good girl.”

you hum with your mouth stuffed full, and you lap at them with your tongue, soaking up the lingering taste of tobacco smoke on his fingertips. your greedy mouth sucks around his fingers so fervently that drool manages to escape from the corner of your lips, but ben’s keen eye catches it, and he wipes it away with his thumb before bringing it to his lips and cleaning your mess off his finger. “mmm, taste so pretty, bunny,” he croons, his voice a low hum.

your lips pull into a smile around his salty fingers, and your hips continue to meet, rubbing your heat against each other, both of you getting more worked up as your panties grow wetter and wetter. ben’s cock dribbles out precum into his boxers, and the thin material of his sweatpants starts to darken from your arousal, leaving a little wet patch on his lap.

ben’s breathing gets heavier as he watches you engulf his fingers completely, doing just what he asked—submitting to him. the feeling of your tongue swirling around his fingertips sends all his remaining blood rushing south, only making his cock swell more. he slowly pulls his fingers out from the wet warmth of your mouth, his eyes locked on a string of saliva still connected to his fingertip and your lips.

“fuck, baby. such a messy girl,” ben huffs, slightly in adoration, slightly mockingly. his hand moves down to your throat, just resting on the side of your neck, feeling your pulse rapidly beat under his calloused skin. his thumb rubs over the column of your throat, letting his eyes flicker between yours and your mouth.

“daddy,” you whine, “please…”

your petulant little pout and the tone of your voice make ben’s dick twitch between your folds. it’s pathetic, the way he takes you apart so easily. “use your words, bun. c’mon. please what, huh?” he asks, the mockery still laced thick in his tone. his eyes glimmer with mirth and linger on the dribble on your lips and chin. he loves it, seeing you all wet and dishevelled for him. it drives him mad in the best fucking way.

he knows he’s whipped. and he doesn’t even fucking care.

“i want your tongue,” you tilt your head eagerly for him, your eyes searching his, silently pleading for something, anything; just a little gesture of softness, something to quell the burning need that pools in your core.

“oh, yeah? baby wants my tongue? for what?” he taunts, his warm hand giving your neck a squeeze, smirking as a soft noise bubbles up from low in your throat.

“ben—”

“try again,” he cuts you off, correcting you instantly.

“daddy,” you huff out sulkily, “kiss me.”

a calculated grin grows on ben’s lips at your whiny demand, the amusement written all over his face. “kiss you? darlin’, i don’t know if you deserve to be kissed.”

he has to hold back a laugh as he watches your face sullen even more, your sweet features pulled down by the expression. you look silly, your face all contorted and grouchy because he won’t give in, despite the both of you knowing he wants nothing more than to kiss you until you’re breathless.

“c’mon, babygirl. don’t give me that look. you’re too pretty to pout like that.” ben gives your neck another warning squeeze before letting go and gently grabbing your chin instead, tilting your face up to meet his head-on. his eyes fall over your face, analysing you, enjoying the way you reluctantly meet his intense gaze. he hums in thought, brushing his thumb over your pout, as if to soothe it away.

you take the small gesture in good faith and kiss the pad of his thumb softly, before gingerly taking it between your lips. your tongue laps at it with your sulky little puppy dog eyes watching him tentatively, like he’s going to pull away and tell you off. 

but ben lets you suck on his thumb, watching it pacify your needy behaviour. you’re such a damn baby, he thinks.

a groan rumbles up from deep in his chest, like you’ve yanked it straight from his lungs with your sweet ministrations. your droopy eyes stay locked on his in the most filthily deplorable way—like a little puppy begging for attention, sucking up to its owner in hopes of a treat. it’s so pathetic and pitiful, but it’s just how ben likes his women.

your tongue circles his thumb, teasingly so, like you're offering a show of what you can give him if he’d just play nice. a shameless moan escapes past your lips, hurling straight into his ears and landing down in his core. you feel ben twitch against your weeping heat again, the desire growing rampant between you.

“yeah, good girl. just like that. my sweet little slut knows just what to do, doesn’t she?” ben coos tauntingly, letting the smooth words fall from his mouth.

the friction from your grinding slowly builds a pressure in your lower stomach; a fiery heat simmers from your clit rubbing against him, your slick entrance squeezing around nothing. ben feels your pretty little cunt fluttering for him, and he huffs; he knows just how to get you open and ready to take his chubby cock.

the tension keeps growing between you, and so does the friction, as you salaciously suck his thumb, like it’s a pacifier or dummy, keeping your mouth busy instead of whining like he knows you’d be doing otherwise. your wide pleading eyes beg for more as you let drool spill from your mouth. his blown-out green eyes follow the spit, and he so badly wants to clean it up with his tongue, but he doesn’t. you’re such a needy little fucking tease, and yet, he refuses to give in to you.

when ben pulls his hand back, another petulant pout grows on your lips again. he tuts his tongue against his teeth. “be good, bunny, and maybe you’ll get that kiss, yeah?”

you huff in response and whine. “i am good,” you try to argue back, dying for his thumb back or tongue—hell, anything—to pacify your damn oral fixation.

ben lets out a hearty chuckle at your whinging, his eyes locked on your tongue licking up the stray saliva spilt around your swollen lips. “bun, you’re a tease. a brat who just can’t help herself. you’re lucky i think you’re so goddamn pretty, ‘specially with those twinkling cocksucking eyes of yours, sweets.”

your eyes light up at his foul words, and the pout on your lips dissipates a little, morphing into a small strange sheepish smile. ben watches the way you react, and he decides to let up a smidge, “alright, fine. c’mere. give daddy a kiss. a proper one. none of that goldfish peckin’ bullshit. i've taught you better.”

his words go over your head; you’re too in a state to care. you’re quick to attach your lips to his, parting them to allow his tongue to tangle with yours, letting him lead the dance in your mouth. your body continues to move itself, grinding your soaked cunt even harder into his lap. his sloppy kisses and the way he leads the kiss so dominantly send sparks flying throughout your body, making your pretty little clit twitch in your drenched underwear. you moan carnally into his mouth, not caring at how your attitude has faded into sheer desperation or how smug you know it’s making him.

ben rolls his hips up into yours firmer, his sensitive length nudging apart your pussy lips completely, rubbing against you in the most heavenly way. he takes over, one hand scrunched in your hair, the other on your hip, guiding you to hump his erection like the sweet bunny you are.

and so you roll your hips, meeting his, and your mind clouds over entirely, your whinging little girl act completely placated by ben and his thick fucking cock pressing against you. he grunts, feeling all self-satisfied, at how easily he’s managed to dismantle you—and your pitiful fucking attitude—just by kissing you and rubbing your clit a little.

you whine into the kiss, hastily humping your hips into ben’s. he doesn’t call you bunny for nothing. your body shivers as the coil tightens in your stomach, your needy cunt twitching and tightening around nothing, weeping into your panties, begging to be stretched out by the supe’s stupendous girthy length.

you’re so goddamn reactive to him; he feels your arousal drenching his sweatpants further, the same way your spit drools out of your attached mouths, coating the bottom half of your faces. you're a mess, and you just can’t help it.

he breaks the kiss, earning a grunt from you in protest as you chase his lips.

“mmm… bun, no,” he pulls his head back, panting slightly. “be a good girl. c’mon, make yourself cum on daddy’s lap. let dad see how good it feels, yeah?”

his vulgar words of mock encouragement send chills right down to your puffy little cunt. you rub yourself against him faster and faster, curling your fingers into his shoulders to keep yourself upright. the pleasure builds in your core; you’re so close to toppling over the edge. your jaw hangs open while your sweet noises bubble up your throat, and ben can’t help but think how adorable you are, how desperate and cockdrunk you look, and you’re not even bouncing on it like a good little bunny yet. you’re just such a good girl—exactly what a rough boorish man like him needs.

ben brings his hand to your throat again, though roughly gripping at it this time, like he’s helping squeeze out your sweet melodic sounds of pleasure. “yeah, bunny. look at you. s’that feel good, baby? rubbing on daddy like that?” he coos, the mockery still blatantly dripping from his tone.

his mean taunting words make your pretty cunt flutter. he tightens his grip around your neck, stifling your breath slightly, making your mewls sound choked and weak. your nails dig into his shoulders as you grind, and you wonder how he’s not losing composure the same way you are. you slowly nod in response to his question, like a good little doll, and try to meet his eyes through your heavy-lidded ones.

“yeah? c’mon, babygirl. show daddy what a sweet girl you are for me. cum, bunny, cum.”

he talks down to you like an owner speaks to their dog, but somehow, that does it for you and your cockdrunk hazy brain. a wave of pleasure crashes over you; your pussy clenches and twitches as you ride out your high, still humping his lap. what a good little bunny. your tired thigh muscles spasm, exhausted from the overexertion.

your sweet sighs of pleasure are music to ben’s ears. his dick twitches underneath you, completely soaked by your arousal and juices from your orgasm, drenching through his sweats and boxers, and his dick threatens to spill right there into his pants at the sight and feel of you coming undone, but he keeps himself from letting go just yet.

“there you go. jesus, that never gets old, does it? look at you, bunny. such a good girl for daddy. makin’ a mess on my fuckin’ pants, aye?” he laughs, watching your flushed face scrunch in ecstasy.

your twitching hips finally come to a still against his. you settle in the warm wetness of his lap, and the friction of your underwear against your sensitive clit makes you squeak. ben grins as the sound hits his ears, and he squeezes your neck, forcing more pretty sounds from you.

he seizes the opportunity and spits a wad of saliva into your agape mouth. it lands perfectly on your tongue, blessing your tastebuds with his sweet and smokey taste, and it's so disrespectful, but it still manages to make your eyes roll back into your head, which makes ben huff out a laugh, the sound low and winded.

“you with me, toots?” he asks, gently smacking your cheek with his free hand, ridiculing you for your lack of cognisance. “was just a little orgasm, doll. don’t be all pathetic now.”

“daddy,” you whine out, your voice hoarse from panting in and out of your open mouth. your rounded eyes blink up at him as his saliva spills out the side of your mouth before you manage to swallow it, still entirely too hazy to really fathom what he’s saying.

ben tuts at you. “wasting my spit again, bun? you know i don’t like that,” he huffs out, still slightly winded, and grips your throat harder, earning another surprised squeak from you.

you shake your head, meeting his eyes with your own blown-out droopy ones. “no, m’sorry. please give me more.”

ben narrows his eyes at you, weighing up his options in his head, but ultimately he decides you’ve been good enough, doing what he says and doing it obediently, and it makes him proud—he’s trained you well.

“open then, sweetheart,” he finally says, his gaze falling over your face and your swollen mouth.

your lips part instantly, and another glob of spit lands on your tongue. you roll it around in your mouth for him to see before you swallow, keeping your eyes locked on him. he feels the movement of your throat under his palm.

“atta girl, swallowing like that for daddy. my pretty bunny,” ben murmurs with his thick gravelly tone. a smirk spreads across his face as he pulls yours towards him, the motion rough and unforgiving. “my good little pet, yeah? you’re my good girl, always doing what i say. fuckin’ good little thing, you are. you know how to make your old man proud.”

fig yaps: is this weird? idk!!!! do i hate this? a lot!!!!!! not my finest work but i said i’d post it so here we are !! anyways girls with an oral fixation and a daddy kink stand up!!! this is 4 u! soldier boy + dry humping will forever be my go-to !!!!!!!

feedback and reblogs are welcomed and appreciated ofc! thank u!

⟡ taglist: @chevroletdean @fitxgrld @jasvtsc @bluestrd @1-imbroglio @titsout4jackles @faithfulsofi @tortureddarkstar @abellmunsonmovie @legalmente-loca @theoneandonlystonedspiderman420 @manicjk @jensenacklesballsack @minettacreekk @winchester-whiskey @emeraldcrs @freyabear @daylighted @cosmopolitan-thedrink @jwritestuff @suhnisideup @spookyysinsanity @kimxwinchester @bleuatlas @deansbbyx @angelicjackles @deansbeer @artemys-ackles @bluemerakis @star-yawnznn @ambiguous-avery @starzify @littlesoulshine @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @freeluigihesbae @bejeweledinterludes @blossomingorchids @lanasgirlfr @seven7lee @nymphet-quenn @rafessweetgirl @maeji-may @eternalssunshinee @blossomingorchids @benscumgluzzer @soldiersgirl @arcannaa @gibson-g1rl @vmiina @h8aaz + the rest in the comments sorry!

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Little Black Book | Harry Styles

Description: you’re a famous writer dating Harry, and he finds the notebook you’ve had since you were thirteen. 

A/N: hi idk if the ending is a bit cliche but I spent a long time on this and would really appreciate any feedback you have in whatever form you want to give it! please don’t just consume fics on here, let authors know what you think it means a lot :) 

Content Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 7920

My Writing

      Harry never invades. He asks. Listens. Takes what you give him and fashions it into a map to the center of your heart, like he’s found some side door even you don’t know about. It would be less annoying if it ever actually felt like a trick. Instead, you’ve come to recognize it as one of those invaluable people skills of his he uses to care for the ones he loves and even those he doesn’t know.

       So, you know he hasn’t so much as rifled through the title page of the notebook he’s holding when you walk back into your bedroom with your waters. It may look harmless in his hands, in the way that most things look harmless in his hands because they’re his, but the battered spine and broken and re-tied elastic strap give enough warning. Its contents carry a little more emotional weight than the other journals strewn across your apartment, which is saying something for you.

Keep reading

Me, after realizing I’m a writer who doesn’t write, a reader who hates picking up a book, and a storyteller who can never come up with a plot:

Not me absolutely fucking up my sleep schedule the last couple weeks cuz I’ve been trying to think of ways to make my little fics work

if you think dean winchester DOESN'T eat pussy then you need to see a therapist

The Photo Booth✰⋆

Summary: Dean confesses to you in a photo booth with the hope that you will reject him so he can move on... things don't go exactly as planned.

Warnings: mild cursing

A/N: I've never written for Dean before so please have mercy on me if this sucks

.........................................................................................................................

He can not believe he let you drag him into this stupid booth. It's not big enough for the two of you, so you're sitting cheek to cheek, and you're practically on his lap. Dean knows he's probably acting like an idiot because of the proximity. He keeps thinking about how easy it would be to just grab you by the chin and kiss you right here. But instead, he just smiles into the camera with you.

3...2...1...flash!

"Okay, now a silly one!" you say, returning his attention to the booth's camera. Dean uses his fingers to pull back his lips and expose his teeth while he crosses his eyes. You start laughing at him; god, he loves your laugh; he would make a million more stupid faces to get to hear it. He shivers to think how Sam would tease him for his usually stubborn attitude turning complacent just because it's you he's talking to.

3...2...1...flash!

It's not just the proximity that makes him think of you; even during long weeks apart, you are all he can think about. He tells himself he prefers it when you're apart because at least his chest doesn't ache with the weight of how much he cares for you. You put a hand behind his head and give him bunny ears.

3...2...1...flash!

Dean can't take this anymore. He's got to do something to help soothe the burning he feels.

3...

"I love you."

2...

You turn to him in shock, your eyes wide as you observe him. This is what Dean needs, rejection. He needs you to shoo him away and tell him to get lost so he can get over this stupid infatuation he has with you and get on with his life.

1...

"I love you too."

You gaze at each other for what feels like an eternity before closing the gap between you with a searing kiss. Dean feels incredibly grateful for the invention of the photo booth.

Flash!

may the fourth be with you or whatever they say