Loop De Shoop♪ - Blog Posts
is there some kind of note of these words of wisdom?
charles: "yes, there is. but it's an inside joke. we are keeping track with my engineer, some of the discussions that happen over the 7 years that are funny... and we call that the 'words of wisdom'."
bf/husband!bucky is SO old fashioned
bro grew up in the 1920’s/1930’s/1940’s
he thinks bouquets of flowers are very romantic
he bought a second-hand phonograph for you two to dance
he pays for the dates at the restaurant
a real gentleman 😔
also he forgets to wear a condom when you don’t remind him
pussy so wet.
credits to the editor ‼️
i’ve watched that landy goal probably 50 times already
Nate talking about Landy tonight after Landy's first goal back with the avs.
"It was quite snug on me, but it was fun to finally get to put it on—no doubt." ↳ GABE LANDESKOG EARNS THE BIG HAT | COL v. DAL (GAME 4) | 4.26.25
Gabriel Landeskog #92 of the Colorado Avalanche celebrates after scoring a goal in the second period of Game Four of the First Round of the Stanley Cup Playoffs against the Dallas Stars at Ball Arena on April 26, 2025 in Denver, Colorado. (📷 by Ashley Potts)
me after getting my appendix removed: omg. stigmata.
i'm fucking crhing why does he say it like that
You guys made me say it.
Nathan MacKinnon’s two Tylenol commercials for those who were having a hard time seeing them on Vimeo.
x
i think michael hating the entirety of the fazbear franchise EXCEPT foxy is one of the funniest ideas in the world
hey check this out. *puts him in the fucking microwave*
how do you feel about boot riding 🤭
────۶ৎ boot ridin’
joel lets you grind on his boot and watches you fall apart. slow, dirty, and all him.
warnings: smut, boot riding, clothed grinding, degradation (light), praise kink, dom!joel.
more
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you plant yourself right there on his thigh, all needy and breathless, the heel of his boot solid under you. he's leaning back, forearm draped over the back of the worn-out couch, one brow cocked and that smirk playing on his lips like he already knows you’re about to fall apart just from grindin’ on him.
“boot ridin’, huh?” he drawls, voice all low and amused. “s’that what you’re callin’ it now, darlin’? looked more like beggin’ t’me.”
you whimper, rockin’ slow, the rough leather pressin’ right where you need it most. your panties are soaked, stickin’ to you, and you can feel every goddamn ridge of his boot sole with every shift of your hips.
he watches, hungry. doesn’t touch—not yet. just watches, one hand curled into a fist against his thigh like he’s holdin’ back.
“yeah, that’s it. make a mess on me, baby. all over my boot. fuckin’ filthy girl.”
you bite your lip, grind down harder, faster now, chasin’ that sharp edge that’s burnin’ hot in your belly. he leans in, finally, fingers curling around your throat—not tight, just enough to feel him there, firm and grounding.
“feel good?” he murmurs, eyes flickin’ down between your thighs. “can feel that little cunt twitchin’. know you wanna cum.”
you nod, mouth open but no words, just pantin’ like he’s got you on a leash. his thumb brushes your jaw, rough and calloused.
“go on. cum for me, sugar. make it count. wanna see that pretty pussy flood my boot, ruin it.”
and fuck—you do. it hits like lightning, rippin’ through you as your thighs shake and you moan his name, louder than you meant to. he groans low, like he felt it too, and finally lets his hand slide up between your legs, fingers strokin’ through the mess you made.
“jesus,” he mutters, voice gone gravel. “you ride better’n a goddamn cowboy.”
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thank you for reading. reblogs & feedback appreciated.
this song....and him...
he's so cute when he's goofy
bro before i fell asleep yesterday i was thinking about riding jason while he looks all cute sliding his glasses up and nervously trying to know where he should put his hands #needthat
bestie I wasn’t sure if this was a req or a thought but I had to write this it’s so…..
nsfw below the cut!
——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
poor jason.
it’s unclear where he should be placing his hands. on your hips perhaps, guiding your movements as you ride him? digging into the skin of your ass? kneading your tits perking in his face? or perhaps hold the sheets?
for now, he struggles keeping his glasses perched upon his nose as they slide off repeatedly. his fingers shakily push them up again, before ultimately deciding on resting against your hips.
the sight of you is nearly enough to have him ascending to elysium. your skin soft beneath his touch, hair cascading like waterfalls over your shoulders, your head thrown back in pleasure— eyes closed, and his cock fitting perfectly inside of you.
while on the other hand, jason was only hoping he didn’t look too much of a loser beneath you, with his glasses fogged and falling and his hands nervously splayed on your skin.
though, most worries are diminished as soon as they come with the overwhelming feeling of you on top of him, riding out his early morning hardness lazily. you felt too good around him, like somehow you’re some kind of greek goddess in the body of a mortal.
but, your looks are just as ethereal so maybe you’re only simply lying about being half god.
jason guides his own hips into yours, cock further outstretching your gummy walls. it feels euphoric to have such a pretty girl treat to him like this, like christmas came early this year.
your name leaves his lips involuntarily, actually, the only thing that had ever been able to fall from his tongue since the moment your panties came off.
and that was a half an hour ago. the poor guy, so nervous.
Bucky with a breeding kink is a dangerous man,,,, he aims not to give you one kid, but triplets to get that big family he’s always wanted ❤️ surely you’ll be willing to if he’s pounding away at your needy cunt
thats the thing about this man. he uses his big body and sex against you, babes... he's pushing his cock as deep as it can go, arms wrapped around your entire body as he fucks into you. your legs are hooked between his big biceps as he fucks into you from behind— properly folding you.
he's spitting out the nastiest shit in your ear, before it just— snaps.
"i'm gonna fuck a baby— no, no— babies— into this fucking cunt."
your mouth falls open in a large sob after he says it, nearly cumming on the spot— cream frothing around the base of his swollen cock.
"wanna make me a daddy, sweetheart?" he asks, pressing a kiss to your ear as you huff and moan with no way to respond but mindless babbling.
"gonna take that as a yes."
james seeing remus start to transform: “uh oh. going beast mode.”
remus, actively in agony: “i am literally begging you to stop”
scarily sleep deprived and the concept of james potter unironically using the phrase ‘beast mode’ has reduced me to tears
james: sneezes once
also james: “moony you have to name your firstborn after me. james jr deserves to live on.”
james potter the type to shrug of physical injuries (broken bones, broken rips, …), but act like it’s his last day on earth when a mild cold hits him
me reading fandom drama while eating expired ramen
Ngl I totally forgot fandom discourse was a thing. I don’t care man, I have car payments
suddenly i believe in chiropractic care and violence based love languages
YALL LOOK WHAT I MADE. I RECREATED THE MEME AND I CANT STOP LAUGHING 😭😭
reference below:
incredible. absolutely no notes for earthdayposting ringo
Happy Webbonso Wednesday to all who celebrate!
warm enough ⋆₊˚ ࿔⋆
pre-canon qz!joel miller x fem!reader | masterlist |
1.7k words | joel miller before ellie so he’s distant but not too bad, fwb to lovers, kissing, unprotected piv sex. — still trying to cope with his death:,((
summary- in the Boston QZ, survival comes first—but when you’re sharing smokes, running jobs, and ending up in each other’s beds more often than not, lines blur fast. Joel’s older, guarded, and dead set on keeping it casual. She’s younger yeah, but tired of pretending it’s nothing. It’s not love. Not exactly. But it’s warm.
And sometimes, that’s enough.
It wasn’t supposed to happen again.
It never does.
But somehow you’d ended up tangled in his sheets anyway, your knees brushing his under the thin blanket, the air between your bodies too warm, too full. It was always like this—frenzied, wordless, fleeting. A way to survive the way the world pressed down on your chest like a loaded weapon.
But this time was different.
You hadn’t woken up alone.
Joel Miller, the man who never stayed, was still there.
You stirred first. Sunlight cut through the cracks in the boarded-up window, slicing across his bare shoulder. You studied the soft line of his jaw, the way his brows stayed furrowed even in sleep. Like he couldn’t let go of whatever ghosts lived behind his eyes, even when unconscious.
You turned over, pulling the blanket up. Hoping maybe he’d shift and mumble something. Maybe you’d pretend it didn’t feel real. But then—
Footsteps. The bed dipped. Joel sat up and rubbed a hand down his face.
He didn’t look at you.
Instead, he stood, tugged on his shirt, and wandered into the kitchen—if it could be called that. A hot plate. A kettle. Cans lined up like trophies. You listened to him move, the scrape of the metal lid opening, the glug of water.
And then… coffee.
You blinked.
Joel never made coffee after. Hell, he never let you stay long enough to see what he did after.
When he came back in, he was holding two chipped mugs. He didn’t meet your eyes as he handed you one. “Still hot,” he muttered.
You sat up, blinking at him like he’d handed you a map out of this place. “You made two.”
“Yeah.”
Silence.
You cupped the mug in both hands, let the heat seep into your fingers. It smelled like burned grounds and survival. But something about it settled your heart a little.
Joel sat back on the edge of the bed, hunched forward, watching the floor like it had something to say.
You broke the quiet. “Feels kinda normal, huh?”
His shoulders tensed.
He didn’t answer for a long beat. Then:
“Don’t get used to it.”
His voice had been soft, but it cut through the quiet like a blade. Not sharp enough to draw blood—just enough to remind you where the lines were.
You didn’t say anything. Just wrapped your hands tighter around the chipped mug and took a slow sip. Bitter. Burned. Warm.
He stood across from you, back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest like he was bracing for something.
Maybe your silence.
Maybe the truth.
You glanced at him over the rim of your cup. His gaze was fixed on the space behind you—somewhere over your shoulder, like if he looked you in the eye he might not be able to keep the mask on.
So you tried to keep it simple. “It was good coffee.”
That earned you a flicker of something—wryness, maybe. A tiny twitch of his mouth. “Tastes like shit.”
“Yeah,” you agreed, “but it’s warm.”
Another long silence passed between you. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was… full. Like both of you were waiting for something else to rise to the surface.
You caught yourself wishing the moment would stretch out a little longer. That he’d lean back against the counter like he belonged there. That he’d ask you to stay—not just to kill time until the next run, but because he wanted you there.
But Joel didn’t ask for things.
And you didn’t know how to ask either.
So you drained the rest of your coffee, set the mug down gently on the counter, and stepped back toward the door. Your boots scuffed against the worn floorboards.
“I should go,” you said, quiet.
Joel nodded. Still not looking at you.
Your fingers brushed the doorknob, cool metal under your skin. You hesitated.
“Thanks for… letting me stay.”
He didn’t say anything at first. Then, just as your hand started to turn the knob—
“Didn’t mind it.”
The words came out like they surprised him too. You turned halfway, your heart catching.
Joel’s eyes met yours, and for once, he didn’t look away.
“Didn’t mind you bein’ here,” he said again, slower this time. Like maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing to admit.
You smiled, small and warm. “Okay.”
Then you opened the door and left.
But your chest felt lighter.
A Few Days Later
The next few days are back to normal.
At least, mostly.
You go on a few jobs—runners, small deliveries. Joel doesn’t say much, but he sticks close. Always just behind your shoulder, scanning rooftops, watching your back like it’s second nature.
You try not to read into it.
But every time your eyes meet across a crowded alley, or in the back room of Tess’s hideout, there’s a flicker. A pause.
Like maybe something changed that morning, and neither of you knows what to do with it.
You hadn’t meant to end up there again.
You told yourself it was just muscle memory—your boots turning corners like they knew the way. That the pull in your chest wasn’t about him. That the ache wasn’t for him.
But the lights were out in your building. Your neighbor was crying again. And your bed was too cold, too quiet.
So you stood outside Joel’s door for almost a full minute, heart knocking against your ribs, before you lifted your hand.
You didn’t even knock.
He opened it before you could.
Joel stood there in a threadbare shirt and jeans, barefoot, with sleep-soft eyes and stubble smudged along his jaw. His brows furrowed, but not with surprise.
Like he’d been waiting.
A sixth sense.
“You alright?” he asked.
You nodded. “I didn’t wanna be alone.”
That was all you had to say.
He stepped aside.
Inside, the room was warm—barely. The radiator hissed. You shrugged off your jacket while he watched from the other side of the room, arms crossed loosely over his chest.
Joel always looked tense. Even now, under the soft glow of the table lamp, he stood like someone expecting a fight.
Or a confession.
You took a slow step toward him. “You ever get tired of pretending this doesn’t mean anything?”
He didn’t move.
“‘Cause I do,” you whispered.
Joel’s eyes searched yours. There was something rough and unreadable in his face, like he was trying to swallow back something too big for words.
“I don’t know what to call it,” he admitted, voice low, thick. “I don’t even know what it is. But when you knock, I open the door. Every time.”
Your throat tightened.
“I keep tellin’ myself I ain’t got room for this. For you. But you show up and I—” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I want you here. That’s the truth.”
The breath you didn’t realize you were holding finally left your lungs.
You stepped closer. Close enough to see the flicker of hesitation behind his eyes, the war he was fighting with himself.
“But you’re scared,” you said softly.
Joel’s jaw flexed. “Damn right I am.”
You reached up, fingers brushing the edge of his jaw. “Then let me show you something good for once.”
And that broke him.
He kissed you like he needed it to stay alive.
Not hurried or rough like before—this was slow, devouring, like he was afraid you might vanish if he let go too soon. His hands cradled your face, rough thumbs grazing your cheekbones like he was trying to memorize you.
You slid your hands under his shirt, fingertips dragging over warm skin, the curve of old scars and hard muscle. Joel groaned into your mouth, deep and low, and pulled you closer by the hips.
“You drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he murmured against your lips. “Always walkin’ around like you don’t know what you do to me.”
You smiled into the kiss. “I know exactly what I do to you.”
He huffed a breath—half a laugh, half a growl—and walked you backward until the backs of your knees hit the bed.
“Lie down,” he said, voice gone dark and soft and commanding.
You obeyed, heart racing.
Joel stripped his shirt off, slow and deliberate, like he wanted you to watch. Then he knelt over you, kissing a trail down your neck, your chest, your stomach—taking his time, learning every inch of you like it was something sacred.
“Y’know how many nights I think about this?” he murmured against your skin. “Think about you.”
You arched under his touch, eyes fluttering. “Then why don’t you let it be more?”
His hands stilled for a second. Just long enough for you to feel the weight of the question.
Then he leaned up, kissed you again—softer this time. Sadder.
“I’m tryin’,” he whispered. “I don’t know how, but I’m tryin’.”
When he finally sank into you, it wasn’t frantic or desperate. It was slow, intense, real. His forehead rested against yours, breath hot against your lips as your bodies moved in rhythm, like this wasn’t something you stole—it was something you built.
Joel didn’t hide from it.
He kissed your knuckles when he held your hands above your head. He murmured your name like a promise. He stayed.
When you both fell apart together, it was quiet.
No words. Just warmth.
He didn’t let you go.
Later
You rested against his chest, legs tangled under the blanket, heartbeat slowly finding its way back to calm.
His hand moved gently along your arm, over and over, like he didn’t want to stop touching you even if he didn’t know what to say.
You turned your face up toward his.
“What now?”
Joel exhaled, thumb tracing the inside of your wrist.
“Now we sleep,” he said, voice husky.
“And tomorrow?”
There was a beat.
Then he kissed your forehead.
“Tomorrow, there’s coffee.”
yeah yeah im feeding yall ik