#I'm sorry for the person who requested this

[pipthepiper]

You could make a Yandere Virgin Viktor, what he would be like if he were in love with his new assistant, but he hasn't declared himself yet..

( I don't know if you make yandere characters, if you can't do that I understand and I'm sorry for this request )

yandere!virgin!viktor who knows — just knows — you’ll be the one to take his virginity the instant he lays eyes on you.

he’s been waiting. waiting so long for that special someone to show up — the someone who he could give himself to wholly and completely, with absolutely no regrets.

and you are that person. viktor just knows it.

it’s in the soft way you speak to him, the way your gaze lingers on him from time to time, the occasions when you subtly slide against his front to allow your plump rear to graze his cock — you want to take it, it’s so obvious; you want him to completely lose his mind as he buries himself inside your pussy over and over, as he loses every bit of his innocence with each drag and slide. as you take it from him.

you want to be the one to fuck him up entirely. and anyone could see it, right? it’s not just viktor.

he’s sure sky can see it, more than positive that jayce can too — doesn’t miss the way jayce sometimes bristles with jealousy when you snuggle yourself into viktor’s personal space and talk so low it’s like you’re whispering to him (and only him); and viktor doesn’t even try to shake off the satisfaction it makes him feel.

you’re his as much as he’s yours.

and that’s why you don’t pull away when his hand “accidentally” grazes your soft chest as he reaches past you to grab something. it’s why you don’t bring any focus to the way his eyes practically undress you, despite the fact that you’re very aware of it. it’s why you lean into his touch, why you hug him for a fraction of a second longer than anyone else at the end of the day, why you smile and giggle so much when he talks to you.

viktor knows it, but something is holding him back; maybe it’s fear, maybe it’s doubt, maybe it’s his complete lack of experience — maybe it’s all three rolled into one. even the irrefutable fact that it’s destined by the stars fails to give him the courage to act upon it.

but one day, he will. one day he will bury himself deep inside that hot cunt of yours and lose every bit of sanity and innocence within your walls; he’ll fuck you so good that all the waiting will be worth it. he’ll give you his everything until you cry from how painfully deep his love is embedded into your bones.

he’ll make you see the truth.

but for now, viktor will simply fuck his own fist while he fantasizes about you; eagerly biting into his lip and craving the day he can merge your realities together to create one entirely new, entirely unique to just you two.

because that’s how it’s meant to be. viktor knows it.

actually my first time ever writing yandere pls be gentle </3 i actually really enjoyed writing this so thank you so much for requesting! gotta get back to the other drafts i have so many jfc thank you all for reading and i love you so much!

[yandere-kokeshi]

hi! I'm pretty new to your account and saw ur yandere dad ghost works! I've got severe daddy issues lmao. Anyways, i was wondering if it was ok to request yandere dad ghost with a kid who has type 1 diabetes? feel free to add what you want and do research! it's just that i have type 1 diabetes as well huhu.

anyways, you dont have to amswer this ask if you dont want to do the req. hope you have a good day/afternoon/night!

— Yandere Dad! Ghost with his kiddo who has Type-1-Diabetes

Warnings: Yandere! Platonic behavior, teenager! Reader, details of chronic disease, needles/blood/and being in pain.

A/N: I hope this was well done! Even though I did hours of research, I can still be incorrect as I don’t personally have it. Please message me if anything is remotely incorrect. Hope you enjoy it!!!

Dad! Ghost is on board with your health—but equally worried. When learning about what diabetes can lead up to, especially in the long term alongside the heavy side effects, like developing permanent nerve damage, kidney issues, and heart disease, it really pushes his overbearing tendencies.

But with enough training, as in anything, he quickly gets a hang of it and begins to trust the process between the two of you on how to handle it better.

Your needs are immediately met. Once he realizes how your everyday schedule has to change to fit your now lifestyle, everything around you is refurbished to fit it better. The garage is cleared out for better use of any exercise equipment you may like, getting bicycles if you two didn’t have some and participating with you when exercising.

Whether that’s doing just-dance on the TV for an hour or two, taking turns on picking songs for competition or just taking a good slow-paced run beside you at the park, he enjoys it more than he’d like to admit.

As for your food intake, the kitchen is swiftly filled to the brim with healthier ingredients and constant fresh meals that are brought in by the garden. Even though he’s aware you can eat sugary food once in a while with the right amount, he still acts like the food police as if he has a “rule book” for you. However, it is better to be safe than sorry.

Always there for you from the get-go. From however it was diagnosed—since you were a toddler, or had it recently diagnosed, he’s there holding you if you require a moment to cry from the nausea or insufferable leg cramps. It shatters his heart to see you in pain, but a part of him is a bit guilty for being proud that despite your age, you still rely on him. Even if you’re still in the “adjusting phase,” he’s patient with you and the mood swings. He understands you best, no?

His affection to help you shines through his actions. Words aren’t always his best suit, especially when it comes to you being sensitive, so he always ensures that you later notice his gifts down the road. As in, like if you forget to do laundry, somehow he knows, already washing a basket full and including gifting you a new set of compression socks.

Dad! Ghost even goes out of his way to build you a hypo juice-box dispenser near your bed, letting you pick whatever flavor of juice to drink that week. Or planning your weekend full of fun dates, maybe even with the team, to a good restaurant.

When needing to check your blood sugar, taking medicine, or injecting insulin, he, admittedly, likes helping you to do it. It makes him feel needed. That you’re still his kid, even if you weren’t born from him.

Plus, it eases his anxiety—rolling the bottle or participating in watching the needle closely, encouraging you to talk to him when he begins pinching your insulin in.

If you’re dizzy about direct contact or around blood, he doesn’t mind engaging with the glucose stripes. Dad! Ghost doesn’t mind how hard you squeeze his shoulders, actually encouraging doing so, chuckling and making comments just how strong you are. As he finishes, praising you in between, he pulls out band-aids, smiling when you pick at the cartoon-themed ones.

In a dark part of your father’s mind, he is insecure and fairly guilty about you. He feels a form of fault, that somehow your chronic disease is his fault, even though it’s quite obvious it’s not. Simon feels helpless, looking at you with a frown when he sees you are in pain, and sadly, in truth, he has to get used to it—which is something that’s deeply hard for him. He holds your health above his head, often bashing himself mentally if he finds a deep bruise or even a small cut on you, afraid of what could happen to you, and the anxiety dreading, “what ifs?” swirling about his mind.

He knows you can push yourself too far sometimes—stressing about school, the due assignments, and much required doctor appointments to go to. He frequently eases things out for you, emailing the teachers, excusing the long assignments, and letting them know days before. He even lets you sleep in before driving you to school, allowing you to miss a day or two.

—

Masterlist || Reblogs, comments, and likes are very much appreciated!! Stay well!!

© yandere-kokeshi 2024 — Do not copy, modify, edit, repost, or use my works for ASMR readings, tiktoks, or other content.

[xmads-omensx]

Sorry if I'm overdoing it with yet another request.

Levi Ackerman x female reader

fluff/ one shot

Levi and Y/N are married and they have a 3 year old son. There is a visit from Santa Claus at the mall. The boy learned that his father's birthday is on the same day as Christmas. So, he demands two gifts from Santa Claus for Levi and also for himself. The boy says he also wants his birthday to be at Christmas too.

I don't know if I managed to make you understand. But the story would be fun too.

Thanks. I don't know if the same person can make another request.

DAY 21 - MALL SANTA VISIT

Word Count: 1,591

pairing: Levi Ackerman X wife!reader

content warnings: modern au, they have a child, fluff

Of course, you can send as many requests as you like! I really enjoy writing them so it's no problem at all!

Also sorry it took so long to post, I decided to use it as part of my 25 Days of Christmas <3

Hope you enjoy :)

Furlan was fascinated by the prospect of the shopping mall having a Santa Claus who could grant your Christmas wishes.

He thought Santa was only supposed to live in the North Pole, but his Aunt and Godmother, Hange had told him all about it.

She told him that Santa sometimes had to travel to shopping malls because then he could make sure he was getting everybody’s Christmas wish correct.

He couldn’t wait.

Levi was less than ecstatic when I told him about our weekend plans to visit the mall Santa that Saturday, but he went along with it to make Furlan happy.

That Saturday morning, we had been rudely awoken by Furlan’s excited shouts as he flung himself onto our bed giggling to himself.

Levi took him into his arms before placing a kiss on the top of his head and whispering a quick good morning to me.

Furlan had been counting down the days ever since Hange told him about the legendary mall Santa.

I got myself dressed whilst Levi got Furlan ready, then grabbed my handbag and jacket before heading down to the front door.

Levi had already strapped Furlan into his car seat and had opened the passenger door for me to climb into. As I got into my seat, I paced a chaste kiss on his cheek before he closed the car door behind me.

The entire drive was full of Furlan’s cheery voice singing his favourite Christmas songs.

“Hange!” Furlan shouted, pointing out the window as we pulled into the shopping mall car park. And sure enough, he was right. Next to her beat up pickup truck, Hange stood excitedly waving at us as we pulled into the parking space beside her in Levi’s sleek, black car.

Furlan wiggled with excitement in his seat as he anxiously waited for Levi to unstrap him so that he could rush to his Aunt.

“I didn’t know you were coming.” Levi huffed, secretly glad to see his friend.

“Y/N here mentioned that you weren’t quite done Christmas shopping, so I figured I would come and keep her company whilst you and Erwin finished shopping.” She explained happily, hugging me tightly as we laughed.

“Erwin?” Levi questioned, his eyebrow raising.

“Yep!” Hange exclaimed with glee, pointing at the white range rover that had just pulled into the car park a few spaces along from them.

Erwin exited his car with a big wave as Furlan giggled in Hange’s arms at his Godfather.

“So what, you’re shipping Erwin and I off while you two go to visit Santa?” Levi asked with his usual frown.

“Yep!” I exclaimed, kissing his cheek.

Erwin walked over to the group and immediately began to usher Levi into the mall to “escape the wrath of Hange” as he put it, since he still hadn’t managed to bring a plus one to the annual Christmas party.

Hange and I entered the shopping mall shortly after Erwin and Levi.

The plan was to look in some of the shops before heading to the ‘North Pole’ that had been set up outside of one of the larger department stores in the mall.

We would meet Levi and Erwin there, as Levi still wanted to take his son to see Santa, despite the fact that he was never a huge fan of the holiday, or the excess decorations that looked messy and cluttered when they were hung up in the bust shopping mall.

“So, what have you gotten Levi? Because I have no idea.” Hange asked.

“For Christmas, or his birthday?” I replied.

“Christmas, you know he only lets you get him birthday gifts.” Hange replied.

“I got him a new winter coat that he asked for, and a new teacup for his collection.” I replied. The teacup was tradition, so there was very little point in me even telling Hange that I had purchased it for Levi.

“Ugh, that’s boring!” Hange complained.

“Hey, you asked.” I defended. “And besides, you know Levi only ever asks for practical things if he really needs them, and even then he only asks me to get them for him.” I finished with a laugh.

“But seriously, I want to  get him something and you are literally his wife so give me answers!” She demanded, practically hanging off of my arm.

“Why don’t you get him some new gloves? He likes those leather ones but they have a hole in the pinkie.” I suggested, making Hange’s eyes roll. She never liked getting anyone practical gifts.

“But that’s boring.” She complained.

“But Levi will like it.” I mocked her tone.

“Ugh, why is your father so dull, Furlan?” Hange asked my son who clutched my hand tightly in his own.

“He’s not dull, he just has specific tastes.” Furlan recited to Hange what Levi often said to him when he didn’t want to get the pain sets out.

Hange and I both burst out laughing at my son’s robotic response, sounding exactly like his father.

“Okay, back to the topic at hand.” Hange began once again. “So I can’t get Levi anything for his birthday? Only Christmas?”

“Hange, you know the answer.” I began.

“I know! But I just figured that since they fall on the same day, it shouldn’t matter what I get him because they will blur together anyway.” She explained.

“You do have a point, but you know he doesn’t like his birthday.” I went on.

“I know. I guess I just keep hoping that one year he’ll change his mind and want to celebrate it.” Hange added with a sigh.

“What are you talking about mama?” Furlan asked.

“Your dad’s birthday.” I replied. I didn’t want to have to explain to Furlan why his father hated his birthday.

“Does daddy not like his birthday?” He asked. His large, round grey eyes staring back up at me.

“No, he doesn’t sweetie.” I replied with a smile.

“Why not?” He asked. Shit. There was that question that I didn’t want to ever have to answer.

“Well, kiddo, you know how I don’t like bananas?” Hange asked, leaning down to Furlan’s eye-level. He nodded his head. “Well, your dad just doesn’t like his birthday. He never has the whole time I’ve known him.” She finished, patting Furlan on the head and standing back up to her full height.

“Just get him the gloves so he can stop complaining about the hole in the pinkie finger.” I laughed after a brief moment of pause.

After much complaining from Hange, we managed to buy the gloves and head back to the agreed meeting spot.

Levi and Erwin stood next to one of the pillars by the makeshift ‘North Pole’, Erwin towering over Levi as usual.

“Daddy!” Furlan called as he let go of my hand and ran into his father’s arms.

“Are you excited to meet Santa bud?” Levi asked our son who beamed up at him, nodding his head frantically.

I took Furlan’s hand and led him over to the queue where he was to wait until it was his turn to sit on Santa’s lap.

The line went down quickly as each child took their turn to make their wish to Santa.

Suddenly, it was Furlan’s turn.

He walked up to Santa with a big smile on his face and giggled as Santa lifted him up onto his lap. I rejoined Levi and the others by the pillar.

“So, young man, what’s your name?” Santa asked Furlan.

“Furlan Ackerman!” He exclaimed with excitement, making Santa laugh.

“And what would you, Furlan Ackerman, like for Christmas?” He asked.

Furlan thought for a moment before answering.

“well… I have tow wishes.” He said timidly.

“Two!” Santa exclaimed. “Well, I suppose since you have been such a good boy this year, I can grant you two wishes.” Furlan smiled before answering.

“My Daddy’s birthday is on Christmas, but he doesn’t like his birthday, and I think that’s sad. So my first wish is that my Daddy likes his birthday again so we can all have fun and he can get even more presents!” I could feel Levi tense ever so slightly beside me.

“I see.” Santa paused for a second. “And what about your second wish?”

“I wish that my birthday was Christmas too, so that my Daddy and I can share a party and get more presents too!” Furlan exclaimed with excitement.

“Well.” Santa began. “I can’t change your birthday, but I’ll see if I can do anything about your father enjoying his birthday.”

Furlan beamed with joy at Santa’s words.

“Take this for yourself.” Santa held out a small wrapped package to Furlan, “ And take this for your father.”

Furlan took both gifts, thanked Santa before hurrying back to where we all waited beside the pillar.

As soon as he reached us, Furlan handed Levi the gift that Santa had given him.

“Open it.” Furlan demanded, sounding exactly like his father.

Levi hesitantly peeled back the red wrapping paper to reveal a small keyring with two wings on them. One of them blue, and the other white. It was an insignificant little keyring, but for some reason, it made Levi begin to tear up.

Then it hit you. Levi didn’t hate the idea of his birthday anymore, because he had his own family to re-write the past with.

Furlan’s wish to the mall Santa, made Levi realise how loved he truly was.

And that small, cheap keyring was a symbol of the love from a son to his father, which Levi would treasure forever.

[lucytsukii]

Luck – The Angel of the Woods

[English is not my native language, there may be errors in the writing, I hope you like it!]

A character I adapted for Milkshake Mansion!

Mansion belongs to @boiling-potato

I will write about his personality and facts about him in another post (If you like it obviously, I'm very insecure ;w;) because this one got too long (sorry >w<")

Extensive lore warning!!

Story:

Luck was a cheerful and lively warrior angel, even playful, when one day, he was appointed as the guardian angel of a lively and troublesome young lady. He always followed her everywhere without a day off, always protecting her from evil spirits or specters.

One of those days, while killing a spirit, he ended up revealing himself to the little girl to protect her. From then on, she always called him or tried dangerous things just to see him again.

To prevent her from getting hurt, he started talking to her. Over the years, she grew up and the two became friends. However, the girl fell in love with the smiling angel. The angel discovered the girl's feelings, but saw her as a child, finally rejecting her with an awkward smile.

"A mortal cannot be with an angel, because he is immortal."

This was a phrase that left its mark on the girl. As the days passed, the angel noticed the girl's subtle change. She was planning something, but he didn't understand which way she was going, and she always avoided the subject.

This continued for a few months, but Luck noticed something strange: the number of evil beings around her increased, and even stronger. He didn't understand why, becoming even more distracted and distant from her because he was busy defeating these beings.

Until, on a cold night, the girl who was walking down the street headed out of the city, towards the woods.

Luck, not understanding the reason, tried to question her, but was distracted by another spirit that appeared. While fighting, he suddenly felt a chill. When he observed the girl, she was facing a being with a frightening aura, a demon.

The warrior angel was already prepared for combat, determined and confident of his strength, but something stopped him. The girl seemed excited when she looked at that being. She turned around with a look that made the poor angel shiver with fear, with a happy and calm expression. Finally, she said:

"That way, I can be immortal like you! And we will be together."

The angel widened his eyes, looking at the situation in slow motion. He realized what was happening. All these months, she had been looking for a way to achieve this goal of being together, and this demon used his influence to take her to where they were, to give her the hope she so desired, while distracting Luck with spirits so he wouldn't notice.

The girl, in front of that being, smiled as she went to proclaim her request, however, something surprised both the girl and the demon, in front of them Luck with halos stained red, was holding the heart of the girl he had just stolen, the girl, unable to process, fell unconscious seeing tears streaming down Luck's face as her last glimpse.

After a while, Luck would be staggering through the woods, injured from a long battle, but something else, he would be in a smaller form than usual, in his chest, a huge empty hole. As he tried to stay awake, he caught a glimpse of a huge mansion in the distance, decorated by moonlight.

-

With the light of dawn, the young girl wakes up, sitting in the middle of the street of her city, looking straight down a tiled path that leads to the woods, where she feels a vast feeling of loneliness...

Tag: @justafriendlystranger @boiling-potato @edgywithaheart

[oqwomyo]

Butler's wedding party. Haures' card translation.

Part 1.

- Devil's Palace Garden -

- A Few Days After the Party -

*Step step step*

Haures: Tomorrow is finally the day I can spend time alone with Master...

Haures: Fufu... This will be fun. Being alone with Master after a wedding-style party...

Haures: In a way, it's like a vacation with family...

Haures: ...Oh my god, what am I saying... Phew... I'm excited.

Haures: I'm a butler... Moreover, I'm a leader who should set an example for other butlers.

Haures: I should always try to act like a butler.

Haures: Alright. After that, I need to check the plans for tomorrow again.

Haures: I need to make careful preparations so I can have a great time with Master. In the morning, we'll head to town by carriage...

Haures: ...Huh? This is...

***

When I was walking in the garden... I noticed Haures crouched down, looking at the flowers. He seemed lost in thought. Even when I approached him, he didn't seem to notice.

You: Haures, what is it?

Haures: Eh...? Ah, Master...

Haures: My apologies. I didn't notice you...

You: You were looking at the flowers.

Haures: Yes... It looks like Ammon planted some new varieties.

Haures: These flowers seemed familiar to me... I couldn't help but stare at them.

You: What kind of flowers are these?

Haures: No... In fact, I don't even know their names...

Haures: When my sister was little... I distinctly remember her giving me a flower just like this.

You: Lady Tricia...

Haures: Yes. It happened when she was very little.

Haures: Oops... Sorry. I talk too much about myself...

Haures: Master. Tomorrow is the day we'll spend time together.

Haures: If you don't mind, I'd like to show you around the city using the plan I prepared.

Haures: Do you have any requests, Master?

You: As long as we're together, I'm fine.

- I'll leave it up to Haures.

Haures: Heh... Okay.

Haures: As Master's butler... I'll do my best to make sure you enjoy this day.

Haures: Well then, Master. I have some preparations to make, so please excuse me.

You: Uh-huh, I'll be looking forward to it.

Haures: Thank you. Then...

Haures bowed to me, and then... He left after looking at the flowers once more.

That night... I was planning to go to bed early to prepare for tomorrow... Suddenly, Haures came to my room.

Haures: My apologies, Master. Forgive me for visiting so late.

You: What happened? Haures.

Haures: Yeah, to be honest... We were planning to go to the city tomorrow, but...

Haures: The plans have changed a bit. Could you please spend some time with me at the mansion?

As long as I can spend time with Haures, I don't care where I am, but...

You: Okay, but what happened?

The reason why he changed his mind... It was bothering me.

Haures: Uh... To be honest...

Haures: Looking at the flowers during the day... I mentioned that I remembered a moment from the past.

You: It was about Tricia.

Haures: Yeah. Actually, these memories...

Haures: This flower is from my sister... I remembered her asking me to marry her.

You: M-marry..?

Haures: Yes. Of course, Tricia was just a baby then...

Haures: She didn't really understand the meaning of that word... I think she was just imitating what she saw in a picture book.

Haures: ...Still, she loved me as an older brother... She made that clear...

Haures: It was so touching to see her express her love so sincerely... I was happy.

Haures: Remembering how I felt back then... I thought about it.

Haures: Sometimes, in order to make the other person happy... It's important to express your feelings...

You: To be honest about your feelings...

Haures: Yes... When I was thinking about it... I decided to change the plan.

Haures: That's all I can say for now. This story will continue tomorrow...

Haures: Well then, Master, I apologize. Have a good rest today.

You: O-Okay...

After Haures left... I repeated his words in my head many times. "To make another person happy, it may be important to honestly express your feelings." While I was thinking about these words... I didn't notice how I fell asleep.

Part 2.

- Devil's Palace Room -

The next morning... I was in my room, waiting for Haures to come get me.

Haures: Master. I've come.

You: Come in.

Haures: Good afternoon, Master.

Haures: Sorry for the wait. It took me longer than I expected to prepare.

You: Don't worry.

Haures: I see... Thank you for understanding.

Haures: Then, Master. As I said yesterday...

Haures: I'd like you to spend time with me in the mansion today. And what we... will be doing...

Haures: Master. Is it okay if we go to the garden?

You: The garden?

Haures: Yes. There's something... That I'd like to give to Master.

When Haures said that... His eyes were as serious as yesterday. When I looked at those eyes... Without asking why, I would follow him to the garden.

You: Okay, Haures.

Haures: Thank you.

Haures: Then... Let's go.

Being a little nervous... I went to the garden with Haures.

- Devil's Palace Garden -

- A few minutes later -

After we arrived at the garden... Haures asked me to wait. He said that he would bring what he wanted to give me. I glanced at the flowers that Haures was looking at yesterday. The flowers that brought back memories to Haures... The pale petals leave a beautiful impression.

You: Beautiful flowers...

When I thought about it... I heard a voice behind me.

???: Heh... Does Master think so too?

When I stood up and looked around... Haures was standing there holding a bouquet of flowers. The one tied with a ribbon... They were the same flowers we saw. Although I was confused... I couldn't help but sigh at the beauty of the bouquet.

You: How beautiful...

Haures: Fufu... Thank you, Master.

Haures: It seems Master liked it... I feel relieved.

Haures: It's just a bouquet of wildflowers, so it may not be as colorful as the flowers that are used for gifts, but...

Haures: In order to convey the feelings of the precious Master... I thought these flowers would be perfect.

Haures raised his head... And turned to me with a serious expression.

Haures: This may not be the appropriate choice of words for a butler, but... Please allow me to say it this way.

Haures: ...I love you, Master.

Haures: You have a kind and beautiful heart... The fact that I serve you...

Haures: I will always be proud of it.

You: Haures...

If you look... Haures' eyes were serious.

Haures: Master. If you can, I beg you...

Haures: This bouquet of flowers contains my feelings... Could you accept it?

Haures: To me, you are... Such an important person.

Haures: If Master wishes, I will...

Haures: Forever and ever... I promise to always be with you.

Haures handed me the bouquet. His eyes showed his incredible sincerity... I could feel his trust in me. When I received the bouquet of flowers he gave me... I took a step closer to him.

You: Likewise, take care of me from now on.

- I promise, Haures.

Haures: Master...

When I answered... Haures finally relaxed his face. His expression was completely different from before, with a calm smile on his face... And a feeling of comfort spread across my chest. Looking at me... Haures also narrowed his eyes happily.

- Devil's Palace Room -

- Later -

To decorate the room with a bouquet of flowers... Haures and I returned to the mansion.

Haures: Master. I'll bring a vase.

Haures: I'm thinking of decorating the room with the flowers I gave you earlier... Is that okay?

You: Sure.

Haures: Okay. Then I'll do it.

After saying that... Haures untied the ribbon and took off the wrapping of the bouquet. And the untied bow... Haures looked at it as if he wanted to say something.

You: Is there something wrong with the bow?

Haures: Ah... No, nothing.

Haures: But, um... The bouquet took so long to wrap...

Haures: However, it can be unwrapped in an instant... I was thinking about that.

You: Maybe this bouquet...

- Has Haures wrapped it?

Haures: Yeah... Honestly, that's it.

Haures: I'm not very good with my hands... I wanted to ask Ammon to wrap this bouquet, but...

Haures: In the end... Although I failed many times, I wrapped it myself.

Haures: Wrapping the flowers with someone else's hands to convey my feelings to the master... It felt wrong.

You: Is that so...

Haures: Yeah. I'm just ashamed of how clumsy I am.

You: That's not true.

- Thank you for doing this for me.

Haures: Master... Thank you.

Hearing my words... Haures smiled happily. But that smile... As Haures began to arrange the flowers in the vase, his expression gradually began to darken.

Haures: Um... Trimming the stems a bit to fit the vase...

He was having a hard time handling the flowers... I could tell he was taking it seriously. His awkward sincerity... I felt so happy.

You: ...Hey, Haures.

Haures: Yes. Master, what is it?

I took one of the flowers he gave me... I extended both my hands to him.

You: I love you too.

- Haures is important to me too.

Haures: ...!

Haures closed his eyes, and then... He blushed a little.

Haures: Fufu... Thank you, Master.

Haures: I got to meet such a wonderful person... I'm happy.

Haures: And, this... I feel a little embarrassed to say this myself, but...

Haures: I... I'm happy that Master thinks of me as someone important.

Haures looked at me... He narrowed his eyes in a friendly manner.

Haures: Um, Master... My plans for today...

Haures: When we drink tea together... Can we rest together?

Haures: I want to calm down and talk about various things with Master.

Haures: Like talking about memories...

You: What about the future?

Haures: Fufu, yeah. I think it would be fun to talk about it.

Haures: Master, please... Let's continue to be together forever.

Haures: Master is more important than anyone... I will make you happy like no one else...

After saying that... Haures carefully took the flower I offered him. This flower in his hands... It became bright and delicate.

[fuqnia]

college AU! stan x fem bodied YN

stan and yn are reallyyy close friends, like REALLY close, to the point of kissing eachother sometimes. at this point, him and wendy are not a thing (unless you do poly and we could get some poly action, if not thats fine) and stan and YN like eachother romantically. stan knows he likes them but hasn't come to terms with it, while YN themselves are oblivious to their OWN crush on him because they don't understand their own feelings most the time.

can YN also be a brat (like maybe kind of stuck up and prissy) and also be flirty with people they're comfortable with?

that personality leads me to this: stan snapping and ends up fucking them (maybe confrontational? like, holds their cheeks and asks them if they're even aware how they make him feel, so fuzzy, but also so so so mad! (in a good way of course)

can i have themes of dom/sub (dom stan/sub YN), brat taming, light degradation with heavy praise, impact play?(if you're not comfortable with this one thats fine, i was just thinking maybe spanking of the ass, thighs, and clit), edging, orgasm control, dacryphilia, overstimulation, heavy teasing, and overall just mean but also super soft stan?

thankss (if this request makes you uncomfortable then thats okay)

stan marsh x fem!reader insert (college au)

(╥﹏╥) | [A/N] ah my first request ever! this is kinda long for a request, but i wanted to make it special. i'm so sorry for butchering dom/sub dynamics, i haven't really written that yet. and jesus christ i made stan talk alot in this, and i really highlighted how he would definitely wear tons of bracelets for some reason LMAO. again this was a challenge for me bcus i usually write stan kinda softish and quiet. thank u again <3 there's a scene where stan just goes on his phone during the middle of it and i almost died writing it was so funny to me

(╥﹏╥) | [CW] p in v, fingering, p eating, dom/sub dynamics, dacryphilia, edging, overstimulation assholeish stan and reader, cartman is cartman

The room was dimly lit, illuminated mostly by the soft glow of Stan’s TV screen as he sat cross-legged on the floor, completely immersed in his game. Faint sounds of gunfire and laughter from Cartman and Kenny filtered through his headset. Stan leaned forward slightly, his hands gripping the controller tightly, his brows furrowed in concentration.

On the bed, you sighed loudly, barely glancing up from your phone as you continued scrolling through TikTok and Instagram. The endless feed of videos and posts did little to distract you from the heavy boredom pressing down on you.

You switched apps, opening Snapchat out of sheer desperation for something interesting. As you flipped through stories, your scrolling halted abruptly at one that made your stomach twist.

Bebe and Clyde were out on another date. The photo Bebe posted showed their hands intertwined across a table, captioned: “My fave person 💕.”

Your chest tightened, an uncomfortable heat settling there. You didn’t know why it bothered you so much—it wasn’t like you were into Clyde or anything. Still, the jealousy gnawed at you, bitter and unshakable.

Shaking your head, you exited the app and glanced at Stan, who hadn’t once looked in your direction despite your exaggerated sighs. He was totally engrossed in his game, his headset cushioning his ears and his focus glued to the screen.

“Stan,” you called out, your voice edged with impatience.

No response. His lips twitched slightly, like he might’ve heard you, but he made no effort to acknowledge your call.

You huffed, tossing your phone onto the bed. If Stan wasn’t going to pay attention to you willingly, you’d have to force his hand. Sliding off the bed, you walked up behind him and bent down, placing your hands lightly on his shoulders. Without hesitation, you slid into his lap, grinning as his body stiffened in surprise.

“[Y/N]—what the hell dude?” Stan sputtered, almost dropping his controller as he glanced down at you.

Cartman’s voice blared through his headset. “STAN, YOU DUMBASS! MOVE! YOU JUST GOT US KILLED!”

Stan groaned loudly, hastily muting his mic before turning his full attention to you. “I’m in the middle of a game!” he said, his tone exasperated.

You tilted your head, a playful pout forming on your lips. “Yeah, well, I’m bored,” you said, looping your arms around his neck. “Why aren’t you paying attention to me?”

Stan blinked, his expression caught somewhere between irritation and disbelief. “Because I’m playing with Cartman and Kenny? You know—my friends?”

“Uh-huh,” you said, your voice dripping with faux innocence. “But I’m more important than Cartman and Kenny, aren’t I?”

Stan stared at you, clearly unsure how to respond. His hands hovered awkwardly near your waist, his usual confidence suddenly replaced by uncertainty. “You’re being weird,” he said finally, his blue eyes narrowing slightly.

A smirk tugged at your lips as you leaned closer, your face only inches from his. “Weird? You’re so dramatic.”

Before he could reply, you closed the small distance between you and pressed your lips to his, your chapstick leaving a faint, sweet taste behind as you kissed him. It wasn’t unusual for you and Stan to kiss—your friendship had always had an element of playfulness—but this time felt different. The way your lips lingered a moment longer, the way your fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his hoodie...

You pulled back, giggling softly at the stunned look on his face.

Stan’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, he just stared at you, his blue eyes narrowing slightly as his grip on your hips firmed. His gaze burned with something intense, something unspoken that made your stomach flutter.

But then he exhaled sharply, his lips pressing into a thin line as he reached up and unmuted his mic. “I’m back,” he said curtly, his tone clipped as he picked up his controller and resumed his game.

You blinked, taken aback by his reaction. He didn’t push you off, didn’t say anything else—just continued playing as if you weren’t still perched in his lap.

Cartman’s voice crackled through the headset. “About time, dude. You literally lost us the game because you were being a dumbass.”

Stan didn’t respond, his focus locked on the screen. His hands gripped the controller, his movements precise and deliberate, but you could feel the tension radiating from him.

You shifted slightly in his lap, testing his reaction, but he didn’t budge. His jaw was still tight, his eyes fixed on the screen, though you caught the faintest twitch of his lips when you leaned in close and whispered teasingly, “Am I distracting you?”

Stan’s lips pressed into a firmer line, his knuckles whitening on the controller. “You’re fine,” he said evenly, though the edge in his voice betrayed him. His blue eyes stayed locked on the screen, his jaw tight, clearly trying to pretend you weren’t there.

Before he could stop you, you reached up and slipped the headset off his head.

“[Y/N], don’t,” Stan muttered, his voice tense, but you ignored him, slipping the headset onto your own head and adjusting the mic with a sly smile.

“Hey, idiots!” you chirped into the mic.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Cartman groaned immediately. “Why the hell are you here? Don’t you have something better to do, like annoying someone else or scamming free drinks with that dumb whore shit you pulll?”

“Cartman, don’t start,” Kenny chimed in, his tone amused. “She’s just here to make sure Stan doesn’t embarrass himself again.”

You laughed, leaning back in Stan’s lap and twirling the cord of the headset. “Aw, Kenny, you’re my favorite. Cartman’s just mad because he missed me.”

“I do not miss you,” Cartman snapped. “You’re like a human migraine. Stan, can you tell your ‘friend’ to fuck off so we can actually play?”

Stan muttered something under his breath, his hands hovering uselessly over the controller. “Give me the headset back, [Y/N].”

But you ignored him, turning your attention back to the game. “Eric, don’t lie. You love when I’m around. It makes your miserable little life less boring.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Cartman barked. “You’re just here to mess with us. And Kenny’s a simp for eating this up.”

“You’re right, I am,” Kenny said, laughing. “At least she’s fun. Unlike you, Cartman.”

“Fuck you, Kenny!” Cartman shot back. “Stan, seriously, can you control your fucking lap gremlin?”

Stan sighed heavily, his jaw clenching as he grabbed the headset off your head and slid it back on. His blue eyes bore into yours, his frustration clear. “Enough,” he said, his voice low and firm.

You blinked at him innocently, your lips twitching into a small smile. “What? I was just being nice.”

“Nobody buys that,” Stan muttered, his hands settling firmly on your waist. “Not even you.”

“Come on, I’m always nice,” you teased, your grin widening as you tilted your head.

Stan stared at you for a long moment, his blue eyes narrowing as though he were weighing his next move. Then, without a word, he unmuted his mic and picked up the controller again.

“I’m back,” he said flatly, his tone cold as he resumed playing.

“Thank God,” Cartman grumbled. “She’s insufferable. Get her out of here, Stan, or I’m rage-quitting.”

“She’s not that bad,” Kenny said with a laugh. “Honestly, she’s more entertaining than watching Stan suck at this game.”

Stan ignored them both, his eyes glued to the screen, though you noticed the way his grip on the controller tightened.

You stayed perched in Stan’s lap as he continued to play, his focus unwavering despite your presence. The faint sound of gunfire and Cartman’s incessant yelling filled the room, but your mind was elsewhere. Your fingers moved idly to his hair, combing through the strands and twisting them gently.

Stan’s bleached hair had grown out since you helped him with it, leaving a stark contrast between the blonde and his natural dark roots. You smiled faintly, remembering the day he let you bleach it in his bathroom. He’d been skeptical at first, grumbling about how “Cartman’s gonna call me a wannabe TikTok e-boy.”

But when you revealed the final result, the look of surprise on his face had been worth every moment.

“Holy shit,” he’d muttered, running a hand through the freshly bleached strands.

“See? Told you it’d look good dude,” you’d replied smugly. Then, on impulse, you’d pressed a kiss to his cheek, unable to stop yourself from smiling.

That kiss had been casual, friendly. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Your fingers stilled in Stan’s hair as the memory brought another one to the surface—the first time you’d kissed him. It was at a party, the two of you leaning against a wall in some corner, slightly buzzed from cheap vodka. Someone had said something stupid, and you’d both dissolved into laughter.

And then, without thinking, you’d leaned in and kissed him.

It hadn’t lasted long—just a brief press of lips, fueled by alcohol and laughter—but it had been enough to make your head spin. Stan hadn’t pulled away. If anything, he’d leaned in slightly, like he’d been waiting for it.

But the moment passed, and neither of you brought it up again.

Kissing Stan had become familiar since then. It was just... something you did. A casual thing. Or at least, that’s what you convinced yourself.

Your gaze shifted to his profile now, the faint concentration lines between his brows as he played. The glow from the screen lit up his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and the soft curve of his lips. You couldn’t help but wonder: Did he ever think about those kisses? Did he feel the same pull you did, the strange comfort of it?

The thought made your chest tighten.

Do you like me?

The question lingered in your mind, unspoken and heavy. Stan had always been a constant in your life—steady, dependable, the one who tolerated your bratty tendencies without complaint. But did he like you?

And more importantly... did you like him?

Your fingers resumed their gentle movement in his hair, your heart beating a little faster as you struggled to untangle your thoughts. Kissing Stan didn’t feel like it should mean anything. But lately, you couldn’t stop wondering if it did.

“You okay dude?” Stan’s voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. He didn’t look at you, his eyes still on the screen, but the concern in his voice was clear.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Just... thinking.”

Stan nodded, his expression unreadable. “You’re quiet.”

You let out a soft laugh, brushing your fingers through his hair one last time before resting your hands on his shoulders. “Guess I’m just tired.”

“Mm-hmm,” Stan muttered, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t press further.

You leaned back slightly, watching him play, the weight of your thoughts settling heavily in your chest.

You shifted slightly in Stan’s lap, your fingers still playing with his hair when your phone buzzed on the bed. The sudden noise made you glance over, and Red’s name lit up the screen.

“Oh, hold on, it’s Red,” you said, slipping off Stan’s lap. He didn’t respond, just kept his eyes glued to the game.

You grabbed your phone, swiping to answer as you perched on the edge of Stan’s desk.

“Hey, Red!” you greeted, your voice instantly bright and flirty.

“About time,” Red said, her tone teasing. “So, are you gonna tell me why you’ve been off the grid? And don’t say it’s because you’re studying babe—I know better.”

You laughed, glancing at Stan out of the corner of your eye. “Oh, you know me. Always finding ways to entertain myself. I’m at Stan’s dorm right now.”

Red let out a dramatic gasp. “Stan? Again? Wow, you two might as well move in together at this point.”

Stan’s fingers faltered briefly on the controller, but he didn’t look away from the screen.

“Right? It’s like we’re married already,” you joked, leaning back and toying with the edge of Stan’s desk.

Red cackled. “God, you two are so weird. What’s he doing? Ignoring you like always?”

“Yup,” you said, your voice dripping with fake indignation. “He’s playing his stupid game. As usual.”

Stan adjusted his headset slightly, the earcups slipping off one ear now. He didn’t say anything, but you could tell he was listening.

“Honestly,” you continued, keeping your tone light, “it’s kind of tragic how bad he is at multitasking. Like, he can only focus on one thing at a time. I bet if I disappeared, he wouldn’t even notice until he lost the match.”

Red let out a snort. “Come on, [Y/N]. Give him some credit. He’s not that bad. And you’re always hanging around him anyway, so clearly he’s doing something right.”

“Eh,” you replied, smirking. “He’s tolerable. Most of the time.” You glanced at Stan again, noting the way his jaw tightened slightly.

“And?” Red prompted. “What about when he’s not tolerable?”

You grinned mischievously, the words spilling out before you could stop yourself. “When he’s not tolerable? I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just trade him in for someone better.”

Stan froze. His hands stopped moving, and the room went silent except for the sound of Cartman and Kenny yelling through his headset.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Red asked, her voice curious but amused.

Before you could answer, Stan stood abruptly, pulling off his headset and letting it rest on the chair. He crossed the room in three long strides, his presence making the small dorm feel even smaller.

“Red, I’ll call you back,” you said quickly, hanging up before she could respond.

Stan loomed over you now, his blue eyes dark and unreadable. He reached past you and pressed the power button on his PS5, the room falling into silence as the screen went black.

“What the fuck was that?” he asked, his voice low but tight with frustration.

You blinked up at him, playing innocent even as your heart raced. “What was what?”

“Don’t play dumb, [Y/N],” Stan said, stepping closer, his presence overwhelming. “That shit you said to Red. What the hell was that about?”

Stan stared down at you, his blue eyes sharp as he waited for an explanation. You leaned back slightly against the desk, tilting your head innocently as you blinked up at him.

“What?” you said, feigning confusion. “I was just talking to Red about how you’re my bestest friend in the whole world.” You clasped your hands together dramatically, flashing him a teasing grin. “She loves hearing about how much I adore you.”

Stan’s jaw clenched, his brows furrowing deeper. “Your ‘bestest friend,’ huh?” he repeated, his tone skeptical, edged with something darker. “Because that’s exactly how it sounded.”

You shrugged, letting out a playful laugh. “I mean, come on, Stan. Red knows you’re my favorite. I was just hyping you up, obviously.”

“Hyping me up?” His voice was low, incredulous. “You told her you’d trade me in for someone better.”

You waved a dismissive hand, still playing up your act. “Oh, that? That was just a joke. You know I didn’t mean it.”

Stan stepped closer, his hands braced on either side of you against the desk. The space between you disappeared, and his intense gaze locked onto yours. “Do you ever think before you open your mouth?” he asked, his voice calm but heavy with tension. “Or do you just say shit for the fun of it?”

The teasing grin faltered on your lips for a split second before you forced it back into place. “Relax, Marsh,” you said lightly, though your pulse quickened under the weight of his stare. “You’re taking this way too seriously.”

Stan’s head tilted slightly, his jaw tightening as he studied you. “Am I?” he asked, his voice quieter now, but no less commanding. “Because it’s starting to feel like you’re trying to get a rise out of me.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you refused to let it show. “Me?” you said with mock innocence, batting your lashes. “Why would I ever do that?”

Stan didn’t answer right away. His eyes flickered down to your lips briefly before meeting your gaze again, the tension between you crackling like static electricity. His presence was overwhelming, and you suddenly became acutely aware of how close he was, how his body practically boxed you in against the desk.

“You’re unbelievable,” he muttered finally, his voice low and rough.

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. For once, the teasing remark you had ready in your head didn’t make it past your lips. The intensity in Stan’s eyes held you in place, your heart pounding in your chest as the air between you grew heavier.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and unrelenting, as you blinked up at Stan, trying to piece together what exactly had him so worked up. Sure, you’d teased him plenty of times before—this wasn’t new—but something about tonight was different. He wasn’t just annoyed; he was genuinely mad, and it caught you off guard.

“Stan,” you said, your voice softer now, though still carrying that teasing edge. “Why are you so mad? We’re friends. We do this all the time!”

Stan’s brows knit together, his jaw tightening as he took a slow breath. “Friends,” he repeated, his voice low and almost to himself, like he was testing how the word felt on his tongue. He leaned back slightly, straightening up, but his hands stayed braced on the desk, keeping you effectively trapped. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?” you asked, tilting your head in genuine confusion. “We joke around like this all the time. Why is it such a big deal tonight?”

Stan’s blue eyes flicked over your face, searching for something, but whatever he was looking for, he didn’t seem to find it. He let out a frustrated exhale, running a hand through his bleached hair, his fingers catching in the grown-out roots. “Jesus Christ, [Y/N],” he muttered, his voice tight. “You can’t just—”

He stopped himself, his hands balling into fists at his sides as he visibly struggled to keep his cool. For a moment, he looked like he was going to let it go, like he was going to step back and walk away from whatever was eating at him. But then his gaze snapped back to yours, and you saw the flicker of something raw and unresolved in his eyes.

“You don’t even realize what you do to me,” he said finally, his voice quiet but heavy, each word carefully measured.

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words hitting you like a freight train. “What I do to you?” you echoed, your brows furrowing as you tried to process what he was saying. “Stan, I—”

“You don’t get to act like this doesn’t mean something,” he interrupted, his tone sharper now, though his voice never rose above a low murmur. “You don’t get to sit in my lap, kiss me whenever you feel like it, say the shit you just said to Red, and then turn around and call me your ‘bestest friend.’” He spat the last words with a bitterness that made your chest tighten.

“I thought we were just... I mean, that’s just how we are,” you stammered, the confusion in your voice genuine. “We always mess around like that. It’s not—”

“It’s not just messing around for me,” he cut in, his voice breaking slightly at the end. He took a step closer, closing the gap between you again, his hands moving to grip the edge of the desk on either side of you. “I don’t think you even understand what the fuck you’re doing to me, [Y/N]. How you make me feel.”

Your heart was racing now, the weight of his words sinking in but not fully connecting in your mind. “Stan,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to make you feel—”

“You make me feel like I’m losing my goddamn mind,” he said, his voice strained, his blue eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach twist. “You waltz in here, act like you own the place, and... fuck. You make me feel so much, and then you just brush it off like it’s nothing. Like it’s some fucking game.”

Your lips parted, but no words came. You’d never seen Stan like this—so raw, so vulnerable—and it left you reeling. You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to explain that you hadn’t meant to hurt him, that you hadn’t even realized you were doing it.

“I... I didn’t know,” you whispered finally, your voice barely audible.

Stan’s eyes were sharp and unwavering, his frustration palpable as he leaned closer, boxing you in against the desk. “You didn’t know?” he echoed, his voice low and edged with disbelief. “Really? So, what about all those times you kiss me out of nowhere? Like at that party last month, when you were drunk and decided to make me your personal fucking experiment.”

Your heart raced, and your lips parted to defend yourself, but he didn’t give you a chance. He pressed on, his tone growing sharper. “Or what about when you sat in my lap at Kenny’s place during movie night and kept playing with my hair? You acted like it was nothing, like it didn’t mean a damn thing, even though everyone was staring.”

“It’s just how I am,” you said defensively, your voice trembling as you tried to process the weight of his words. “You know that! I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just... it’s just fun.”

“Fun?” he repeated, his jaw tightening as he let out a bitter laugh. “Dude, do you even hear yourself? You sit here, playing with me like I’m some toy, and you call it fun? Like it doesn’t fuck me up every single time you do it?”

“I didn’t realize—” you began, but he cut you off again, stepping closer until his face was inches from yours.

“Of course you didn’t,” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “Because you don’t think. You don’t stop for one goddamn second to think about how the shit you do might affect me.”

The weight of his words hit you like a punch to the gut. You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. The air between you was heavy, charged with a tension you couldn’t name, and for the first time, you didn’t know how to talk your way out of it.

Stan’s gaze softened just slightly, though the frustration in his eyes didn’t fade. “You can’t keep doing this, [Y/N],” he said quietly, his voice raw. “You can’t keep acting like this is nothing, like I’m nothing.”

Your chest tightened, and you felt your breath hitch as the gravity of his words sank in. “Stan,” you whispered, your voice trembling, “I didn’t know you felt this way. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his blue eyes searching yours for something—an answer, an apology, a sign that you understood. But all he found was confusion and guilt, and it made his shoulders tense even more.

“I don’t think you even know what you want,” he said finally, his voice softer now but laced with frustration. “And maybe that’s the problem.”

The silence was suffocating, your chest tight with a mix of emotions you didn’t fully understand. Stan’s words hung heavy in the air, but something about them—something about the way he said you didn’t know what you wanted—set you off.

Your brows furrowed, and you straightened up, leaning closer to him, your voice sharp as you snapped, “Excuse me? You think you know me so well, Stan? That I don’t know what I want? Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t have a clue.”

Stan’s eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching as he stared at you. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he asked, his tone low and simmering with barely restrained anger.

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you glared at him. “It means you don’t get to stand there and act like you’ve got it all figured out while calling me out for being confused. Maybe you’re just pissed because you’re too scared to deal with your own feelings.”

Stan’s lips pressed into a thin line, his blue eyes darkening as he took a step closer to you. The tension between you crackled like a live wire, and for a moment, you thought he was going to say something. Instead, he closed the distance in a single, deliberate motion, his hand gripping your wrist as he pulled you toward him.

“Stan—” you started, but the words were cut off as his other hand cupped the back of your head, dragging you into a searing kiss.

It wasn’t soft or tentative—it was fierce, overwhelming, and commanding, his lips moving against yours with a desperation that left you breathless. Your body instinctively leaned into him, your hands clutching at his shirt as the world seemed to tilt on its axis. His grip on you was firm, grounding, and you could feel the frustration and need pouring out of him in every movement.

Your heart raced, your head spinning as you pulled away from him. “Stan—”

“Stop,” Stan interrupted, his tone sharp as he grabbed your wrist, pulling you toward the bed. “You don’t get to play dumb about this. Not anymore.”

Your back hit the mattress before you could say a word, his body towering over you as he leaned down, his bracelets clinking faintly with the movement. His bleached hair fell into his eyes, messy and slightly damp with sweat, and his tan skin glowed in the low light of the room. His hands framed your face, steady but firm, his thumbs brushing over your warm cheeks as his intense gaze locked onto yours.

“You’ve been screwing with my head for months,” he started, his voice low but taut with emotion. “Kissing me like it’s no big deal, running your hands all over me, batting your damn eyelashes like... like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.” His jaw clenched, and he shook his head slightly, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.

Your breath hitched, your lips parting to speak, but Stan didn’t give you the chance. “Don’t even try to tell me it’s ‘just you being you,’” he pressed, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You don’t get it, do you? How much you get to me.”

His lips crashed into yours, silencing whatever excuse or explanation was forming in your head. The kiss was heated, desperate, and when he pulled back, his breathing was heavy, his face inches from yours. A string of saliva broke between you as he spoke, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “You make me feel insane, [Y/N]. Like I don’t know which way is up.”

Your eyes widened as he cupped your cheek more firmly, his thumb brushing against the corner of your mouth. His brow furrowed, and his voice softened, tinged with an almost hesitant vulnerability. “Have you even thought about it? What it’s like to be me? To deal with this—deal with you?”

You opened your mouth, unsure of what to say, but Stan wasn’t finished. He shook his head, running a hand through his messy bleached hair and laughing humorlessly. “You’re so fucking clueless. You act like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t matter. But it does. It matters to me.”

His words hit you hard, a swirl of emotions rising in your chest—guilt, confusion, and something deeper that you hadn’t yet put a name to. “Stan...” you started, your voice trembling, but he cut you off again, his hand moving to gently grip your jaw, keeping your attention fixed on him.

“You make me feel so good sometimes,” he admitted, his voice raw and quieter now, almost like it was a confession. “Like... like nothing else in the world matters. But then you turn around, and it’s like you’re trying to drive me insane.”

Your chest tightened as you stared up at him, your breath catching in your throat. The intensity of his words, the sheer weight of his emotions—it was overwhelming. But there was no mistaking the honesty in his gaze, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the room.

He sighed, his frustration ebbing slightly, replaced with something softer. “You don’t get it, do you?” he said, shaking his head again, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “You don’t even realize what you do to me.”

“I...” You trailed off, your voice barely a whisper, the words you wanted to say slipping through your grasp. You didn’t know how to explain what you felt—didn’t even know if you understood it yourself.

Stan gave a soft, almost exasperated laugh, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. “Of course you don’t,” he murmured, his voice tinged with a mix of fondness and frustration. “You never do.”

He leaned in, his forehead brushing against yours as his breathing steadied, his hand still cradling your cheek. “But you’re gonna figure it out, [Y/N]. You’re gonna figure it out real soon.”

Before you could respond, Stan leaned in again, his lips pressing against yours with a raw urgency that caught you off guard. His hand on your cheek softened, but his other arm wrapped firmly around your waist, pulling you flush against him as if he couldn’t stand even an inch of distance. His bracelets clinked softly with the movement, grounding the moment in the quiet tension of the room.

His lips moved with an intensity that made your head spin, and he groaned low against your mouth, the sound sending heat coursing through you. But as his hand slid lower, you broke the kiss, a teasing smirk tugging at your lips. Stan’s brows furrowed instantly, frustration flashing in his blue eyes as you sat back, a little too smug for his liking.

“What now?” he asked, his voice sharp but low, like he was already bracing himself for whatever nonsense you were about to pull.

You tilted your head, your fingers playing idly with the hem of his t-shirt. “Wow, Stan,” you started, your tone saccharine and laced with mockery. “I didn’t know you were so desperate. Did I mess up your game that badly?”

His jaw ticked, the muscle flexing as he let out a short, humorless laugh. “Shut up,” he muttered, shaking his head. His hands rested on his hips for a moment, his bracelets sliding down his forearms, before he leaned in, his expression darkening.

“No, seriously,” you continued, undeterred, your teasing grin widening. “Do I need to apologize to Cartman and Kenny? Tell them their carry bailed ‘cause you couldn’t handle a little distraction?”

Stan’s patience snapped. His hands grabbed the hem of your shirt, and before you could react, he yanked it over your head, tossing it carelessly to the side. The motion left you momentarily stunned, blinking up at him as he loomed over you.

“Stan!” you gasped, more surprised than offended. “What the hell—”

“You wanted my attention?” he cut you off, his voice low, the edge in it sending a jolt through you. “Well, you’ve got it. So go ahead. Say whatever smart-ass thing you were about to.”

Your heart raced as his hands returned to your waist, his grip firm but not rough, pulling you closer. His expression was unreadable, a mix of annoyance, desire, and something deeper that made your stomach twist. The way his messy bleached hair framed his face, the soft flush on his tan skin, and the glint of his bracelets as he adjusted his grip—everything about him right now was so painfully, undeniably Stan, and it made your head spin.

You tried to think of something witty, something sharp, but the intensity in his gaze stole the words from your mouth. Sensing your hesitation, Stan let out a soft, dark chuckle, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. “That’s what I thought,” he said, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

As if to emphasize his point, his hands slid up your sides, his touch firm but deliberate as his fingers grazed over the lace of your bra. His lips dipped to your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses that left you shivering. When his teeth scraped lightly against your pulse point, you let out a soft moan, your nails digging into his arms.

“You think you’re so funny,” he muttered against your skin, his tone carrying just a hint of exasperation. “Always running that mouth, always pushing me. But when it comes down to it...”

Before you could respond, he pinched lightly at your side, just enough to make you gasp. The sound seemed to satisfy him, and his lips curved into a grin as he kissed his way down your neck. “You never know when to quit, do you?” he added, his voice softer now, almost like he was teasing himself more than you.

“I—” You tried to speak, but your voice faltered as his lips found the edge of your bra, his breath warm against your skin. His hands slid lower, gripping your hips as he pressed you back into the mattress, the weight of him anchoring you in place.

“You’re always so damn smug,” he continued, his tone quiet but sharp. His hand moved to cup your cheek again, tilting your head slightly so his lips hovered just over yours. “But you don’t have a clue what you’re doing, do you?”

Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, your heart racing from the heat in his words and the way his touch seemed to set your skin alight. “Stan...” you managed to whisper, your voice trembling.

“Shh,” he interrupted, brushing his thumb lightly over your bottom lip. “I don’t want to hear it. You’ve said enough.” His smirk softened slightly, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something vulnerable in his expression. “Now it’s my turn.”

Stan pulled his hand away from your mouth, his fingers brushing the strap of your bra as he met your gaze. His expression was sharp, almost unreadable, but there was something deliberate in the way his hand slid to your shoulder, gently pushing the strap down. He moved with an almost casual precision, like he wasn’t just savoring the moment but making damn sure you knew he was in control.

His lips found your neck again, his kisses slow and deliberate as the other strap slid down your arm. You shivered, the cool air against your skin making you hyperaware of every single touch, every bit of pressure from his hands. When his fingers reached the clasp of your bra, he hesitated just long enough to send your heart racing.

“You’re so quiet all of a sudden,” he muttered near your ear, his voice low and full of teasing disbelief. “What happened to all the shit you were saying earlier?”

Your cheeks burned, and before you could retort, he unhooked the clasp with an ease that made your breath hitch. He let the lace fall away like it was nothing, his hands immediately cupping your chest. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, his touch surprisingly tender for a moment—until he gave a sharp, calculated pinch that made you gasp.

“Yeah,” he said, his lips twitching into a smirk as he watched your back arch instinctively. “That’s what I thought.”

His grip stayed firm, his thumbs teasing the sensitive peaks of your chest as his lips trailed along your jaw, hot and deliberate. “All that attitude,” he murmured, the words spilling against your skin. “And now? Not a damn word.”

The heat in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t stop the soft whimper that escaped your lips when he pinched again, rolling your skin between his fingers with just enough pressure to have you squirming under him.

He chuckled at your reaction, the sound low and rough as his lips made their way down to your collarbone. “Does this feel good?” he asked, the mock sweetness in his tone making your stomach twist in the best way.

You tried to form words, but all you managed was a breathy moan. His smirk deepened, his blue eyes flashing with a mix of satisfaction and that familiar intensity that made your chest tighten. 

His hands started to move, one sliding down your side with an almost lazy kind of purpose. His fingers brushed over your waist before dipping under the waistband of your panties. He paused there, just teasing the fabric, the rough pads of his fingers grazing your skin.

“Look at you,” he said, his lips curling into a faint smirk as his thumb toyed with the hemline. “All that confidence, all that fire—and now you’re just laying here, waiting for me to decide what happens next.”

Your breath hitched as his fingers dipped lower, brushing close enough to make your thighs tense. “Stan,” you whispered, your voice shaky, “please...”

His laugh was soft but laced with a kind of smug triumph that made your cheeks flush. “That’s better,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower as he let his fingers skim just a little closer to where you needed him. “See? You don’t always have to run your mouth.”

Your body arched toward him instinctively, the anticipation driving you mad, but his movements stayed deliberate, controlled. “Maybe you’re finally figuring out how this works,” he continued, his tone equal parts teasing and sharp. “Or maybe you’re just that desperate.”

Stan’s fingers hooked under the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down with an almost lazy slowness. The fabric slid down your thighs, the cool air biting against your heated skin as he tossed them aside without a second thought. His movements were deliberate, but there was nothing showy about it—he just knew exactly what he was doing.

He shifted back, the bed creaking slightly as he knelt on the floor in front of you. The sight made your stomach flip—a mix of nervousness and something much hotter. Propped up on your elbows, you stared down at him, your breath catching as the full picture came into view.

His messy bleached hair framed his face, dark roots peeking through like a signature Stan move—half careless, half effort. His lips, swollen and pink from earlier, twitched faintly into a smirk that was both boyish and entirely too knowing. His band t-shirt clung to his chest, the faded logo stretching every time he breathed, and his gray sweatpants hung just low enough to show a hint of the waistband of his boxers. The bracelets circling his wrists—random, colorful, maybe from some flea market—clinked lightly as he moved, his hands sliding up your thighs.

Stan leaned in, pressing his lips against the soft skin of your inner thigh. The warm graze of his breath against you sent a shiver up your spine, and you couldn’t stop the way your hips shifted forward, searching for more contact.

“Seriously?” you teased breathlessly, your voice cracking slightly but still laced with a hint of defiance. “You’re really gonna drag this out?”

His hands froze for a moment, his gaze snapping up to meet yours. His blue eyes burned, sharp with amusement, but there was a glint of something darker too—something that made your stomach twist. A slow, almost smug grin spread across his face.

“Still talking, huh?” he drawled, his voice low, edged with dry humor. “Bold of you, considering where you are right now.”

Before you could even think of a comeback, his fingers caught the lace of your panties and yanked them to the side with deliberate force. The motion left you exposed, and the cool air against your heated skin made you gasp.

Stan leaned in closer, his breath warm as it ghosted over your most sensitive spot. His gaze locked onto yours, and his smirk widened slightly, like he knew exactly how wrecked you were about to be.

“Guess I’ll have to shut you up,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. Then his mouth was on you.

The sensation sent a jolt of white-hot pleasure straight through you, your head tipping back against the bed as you let out a broken cry. His tongue moved slowly at first, tracing over you with an infuriating precision that made you squirm beneath him.

But when you tried to shift your hips, his hands clamped down on your thighs, holding you firmly in place.

“Don’t,” he said against your skin, his voice muffled but firm, sending vibrations through you. “You’re staying right where I want you.”

You whimpered, your nails digging into the sheets as his tongue worked you over. The wet heat of his mouth was relentless, alternating between gentle flicks and firm, lingering strokes that left you trembling. When he slid a finger inside you, slow and deliberate, your hips jerked against his hold despite yourself.

“Stan—fuck,” you gasped, your voice breaking as your chest heaved.

He chuckled softly, his fingers curling inside you in a way that made your head spin. “That’s what I thought,” he said, his voice filled with quiet confidence. “Not so mouthy now, huh?”

The mix of his teasing tone and his rough hands left you breathless, every nerve in your body alight. Just as the pleasure started to build, his thumb brushed over your clit, adding pressure in a way that had your thighs trembling.

You moaned loudly, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as the sensation became overwhelming. And then his other hand moved sharply, pinching you directly on your clit.

“Shit—Stan!” you cried, your voice high and breaking as your body jerked from the sudden mix of pleasure and pain.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at you with that same infuriating smirk, his lips glistening, his blue eyes lit with mischief. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone mocking but light, as though this was all a joke to him. “You’ve got all the energy to sass me, but now you’re falling apart? That’s cute.”

His fingers stayed inside you, his movements unrelenting as he dragged you closer to the edge with maddening precision. Your hands fisted the sheets, your body arching toward him despite the overwhelming sensations.

“Stan, please—” you whimpered, your voice trembling as tears pooled in your eyes.

“‘Please,’” he mimicked softly, his voice laced with sarcasm. “That’s new.” His teeth grazed your thigh in a brief nip, and you let out another sharp cry.

Stan’s bracelets clinked faintly as his grip on you tightened, his hands firm against your skin as he kept you pinned exactly where he wanted. The sight of him—his messy bleached hair, his sharp jawline, his flushed face—burned itself into your memory, a perfect mix of control and smug satisfaction.

“Don’t stop,” you managed to choke out, the words barely audible between gasps.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice dipping into something darker, his lips brushing against the inside of your thigh. “I’m not stopping until I’ve got exactly what I want.”

Your breath hitched, and you couldn’t even think of a response. His mouth returned to you, his tongue and fingers working in perfect tandem as he pushed you higher and higher. The lingering sting of his pinch only heightened the sensations coursing through your body, leaving you a trembling mess.

Stan's tongue worked you with an intensity that left you breathless, each flick and swirl sending waves of pleasure crashing over you. When he added another finger, sliding it in with the same slow, deliberate motion as before, the stretch left you gasping.

"Stan—ah—I’m so close," you managed to whimper, your voice trembling as tears began to pool at the corners of your eyes. Your chest heaved, your body trembling as you clutched the sheets beneath you.

You sniffled, overwhelmed by the sensations, your head tipping back as your thighs quivered against his grip. "I’m—oh, God—Stan, I’m gonna come," you cried out, your voice cracking with desperation.

Stan’s mouth continued, his tongue teasing you with relentless precision while his fingers curled inside you, pushing you closer to the edge. You felt the pressure building, your entire body tensing as the release hovered just within reach.

And then he stopped.

Stan’s lips hovered over your inner thigh for a moment, his breath warm against your skin, before he pulled back entirely. His fingers left you aching and empty, and the absence was immediate and devastating. Your thighs trembled as you shifted, trying to seek out the friction you desperately needed, but Stan’s hands stopped you with a firm, grounding grip.

“Not yet,” he said, his voice low and steady, with a soft edge of finality that left no room for argument.

Your eyes widened, tears slipping freely now, as you whimpered, “Stan, please… I can’t—”

“You can,” he interrupted calmly, leaning back and sitting on his heels as he looked at you with a mix of frustration and quiet amusement. “You’ll survive. Trust me.”

Your chest heaved as you stared at him, every nerve in your body screaming for relief, but Stan only sighed softly, shaking his head. His messy, bleached hair fell into his eyes again, and he shoved it back carelessly before gripping the hem of his t-shirt.

Before you could say anything else, he tugged the shirt over his head in one smooth motion, tossing it aside. The motion revealed the toned lines of his chest and the faint tan that trailed down to the waistband of his sweatpants. His silver chain glinted against his skin, catching the dim light, and you couldn’t help but stare.

Stan raised an eyebrow, catching your gaze as he rested his forearms on his knees, casual but commanding. “You’re staring,” he said softly, his lips curving into a faint smirk.

Your throat felt dry as you tried to find your voice, but all that escaped was a soft whimper. Your hands clenched into the sheets beneath you, and the heat pooling in your stomach twisted painfully as you realized he had no intention of letting you off the hook.

“You’ll live,” Stan muttered again, his tone quiet but deliberate as he stood, giving you one last glance before turning toward his dresser. The lack of attention left you buzzing with frustration and need, but he didn’t seem to care—he was in complete control, and you were left to grapple with the fact that he intended to keep it that way.

Stan walked to his dresser with a lazy confidence, the kind that only made the heat pooling in your stomach worse. More of the hemline of his boxers showed now, and the muscles in his back shifted subtly as he grabbed his phone from the edge of the dresser. He scrolled aimlessly, his bracelets jangling faintly with each movement.

You stared, your breaths shallow, thighs pressing together in a futile attempt to calm the ache he’d left behind. He wasn’t even looking at you, completely unfazed, like he hadn’t just wrecked you moments ago. It made your chest twist—part frustration, part something you didn’t want to name.

“Stan,” you croaked, your voice cracking slightly, and he didn’t even flinch.

He scrolled for another beat, finally glancing over his shoulder at you, one eyebrow arching lazily. “What?” His tone was flat, indifferent, like you’d just interrupted him during an uneventful Tuesday.

Your lips parted, but nothing came out. You hated how small his lack of reaction made you feel, like the electric tension between you was entirely one-sided.

“I…” you started, but your gaze flicked down to his chest, to the light tan that lingered across his skin and the faint ridge of muscle beneath it. You swallowed hard, trying to piece together your thoughts, but the sight of him standing there— messy-haired, and so effortlessly unaffected—was enough to scramble everything in your head.

Stan sighed like you were being difficult and turned back to his dresser. His hand rifled through the top drawer, and when he pulled back, the foil wrapper of a condom glinted under the soft light.

Your stomach dropped, your body buzzing as he set the condom casually on the dresser, next to his phone. He leaned one arm against the edge, crossing his other hand over his chest, bracelets sliding slightly down his forearm as he glanced back at you.

“You gonna say something, or just keep staring like that?” he said finally, his lips quirking into a faint, cocky smirk.

Your cheeks burned, and you squirmed against the sheets, the ache between your legs sharpening as he stood there, fully in control. “I wasn’t staring,” you mumbled, barely convincing even yourself.

“Right,” Stan said, dragging the word out as he looked back at his phone, tapping the screen lazily. “Sure seemed like it from here.”

The way he brushed you off, so casual and maddening, made the knot in your chest tighten. Your eyes darted to the condom on the dresser, and the implications made your head spin. “Why’d you—” You stopped yourself, biting your lip as frustration prickled at the back of your neck.

“Why’d I what?” Stan drawled, not even bothering to look up this time.

“Y-you…” you faltered again, unsure if it was the tension in your chest or the growing need burning through your veins that had you so tongue-tied.

Stan finally turned, leaning fully against the dresser now, his arms crossed as he looked at you with a mix of amusement and exasperation. His bleached hair was a mess, dark roots peeking through as a few strands fell into his eyes. He shoved them back with one hand, his bracelets clinking faintly before crossing his arms again.

“You’ve been running your mouth all night,” he said, tilting his head slightly as he looked you over. “Now you’ve got nothing to say? Figures.”

You squirmed under his gaze, the heat in your cheeks spreading as you gripped the sheets tightly beneath you.

His smirk deepened, sharp and knowing. “C’mon, [Y/N], spit it out,” he said, his voice low and edged with sarcasm. “You’re looking at me like I’ve got all the answers.”

Your chest tightened, every nerve in your body buzzing as your lips parted again, but the words refused to form. The weight of his gaze, the way his tone was almost mocking but not cruel—it all left you reeling.

“I don’t know,” you whispered finally, the admission feeling heavier than it should.

Stan’s expression softened, just slightly, but his smirk didn’t fade. “Yeah, I got that much,” he said, his voice quieter now but still cutting. His sharp blue eyes lingered on you for a moment, reading you like an open book.

You swallowed hard, feeling the heat rise in your chest again as the knot of frustration and need twisted tighter. You glanced at the condom on the dresser again, and your voice broke as you murmured, “Why’d you grab that?”

Stan raised an eyebrow, his smirk shifting into something closer to amusement. “Why do you think?” he said plainly, like the answer was the most obvious thing in the world.

Your stomach flipped, and you bit your lip hard enough to sting as your gaze dropped to your hands clenched in the sheets. The teasing tilt in his tone, the sheer audacity of his calmness, made your head spin.

He pushed off the dresser and crossed the room in a few slow, deliberate steps, stopping just short of the bed. His sharp gaze bore into you as he leaned down slightly, his bracelets sliding further down his arms.

“Say what you want, [Y/N],” he said softly, the teasing edge in his voice tempered by something quieter, something steadier. “Or don’t. Either way…” His eyes flicked to the condom, then back to you. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I-...” you trailed off, your breath catching as you forced yourself to look at him. And in that moment, it hit you all at once, sharp and undeniable.

You liked him.

Not just liked him—you wanted him, craved him in a way that made your heart race and your stomach twist. It hit you all at once: the teasing, the flirting, the way you got jealous over nothing—it wasn’t friendly banter. It was so much more.

Stan leaned against the dresser, his bracelets jingling faintly as he shifted his weight. The condom in his hand hung lazily between two fingers, and his blue eyes locked onto yours with that sharp, assessing look he always gave when he was trying to figure you out. “You… what?” he asked, the slightest tilt of his head adding to the edge in his voice.

Your chest tightened, the words bubbling to the surface before you could stop them. “I want you to come back to the bed.”

Stan’s brows lifted, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He swung the condom lightly, his voice dipping into a teasing drawl. “Oh, yeah? And what exactly do you want if I do?”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to hold his gaze even as heat crept up your neck. “I want to kiss you,” you admitted, your voice trembling but firm. “I need to.”

The smirk on Stan’s face faltered, replaced by something softer, more serious. He straightened slightly, the humor in his eyes fading as he stepped closer, the condom now forgotten at his side. “You need to kiss me,” he repeated, his tone lower, testing.

“Yes,” you said, barely above a whisper.

Stan’s gaze lingered on you for a moment, his lips quirking as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. He placed the condom on the bedside table and leaned down, his hands bracing on either side of you. His lips brushed yours, a soft, fleeting touch that left you breathless.

“You could’ve just said so earlier,” he muttered, and then his mouth pressed firmly against yours, stealing whatever response you might’ve had.

The kiss was different—no teasing smirks or playful jabs, just raw, unfiltered emotion. His hands cupped your face, tilting it slightly to deepen the kiss as his body pressed closer. You melted into him, your hands instinctively clutching at his bare shoulders as the heat between you grew.

Stan pulled back, his lips lingering just a breath away from yours, and his eyes searched yours like he was trying to piece together something important. “Do you even get what you’re doing to me?” he asked, his voice low and rough around the edges.

Your breath hitched, and you blinked up at him, your pulse thrumming in your ears. “I wasn’t sure what I felt,” you said softly, the words stumbling out. “But I know now. I—I want this. I want you.”

Stan’s gaze flickered, something vulnerable slipping through his usual guarded expression. His jaw worked for a moment, like he was chewing over your words, and then he let out a quiet breath, his hand sliding to cradle your face. “No more of this back-and-forth shit,” he said, his voice firmer now. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it for real. None of your games. No bullshit.”

“No games,” you echoed, your voice trembling but certain.

His lips curved into a small, lopsided smile, his thumb brushing against your jaw. “Good,” he said, his tone soft but resolute. His other hand settled on your waist, grounding you as he leaned in again, his forehead lightly bumping against yours. “Because I don’t think I can deal with you driving me up the wall anymore without this.”

Stan scooted back slightly, hooking his thumbs casually into the waistband of his sweatpants. His blue eyes stayed locked on yours, that familiar mix of irritation and amusement flickering in his gaze as he tugged them down just enough to reveal snug black boxer briefs. The way they hugged his frame left little to the imagination, and your eyes instinctively dropped, wide and unblinking.

“Wow,” you said quickly, your cheeks heating up as you scrambled to deflect. “Really going for the bold look tonight, huh? What’s the occasion?”

Stan raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a dry smirk. “Bold words coming from someone who keeps getting caught staring,” he shot back. His hands dropped to his hips, his stance casual, but the sharpness in his voice made your stomach flip.

“I wasn’t staring,” you retorted, crossing your arms over your chest in a weak attempt to look unbothered.

His laugh was short and incredulous, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Yeah, sure. Totally convincing.” He shoved his sweatpants down the rest of the way with an almost careless motion, stepping out of them as they pooled at his feet. Now just in his boxer briefs, he took a slow step forward, looming over you with that same unimpressed look that made you squirm.

“You’ve got a smart mouth,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “Always running it, even when you’re caught red-handed.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but before you could get a single word out, he was climbing onto the bed. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them apart effortlessly, the weight of his body leaving you pinned beneath him. The shift in dynamic was immediate, leaving you breathless as his blue eyes bore into yours, sharp and unrelenting.

“You think you’re funny?” he continued, his voice low and cutting, each word sinking into the tension between you. His thumbs brushed dangerously close to your panties, the teasing touch sending a jolt through your already-overheated body. “Making little comments like that when you’re already soaked? What exactly are you trying to pull here?”

“I wasn’t—” you started defensively, but your words faltered when his fingers trailed up, pressing against the damp fabric of your panties with maddening precision.

“Wasn’t what?” he pressed, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your ear. His voice dipped lower, taking on a mocking edge that sent shivers down your spine. “Wasn’t wet? Wasn’t about to beg me? Careful, [Y/N]. You keep lying to my face, and I might just leave you like this all night.”

Your breath hitched, and you instinctively shifted your hips, trying to get more of his touch. But his grip on your thighs tightened, keeping you firmly in place. He pulled back just enough to meet your wide-eyed gaze, his smirk sharp and unforgiving.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his tone soft but cutting. “That’s what I thought.”

He pushed himself back onto his heels, dragging his boxers down in one smooth motion. When he stood again, his cock stood hard and flushed, and the sight made your breath catch in your throat. Without thinking, your hand reached out to touch him, but he caught your wrist before you could get close.

“Seriously?” he said, his voice carrying that familiar edge of sarcasm that was so uniquely Stan. He shook his head, letting out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “You’ve been running your mouth all night, and now you think you get to do whatever you want? Cute.”

His free hand came up to grip your cheek, not hard enough to hurt but firm enough to make your lips part slightly. “Look at me,” he said, his blue eyes locking onto yours. His tone was steady, but there was a flicker of frustration behind it, a heat that had your stomach twisting. “You’ve been pushing me all night, and now you’re just gonna sit there and wait until I’m good and ready. Got it?”

Before you could respond, he reached over to the bedside table and grabbed the condom, his movements deliberate. The soft crinkle of the wrapper made your thighs clench instinctively, but he caught the motion immediately, his eyes flicking down and then back up to yours with a faint smirk.

“You talk a big game,” he said, rolling the condom on with an unhurried precision that made your pulse race. “Guess we’ll see if you can actually handle it.”

He leaned back over you, his hands sliding deliberately up your sides before settling on your hips, his grip strong and grounding. His gaze stayed fixed on yours, his expression calm but charged with something unmistakably hungry.

“I—”

Stan cut you off, his hand pressing firmly but not harshly on the back of your head, guiding you down toward the mattress. “Don’t,” he muttered, his voice low and edged with exasperation. The motion wasn’t rough, but it carried no room for argument. He wasn’t playing around anymore.

You turned your head slightly, trying to catch his eye, your bottom lip jutting out in a pout as your manicured nails reached for his arm. “Stan,” you whined softly, dragging out his name in that teasing tone you knew got under his skin.

Instead of rising to your bait, he let out a short, dry laugh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you were still at it. “You don’t know when to stop, do you?” he said, his voice carrying that familiar sarcastic bite. Without waiting for a response, his hands gripped your hips, shifting you until your head was down against the bed and your ass was up, fully exposed. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, as if he wanted to draw out every second of the tension until it was unbearable.

Stan’s fingers skimmed lightly over your back, trailing down to the curve of your hips. His touch lingered, warm and steady, before his grip tightened enough to ground you. He leaned in just enough for his voice to reach your ears, low and steady, the faintest edge of a smirk in his tone.

“Look at you now,” he said, his words cutting through the thick air between you. “All that talk, and suddenly you don’t have much to say.”

His hands stayed firm on your hips as he lined himself up with you. The weight of his cock against your entrance made your breath hitch, and before you could brace yourself, he pushed forward in one smooth, deliberate motion. The stretch burned, sharp and overwhelming, and your gasp turned into a broken cry as he seated himself fully, leaving no space between you.

Stan didn’t move right away. He stayed buried inside, letting you feel every inch of him as his hands kept you still. The weight of his body, the heat of his skin, the way he held you—it was all-consuming. Tears pricked at your eyes from the sheer intensity of it.

“You’re awful quiet,” he muttered after a moment, his voice low and thick, almost casual. “What happened to all that attitude, huh? Thought you had something smart to say.”

A choked whimper escaped you, and you turned your head slightly, trying to meet his gaze through your tear-blurred vision. Stan’s face was flushed, his messy bleached hair falling into his eyes as he looked down at you with a mix of irritation and smug satisfaction. That familiar smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, sharp and knowing, as if he could see right through you.

When you tried to shift your hips, seeking even the smallest bit of relief, his hands clamped down harder, holding you in place. “Uh-uh,” he said, his voice cutting through your quiet protests. “You don’t get to squirm your way out of this. You wanted me back here so bad, right? So take it.”

Your breath hitched again as you buried your face in the mattress, your muffled cries betraying how much you were feeling. “S-Stan…” you hiccupped, your voice trembling, barely able to form his name.

He leaned over you, his chest brushing against your back, his lips close to your ear. “Oh, now you’re playing the soft card?” he murmured, his tone dripping with mock pity. “Too late for that, sweetheart. You’ve been running your mouth all night, and now you’re gonna deal with what you started.”

As if to punctuate his words, he pulled back slightly and then thrust forward again, slow but deep, the motion stealing the air from your lungs. He didn’t let up, finding a deliberate rhythm that left you clawing at the sheets beneath you, every thrust making your body tremble.

“You know,” he said, his voice almost conversational despite the roughness of his movements, “you’re always so damn sure of yourself. Always pushing, always testing me.” He paused, his hips snapping forward harder, making you cry out. “But now? Now you’re not so cocky, are you?”

Tears slipped freely down your cheeks as you tried to keep up, your mind spinning from the overwhelming mix of sensations. When you tried to speak, to form even the smallest response, the words dissolved into broken moans, leaving you completely at his mercy.

Stan noticed, of course. He always noticed. “Aw, what’s wrong?” he teased, his voice softer now, but still carrying that playful edge. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck, his lips warm and teasing against your skin. “Too much for you already?”

You managed a shaky nod, your hands gripping the sheets tightly as your body trembled beneath him. His laugh was soft, almost cruel, as he trailed another kiss along your jawline. “Good,” he murmured, his voice low but filled with satisfaction. “Maybe now you’ll think twice before trying to mess with me.”

Despite the tears pooling in your eyes, your body betrayed you, rolling your hips back into him as best you could, chasing the pressure and the sensation. Stan let out a quiet groan at your reaction, his hands gripping your waist tighter.

“See?” he said, his tone shifting to something gentler but still laced with control. “You can be good when you really try.”

Stan’s movements faltered slightly, his hands gripping your hips as he took in the way your body responded to him. His lips quirked into a soft smirk, but his blue eyes betrayed something deeper—intensity mixed with that familiar, slightly sarcastic glint that was so him.

“Damn,” he muttered, his voice low and husky. “You’re really losing it, aren’t you?”

You whimpered in response, unable to form words, your head pressed into the mattress. Stan leaned forward, his breath warm against your shoulder, and chuckled softly. It wasn’t mean—it was teasing, familiar, the same way he always had been, but now it carried the weight of everything happening between you.

“That good, huh?” he murmured, his voice dipping just enough to make your breath hitch. “All this, just from me?”

Your body clenched around him at his words, and his sharp intake of breath was proof he noticed. He paused, his hips pressed flush against you as his hand trailed up your back, coaxing a soft arch from your spine.

“Okay, okay,” he teased, his tone shifting, dripping with playful sarcasm now. “You don’t have to answer. You’re kind of... busy.” He punctuated his statement with a slow roll of his hips, drawing a gasp from your lips.

Stan groaned quietly, his head dipping closer to your ear. “Jesus, you’re soaking me,” he said, his voice breaking slightly at the edges. “I didn’t think you could get any better, but here we are.”

His praise made your chest tighten, heat flooding through you as your mind spun. He caught the way your moans grew louder, how your body tensed with every soft word that slipped from his lips.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you?” he asked, his voice dripping with curiosity, with that cocky-but-genuine air only Stan could pull off. “You like when I tell you how good you are?”

Your response was a broken whimper, your nails clawing at the sheets as you tried to ground yourself. Stan’s laughter was soft, almost affectionate, as his fingers trailed down your side, his other hand gripping your hip tightly to keep his rhythm steady.

“Yeah,” he said softly, his voice dropping. “Of course you do. Why wouldn’t you? You’re fucking perfect.”

His words sent a shudder through you, and he felt it, his smirk widening as he leaned forward again. “I mean it,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before biting down gently, making you gasp. “You’re driving me insane in the best way.”

You let out a choked sob, the intensity of his praise, his rhythm, and his control overwhelming you completely. Your legs trembled beneath you as your body clenched around him, and Stan groaned, his own composure slipping slightly.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice hoarse now. “That’s it. Just like that. Keep doing that, baby. You’re perfect.”

His words pushed you closer to the edge, your mind hazy with arousal and emotion. Tears slipped from your eyes, and you gasped his name, your voice trembling as you tried to hold on.

“Stan,” you managed to whisper, your tone pleading and raw.

Stan’s pace faltered for a split second when he heard your shaky voice break through the heavy rhythm of your breathing. His blue eyes darted down to you, catching the way tears spilled down your cheeks, your lips trembling as you turned your head away from the pillow to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered, voice thick with emotion as you sniffled, your body trembling beneath him.

Stan’s brows furrowed, his jaw clenching, though his movements didn’t let up. If anything, his pace grew more purposeful, his hips snapping into yours as his hands gripped your waist tightly, grounding you to him.

“Sorry?” he asked, his voice low, strained. “What are you apologizing for, huh?”

Tears streaked your flushed cheeks, your lips trembling as you gasped, “F-for earlier. For... everything.”

Stan let out a breathy laugh, the sound edged with something almost disbelieving, his forehead falling forward slightly as he leaned over you. “You’re apologizing now?” he asked, his tone teasing but not unkind, his words brushing against the shell of your ear as he kept moving. “Right when you’re about to come? Really convenient timing dude, don’t you think?”

You let out a choked sob, your body clenching around him as you struggled to keep your gaze locked with his. “I-I mean it,” you said, your voice breaking as your chest heaved, every nerve in your body alight.

Stan’s lips quirked into a crooked smile, his expression softening for a moment before his hands slid up your body, one moving to your face to cup your cheek. His thumb brushed away a stray tear as his eyes bore into yours, his tone quieter now but no less intense.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice rough but gentle, “I know you mean it. But I’m not letting you off that easy.”

Your eyes widened, another soft cry escaping you as his thrusts grew deeper, hitting the perfect spot that had you unraveling. “S-Stan, I... I’m gonna—”

“I know,” he said, cutting you off, his voice dropping even lower, his thumb tracing slow circles over your cheek. “I can feel it. You’re so fucking close, aren’t you?”

You nodded desperately, your fingers clawing at the sheets as your entire body tensed. Tears blurred your vision as you whimpered, “Please.”

Stan groaned softly, his gaze unwavering as he pressed a firm, almost possessive kiss to your lips. “Then come for me,” he commanded, his voice dripping with authority, his hand gripping your jaw to keep you focused on him. “Right now. I want to see you fall apart.”

And with his words ringing in your ears, you did.

Stan’s movements didn’t falter as he kept driving into you, his relentless rhythm drawing ragged whimpers and muffled cries from your lips. His hand stayed firm on your chin, holding your gaze as though daring you to look away. His messy, grown-out bleached hair stuck to his forehead in damp strands, the pale locks contrasting sharply with his slightly tanned skin. The bracelets on his wrists—simple bands and one woven with multicolored threads—shifted and caught the light with every powerful thrust, his forearms flexing with the effort.

The sight of him was dizzying. His swollen lips parted slightly as his breaths came heavy, a sheen of sweat making his skin glisten under the warm dorm lighting. It was impossible not to stare, the sharp cut of his jawline and the faint dusting of pink across his cheeks making him look so effortlessly gorgeous, so thoroughly wrecked in the best way.

“God, you’re so tight,” he muttered, his voice strained as his hips snapped against yours. His free hand slid from your hip to grip your waist, his strong fingers digging into your skin to hold you steady. “I should be pissed at you right now, but—fuck—how am I supposed to stay mad when you’re like this?”

You tried to respond, your lips parting, but all that came out was a cracked moan as he hit just the right spot again. Gathering your nerve, you attempted to form words, the teasing edge in your tone still managing to peek through your overstimulated haze. “I-I was just gonna say—”

Stan cut you off immediately, his blue eyes narrowing as a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. “Nope. Not this time.” He shoved two fingers into your mouth without hesitation, the pads of his fingers pressing down on your tongue firmly enough to silence you. “You wanna say something? Too bad. You’re done talking.”

Your wide-eyed stare and muffled protests only spurred him on. His bracelets shifted again as he adjusted his grip, his thumb brushing across your cheek almost tenderly, contrasting the raw intensity in his movements. “God, you’re such a mess,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. “Look at you—tears running down your face, trying to act like you’ve got something smart to say. You’re not fooling anyone.”

Your moan around his fingers was muffled but unmistakably needy, your body trembling under the onslaught of sensation. The fire pooling in your stomach grew unbearable as Stan’s relentless pace brought you closer and closer to the edge.

“Bet you love it,” he rasped, his head dipping closer as he brought his lips to your ear. His breath was hot against your skin, sending shivers down your spine as his hips slammed into yours again. “You can’t get enough, can you? Always pushing, always testing me. And now look where it’s gotten you.”

The warmth of his skin, the weight of his body pressing you down, the unrelenting heat in his gaze—it was overwhelming. You whimpered helplessly around his fingers, your eyes locking with his again, and Stan groaned low in his throat, the sight of you so thoroughly wrecked beneath him pushing him closer to the brink.

“You look so good like this,” he muttered, his voice barely above a growl. “Completely mine.”

His pace faltered slightly, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he chased his own release, his bleached hair falling into his eyes. But he didn’t let up, his free hand sliding down to grip your thigh and pulling you even closer. “Keep looking at me,” he ordered, his voice hoarse but firm. “Don’t you dare look away.”

Stan’s thrusts slowed, his body trembling as he reached his peak. A guttural moan tore from his throat, raw and unfiltered, as his head tipped back, his bleached hair clinging to his damp skin. His grip on your thigh tightened for a moment before his movements stilled completely, his chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths.

For a few seconds, the room was filled with nothing but the sound of your labored breathing and the faint hum of the dorm room fan. Stan stayed still, his hands resting on your hips, holding you close as he caught his breath. His eyes were squeezed shut, his face flushed with exertion, and the weight of his release seemed to hit him all at once.

When he finally opened his eyes and looked down at you, there was a flicker of something in his expression—hesitation, maybe even embarrassment. His gaze softened, and his lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he gave a faint, almost self-conscious chuckle, his hand brushing lightly over your waist as though grounding himself.

“Shit,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, more to himself than to you. His blue eyes met yours, and for a moment, he looked almost abashed, his usual cocky demeanor stripped away entirely. “You… okay?”

The sincerity in his tone caught you off guard, and you nodded, your lips parting to respond, but your voice came out in a whisper. “Yeah.”

Stan exhaled a quiet laugh, running a hand through his messy hair as he pulled back slightly, his movements careful, almost tentative. He reached out to the bedside table, grabbing a tissue and leaning back down to press a quick, soft kiss to your temple. “Good,” he muttered, his voice still tinged with that uncharacteristic vulnerability. “I—I didn’t mean to get so…”

He trailed off, shaking his head slightly as if trying to shake off the unspoken thought. His cheeks were still faintly flushed, his bracelets clinking softly as he adjusted his grip on your waist to help steady you. The moment was quieter now, the intensity replaced with something gentler, almost uncertain.

Stan’s fingers brushed over your cheek lightly, his gaze searching yours. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, his brows furrowing slightly.

Your heart twisted at the softness in his voice, and you reached up to cover his hand with yours. “I’m okay, Stan,” you said, your voice steadier now. “Promise.”

He gave a small nod, his lips pressing into a faint smile, though the flicker of uncertainty didn’t entirely fade from his eyes. “Good,” he said again, softer this time. Then, after a beat, he added with a wry smirk, “You… really know how to make things complicated, don’t you?”

There was a teasing edge to his words, but his tone was light, almost affectionate. It felt like Stan was trying to bridge the intensity of the moment with something more familiar, something easier to grasp.

Stan exhaled deeply, his forehead briefly resting against your shoulder as he worked to collect himself. When he pulled back, he shifted off the bed, peeling off the condom and tying it off before tossing it into the trash can. His bleached hair was even messier now, sticking to his damp forehead, and the soft jingle of his bracelets filled the quiet room as he reached for a tissue to clean himself up.

You stretched out languidly, turning your head to shoot him a teasing smirk. “So… does this mean you’re not mad anymore?”

Stan froze mid-motion, his head snapping to look at you. The exasperation on his face was instant, though it was laced with amusement. “Don’t start,” he warned, narrowing his eyes but failing to suppress the smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

You grinned wider, propping yourself up on your elbows. “I mean, you seemed really mad earlier. Like dude, I was kinda scared for a second,” you said, your voice dripping with playful mockery. “But now? I think you’re just a big softie.”

Stan rolled his eyes, chuckling under his breath as he tossed the tissues into the trash with a flick of his wrist. “Keep talking, and I’ll show you how ‘soft’ I am,” he quipped, leaning over to lightly flick your forehead.

You pouted dramatically, rubbing the spot he’d flicked. “Abuse!” you teased, mock-gasping. “I’m gonna tell Red you’re bullying me.”

Stan shook his head, standing up to adjust his bracelets and reaching for his sweatpants. “You’re the worst,” he muttered with a laugh, grabbing the discarded blanket from the floor and tossing it over you. “Now shut up and go to sleep before you actually piss me off again.”

You laughed, pulling the blanket up to your chin as you watched him move around the room. The tension had completely dissolved, replaced with the kind of easy banter that seemed to define whatever the two of you had. Stan shook his head again, but you could see the faint grin on his face as he grabbed his phone off the dresser and flopped back down beside you.

i love red sm...

[tamayula-hl]

I am sure many of you are surprised that I suddenly started drawing MC eyes (personalities) 🤣

1. As I started to draw the boys in a more realistic manner, I started to feel uncomfortable drawing the MC with no eyes drawn 2. started to feel difficulty in expressing MC's emotions without drawing his eyes 3. And after thinking about my future creative direction, I realized that what I really want to do most is to draw MCs with eyes (personalities) (there are so many attractive MCs in this fandom, I was afraid to present my own MCs with personalities… 🤣🤣🤣)

These are the reasons why all of a sudden I started drawing MCs with eyes! I'm sorry to everyone who has been looking forward to seeing MCs with no eyes (≒ readers), but I'm going to try my best with my new creative policy from now on🙇‍

First of all, thank you so much for liking my NSFW piece! I have been getting requests from various people about their aftercare, and I have a strong desire to draw it myself, but I haven't been able to come up with a good expression and idea for it yet 😂. I can't wait to draw how the Slytherins, who were dominant and devoured the MCs like animals during the intimate act, treat the MCs sweetly and politely during the aftercare 💪💪.

Oh thank you!😫🙏💕✨ おそらく同じ人からでしょうか？このように私の慣れ親しんだ日本語でたくさんの温かいお言葉を頂けてとても嬉しいです！ あなたがくれたたくさんのメッセージのおかげで、元気になれました！心からありがとうございます😌

Awww what a fragile, sad, yet somehow beautiful story 😭😭✨ Yes, the time when the Titanic sank and the time when Ominis lived are exactly the same… (I sometimes look at the movie Titanic when I paint to see what the characters are wearing 😌) The fact that Ominis and MC died at the young age of about 37 years old on the Titanic to escape from the spell of Gaunt is too sad. But I can't help but hope that their only son, the fruit of their love, survives and lives a happy life with the Ominis bloodline 😭✨

This adorable message from you (and this precious dog and cat!) made me smile! Thank you so much💕😌🙏

Wow, really? I've never helped with a drawing like that, but I'm very curious and would love to get a sneak peek of that work 😌🤣🙏. On a side note, I must confess that my recent drawing style has been very much influenced by a cartoon called “Veil” by Kotteri! It is my goal to create amazing and beautiful drawings like those vintage movies and posters 😍

Hehe, thanks! I am very happy to receive such compliments and warm words 😌💕🫶

I've always wanted to one day replace that famous 1852 painting of Ophelia as Sakurako, and the story of Hamlet Sebastian and Ophelia Sakurako would be very interesting 🤣💕💕. I love Taylor Swift's “Love Story” so I would love to paint a Romeo and Juliet homage Ominis x MC someday 😌

Very difficult choice 🤣. I can be a Seb girl or an Omi girl depending on my mood at the time, so it's really hard to choose one or the other! By the way, today I am Omi girl 😂💕

I actually haven't read most of attack on titan, but I know its famous scenes and I'd love to draw a touching comic that pays homage to them someday 🥲💪

[ms-madness]

I would like to hear more about your gonne and crackpot vision

-💻🌌

OK listen, im a rabid crack shipper, I will ship anything if i can write an interesting dynamic behind it, I will fucking REACH man, I'm deranged.

Gonne and Crackpot are like, The Anti-Christnarr to me, If Jeb has hofnarr, then Crackpot has Gonne. While Crackpot is definitely more of a Phobos Asskisser than Gonne, they both seem to have far more loyalty to the Nexus and Phobos' vision as oppose to Hofnarr and Christoff, It balances out!

So when you remove the Gonne from the equation, You've got a very very Intense freak who feels like Christoff is one-upping him with Hofnarr! Especially considering Hofnarr had a hand in denying Crackpots requests for the asylum patients to be released, Uneven fields!

Considering Crackpot wears an anti-dissonance suit we are safe to assume that he's had some kind of exposure to Dissonant reality, which i think HEAVILY altered the way he acts and thinks, I think it definitely curbed whatever he was doing to try to figure out where the hell Gonne went, but in my personal opinion I think HE thought originally that Gonne had somehow slipped into The Other Place, Which is why he's so incredibly Like That about The other Place now.

Sorry if this makes no sense! I have a hard time putting my thoughts into words!

aka uh oh the nerds are fiiightiiiing

[ozzgin]

Hello! I had recently sent a request for Toby the Gardener with glasses and hadn’t seen that you already had an 🎼 anon, I’m so sorry! I can resend the request with a different one if you’d like, sorry for the confusion.

I'm pretty sure that's still you, anon. Since I can't always offer a timely response, a lot of anons are added to the list from the moment I see an ask, even if I haven't explicitly confirmed it. This, of course, might lead to confusion on your side: is it you who's been counted, or someone entirely different? If I spot doubles, I usually point it out to the person who came in second. So, if you see your signature, it's safe to assume I've seen your ask/request and haven't gotten around to responding yet.

Rest assured, your idea has been dutifully noted. I'm currently trying to catch up on Christmas pieces, as I'm only now slowly recovering from my sleepless nights. Funny thing, actually: I was re-reading the shapeshifter snippet I wrote yesterday, after taking a sleeping pill. Five hundred notes, and not a single one of you pointed out I'd written "heavy rain of clouds". What does that even mean? Did y'all assume I was pulling some literary artifice? 😭

[archaiceuphoriah]

TW for self h@rm. Please protect your mental health, my dears.

Hm, another snowy day; so nice and quiet. I love these lazy days where we can just cuddle up with a blanket by the hearth. Especially since I know you've been struggling with big feelings. It difficult to hide the marks since Mama takes care of you. It's okay if you don't want to talk right now - if you just want to enjoy the moment. Today's been a good day, huh? It's the bad days when you struggle to feel safe or loved. I'm sorry you have to experience that. Big feelings are very normal...but sometimes they can be very scary. Or confusing, and we don't know how to deal with them. Mama doesn't think you're bad; you're just doing what makes sense in the moment. She does want to help you find a better way though. You deserve gentleness. For now though, we can just watch the snow.

(To the person who requested this, I hope this is what you were looking for and I hope you're doing well <3)

[lets-talk-gundam]

The MS-07B Gouf

In preparation for the invasion of Earth, Zeon forces modified a number of MS-06 Zaku-II F-types for use under the effects of the planet's gravity. The new "J-type" Zaku-IIs featured a number of internal hardware and software changes to enhance their viability on the ground.

The Zaku-II J-Type would be used as a testbed for new developments with the goal of creating a new mass-production mobile suit for use on the ground. And where the Zaku was intended for anti-ship and anti-aerospace combat, this new platform would be built to fight other mobile suits.

Zimmad and Zeonic would both begin working on this new project, directly competing with one another, but eventually coming up with very similar designs. Zeonic moved forward with the YMS-07A Prototype Gouf, and Zimmad presented the YMS-08A High Mobility Test Type.

While Zimmad's design failed to show a significant increase in performance from the Zaku-II J-Type, Zeonic's "Gouf" showed immense promise. The prototype would be picked up and would see a limited production run as the MS-07A Gouf.

The MS-07A was a pre-production model intended for data gathering. The final mass-production model would feature several additional weapon systems, such as an in-built 75mm machine gun in the left manipulator, and a retractable "Heat Rod" on the left forearm.

The Gouf was used to great effect by Zeon captain Ramba Ral, who went toe-to-toe with the Earth Federation's infamous RX-78-2 Gundam.

Among the Ace pilots who used the Gouf as their personal units, Viche Donahue, Silas Locke, and Norris Packard were among the most well-known. All three of these aces would become battlefield legends, with Packard's MS-07B-3 Gouf Custom becoming especially infamous. The machine's equipment proved so effective that it became a common alternate loadout for many Gouf pilots.

The MS-07 would be customized for a variety of roles and theaters, with many of these variants seeing further developments of their own.

Notable among these was the MS-07W Gouf Combined Test Type, which featured a miniaturized Dopp fighter serving as its cockpit. The development of the machine was heavily influenced by data gathered from the Federation's RX-series of mobile suits. Namely, their "Core Block" system.

The Gouf would also see another fork, being developed into the MS-07H Gouf Flight Type. While both prototypes made use of thermonuclear rocket engines, the final version used thermonuclear jet engines, allowing for greater efficiency in atmospheric flight.

The MS-07B saw further refinement into the MS-07C. While not much is known about its specifications, there are at least three known variants. A number of Goufs were acquired by Zimmad and used as testbeds for systems to be incorporated into the MS-09 Dom series of mobile suits. These Goufs were MS-07Cs.

And finally, in UC 120, nearly 50 years from the initial deployment of the original machine, Mars Zeon would develop and deploy the OMS-07RF RF Gouf. While externally resembling the MS-07B, the OMS-07-RF was a completely new machine which could also operate in space, unlike its predecessors.

The MS-07B Gouf was originally designed by Kunio Okawara for the 1979 Anime "Mobile Suit Gundam".

This article was a request! Requests are always welcome!

I am so terribly sorry for the delay in getting this post out! It's been a very hectic few months, but I'm hoping to get back in the flow of things!

[papercuttragedy]

hi I love your Solygbm headcanons, do you have any more headcanons for the skeleton brothers?

Hi, thank you so much for taking the time to ask! And, lucky you! I have another backstory. It's how Sans and Tops became friends. Sorry if it took a while. I took a lot of breaks and spoilers for my later re-adaption for this fiction. Coming soon!

~~~~~~

So, even when Mar (Sans' mother) was still alive and well, Sans was a bit of a friendless kid. Sure, he got along fine with his brothers (mostly) and yeah, he was decent to anybody who had the time (tolerance, really) to talk to him, but overall, he was often at home with his mother to keep her company, while Wingdings searched high and low for any sort of day job to keep them structured. She was actually the one who taught him all sorts of jokes, and he loved every single one of them. He even tried to come up with his own (due to his age at the time, 7 or 8, he wasn't at all great, but Mar enjoyed it dearly and even helped him with more original ones).

After Mar was brutally attacked by a group of monsters that fateful summer night (whether of Asgore's affiliation or not, we'll never know) and died a painful and slow death from those injuries, Sans had a mental shutdown.

He wouldn't talk or look at anybody for days on end. His already friendless personality developed an unusually aggressive behavior towards all to leave him alone. Which, unfortunately, worked. Any slight mention of that incident or even of his mother in general would make him furious and helpless and just full of self-hate.

One day, a few months after Mar's murder, his newfound loneliness caught the attention of older, shit-headed kids who felt the impulse to mess with somebody. I'll never know who exactly escalated it, but eventually, one of the kids says something triggering, which escalates to a 1 on 3 fight. Sans, despite his strength, is easily overpowered, but before a beating can occur, a blue bunny monster, 2 years older than Sans, (and one that Sans had rarely seen, but never really talked to) managed to use his wit to get the boys' hands off him and whatever other half-ass strength God gave him to dispel that fight and leave those small-minded bastards to run off, (presumably not to get caught).

Sans, still saddened and extremely pissed of what one of the kids said to him, begins to quietly leave, though it only causes the bunny boy to follow him, who tries to engage in conversation and see if he's alright.

At first, Sans ignores him, but soon he can't stand the "coddling" anymore, and simply tells the rabbit to "go away" and how he doesn't want his help or pity. This, in turn, pisses the bunny boy, who's confused by what's his deal and how Sans would rather let himself get hurt and unintentionally (without any knowing context) asks if that's what his mother taught him to view himself. This re-angers Sans, and with that, he punches him hard. The bunny boy stays in shock for a moment and then shoves him back in defense. A full-on boy fight happens in that neighborhood alleyway, and by the time both boys are tired, Sans has lost one of his adult teeth, and the bunny boy, a chunk of his ear.

They stay like that for a while, and as Sans breaks into a helpless sob, the bunny leaves him for a bit and takes something from his rendor and gives him a nice cream from his homemade work, something that was influenced from humans.

The following went something like this:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The stranger's voice sounded more persistent.

"C'mon. Take it. You're upset."

Sans snarled at him (or at least tried to).

"Fuck off."

"I will if you just take it."

Agitated, hungry, and far too exhausted to fight back anymore, Sans used his remaining upper body strength to snatch (though his hand trembled far too much to give the aggression he wanted to show) the red frozen thing from the bunny's hand, and took a large bite.

The texture was cool, crisp, and yet a sweetness covered his senses from head to phalanche. He froze, and for a moment, the bunny tilted his head in response.

He probably thinks I hate it.

"Think it's nice?"

Sans didn't bother to respond but simply gave a slow, affirmative nod without looking at him. He looked the type that would boast. A satisfied hum could be slightly heard afterward, somewhat confirming this.

"Well. I'm glad ya like it. Took me all day to get the taste perfected. It ain't much, but I hope it makes your day somewhat less shitty."

Sans searched for any sign of deception or condescension in that cheerful tone. Surprisingly, and thankfully, it wasn't.

"...thanks."

"No problem. If it's okay with you, I can walk you home in case those goons come back for a reround. It's dangerous out here, day or night. Does your mother even know you wander alone out here -"

The remaining sentences died off as soon as Sans felt his gaze return to him, and the gut-wrenching look of misery and hate resurfacing. He wanted to cry all over again but willed enough strength to not give any sort of satisfaction.

After what seemed forever, all that could be heard was a simple "Oh."

"..."

"I- I had no idea. I'm so sorry. I really am."

Took you forever to read the room.

Sans felt himself impulsively wanting to say that thought bitterly, but whatever could come out was interrupted by the bunny boy again.

"I know what you feel. I lost my mother too, recently. About 2 to 3 years back. It's not that long once you think about it. I only have my brother now."

Sans stared, slowly taking the time to look at the bunny again, seeing instead a downtrodden face that stared at the dirt that stained his already dirty clothes.

"I've only got my brothers too."

"Huh. No father?"

"Barely knew him. Wingdings never wants to talk about him."

"Wingdings?"

"My older brother."

"Oh. And your other brother?"

"Papyrus. He's about to be 4 soon."

"I'm really sorry."

"Don't be. It ain't your fault. I'm sorry, too. For being a dick...and for your loss as well."

"Don't be. It ain't your fault either."

....

The bunny turned his face up to look at him, and Sans finally truly looked at his face. They stared at each other, and suddenly, the bunny let out a goofy chuckle and said; "You look not half bad without that tooth there. My mama would have called you a ruffian."

Sans snorted before instinctively rolled his tongue to the spot where the now empty gap in his mouth remained. He couldn't but be impressed.

Wingdings is gonna kill me.

"Speak for yourself. It ain't gonna come back anytime soon. Neither with that nick in your ear."

The bunny placed a hand to cover that ear. His smile spreading farther. "At least it looks cooler."

"Really? No way."

"Oh no?"

The bunny paused again, his smile becoming more gentle as he slowly retracted his hand from his ear and lent it out in a greeting manner.

"Name's Tops."

Sans paused again, and for a moment, he felt as if it were another trap for him to fall into. But, that face was so genuine that it didn't seem likely.

So, hesitantly, he offered his hand and clasped it into a firm shake. Sans felt a smile he never knew was there grow.

"Sans."

[kazutora-kurokawa]

Helloo! It's my first time requesting:)) I love your fics lol. You write so good!!

Can I please request yandere bonten men with a slightly chubby bimbo reader who's insecure about her weight. She's bubbly, gullible and naive. They caught her talking to someone who's tryna hit her up. For the nsfw part can I please get belly bulging 😔

no? *sigh* fine.. here's my offering..

🫱🏼(‿o‿)🫲🏼

Yandere!Bonten!Mikey x Chubby!Insecure!Bimbo!Reader

♡ NSFW, fem reader, wife!reader, mention of Sanzu and Bonten execs, brief mention of murder, gun use, lowkey naive!reader, size kink, belly bulging, big dick!Mikey, spanking, unprotected sex + creampie, kinda rough sex, not proofread ♡

note: I didn't know if you wanted a poly relationship or separate, so I just chose Mikey (I couldn't do all of them, I'm sorry but my brain is fried), I'm trying to keep the note short so anything else I have to yap about is in the tags

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

You, your husband, and the Bonten executives were out at one of their nightclubs, trying to enjoy the little bit of time they had to spare due to their demanding jobs. You were in your cutest little dress, Mikey's favorite dress to be more precise. The one that hugged your curves just right and drove him damn near insane from how bad he wanted to rip it off of you.

Bonten had all gone their separate ways throughout the night, essentially leaving Sanzu in charge of watching you. He walked away from the booth you were sitting at for not even five minutes just to turn around and see a man, who he recognized as one of your coworkers, sitting across from you and quite obviously flirting with you.

Sanzu's first thought is to get this man away from you, by any means necessary. He walks back over to the booth, drawing his gun and pressing it to the man's temple.

"I don't know if you know this, but this lady right here is my boss's wife. So I suggest you move unless you want a piece of metal in your brain."

As soon as he's made aware of the situation, Mikey gets security to escort the man out the club, you can tell he did it because he has the slightest of smirks on his usually blank face. He sits down next to you and pulls you into his lap, his hands gripping your thighs tightly as if to give you a warning.

"What did I say about talking to strangers?"

"But he's not-"

"Don't talk back to me, I could have this whole place burned to the ground in a matter of seconds with that bastard trapped inside."

Soon, the rest of Bonten comes over and surrounds you at the table, naming off all the things they could do to your coworker.

"We could send some of our men to his house, teach him a little lesson without-" Koko tries to suggest.

"Or we could just take care of him ourselves." Sanzu interjects, itching to whoop some ass.

They couldn't care less about the man being your coworker because employees are always replaceable and they know Mikey would rather you not work with him anyway, so they all silently agree to take care of him permanently later on. For now, Mikey has to take care of you. He excuses himself, dragging you from the club into the car, and as soon as he gets you home he's bending you over the kitchen counter and pushing your dress up past your hips.

"C'mon baby, you know better than to test me like that, don't you?"

Mikey brings his rough, calloused hand down on your ass, smirking as he hears the little squeak that slips out your mouth. He grips your soft hips, his bulge pressing right against your pussy through your panties. He unbuckles his belt and pulls his pants and underwear down. His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down your plump thighs to reveal your soaked cunt.

“Look at you, all wet and ready for me.”

His middle finger slides back and forth between your folds, brushing lightly against your clit and making you weak in the knees. He lines himself up with your entrance and eases in, his fat cock stretching you out and causing a painful yet pleasurable burning sensation deep in your stomach. You can feel the tip of his dick knocking against the inside of your tummy, bulging through and pressing you firmly against the counter.

"Fuck! You're squeezing the life outta me."

"T-too big 'Jiro.."

"Too big? C'mon you can take it baby, you always take me so good."

His hips slap against your ass as he thrusts hard, his hand burying itself in your hair and pulling you off the counter to get a deeper angle. His free hand reaches around, cupping your tummy and applying pressure to the bulge formed there.

"You're so full of me, aren't you baby?"

All you can do is nod hurriedly and spew out nonsense in the form of moans, too fucked out to form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence. He presses soft kisses down your neck to your shoulder, his thrusts slowing down as he feels your pussy clenching around him as you cum. He lets out a raspy grunt shortly after as he starts to cum, filling you with his hot, gooey load.

He chuckles breathlessly as he pulls out, high off of his orgasm as he watches his cum leak out of you and drip down your thighs.

"You did so good princess. Gonna start behaving now, right? No more talking to strangers yeah?"

You mumble a soft 'Mhm' as your legs start to give out and you lie against the counter.

"Good." He peppers kisses on the nape of your neck before fixing his pants and helping you walk to the bathroom, knowing that he wouldn't have to worry about anyone stealing you away.

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Taglist

@arlerts-angel @i-literally-cant-with-this @trevengersprincess @giugiette @katkusuo @happy-trenchcoated-impala @drunkcheesecake @darkstarlight82 @reiners-milkbiddies @manji-hoe @southside-otaku @xxchthonicreaturexx @evergreen-endo @hanmaslilslut @dystop4in14nd @mysouleaten @mdsbabygirl

[daily-flowey]

Day 291

[fanganronpa-ships]

Ship: Tozu and Mara from Project: Eden's Garden

[monthly-doodles]

Hello I think it's been a year since I posted so here