#fuck it we ball :)

[kalimaruquin]

Bitch, where the fuck are the other grimy detective games? DE out here looking like the Great Ozymandius the way it's sculpted stone standing out in the sands of other game genres. Are the grimy detective games in the room with us right now? I'd ask you to point them out in a line up, but I'd have to arrest you for several counts of malicious profiling.

'Generic Middle Age White Guy?' Wha- You wake up with a horror canvas of an impressionist painting for a face and it takes at least two dialogue options for you to even tell what you look like in the mirror. Hell, you don't even need to play the game and the most resounding community vibes about the player character are 'Not Straight' and 'Whatever's wrong with him is so progressed that he's literally 27 little meow-meows in a wet paper bag and the 28th is his sociopathic necktie'.

There's 'Hasn't played the game' and then there's this. This is someone who genuinely hasn't seen a single thing about the thing they are opinionating about, and is just spewing the chewed cud of game journalism back out in a slurry of taglines and ego-centrism.

Like, trust me bitch, a witch in the alps version of DE would eat you alive. The opening cutscene would be your girl falling off a cliff, cracking her head hard enough to forget everything, and the cat you're looking for walking up to you and calling you a zionistic prostitute with delusions of self-worth.

I hope the "What if Disco Elysium was about a witch finding her cat in the mountains" post never leaves the gaming discourse vernacular. It will never not be funny to me bc it's got all the Gamer Entitlement™ levels of CoD bros throwing hissy fits about "woke" shit but instead of being couched in far right reactionism it's the exact kind of "Kingdom of Conscience" style liberal outrage at anything with conviction and beliefs that DE waxed on about. Like even chuds who get mad that the game calls you out for being racist interact with the themes of DE better and understand them more than Cat Lady did.

[samsalami66]

Tough decision, but "I will hang on (until I can't anymore)" with Dreamling? (Soccer au maybe? 🥺)

🤘five-and-dimes

Shooting for the Sky

Hey my lovely @five-and-dimes! Thank you for the prompt, I had a great time writing this! I hope you don't mind some humour sprinkled in between the usual angst and fluff, the idea suddenly grew wings and took flight and I had zero control over it.

Morpheus is regretting every single decision he has ever made in his tragically short life that led him up to this moment. If only he wasn't at fault for a hundred percent of them, from starting to kick a ball around with Olethros at age ten, to signing his first professional contract and later joining the Fiddlers. 

This blasted team of absolute nutters. 

Team building, Hob has said with a smile and a glint in his eyes that Morpheus hasn't quite been able to place. Now he knows it to be unbridled insanity mixed with a healthy dose of sadism, joy granted by witnessing his best friend's early demise due to the heart attack he would surely suffer in the next few moments. 

Morpheus has heard about team building exercises where a team went to play minigolf or drove around with go-carts or some other safe and ordinary and fun experience. But of course his band of suicidal idiots would go skydiving for such an event. And of course they have all done this before, since they have zero sense for self-preservation and do not care about their personal well-being at all. 

Those words out of his mouth have only caused the other men to burst into laughter when he said them. 

So now he is here. ‘Here’ being an aeroplane about a kilometre above sweet British grounds, strapped like a toddler to Hob Gadling's chest. Apparently you do not jump on your own the first time you skydive, which has never been a thing Morpheus gave much thought to, since he never expected to find himself in this situation. 

But he has done a lot of things he didn't expect himself to do since he has met Hob. Wonderful, amazing Hob, who is currently resting his chin on Morpheus’ shoulder so he can look out the window while Morpheus himself is trying his hardest not to hyperventilate. 

The team would never let him forget it if he had a panic attack over skydiving. Their serious support ends with the after-effects of abuse, everything else will become part of the Terrific Team Tales (what an awful name), which they recap at least once a year on pub night, specifically to torture the other members with embarrassing stories of the past. 

It is a horrifying tradition. Truly grotesque. 

Morpheus will not give them more material by panicking. 

So, instead, he concentrates on Hob. 

Hob, who stands pressed to his back, head to calf, lending to him the warmth Morpheus so rarely feels on his own. Hob, who's scent envelops Morpheus like a hug of comfort and safety, calming him like few other things could these days. And Hob, who's midsection is pressed directly to Morpheus’ backside. Will be pressed to his backside for the whole dive. Together, in the air, putting his life in Hob Gadling's hands. 

Oh dear.

Perhaps the panic attack is the better option after all. These thoughts will only lead him to a single outcome, and he's absolutely not going to face this conversation after falling a whole kilometre out of an aeroplane. Absolutely not. 

Just as Morpheus is about to force his thoughts back onto the ridiculous ideas of his teammates, the voice of the pilot sounds over their headsets.

“We reached the final height for the jump! The door will be opened as soon as we hit the agreed upon coordinates. Have a good way down, gentlemen!” 

Cheers ring out around Morpheus, and ten men, Hob included, jump up and down with barely concealed excitement. Hob's jumping jostles him where he stands, and Morpheus barely catches himself before he would have crashed backwards into Hob. 

“Someone's excited,” he comments with a wry smile, which only turns softer when he looks over his shoulder to see Hob's bright eyes, shining with joy.

“I get to share one of my favourite activities with my favourite person, of course I'm excited!” 

Morpheus softens even further at that answer, Hob’s affection as always so easy to grasp. 

“Ugh, find a private channel to flirt on with your man, Hobert!” Sounds Corin's voice over their headset, and Morpheus can't help but chuckle at how he and Hob stick their tongues out at each other. 

“Ten bucks that I’ll land first!” calls Abel into the round, which Cain immediately meets with “Twenty bucks that you’re full of shit!”

“Fifty that you’ll both be last,” Mervyn murmurs, and the rest of the team laughs at their bickering, as they always do. 

Cain and Abel, the other brothers in the team, have a sort of love-hate relationship going on. Half of the time Morpheus is a bit worried they might kill each other with their antics, but in the end they would never seriously hurt each other. Though if it does happen one day, Morpheus believes the murdered brother would come back to life just so that they might continue their bickering. Mervyn likes to pretend that he doesn't find it hilarious. 

Behind Cain and Abel the door of the aircraft suddenly opens, the wind suddenly overpowering every thought Morpheus might have had. He couldn't look outside, as there were about nine burly football players between Hob and him and the door. But even just the coldness of the air against his face, unnatural in comparison to the cold he has felt so far down on safe ground, wipes his mind clean of coherent thought. 

“Ready?” Hob says, so close to his ear that Morpheus feels his breath on his cheek, clearly to avoid speaking over the open channel. It makes him shiver, but the cold covers the real reason just fine. 

“Absolutely not,” he replies as loud as he dares, while making grabby hands towards Hob's arm to hold onto. The other man complies immediately, and Morpheus digs his fingers deep into Hob's biceps. “But I'll be fine as long as you're there.” 

“If you change your mind, say the word, yeah? We don't have to jump.” 

“Kollité, I would do a lot of things to see you happy. Including jumping out of a plane with only a piece of cloth strapped to my back, like some crazy person.” 

Hob looks increasingly fond the longer Morpheus talks, and eventually he smacks a loud kiss to his cheek, and then another to his forehead and his nose and wherever he can reach from behind Morpheus’ back. It's silly and adorable and so Morpheus laughs, free from the fear of judgement he once had. 

“I like my men a little crazy.” Hob murmurs into his ear then, and Morpheus thinks he might choke on the thin and cold air. 

“Let's go boys!” Corin then calls over their headsets, which suddenly brings movement into the aeroplane. One after another, the Fiddlers jump out of the open door, some head-first, others (Ken) do a flip into nothingness. And all too soon, Hob and Morpheus are the only ones left on the plane. 

“Run. Makes it easier to jump,” Hob calls over the noise. 

Screw it, what is there to lose (except his life, the part of his brain that is not yet totally beyond salvation provides) anyway?

Together, he and Hob run the ten steps towards the door of the aircraft and jump. 

Morpheus regrets it almost immediately. 

Upon falling, his stomach swoops and turns in the most uncomfortable manner possible and when he looks down he sees certain death rushing at him. His heart pounds in his ears and he's pretty sure he doesn't breathe for at least a full minute with how light headed he feels as he finally sucks in his first breath. 

But then broad arms snake around his chest, impossibly warm hands are splayed across his ribs, and Morpheus feels himself melt against Hob. He trusts this man, quite literally with his life, proven as of this moment. After all, Hob is the one that has the parachute strapped to his back and he is also the one who knows how to work it. Morpheus thinks (hopes) that in an emergency he would remember the instructions Hob gave him a few hours ago and pull the right flap, but he prays it won't come to that.

He would much rather enjoy Hob's warmth against his back, the arms that hold him and not open his eyes again until they're on the ground once more. 

“Just hold onto me, love.” Hob whispers into his ear and Morpheus can’t help but snort. 

“Oh I’ll hang on, alright? Don’t think I will let you go though, once we’re on the ground.”

A chuckle, right beside his ear, and Morpheus simply closes his eyes and concentrates on Hob’s warmth, the wind on his face and the adrenaline rushing through his body. After that first moment of falling, the tingling in his stomach almost turns into a pleasant sensation and he feels like every breath fills his lungs up way past the limit. He could run a marathon right now without breaking a sweat, the amount of energy coursing through his veins is just perfect. 

Slowly he starts to understand why the other men were so excited for this team-building activity. 

Adrenaline-junkies, the lot of them. 

Morpheus opens his eyes next when they are suddenly jolted into a slower fall. As he looks upwards he sees the bright green parachute with the Fiddlers’ club crest in the middle that Hob has shown him during their preparation for the jump. Since this is a team building exercise, naturally all gear is sponsored by the club and usually Morpheus would find this incredibly tacky. But looking upon the crest of the Fiddlers only fills him with a sense of pride, to be using or wearing anything sponsored by this team is simply amazing. 

He’s proud of who he works for, who he’s representing, and the thought is so sudden Morpheus feels tears sting in his eyes. 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Hob’s voice sounds next to his right ear and Morpheus has to blink a few times before he can see clearly what Hob is referring to. But once he does he lets out a small gasp of surprise. The sun is setting on the far horizon and a few clouds break her light just so that reds and purples and pinks colour the sky around them like the most stunning of watercolour paintings. 

“Oh,” he whispers as the tears suddenly spill over, his throat closed off with emotions he can't quite name. It really is beautiful. The sky, the view, the man behind him. His life, really. He's grateful for so many things in that moment, but he manages to voice one thing.

“Thank you, Hob. For taking me along. And being patient with me.” 

“Anytime, lovey. Anytime.”

[chaoortu]

listen i know i yap a lot about nick and neurodiversity in my fics but it's like. every time i reread heartstopper it really jumps out at me and i'll probably reblog this again with more thoughts as i continue my reread but like.

it strikes me as interesting that despite the fact that nick gets called a chav pretty early on by tao, we never actually see nick acting that way on page. i think the show does a good job at showing how nick has sort of chameleoned himself and stuffed his real personality down but the show is a topic for a different post. in the webcomic we see it once when charlie is teasing him about being laddish and nick decides to act that way for a laugh. on one hand, i chalk this up to most of the early webcomic/heartstopper in general being in Charlie's pov. he wouldn't have noticed these things about Nick because they didn't really notice each other until their meet cute, which is realistic. I think it also speaks well to Charlie's character that he takes who Nick is at face value and challenges Tao's opinion of him. but what jumps out at me is that in harry's birthday party we sort of see the first instance of nick's "meaner" side and it's in the context of defending Charlie. Still! The first instance of this really sunshiney character taking quite a big turn!

But notice how the dig isn't personal? These are all observations about Harry that can be deduced in the context of the material before it. That is to say, despite being friends with Harry since he was like 11, Nick keeps it simple. It reminds me a lot of how you correct a dog's behavior in the moment and I can go on for ages about Nick and dogs but again-- that'll be another post. What follows this really intense moment is another really intense moment when he and Charlie are alone and like yeah, they're teenagers, being teenaged is intense enough. But after their kiss, we have this panel and my God is it one of my favs:

I really love how Nick is framed with flowers in this scene because it really feels like it's him blossoming into himself in this moment where it's just him and Charlie. Charlie is shown over and over again to be Nick's safe person in comic and while they are obviously falling in love way before this, I still feel like this is the moment where Nick decides it's safe to love Charlie (I mean duh, they kiss a LOT in this episode), or rather, to hand Charlie his emotions and feel like they won't be fucked with or used against him. And that's huge! Nick wears all his feelings on his sleeves, he's not even slick about it either-- the fact that Christian, Sai, and Otis pick up on the fact that Nick has a thing for Charlie before he does speaks a lot to the fact that Nick doesn't seem very aware of how much of himself he gives away on the regular. Which again, in juxtaposition with the fact that he's perceived as a judgmental rugby lad by Tao (which, grain of salt here. I love Tao a lot but he's also quite judgmental in his own ways so this is a pot and kettle situation), and the fact that his own mother comments on the fact that he's much more himself since befriending Charlie? That's MASSIVE. I dunno. I could be projecting here but as an autistic teenager who did everything in my power to be like my peers and lowkey hated myself for it, I find this incredibly relatable. We see Nick starting to realize that a lot of his friends are dicks several times before he and Charlie kiss for the first time, and that's also relatable. It took me so long and still takes me so long to realize that people I thought were friends are actually quite shit. Again, I could be projecting but it reads very neurodivergent to me that it takes Nick being exposed to someone who is actually kind to him (Charlie) to realize that his friends aren't kind people. Insane tbh! Something else that got me is that we see Nick struggle with the fact that he really likes Charlie and wants to stay with him vs. the responsibility he feels to regroup with his friends. I don't actually think it's responsibility. I read it as Nick putting his mask back on and resuming the expectations he's been bearing since before he met Charlie and it's a visible struggle for him.

Nick, while pretty unaware of the fact that he can be read like a book, is also incredibly aware of the role he plays in his own friend group and the ways in which he has to perform. But he doesn't like it now. His early love for Charlie really puts things in perspective for him that he doesn't have to accept where he's at currently if he's unhappy and we get that moment of regret where we see that he knows he fucked up by leaving Charlie.

It looks like he's disassociating here. That, or his mind is still in that room with Charlie. It's a battle of expectations vs. what Nick wants. And Nick's wants are never Nick's first priority. He's a pathological people pleaser after all. And despite the fact that he just fully made out with another boy despite barely having figured out that he likes guys and the ethics on Charlie kissing him without asking (teenage stuff, I'm not arguing about it rn especially because this doesn't bother Nick in canon. idk why this discourse exists but maybe i was just making out too much as a teenager) The next day, Nick clears the air. Literally runs to Charlie's in the rain so they can talk it out and so he can be understood properly. He's desperate to make things right with him because 1) he's in love and 2) he cares a lot about Charlie's feelings to the point of putting them above his own later in the story. But the way he does it and the way he sort of overexplains his feelings almost constantly really strike me as neurodivergent. Nick goes above and beyond explaining how he feels to make sure nothing can be misconstrued and that really gives me the sense that Nick is... somewhat aware of the fact that people assume how he feels? Granted, this is coming off the heels of everyone saying he was in love with Tara, so maybe he felt the need to explain himself more since some people think one pre-teen kiss = fairytale love. (ignore the fact that Nick's fairytale kiss with the flowers totally equaled fairytale levels of love for him, lol.)

He literally explodes! Charlie is physically taken aback by his words. This happens right after Charlie has his big "I shouldn't have kissed you this was all my fault" etc. explosion. Which! The fact that Charlie explains how he feels down to feeling at fault and sharing that with Nick, who is very much like no.. no nO WAIT. I LIKED IT. (so much that he kisses Charlie to get him to understand that pre-explosion). And again, we sort of see Nick trying to bottle and be a bit more normal about it immediately before when Charlie tells him he's getting mixed-signals. Nick's response was to unmix the signal and then cry about it because THIS. IS. A . LOT.

For a cis-male character who is involved in a very masculine sport, surrounded by masculine people who are not nearly as emotional as he is(on page at least) the fact that Nick goes above and beyond in this moment where he's so vulnerable to ensure Charlie understands him is hugely neurodivergent to me. He's making sure Charlie gets that Nick loves him, he's making sure he gets that he's not mad about the kiss, and he makes sure Charlie knows he feels bad for leaving him behind. His bases are covered! There's no room to make assumptions about how he feels and I imagine for Charlie, a chronic overthinker, the fact that Nick is so blunt about his feelings all the time must be fucking incredible. He can actually take Nick at face value (at least at this point in the story ). But especially after Ben's gaslighting shit? Like fuck! I'd want to jump into a relationship too if the guy I've been crushing on for like two months ran to me house in the rain, kissed me, cleared the air, and then cried in my arms. I love emotional honesty! It's also interesting to me that it seems like his confusion towards his sexuality bothers him a LOT more than his feelings for Charlie do. He likes being in love with Charlie, that much obvious, but it's this conflict within himself that bugs him. And idk, I could be projecting again but I just can't see a neurotypical teenager reacting like that. To me, it really reads as Nick going. "Okay, I like kissing Charlie and being around Charlie. I'm in love, this is good. Check." but then his sexuality is a huge gray area until he does more research on bisexuality and decides that's the label he wants to use and I think the not knowing is what really bothers him. There's a lot of pressure in queer spaces especially nowadays to be labeled and for Nick, a character who buried his personality to be accepted by others, to specifically be upset at being confused about his identity reads as neurodivergent to me. Nick, by all accounts, doesn't seem to really care about his sexuality except for the way it challenges who he believed himself to be up until this point and what that means to the people around him who think he's just some straight laddish dude, you know? Largely, he also seems rather apathetic towards sexuality and gender in general except when he has to confront his sexuality and how other people will perceive him if they knew what his sexuality is-- hence keeping things between him and Charlie a secret despite the fact that he's never ever been shown to be ashamed of the fact that he loves Charlie.

Anyway, this post got way too long. Enjoy one of my favorite OCD/AUDHD moments between Nick and Charlie. THEY LITERALLY KISSED LIKE TEN MINUTES BEFORE THIS MOMENT... INSANE BEHAVIOR... I love them. The sillies.

[applciderr]

Was gonna redraw this digitallty but i no no wanna bleghh 👅👅👅

Obviously not canon but you can not keep me in the canon compliance cage forever because i wasnt ever in it

[orgasming-caterpillar]

"fuck it we ball" is for stress about the future "it is what it is" is for stress about the past and "this too shall pass" is for stress about the present thank you for coming to my TED talk

[i-am-totally-not-a-lizard]

One thing I love about Tumblr that wasn't a thing on Reddit is that I can just write whatever the fuck text post I want. No titles. No putting text on images. No algorithms or karma. Just fuckin splatter your mind onto the screen and people will see it. Like god intended.

[moon-goggles]

OP HAS FOUND A NEW CHEAT CODE 4 REASONS TO STAY AROUND 🙏🏼🙏🏼

"I will not have a mental spiral/breakdown after an election gone wrong like my fav stupid guy c!wilbur" is in fact a real thing I muttered to myself today in an attempt to stay sane

[officersnickers]

[mariorsomething]

Oh yes, you'll be buried with it

[claypigeonpottery]

my friend mentioned armadillos and this immediately popped into my head for some reason

[theburgertv]

i watched the first parkour civilization movie and its like. 2 hours of youtube shorts tied together. its so funny, they reestablish the plot like 200 times throughout the whole move. everyone's ego is beyond fragile and no one has ever heard of a 360 jump or a backwards jump somehow

[toxungen]

got high hopes for the new year

[onionninjasstuff]

[melleody]

being a shifter is when ure itching to overshare about your dr and then remembering that’s like giving out your personal info in this reality..

[angelplummie]

ur art baby trapping fic is all i can think abt btw

but but but. what if after the first time it becomes a regular occurrence, and after the first few times, when he buries himself as deep as his long cock can go inside you and cums so hard he loses vision, you think maybe it’s time to be safe again. you’ve taken a few pregnancy tests, and it’s seeming like you’re getting away with the risky sex, but the risk is not worth the reward.

you saunter into the kitchen one morning, were art reads the news on his laptop, sipping a black tea. what a serious man you were dating. your arms snake around his neck loosely, and you kiss this top of his blonde head.

“i’m gonna order some more birth control. what’s that gynos number again? i know i wrote it down somewhere but i can’t remember.”

art stilled. he placed the mug squarely on a coaster.

“you don’t need that.”

he reached up to hold your forearm gently, to ghost the pad of his thumb against your soft skin.

“well, i do a little bit. we’ve been lucky, but if we keep going raw we might be in trouble. then you’ll be stuck with me forever.”

he hummed, stomach flipping. you were so close to figuring him out.

“that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

“what?”

he kissed the peach fuzz of your arm.

“i’d like being stuck with you.”

you didn’t let go, but you didn’t move either.

“are you saying you hope i get pregnant?”

“no,” he lied softly,”but if you did, that would also make me happy. wouldn’t it make you happy?”

you inhaled, shocked.

“i guess. i don’t- i don’t know how i would feel. i haven’t given it much thought. have you?”

he moved to get up, and you stepped back, unfurling yourself from him.

the chair scraped against the floor, and you watched arts feet as he moved around it to get back to you. he turned to face you, beautiful face set in a knowing, subtle smile. he took your face in his long hands, one on either side of your jaw.

“i’ve thought about a future with you and being with you forever, and about having a baby with you.”

your lips parted slightly, that rosy feeling cresting your cheeks and nose.

“i love you very much. i want you very much. is it that strange to think i might want to start a family with you?”

a cloudy feeling, humid and twinkly, filled your head. you drew in breath, but before you could make any kind of reply he kissed gently on your forehead, which nullified the part of your brain that might have any problem with what art was saying ever.

“why is that strange baby?”

“it’s not strange.”

“that’s right.”

and he pulls you into his chest. your arms remain tucked to you, and he wraps himself around you. tenderly his chin rests on your hair, and your breath in his smell. art was so clean, and so smart and kind. and he loved you. he wanted to be with you. you were so lucky.

“i love you.”

“i love you too.”

and that night, when he got you on top of him, cock buried deep in your tiny cunt, he made you feel even luckier. you were so wet it spilled down his shaft that split you open, down to his round full balls. his hands were clamped like shackles around your hips, preventing you from moving.

your hands splayed on his perky chest, you frowned in an effort to not fall apart, and he watched you with unbridled glee. you try to bounce, and your tits shake, but he holds you in place, all your leg muscles no match for the few at work in his arms. he watches as your titties settle still, his soft little angel.

“art please,” you dig your nails into his pillowy chest, but he doesn’t even flinch as you turn his pale skin pink.

“yes please,” you whisper. he smiles, thinly veiling his glee.

“you wanna ride me?”

your pussy clenches. even bellow you, he’s so far above. so much wiser and calmer.

“i’ll let you. on one condition.”

his fingers dug into your love handles, leaving white marks on your side. he readjusted himself, burying his cock inside your further, making you huff.

“tell me,” your cunt was so tight he had to pause as it squeezed him,” that you want me to get you pregnant. say the words.”

you blinked, trying to direct any of your attention away from the pseudo-pain of having him inside you still. his demanding tone alone makes your cunt throb, and wet his fat cock even more.

“what?”

“tell me you want me to cum inside you raw.”

your head tips back, and you swallow.

“i want you,” you say, thoughtless, desperate, so cock hungry it makes arts chest heave under your talons,” to cum inside me raw. get me pregnant please. please art, just fuck me.”

art grunted, and squeezed your hips even harder.

“yeah? you want that?”

and he drew you up on his dick, biting his lip hard enough to leave indents, to split skin.

he guided you up, so that only his pink tip stayed hooked inside your tight pussy hole.

yeah was the only word you could form, and you said it over and over like it was his name, like it was a prayer.

“ok baby. whatever you want.”

and he drove himself into you, holding you above him like an oversized fleshlight. you sounded like a fleshlight too, wet and soft and malleable to him. a wet schlick permeated the room with every thrust as he held you, suspended in the air, and fucked you like you weighed nothing.

your grip dragged up to his forearm, leaving a pink trail in your wake, jaw tipping open.

“art, art, art.”

as he moves sharply in and out, pounding your pussy, you legs turn to jelly, and you feel the distinct urge to writhe. you resist, and instead jerk with his every movement, moaning pathetically.

“you’re so tight. god,” he spits through gritted teeth. it’s like he’s angry at you, and he bullies your little cunt like he hates you. but he doesn’t hate you, he loves you very much. he can’t believe your his, he can’t believe you want to be his forever. he will make you happy. he will. you just have to give him a child.

his v-line and his hips crash into the softness of your thighs and make loud slaps. he grunts as he feels the tip split you open time and time again. you feel it, a deep thud inside you every time he presses down, and you whine absently.

“art, hold me.”

“what?”

“hold me.”

immediately, he rises from his lying position and props himself up on his head board, yanking you to him again. and then you were face to face, with his tousled blonde hair and blue, honest eyes, and his beautiful face. just as you asked, he held you. two strong arms encircled you waist, pushing your tits up on his chest.

digging his heels into the bed, he began pumping, buried so deep that he could only work the last increments of his cock into you. your eyes are misty, are big and desperate. your open mouth

"you ok?"

"yeah. I love you."

"mm."

and he kissed you again, tongue pawing at the inside of your mouth, like a kitten at a ball of yarn. he moaned rhymically, with every beat of your little heart. every moment you lived as his was total pleasure. you inched your hips forwards and back, against the force of his thrusts and kissed the side of his mouth, his cheek, his neck.

“you’re so beautiful,” he huffs,”you’re so pretty. i’m gonna get you pregnant.”

“please.”

“yeah, i know you want that.”

“yeah, i want it.”

you fuck yourself on him, and he kisses you again, harder, messier, noses smushing and tongues moving against each other.

“oh,” he says, and you know he’s close. so you say him what he wants to hear. what you know he’s wanted to hear this whole time. your clit presses against his pelvis, and as you tip over the edge you give him what he needs, like a good girl. friend. a good girlfriend.

“daddy, daddy.”

and it’s over. his grip tightens, pressing you harder against him so you can’t move at all in his lap. his hips stutter, and he lets out a grunting, groaning whine into your cheek, into your ear.

his balls tighten and twitch, and a fat load spurts inside you, clinging to your cervix and dribbling out of your spasming hole.

“fuck, god.”

one arms stays around your back, the other reaches up to your neck, to caress the skin and reach up into your hair. to stroke your jaw with his thumb as you both pant, slack jawed and satisfied.

“fuck.”

“art?”

“yeah?”

“i bet that did it. i bet i’m pregnant.”

“i bet you are. are you scared?”

you looked at each other and smiled, wide and goofy, forehead to forehead.

“no. are you? i really mean it, you’re never getting rid of me now.”

“darn.”

[princess-pine-cone]